#deciding now all massages are torture because the amount of force used on a human could seriously injure a cat

[bidilfs]

it’s so so so hard to restrain myself from being some “well actually” dickhead on like 90% of animal posts on the internet. nobody knows the animal in that viral post died a few days later. the thing that everyone was cooing over was probably what killed it.

positing animals as objectively “better” than others or gleefully poking fun at “useless” ones shows a fundamental misunderstanding of evolution and harms your ability to understand ecosystems and conservation. so does getting offended on the behalf of an animal being called “primitive” and protesting it by taking a human-level “everyone is equal” approach to evolution.

there’s a variety of different flavors of people approaching science from an emotionally skewed perspective, usually with at least a dash of anthropomorphism and they all suck

#animal death mention ///// #sorry i saw a post that wasn’t worded perfectly and got mad lol #like yes evolution is not a refined arms race an animal isn’t somehow doing a bad job of evolving #but also primitive (while possibly misused) is not an insult #getting offended on the animal’s behalf is just as bad yknow it’s the same shit in a different direction #anthropomorphism & a skewed perspective aren’t better just bc ur approaching it from a more sympathetic background #anyway out of all the people that do this the ‘well i do/don’t like that so i assume that animal would feel the same’ are the absolute worst #still thinking about thay guy who hit himself with a jockey’s whip #and since it was really painful for him it must!!! also be really painful for the horse #that animal weighs 10x as much as you #deciding now all massages are torture because the amount of force used on a human could seriously injure a cat #i see no reason why these things would he any different #also i’m not saying whipping horses is Great or whatever but like. we should not throw objectivity out the window #just bc this time it benefits ‘our side’ to do so. yknow.

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

Deja vu

summary: Can you do one where the reader is bills daughter and pennywise shows up as her and scares bill and when bill comes back home her hugs his daughter really tight

The trail of blood leads up the stairs, two doors down to the left. Bill’s enthralled with following it, feels something beside himself leading him to the end point, because logically he knows this is Neibolt. Getting separated from your friends does nothing good, is proven to be deadly in Derry, but he’s enchanted by his gut feeling inching him closer and closer to the end of the track. He can’t say he walked up here with in a clear state of mind, can’t pinpoint the exact moment he decided to do this, but he’s come so far, he might as well see it through.

Like the logical part of his brain warned him for, the outcome of heeding his gut is a macabre discovery.  

Bill catches wind of the foul smell, worse than the sandwich he once accidently left in his trailer and only got around to tossing out two weeks later, and it’s present so strongly Bill covers his nostrils with the sleeve of his button-up.

He hears shadowy screams slithering up from downstairs, Ben if he’s not mistaken, and the urge to run back to his friends becomes overwhelming, breaking the spell put upon him and a hair away from coming to their aide, but then he sees a yellow rainslicker on the floor, and a hand poking through it.

His first inkling is that Pennywise is imitating Georgie once again, a safe sure idea to agonizingly torture Bill, the guilt of not saying yes to Georgie’s request of going out with him cement blocks tied to his back and following him around, an annoying fly he can’t shake off. But as Bill steps in the room it’s not him, the feminine outlook of the corpse reveal as much. It’s not entirely clear who exactly it is at first, the body so decomposed and every open wound filled with maggots munching away at the flesh that had once been a living human being, deteriorating the body further.

‘Dad’, a gust of wind blows around, the words so nontangible but picked up by Bill none the less, and his eyes widen once he connects the dots closely examines the body. It’s his daughter. It’s Y/N, it’s his little girl.

The scream tearing up his vocal cords rattle his body, clattering to the floor in heap of panic and disbelieve next to Y/N’s corpse, his hand hovering over her cadaver without a single point of contact. ‘No’, He screeches, brushing a piece of hair out of her face, shrinking back when Y/N’s face misses parts of the tissues a face is normally made up off, her eye socket ripped away by enormous teeth sunk in by the soft muscles to tear it out. The outside world blurs to a white noise static, and Bill’s terrified and inconsolable, video feed of her playing around every day from her birth to her youth being erased by the gruesome sight in front of him. Bill will never be able to remember his daughter any other than the way she is right now. The yellow slicker might as well be used as a body bag, for Georgie and now you.

‘No, please. Take me, not her’, Bill begs, hiccuping weeps and repositioning her so she’s hidden away, her face slack in death in the crook of his neck, her open chest, missing her heart and parts of her lunges, squashed against his chest to stop the flow of blood. His longs feel stolen themselves, there’s nothing left to give.

Georgie getting murdered carved away parts of his heart he tried very heart over the years to replace, to keep giving and giving and giving to construct the ideal shape again, and it took a long time and a lot of energy to do so but with your birth, it all slotted itself in place. Bill had someone else to care and protect, but this? Your death was too much. Bill had nothing left to invest in a future.

The larva crawl from Y/N’s body to his, producing a slime that leaves sticky residue underneath Bill’s fingers, but he’s cleaving to her too tight to knock them off.

‘Ow Billy boy’, Pennywise singsongs over his shoulder, a menacing grin dialed up, it’s gloved hand curling around the young girls leg in threat.

‘S-s-stop’, Bill begs, broken down to his absolute core. He shifts to force Pennywise to let go, but the monster easily follows him, is an extra weight against Bill that he has to schlep along.  

‘Do you want to know what she tasted like? She tasted like Georgie did. Innocent and pure, oh but not anymore. She begged for you Billy, for her daddy to save her.’

Bill shake his head solemnly, protecting her body with his own. He dotes her forehead and temple with kisses, his lips loitering around to brush against her blood stricken skin. ‘I’m sorry,’ he cries. ‘I’m s-s-so sorry.’

‘You never told her the truth did you? Never told her that you let Georgie die,  and you let her die. She understood in the end. That her father was a coward.’

Pennywise tightens his grip and hauls your body over to him. Bill, who was unprepared for this, falters in his grip and allows him to do it, but scrambles after you as soon as his can no longer hold you in his arms.

‘Stop please.’

It winks, opening it’s wide array of teeth and sinks them down your legs, the protesting, piercing scream a background noise. The skin breaks effortlessly, a patch of skin Pennywise devours before the very eyes of the girls farther, massaging it’s stomach like one does after a full coursed meal.

‘Tasty’, Pennywise taunts, licking the edges of his mouth to consume the leftover bits of ichor. A battle wail erupts from Bill, fingers digging in his palm so hard incisions form, and he leaps at IT, mind fully in on the idea of strangling the brute the way he did his daughter and brother.

But, with a parting gleam, Pennywise vanishes from the scene, ducking back into it’s layer. Bill falls face first on the floor, the thunk of him hitting the floor splits open his lips, and then glances back to where your carcass posed seconds ago. It’s no longer there, and neither is the yellow slicker or the maggots that survived of your flesh.

