preserve beauty

A friend: hey how are you doing today? are you drinking enough water? did you sleep well?

Me, internally: yusuke kitagawa was so struck by the aesthetics of a pair of lobsters that he compared their beauty to a model’s and then purchased them to take them home with him and use them as inspiration for his art and I think that’s a lesson we can all learn from to try and improve the quality of our lives by finding the beauty in the mundane and also he wore a hoodie to the beach probably to preserve his beautiful skin that precious angel is the pinnacle of self care and personal wellness and I should strive to take care of myself in the same manner bc it could only be beneficial

Me, externally: i’m good thank you for asking.

Wonder Woman was so pure and good and needed and as flawed as its heroine but was a movie that ultimately resonates with our time in history because it reminds us that love has power–not in a naive or saccharine way, but because it has a cost and requires commitment. It requires the commitment to keep fighting injustice, resisting evil and treasuring what is good despite the darkness the world may hold. There is invaluable strength in that kind of compassion and love, and that’s what I took away from Wonder Woman. We may not be able to save everyone or fix everything, but we must ask ourselves if we are willing to lean on a love outside of ourselves and choose what is right but not easy.

Diana is captivating because she is refined by the fires of loss (of loves, of innocence) and emerges as a woman of hope rather than despair. She is a survivor of war and its carnage but has not been broken beyond disrepair. Instead she takes in all that she has learned and all it has cost her and it becomes her catalyst to keep serving others and preserving what is beautiful and good. There is a Tolkenian kind of undercurrent there that lingers, that speaks to my soul because even though we may not deserve to be saved and there IS so much evil that humans are capable of, there is still something wondrous about human beings–the contradictions and nuances inherent in who we are. We may be the problem as Steve Trevor points out, but there is something about us that has been judged worth fighting for, and that’s the conclusion Diana comes to. I find that so, so compelling, far more than any superhero film I’ve seen because this is not just Diana’s story it’s telling–it’s ours.


Spectacular “black” fluorite under white light and then back-lit to show its true color: the richest purple I’ve ever seen on fluorite! Most of the crystal is too dense to let light pass through giving it its seemingly black color.

*Rock fact* What is black fluorite?

There is no “true black” fluorite. Black is used to describe specimens that are super dark and appear to be black in normal lighting. The true color of these specimens are commonly purple and rarely blue and are only seen when back-lit. Please note that natural specimens that are dubbed “black” are VERY rare! The darkness is caused by exposure to radiation during the crystal’s growth. The radiation levels do not make these specimens unsafe to handle; just makes them look super cool! Like all colored fluorite, black specimens are vulnerable to sun-bleaching/fading. Keep them away from sunlight if you want to preserve their rare beauty!

Photography and set-up by Greg Nold

Fluorite specimen is mine

See more here!

Don’t You Dare Steal My Heart (Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader)

Write-A-Thon: Day 3 (Lit Day)

Summary: Everything has a consequence, good or bad. Whether it be a fall from a cliff or a stolen kiss, nothing will ever be the same.

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 7635 (I’m literally the most extra I’m sorry)

A/N: This is a bit