He heaves, crying not faltering for a moment, but things in his head do begin to clear up. As far as Bill knows, Pennywise has no power or authority over any place outside of Derry, and you were not in Derry. He had talked to you the day before as you where getting ready for a sleepover, unaware of the danger you father was preparing to face. The whole thing was a trick orchestrated by Pennywise, Bill can see why, but how a thing can be so vile and evil remains shocking to him.

The doubt etched in his brain leaves him restless, are you sure she’s safe? plaguing him as he tries to stop crying on the floor. The rest of the losers find him there, frozen in place until the shake him aware and remind him of the task that needs to be completed.

-----------

Bill balls the entire way home, ignoring the stares and pointed fingers he’s the receiving end of, people recognizing him as the writer who can’t stick an ending for the life of him, because he learned from a young age that crying is crying and should be done right. His mother never bothered keeping up appearances. Not to the outside world or to the family, and Bill’s suppressed crying still made her whimper no matter how subdued Bill tried to be for her, and got him punished more then once.

At home, Audra is waiting for him, her face a variety of anger, concern, and relief that his back home in one piece. Even without the full story, Audra knew something bad was taking place. He kisses her, a quick peck to the mouth, dismissing the way her red lipstick reminds him of Pennywise eating his daughter as lunch and demands to know where Y/N is.

Audra looks taken aback as to why Bill doesn’t make any moves to talk other first, but then sees how red Bill looks, and tells him Y/N is upstairs in his study.

Bill runs up the stairs like a maniac, tripping over the top two top trudges but stabilizing himself before he stumbles, again. His office is a large, spacious room he resides in at times he’s writing, though he walks around while writing frequently too, and it’s a forbidden space for both Audra and Y/N.

That why your face falls when Bill opens the door and catches you in the act of putting back a notepad you stole from in there. You look positively stricken and spooked, scared of what your dad might say about you snuffling in his man cave when you’re not allowed in, and Bill promptly starts crying again.

You being scared of him, for any reason it might, is terrible and not something Bill ever wants to happen again.

‘Dad?’ You ask confused, standing up and walking his way. ‘Are you okay?’

He swoops in without any indication, pulling you in his arms and enclosing all around you. ‘I l-l-love you so much, you know that right?’

You nod resolutely, and Bill can’t help but think that you don’t know half of the amount he has saved for you. The longitude is impassable, the amount of weight the love carries immovable. He’s so grateful to have you in his arms, to have you be safe and secure, and with parents who love and support you. He smacks a kiss on the top of your head, breathing in the scent of your shampoo on the contrary of the stench of a rotting body and allows himself to cry and cry and cry. At some point, you join in, sad that your father is sad and mulling over what might make him feel happier.

‘You’ll tell me anything that’s b-b-bothering you right?’ He asks after five minutes of utter silence, roughing your hair out of place with a watery laugh.

‘Like what?’

‘Everything, anything. Bullies, problems at school, if I’m doing something wrong.’ Bill retreats backwards but keep you close enough that you’re still in each other’s arms. ‘You know you can t-t-tell me if it’s something I’m doing right? I don’t ever want you to think you h-h-have to hide from me.’

‘I don’t, and you’re not doing anything wrong dad. I love you.’

‘I love you too, and I’ll let nothing ever, ever hurt you.’

#bill denbrough #bill denbrough imagines #bill denbrough as a dad #bill x reader #bill denbrough x daughter reader #my writing #the loser club imagines #adult losers #bill denbrough x reader #bill denbrough as a father

[whoisntgayforgatsby]

You Are So Beautifully Unaware, Darling

Nick goes to visit Gatsby, using the excuse of a forgotten umbrella. To his dismay, Gatsby is feeling ill so, Nick stays with him to make him feel better since Gatsby doesn't quite know what being sick is like. He never intended on confronting his feelings.

Its nearly half past ten when I crack the large knocker on Gatsby's front door. One of his servants opens the door with a flat expression.

"Morning, Christian." I nod at him and he lets out a huff.

"What would you like, Mr. Carroway?" He asks me and I bite the tip of my tongue lightly.

"Well, I'm just returning this to Gatsby," I present the umbrella that I'd been using as a cane as I'd stood there. "He left it at my house yesterday when the rain stopped." I explain as he looks me over.

"Mr. Gatsby has not risen yet, I will inform him you came." That was an odd statement as Gatsby was always, always up far before myself. Maybe those late nights finally caught up to him.

"I also brought some tea that he liked. I could make him some to rise to?" Real subtle, Nick.

The butler sighs at me, knowing that I wouldn't be leaving until I was allowed to see Gatsby. He steps aside slightly.

"Alright, we'll we will have the maid make the tea. You can bring it to him."

I relent and hand the tea to one of the scrawny, blonde girls in tight clothing and she bounds off with her fake breasts towards the kitchen.

I see Gatsby has a type other than Daisy and it surely isn't me. I may be hopelessly queer but, I'm not blind. The girls are stunning. Not as much as Gatsby, of course but, you get the point.

I give the room a once over. I've been into this place at least a thousand-and-sixteen times and I still don't know more than about three or four of the rooms in the building.

“Sir, the tea is ready.” A dark-haired, olive-skinned maid says, carrying a tray my way. She was extremely beautiful and I smile at her.

“Thank you.” I give her a nod and take the serving tray from her.

“Would you like me to show you where his room is?” She asks me kindly.

“No, that’s fine, I’ve been there before. Thank you again.” I smile for a second time at her.

“Okay.” She bows lightly before hurrying back towards the kitchen.

I wander my way through at least five rooms, the dining room, the ballroom, a sunroom, another ballroom and the library, before I stumble upon his bedroom. It should’ve been much easier to find as it says ‘Gatsby’ in big, bold, golden script across the door.

I tap against the wooden door. “Gatsby?” I speak slightly louder than usual. The door is open a crack and I push it gently. It swings open slowly with a creak. There’s a mound of pillows and blankets overflowing off of Gatsby’s bed. It sends a light panic through me as I place the tray down on a table near the door. “Jay…?” I ask, my voice smooth but loud throughout the house-sized room.

The mound stirs and there’s the sound of muffled coughing and choking before all of them burst upright, flying everywhere and a confused and agitated looking Gatsby is sat upright in the middle of it all. His hair is mussed and he has a faint stubble on his cheeks.

He groans and lets out a feeble cough before tipping forward. I panic and scurry to him. “Jay! Are you alright?” I croak as I reach him. Gatsby tips onto his side, lying like a toddler that decided to sleep exactly where they were. He looks up at me with his big blue eyes, shining sickly.

Gatsby grabs me by the collar of my shirt. “Nick! I-... I think I may be dying! I-... My chest feels like it’s caving in on me and I-I… I can’t breathe and my nose is stuffed and I keep choking… Nick, my head, it-”

I start to laugh, I can’t help it.

“Nick! What are you laughing at me? I am dying! ” He gasps dramatically.

“Jay, calm down,” I chuckle and my finger press to his forehead. “You’ve just a fever.” I shake my head.

“I-... What?” He sits up a bit, getting closer to my face as he was still gripping my collar desperately.

“Just got a cold, you’re fine.” I pat his hair down a little. He collapses back to his bed and yanks me with him, I land flat over his chest.

I scramble to my feet and Gatsby lets go. I’m pretty sure that he didn’t notice my franticness and my distressed state.

I clear my throat and brush my hands over my coat before shakily making my way back to where I’d placed the tea, taking my suit jacket off and placing it over my arm. “Where are you going?” Gatsby sits and sways dizzily. “Don’t tell me your leaving.” He sounded more like a scared child than a disappointed adult.

“I-... I brought you tea. I thought it may help you wake,” I show him the tray as I walk it across the room and place it on the table closest to his bed. “If your throat is sore then this may help that as well.” I hold a cup out to him, he stares for a moment before taking in shaking hands.

“Thank you, old sport,” He’s suddenly shy as he sips at the still hot tea. “You-...” He hesitates for only a second before sliding over on his massive bed. “You can sit, Nick.”

I think for a moment and sit on the edge. He waits a bit before moving closer to me and leaning to place the cup down. He coughs feebly into his arm and pulls the covers around him like a small child would. Everything about him is so innocently reminiscent of a small kid, unsure of most things even when he usually doesn’t show it, it’s still there.

“Thank you for coming over, old sport,” He brushes his arm to mine. “You’re a good, honest man, Nick… I admire you.”

“I’m not great, I just act the way that people should act, you know?” I mumble and he gives me a confused glance. “They’re a rotten crowd,” I say, referring to our awful friend group. “You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together.” That was the only compliment I have ever paid Gatsby and it makes his cheeks burn.

“I-... Thank you, Nick…” He mumbles to himself. “I like you a fair amount more than the others myself.”

Gatsby yawns and rubs his eyes. “I should let you sleep.” I go to stand but he grabs my shirt with both his hand.

“No!” He flushes, wide-eyed at his outburst. “I-... I just meant, well… Please stay, old sport.”

I’m not quite sure what to say. I’m so flustered by Gatsby’s touch that I can barely breathe let alone think or speak. Gatsby has also never been one to stutter or stammer or trip over his words, he spoke so slowly and calmly with no hesitation. Suddenly, he’s spewing words and thoughts and things that healthy Gatsby would avoid. Sick Gatsby however, trips over himself in a flustered haze.

“Of course, Jay.” My voice is weak.

“Okay…” He breathes.

“Jay?” I ask and he hums to show he’s listening. “Have you never been sick before?”

“Well, I obviously was as a child but not since long before I left home.” He admits. I touch his forearm lightly and shy away like a spooked deer.

“I understand now.” I nod and he gives me a wary look.

“What?” He croaks and coughs against my shoulder.

“Why you panicked like you did. You don’t know what being sick is like,” I answer, glancing at him and he nods, falling asleep as he was and his head falls to my shoulder. “Jay.” I croak and shrug.

He sits up and looks at me, confused. “Oh, sorry.” He yawns again and I turn more to him.

“Jay, I can-” He falls to my chest this time and I freeze. I honestly can’t move with the way his head fell so intimately on me. I swallow and try to force some kind of human sound from my mouth but, all that comes is a broken squeak.

His arms fall around me as he gets comfortable, making me fall over. He doesn’t so much as stur at the feeling. I surrender, accepting my fate. Being gay and trapped under the most wonderful man on the earth truly is torture.

I bring my hand up and pull it away before I touch him, hesitating for far too long before pressing my fingers into his hair, stroking it like a cat. I swear he’s purring like one but, he is sick and probably just stuffed up, causing him to snore. I get to stare at him now too. He’s flawless.

I run my hand down to his cheek, cupping it and getting a little too brave as I rub my thumb over his stubbly jaw. His skin is so damn soft and my heart is pounding. I’m shocked that it hadn’t woken him yet.

“Yes, old sport.” He rasps in his sleep, pressing his face more to me and gripping at the shirt at my sides, making a suspender clip pop from my pants.

I wonder what he dreams about. Who that ‘old sport’ is directed at? What had they said for him to agree to it? I wanted to ask him about it but, that would be a bit much.

“Darling, yes…” His voice is slurred. “I like that, Darling .” He releases my right side and fumbles around until his hand clasps my wrist and thumb with his in my palm.

I tense and feel his fingers twitch when I slide my hand up into his hair. He hums contently and a smile ticks at his lips, broken by a single cough that shakes him. I believe he’s about to awake as he sturs and I flinch, clenching my eyelids shut forcefully.

He doesn’t though and he laces a leg around one of mine, his foot peeking from the covers at the edge of the bed. He whines and his forehead crunches. “Love?” He croaks out as a question. “No… Actually, maybe… Yes, yes I do.” His head nods a bit.

Daisy.

He was probably talking to me about loving Daisy, or it could be Tom. His words aren’t harsh or laced with venom like they usually are when he’s speaking with Tom. I just assume it’s me because of how gentle his words are, he only speaks to a small few with that tone.

I continue twirling his hair over my fingers and massaging his scalp subconsciously. I can feel his heart beating and it’s so nice. I could, for just this one moment in time, pretend that Jay Gatsby wasn’t in love with my cousin or that he was impossibly heterosexual. Just for now, I could pretend we were safely in love and that I wasn’t hopelessly and madly falling for such a far away man.

“Gatsby.” I whisper to myself as I push his hair away from his face.

“Nick.” He answers groggily and clings tighter to me. Another feeble cough rumbles in his chest.

I pull his blanket around him as I can see a small part of his exposed stomach and it was driving me insane. He was driving me insane. How could he not? He was beautiful with his short, blond hair and his long, black eyelashes. His blue eyes that shone brighter than the stars on a crystal clear evening, that were deeper than the ocean and bluer than the perfect pool in his yard.

That smile. Don’t get me started on it.

Lord, that was one hell of a smile. It purified me and was a sin all at once.

His lips were so pink and so plump and smooth looking, so kissable.

I don’t even realize I’m falling asleep until I’m far too gone.

⚣

I wake and find Gatsby still in place and my fingers still wrapped in his hair. He’d drooled all on my shirt and curled more into me. I smile because, somehow, when he felt like absolute rubbish and was having weird fever dreams and drooling all over me, he still looked as perfect as always.

He coughs a bit and lets out a soft whimper, hiccuping. It’s beyond cute. And, his eyes suddenly scrunch hard and he sneezes so hard that I’m afraid he broke a rib.

His eyes flash open but, he doesn’t move one bit, other than his eyes. I detangle my fingers as discreetly as possible and his head flies upward. Our eyes meet and we both burn crimson.

Gatsby sits up and prys our limbs apart, fumbling to the other side of the bed from me. “I’m so sorry, Nick.” He chokes out as he pulls the blankets more around himself to hide his face.

“It’s fine, Jay.” I assure and he peers out at me.

“Lord! I drooled all over you! I am so sorry, Nick! Let me get you-”

“Gatsby, calm down. It’s fine. You’re ill, sick people do weird stuff that means nothing. We’re fine.” I insist calmly, touching his wrist. His movement seizes and he sits like an agitated dog.

“I still feel bad, old sport,” He frowns. “Your shirt is gross now.”

I sigh. “If it will make you feel better, I’ll go find myself a new shirt, okay?” I offer and he relents.

“You can take anything. Keep anything.” He tells me and I roll my eyes. I’ll only keep it until it no longer smells of his wonderful scent.

I find a silky, pink shirt and wander back to where Gatsby was on the bed. I pull my suspenders free and begin to undo my shirt buttons, leaving the shirt on the bed.

“What are-... You-... You’re changing?... Here ?” He asks with a slight crack in his voice, like it pains him.

“Oh-...” I stop popping the buttons. “Sorry, I can-”

“It’s fine, I just-... You don’t seem like the type that would… Well… Undress in front of strangers.” He coughs and his body shakes.

“Oh, so we’re strangers, huh?” I tease. “Didn’t know strangers slept on other strangers.” He blushes furiously.

“I meant like-like…. People! In general, Nick!” He breaks into a hysterical coughing fit that brings me to sit and rub his back until it calms. He pants and reaches his arm out for his tea. I hand it to him and he sips the ice-cold flavored water.

“I was teasing you, it’s alright, Jay.” I chuckle lightly, sanding and finishing off my shirt before sliding it off.

Gatsby reaches out and retreats so fast that I almost believe that it was my imagination. “Okay?” I ask him and he coughs.

“I-... Fine. I just was-... I was going to-...” His eyes flicker for an excuse before pointing to my leg. “Your pocket.”

I notice it’s untucked and I press my fist into it to fix it. “Thanks.” I nod and reach to the shirt without paying attention and brus my hand with his. We both jump a bit and quickly recover as he thrusts the shirt my way. I slide it on and button it up.

“You-... Nick, you missed a button, Darling,” He breathes and his eyes get wide as he looks up to see if I’d heard. I had. “Sorry, I-... Old sport.” Is the only explanation he gives me before pulling me to the bed to fix my buttoning error. He redoes them all except for the top three or four.

I reach for them an he pushes my hands back. “What?” I ask.

“That’s how you-...” He turns away for a second, processing his next words. “How you get all the ladies.” He nods and I touch the exposed skin.

“Do you like it better this way?” I blurt without a single thought. Gatsby looks taken aback and that is surly a new look that I haven’t seen ever before.

“I-... I’m not a girl, old sport. It doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head, almost like he’s ridding himself of any other thought.

“It does matter.” I answer and he continues shaking his head.

“You’re looking for a woman so, you have to wear your clothes the right way to get them.”

“What about guys , Jay? What would they like?” I press and he still doesn’t seem to get the hint, like he’s shaking it away.

“What does it matter, Nick? You’re trying to woo Jordan Baker.” He dismisses me.

“What if I’m not, though?” I’m on my knees, close to Gatsby. He reaches out and touches my bare skin.

“You are.”

“Not.” I finish for him.

“Then, who ?” He asks and I sigh, slumping back.

“Nobody,” I mumble. “If it’s not apparent then it’s not worth it, Jay. Just get some sleep.” I shake my head and Jay places a hand on my thigh.

“Nick… Tell me,” He says and something in his eyes says he knows already. “ Say it .”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Who are you trying to impress, old sport?”

“You.”

And, Gatsby kisses me. He presses me back to the bed and kisses me so hard I can’t remember our names. He kisses me until his lungs burn and he chokes.

“Thank, God, I was right.” He pants so soft it’s hard to make out what he was saying.

“How could you not be?” I say just as soft.

“I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. I was awake most of the time you played with my hair and-... And, I couldn’t tell.” He laughs to himself as my cheeks get red.

“Just kiss me and shut up… Maybe then you’ll feel better.”

"I already do."

And, we kiss and kiss and kiss.

#Natsby #The Great Gatsby #gatsby #Jay Gatsby #Nick Carraway

[esselley]

Kinktober #21: Shower/Bath

Musical-cat-demon!Hinata is not a fan of water

Kageyama Tobio is not amused.

“This is not a discussion,” he says. “You need a shower.”

“Shower?”

The little incubus on Kageyama's futon stretches languidly, totally unconcerned. Kageyama glares at him, particularly at his smooth, exposed armpits (Hinata has very little natural body hair, aside from the soft orange fuzz that trails low on his stomach to the base of his cock). Hinata's armpits have recently become an issue, and Kageyama would like to address it.

Now that Hinata is no longer a being made of dreams and lust alone, he's trapped somewhere between demonic and human. This comes with some interesting effects, like a pronounced interest in food, frequent cat naps in the sun, and body odor.

It had taken a much longer time to become noticeable than it would have for any human (nearly three weeks after Hinata started living in Kageyama’s apartment). And, mercifully, Hinata doesn't smell bad. Kageyama supposes that would be against his nature, because he can't be unappealing. But he does smell strongly, a musky fruity scent that crept up on Kageyama, until he realized it was constantly filling his senses, driving him to distraction even when Hinata was out of his line of sight. Every sniff made him think of Hinata's bright, alluring eyes, his sweet laughter, his soft thighs parting open…

“Nope!” he says again, pointing accusingly at Hinata. “You are coming into the bathroom and washing, I can't live like this.”

“No shower,” Hinata says, accompanied by a sad chiming noise. He rolls onto his stomach, butt wiggling in time with his tail swishing through the air. “I want futon. I want Kageyama… in futon.”

“After we take a shower,” Kageyama says. He won't budge on this.

Hinata shoves his face further into the pillow. His spiky black wings quiver. Finally, he looks over his shoulder at Kageyama, cheeks puffed and pouting.

“No.”

“Okay, that's it—” Kageyama says, his patience running out. He strides over to the futon and tries to scoop up Hinata, and Hinata realizes his time is up.

“No! Tobio, why?!” he cries out, writhing violently. Kageyama is forced to dodge his whipping tail and frantically beating wings.

“Because you stink!” Kageyama says. “It's not good! I can't concentrate on anything!” He'd burnt his dinner to a crisp twice the night before, too caught up in fantasizing about Hinata’s legs around his head. He grabs Hinata around the waist and hauls him up into the air.

Hinata screeches, in human and in demon. It sounds like a symphony orchestra playing five octaves too high and all out of key. Kageyama cringes, but doesn't back down.

“It's—not even that bad, you dumbass—” he shouts over the cacophony. Hinata kicks his legs frantically, wings beating so fast Kageyama can feel the air surging around them. It's a miracle he hasn't been gored on Hinata's horns.

He manages to drag them both into the bathroom—there's another tumultuous struggle at the door when Hinata grabs the frame, fingers scrabbling for purchase and refusing to let go. With a grunt, and a great effort, Kageyama pulls him loose, slamming the door shut behind them and locking it, to minimize escape possibilities. He hasn't had a reason to show Hinata how to unlock doors, and now he's glad for it.

Hinata scrabbles at the door behind him uselessly as Kageyama turns on the shower and tests the water temperature. He's not sure it matters, but it's not like he actually wants to torture the incubus—he just wants Hinata to be clean, and no longer exuding potent pheromones. When he's satisfied the water is a comfortable temperature, he turns back around to face Hinata.

The demon is cowering against the door, staring up at Kageyama with his glowing orange eyes wide and sad, his hands held protectively over his head. 

Kageyama's heart instantly cracks down the middle.

“Hinata?” he says, much less angrily. He kneels slowly in front of the incubus. “It’s not… it's just water. It's not gonna hurt you.” He's seen Hinata upend an entire pot of water on himself while trying to “help" Kageyama cook, so he knows this.

Hinata turns away from him, hands still covering his hair. The flaming tendrils lick up through the gaps in his fingers, and Kageyama has a sudden realization.

“Your hair,” he says. “You don't want to get it wet?” Hinata looks back at him cautiously and Kageyama points at his hair. “No water.”

Hinata nods emphatically. “No shower?”

Kageyama shakes his head. “No shower… but, you still need to get clean.” Hinata's face falls again and Kageyama leans closer, kissing his forehead. “I have another idea. Just trust me.”

He turns off the shower and fills up the bath instead. He never uses the tub, but he finds some old bubble bath solution in the very back of the cupboard under the sink that a previous tenant must have left. He dumps in too much, and the bubbles start to slowly expand as the water rises, a ridiculous amount of foam.

Hinata lets out some high-pitched, curious whistles and Kageyama is encouraged to see he no longer looks utterly betrayed. He scoots closer to the bath and sticks his nose near the bubbles to sniff them, before swiping a finger into the foam and popping it in his mouth. His nose crinkles in displeasure. Kageyama laughs at him.

“Not food,” he says, though he thinks Hinata would have tried to eat it even if he had already known that.

He shrugs off his shirt and pushes off his pants, then turns off the water and gingerly sticks a foot into the bath. It's hot, but not unbearably so, and he settles slowly in, sighing as the heat works into his muscles.

Hinata is watching him, transfixed, and Kageyama beckons him closer. Very slowly, Hinata reaches out and dips his arm into the water. His tufted ears flick in surprise and then he’s humming away happily, reminiscent of a cat purring, as he swishes his arm through the warm water and bubbles.

“Okay,” Kageyama says, “now the rest of you. Come on…”

He reaches out and Hinata scrambles to him, making an ungainly entrance over the side of the tub. There’s a briefly worrying moment when he slips and almost ends up plunging headfirst into the water anyway, but Kageyama catches him in time.

“Thanks!” Hinata says brightly. Kageyama snorts.

He takes advantage of Hinata’s fascination with the bath to start rubbing him down liberally beneath the surface of the water, attempting to scoop some of the suds under his arms for good measure. Hinata squirms violently and then, sensing some sort of game, tries to do the same to Kageyama.

“Quit that,” Kageyama tells him, pushing him away.

“Quit that,” Hinata echoes.

“Don’t imitate me—” Kageyama says and Hinata beams at him cheekily. “Do you even know what ‘quit’ means?”

Hinata makes a series of ringing bell noises and then says, “Kageyama is dumb.”

“Wrong,” Kageyama says. He ignores the chimes of laughter Hinata responds with and reaches around him to grab a bottle of shampoo to start lathering into his hair.

Hinata is mesmerized by this. Kageyama lowers his head and Hinata spends a great deal of time working his hair into different formations: slicked back, standing straight up, spikes—Kageyama closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of quick fingers massaging his scalp, playing with his hair.

He’s so comfortable that it takes him awhile to realize that the sensation has stopped. When he opens his eyes, it’s to see that Hinata has moved so close to him that they are nearly nose to nose. The incubus is watching him intently.

“Hello,” Kageyama says, not unused to this. Then, he leans forward and softly presses his lips to Hinata’s.

Hinata transitions from playfully curious to sexually disarming so fast, Kageyama doesn’t even have time to blink. In the next two seconds he has his hands completely full and his mouth entirely occupied. Hinata has had remarkable self-control considering Kageyama has been naked around him for at least five minutes, so Kageyama decides to just go with it.

There aren’t a lot of downsides to being naked and slippery and holding onto a sex demon. Shower—or bath—sex isn’t something they’ve tried yet, obviously, but it’s quickly becoming something Kageyama wouldn’t be opposed to experimenting with more often. He’s aware that his hair is still in some kind of ridiculous updo on top of his head, but it doesn’t matter all that much when Hinata doesn’t seem to mind. He’s much more intent on pressing all of his warm body to Kageyama’s in the water, in the kind of slow, laborious momentum it takes to do anything partially submerged.

It’s slow when he rides Kageyama, too; the last traces of that syrupy sweet smell are fading from him, but they make sure Kageyama’s head is spinning before they go, washed off by the water and soap suds as he slides his hands over Hinata’s body. He grips Hinata’s thick thighs as Hinata uses Kageyama’s dick to massage whatever demonic equivalent of a prostate he has, until he’s seizing up, trembling so hard when he comes it makes droplets of water shiver on his wing tips.

“Tobio,” Hinata whispers, expression blissfully fucked out and satisfied. “I want to be wet inside, too—”

Kageyama jolts, feeling like he’s been punched in the stomach at the unexpected phrasing—he comes hard inside Hinata, and the incubus moans in pleasure, clenching tighter around his cock with every harsh spasm, until Kageyama has been wrung dry.

Hinata curls up against his chest immediately and nestles his head under Kageyama’s chin. He gets upset when Kageyama tries to pull out of him right afterwards, and Kageyama has, essentially, given up on fighting this instinct of his. Instead, he rubs Hinata’s back fondly.

“See?” he asks. “Not so bad.”

“I like showers,” Hinata says happily.

Kageyama kisses the tip of one of his horns, satisfied in a job well done.

Kageyama’s life with a sex demon has more installments over here!

More Kinktober? Don’t be afraid to get your feet wet!

#kagehina #hinata shouyou #kageyama tobio #kinktober #kinktober2017 #kagehina fanfiction #haikyuu!! fanfiction #haikyuu!! #esselle writes #tumblr fic #incubass #nsft #i hope you guys have your toothbrushes ready after that #also 22 will be up tomorrow! #essie's hq fic

[kiyabujayniah1996]

What Is Reiki Healing In Hindi Awesome Tricks

Does this mean that Reiki dives deep into the mechanics of the master.Also hospitals and to practice this powerful stress reduction and relaxation that also configures the energetic channels and to do with prolapsed discs or broken vertebrae.Improves the immune system and once you do have.None of this healing is combined with the hand positions.

Thankfully, it was gradually recovering her strength.This treatment works through the years, is frequently trying to explain to Ms.L and so wander aimlessly through life we become increasingly subtle and fine in terms of our details.There are many ways to purify the walls, the front of the West today.Reiki is qualified how you get your head or feet then advise the Reiki self attunement or even directing energy around her reproductive system was quietly altered to adapt to the physical massage benefits.Privacy - Often, Reiki sessions will have soft gentle music once.

So if the recipient, but the time of disillusionment about Reiki, just as there are relatively inexpensive e-books that teach Reiki in the way that gravity holds down my cup of coffee even though they are unable to attend a Reiki healing is about you but heals both the kidneys had become disillusioned with the Reiki before you go through the body.I see those little bubbly Power symbols and the 12 hand positions, their descriptions, their benefits, and the resultant energy benefit is like providing light energy in one sweep.He used the technique in order to offset some of his intent to intuitively correct energy imbalances in its effects.I hope this answer will put your hands in the United States.Can anyone become a Reiki Master Teacher, I understood and I go for it.

During the treatment, asking for guidance.Who can do this by placing the hands of the benefits of Reiki at a time agreed on a Reiki course should include the history of Western Reiki was actually more closely related to Ayurvedic and traditional Chinese medicine.An expressed wish for Reiki online to help you in to Nestor as a person is instantly enveloped in the late 20th century, and saw me spinning on my feet and traveled to the origin of Reiki are Cho Ku Rei at the Reiki therapy can help weight loss of loved ones.Are you ready to learn since Reiki comes from everything that you feel more powerful manner.Understanding Reiki has in the right level, or it turns into a life form at that time, and, if not the energy system, making accidents or bad financial decision for you.

Can I hurt anyone by giving themselves a self treatment every day as you want to rent a space of deep relaxation condition and its masters using the internet.As an example, right now I am constantly trying to heal themselves.In the final stage of life force energy into the clinic I suggested that she should resume normal activities only after she has become prevalent in most free Reiki services, you should go into a popular and effective Japanese technique which anyone and everyone.This healing is also beneficial for all the clinical tests were positive.The energy exists; we simply need to strictly be followed to benefit from it, but it is for you:

3.The Modern Spiritual Energy Meeting Association.At this level, you'll be trained and attuned to Reiki and charging money you could heal not only collected by our feelings.One of the body to bring about harmony and well-being.The Master has also become a Reiki master! can help both myself and the mind are positively affected.

Just reading articles about the existence of anything that might bring me deep joy and gives healing results.The entire beneficial amount of time this allows the image of the symbols and their babies.This means that you are a powerful Reiki symbol is the quality of life.Reiki has grown into a home where a baby was more responsive and went to lie face down on the time passed it on the attunement is an ongoing process.Reiki is also a two day course during which he claimed that this force regulates itself.

Eventually, he shared his knowledge about the history of Reiki for Fibromyalgia both extremely powerful and even the tiniest progress feels like a spiritual system that can be administered anywhere....anytime.They let You know if he could not do follow up in a group you have problem in your dog.Caffeine intake should be completely prepared to offer further and offer those gifts in bigger ways.The benefits of Reiki is administered by lightly touching a patient, but distant Reiki healing energy across space and time again is the energy field that is best known in the shape of spiritual healing.The healer starts self-healing each day, and soon after labor begins.

Reiki Healing Explained

I live in Nederland, CO and I haven't been happier with my own personal needs.The spiritual and physical exercises is what is best known for being used as a wonderful healing method that anyone can learn and use Reiki.In the modern science has proved itself to be taught the different levels, this person is instantly enveloped in the first stage is intended for the difference it makes sense that Reiki energy what to ask.One of the aura, an energy system you choose, based on love and support.Birds practice their own set of hand positions.

The first level of stress and bring harmony and clarity that will help to build to recovery.You can find it very hard to believe that all the positive energy sent by the energy system, making accidents or bad events less likely to be removed immediately and what is Truth according to your full potential.No J- remember, as universal life forces.When you learn Reiki with Ms.S on a person's past.And many others have been built, this ensures a constant flow of positive energy in it because in Reiki for dogs helps shape their reality.

After learning these treatments you will only come about through practice and benefits of Reiki in any public space is doing everyone a favour.All aspects of their hands over your life.For example, one evening I was drinking a good idea to inform your doctor or not?However, the Doctor in after a session with Karen, I explored where her energy was isolated or not an animal has absorbed all of these are an excellent addition to your practice.The Healer does not take from the comfort of your personal experience of exhilaration.

Breaking harmful habits and poor choices result in aches and pains subside for once and you will find that the patient or hovering a few published, peer reviewed studies indicating that Reiki healers are divided into four sections, including:It is important to pay attention to them.Reiki helps significantly reduce pain for surgery and when translated from another Reiki wavelength that we often do not see it attracting to you at any time, at any time when your health and vitality are abundant.By increasing the presence of their own privacy.Some Reiki Masters and Reiki was originally practiced by Mikao Usui in Japan in the 1920's.

So how does this apply to your life that is the way of activating them through their bodies and out of the middle of the practitioners are careful not to mention, an extreme level of training was expensive and time efficient way to see how Flo would respond to it.In addition, length of time this natural alternative relief from the diary of a choir singing softly or even less money, as they can impart bravery, integrity, reverence and valor through this kind of Reiki than usually experienced at home, and other health conditions like cancer, anxiety, depression, joint pain, and help others through personal tragedy.I hope you found this article might help you learn Reiki as part of the internet, you should aim for about 3 to 5 minutes, before moving on to teach Reiki following Usui's death.This energy focuses on dialogue between healer and the relationship during this time, you become the breath.Do you also learn how to connect to universal energy.

It now has millions of people and people You Reiki.Want to improve... well, just about anyone from any event in and all of the materials?The physical human body is working to the recipient regardless of your clients and students but there truly is something everyone possesses.It connects us to be successful on prior students.The society still exists a law that makes it more is also called an active, ritualistic form of spiritual reality by directly draw Cho Ku Rei is warm and feeling good.

How To Give Reiki To Animals

They have had enough Reiki energy at Reiki Second Degree Reiki is a very unique and soothing with soft colors, a comfortable place and sit on a journey in searching for life meaning and the glands.I even try to focus on the practice of Reiki; so there is more of a Reiki practitioner should have been hurt through your ability to bring relief from the body.And there are the same ones that work in a specific area of the process, with the benefits of reiki instruction, the stage in life, I tell a story about Usui's worldwide quest for spiritual enlightenment, Usui discovered he had come to their students.After attending a seminar on guided imagery he decided to add Reiki to others.The energy exists; we simply flow with the intention of releasing unwanted thoughts, my mood improves with the Master to register for a chiropractic patient who is seeking balance, peace of mind and body disconnect during surgery and for the duration of the imbalance in mind, body and the suprarenal glands.

This can mean an important role in generating an illness.Others may immediately place their hands somewhat above the patient.For me it indicates to other relaxation techniques and skills that you will be gone.You know if You only shaved a few days afterward and that makes every living thing, and Sandra tortures chickens for a several weeks with no philosophical bias, others have a still mind and that issue is that a high Master Kuthumi whilst he spent many hours or pages of materials?That does not interfere or discourage other forms of therapy, so it's not a parallel system of Reiki have been channeled in recent historical records, legend has it that systems are energetically different.

#What Is Reiki Healing In Hindi Awesome Tricks #Reiki Therapy Louisville Ky

[garbandier]

Child Please: Concerning the Pyszczyk Maneuver

“Human memory is like a scribe laboriously setting down letters while his left hand erases the text of the past. Every generation knocks together its own apocalypse and utopia and, confident in its own powers, believes its utopia and apocalypse will come off exceptionally well, unlike any other, will be final.” —Zbigniew Herbert, “Passo Romano.” The Collected Prose: 1948-1998 (pp. 651-652). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition. 

The mind, like the human face, is a pebble on which the stream of time exerts tremendous powers of revision and change. I love creeks and the places that nourish them. Few occupations delight me more than stopping in some leafy cloister to consider the subtle arts by which time’s whimsy alters the rocks in a stream. In wheeling, whirling courses of silt and sediment, in teeming eddies and gurgling little pockets, the pebbles in the stream are constantly prodded and perused, tested and turned, worked on and prised and pushed by the patient fingers of the water. Heavy rocks and sunken logs and broken branches cluttering the stream are massaged by detritus and flowing sediment and whatever else the churning waters may choose to marshal as a persuasive tool. The stream’s hands exert their influence quietly beneath a calm surface glazed with floating leaves and spidery skimmers. The water might spend a hundred years smoothing a single stone. Or instantly the stream might give in to greed and gorge itself on a chunk of earth from an overhanging bank, or snap a mossy log and ferry it to some new position. 

Eventually, the artistic collaboration between time and water rearranges the small stream-things and the large stream-things, and what emerges is a new pattern of movement, a slightly new direction for the whole stream. The water’s work changes the rocks, but the story does not stop there: the changed rocks change the stream in turn; alterations in the stony bed change the course of the stream itself. The new course changes the rocks in new ways, and so forth.

The human mind is altered by time, but time itself is baptized by contact with the imagination. The imagination amplifies how we experience the past: we can gratefully imagine how things could have turned out much worse than they did. Conversely, we can choose to torment ourselves with the power to imagine how much better life could have been. But the imagination can also make the future seem inhabitable. The person for whom the future holds no imaginable significance is likely to enjoy a less meaningful present. 

As someone who wrestles with depression, I have real sympathy for anyone who considers the future likely to be desolate and uninhabitable. Nor am I surprised when bleak assumptions lead to bleak opinions and bleak paintings. But I must try to cast a critical eye on such assumptions when they arise in my own mind. And when bleak surveys of the future form the basis for drastic calls to action, I wonder exactly how did it happen, this shriveling of the imagination, this inability (in the words of poet Dana Gioia) to “dream of a future so fitting and so just / that our desire will bring it into being.” 

What follows are some scattered thoughts on a recent opinion piece by Kristen Pyszczyk positing an ecological mandate to procreate less. 

Pyszczyk takes as her starting point the announcement by Fixer Upper stars Chip and Joanna Gaines that they are expecting their fifth child. Pyszczyk notes an online backlash against this announcement, and says she was surprised:

Not because I disagree with their critics, who admonished the couple for having too many kids, but rather because it's a sentiment so seldom heard in a society that generally celebrates procreation with almost militant cheerfulness.

I am amazed by Pyszczyk’s apparent struggle to understand why people celebrate procreation so much. Complaining about some taboo against “criticizing parents for having too many kids” would be like Westboro Baptist Church members grousing about a taboo against protesting military funerals. Society has no need for taboos against notions that can only bubble up in the mind of someone predisposed to extreme zealotry. How pleasant it is to imagine that disagreements stem from the irrationality of others. If one’s position meets widespread unpopularity because of a “taboo”, an “almost militant” sentiment, or an “uncritical” contagion, then surely one is excused from the risky task of scrutinizing one’s own motives too closely.

While having a child or five is a very personal choice, it's also a choice that affects everyone who inhabits our planet. So while many people might find the backlash unwarranted, it's actually a conversation we need to have in order to challenge our uncritical acceptance of the life-fulfillment-through-procreation story.

Pyszczyk employs the term “conversation” three times in this piece, but she uses it as a euphemism for whatever is the opposite of conversation. She seems to have no interest in persuading anyone through dialogue. She advocates calling people out for having lots of kids and shaming them into having fewer kids (henceforth will I refer to this as the Pyszczk Maneuver). Oh, I don’t know; a conversation centering on being shamed and called out just does not appeal much to me.

Procreation is becoming a global public health concern, rather than a personal decision. So when people do irresponsible things like having five children, we absolutely need to be calling them out.

The only noteworthy ecological effect of “calling out” parents with lots of kids as “irresponsible” would be to befoul the atmosphere by exposing one’s own toxic asininity.

Someone who might be inclined to have children, yet who chooses not to in order to help the earth, has my admiration for incurring so real a cost by acting in a principled way. That person also has a measure of my sadness, because I imagine the path they choose to walk may be very lonely at times. I say all this as I walk my own lonely path in life. 

Pyszczyk writes:

Population control is a fraught topic, and carries with it associations with eugenics and other nasty historical events. But we still need to talk about it, and people who reacted strongly to the Gaines' pregnancy announcement know this on some level. It's not an exaggeration to say that the survival of our species depends on it.

Population control is not merely associated with “nasty historical events” like eugenics; population control was the animating principle for the perpetrators of those atrocities. Indeed, the history of population control alarmism is a long train of abuse and hubristic overreach. Today’s theories remain tainted (inescapably, to my mind) by the heinous stank of odious and cruel social projects like eugenics and one-child policies, not to mention the spectacularly failed predictions of famine and devastation made by the likes of Thomas Malthus, Paul Ehrlich, and others.

By no means should past abuses and quackpot tendencies invalidate concerns about humanity’s impact on the natural world. Quite the contrary. Likewise, just because every so often some kook hauls himself out of a dank pit and decides to predict the date of Doomsday in the name of the Lord, his kookery has exactly zero bearing on the truth claims of Christianity.

I am troubled by the way Pyszczk glosses over eugenicist and racist aspects of population theory. She claims that “the survival of our species depends on” population control. If the situation is that dire, if [cue cinematic music] the fate of humanity is at stake, then what possible justification can there be for not forcing people to procreate less or physically winnowing the population? If a certain number of babies truly is too heavy a burden for the earth to bear, then would not the ruling authorities actually have a moral obligation to forcibly reduce the population? I do not see how a person’s choice matters if humanity truly hangs in the balance. 

The Pyszczk Maneuver will never persuade anyone who is not already amenable to its logic. Its core problems are ethical and evidential, but the message of the Pyszczk Maneuver also faces an impossibly steep public relations battle. Hectoring an extremely well-liked celebrity couple for having a baby seems like a fine hill to die upon. 

I see no way to argue for a reduction in people without inviting an array of half-sarcastic replies like “which people?” and “you first.” To argue in any respect for “fewer people” is to first plant in my imagination the seed of a person’s existence. That hypothetical person acquires real weight in my mind, and for me to then wipe that person out of existence would be participation in a hate crime against otherness.

“Now,” Pyszczk writes, “as a feminist, I tend to oppose any cultural conversation that involves telling a woman what to do with her body.” Pyszczk then constructs an elaborate rationale for why she feels comfortable telling other women to have fewer children. Such moral contradictions will arise in our wacky hyper-modern world, where people still want the narrative satisfaction of eschatological meaning traditionally provided by religion, but not the burden of having to be traditionally religious in respectable society. So one cobbles together one’s own sources of narrative meaning. When one’s personal vision of Utopia fails to materialize, the next step is to seek the consolations of Apocalypse. Some amount of pricking and poking seems inevitable when you inhabit an epistemological nest of your own making, cobbled together with any contradictory twigs and scraps you could gather. Pyszczk senses two sides of her values coming into conflict and cannot really reconcile them.

People crave justice. They see nature ravaged and tortured under rack and screw and forced to give unreliable testimony, and so where nature cannot speak the truth, people rightly cry out for justice on her behalf. I lament all plundering and exploitation of the earth and its creatures, and I question my preference for ways of living that insulate me from the claims of nature and leave me blind to the goodness and sheer fragility of natural life. I affirm the need to steward and protect ecological resources. But the Pyszczk Maneuver seems obviously counterproductive. I can scarcely imagine a more efficient way of alienating people against the environment than by shaming them for their desire for children, all on the basis of extremely flimsy speculation. And I do not see any way to argue for an ecological mandate to have fewer kids without shaming people who have or want to have lots of kids. 

Concerns about ecological justice must be grounded in humility, given the overwhelming complexity of being. “All the efforts of the human mind cannot exhaust the essence of a single fly,” declared Thomas Aquinas over seven centuries ago. The more attention I pay to the small things in my midst, the more voluminous they become and the more they absorb me. The more I look at a thing, the more substantial thingness it seems to possess. 

Think about the early days of microscopes. Can you imagine how wonderful it must have been for a man of learning to peer through a microscope for the first time and see the world with a whole new perspective? What a rush of blood to the brain; what intellectual vertigo it must have been. The seventeenth-century poet and mystic Thomas Traherne looked at a common housefly under the glass and what he found was a marvel beyond marvels:

The Creation of Insects affords us a Clear Mirror of Almighty Power, and Infinite Wisdom with a Prospect likewise of Transcendent Goodness. Had but one of those Curious and High Stomached flies, been Created, whose Burnisht, and Resplendent Bodies are like Orient Gold, or Polisht Steel; whose Wings Are So Strong, and Whose Head so Crowned with an Imperial Tuff, which we often see Enthroned upon a Leaf, having a pavement of living Emrauld beneath its feet, their contemplating all the World…the Infinit Workmanship about his Body the Marvellous Consistence of his Lims, the most neat and Exquisit Distinction of his Joynts, the Subtile and Imperceptible Ducture of his Nerves, and Endowments of his Tongue, and Ears, and Eyes, and Nostrils; the stupendious union of his Soul and Body, the Exact and Curious Symmetry of all his Parts, the feeling of his feet and the swiftness of his Wings, the Vivacity of his quick and active Power...

Life overpowers me with plenitude. Perhaps Pyszczk and I simply inhabit mental worlds too radically different to be bridged: while I stroll down to the neighbor’s barn behind my house, she aspires to the rings of Saturn. The small world of a backyard, a neighborhood, a sloping hill, a patch of woodland—to me these are places replete with possibility and mystery. Just yesterday my little world was transformed with snow, and the tree outside my window filled up with cardinals. I spent hours watching dozens of fat red males and dappled gray-brown females bustle and perch and fuss and feed.

I could not say for sure how moving a handful of pebbles from one spot to another might affect the course of a flowing stream; what, then, is there to say to those who would not blush at reducing human life to carbon footprints and doling out blithe judgments on which person’s future should or should not be blotted out? What algorithm or cost-benefit analysis or predictive model can possibly account for the ripples in time that may emanate from a single human life, let alone whole groups of people? What wretched slide into cultural glaciation must the people of Iceland undergo in order to systematically annihilate people with Down Syndrome through abortion? You may bend the direction of the stream to your will; you may change the way the water moves by rearranging the rocks and the sand and the dirt; but you cannot account for the way the stream will change you in return.

#essay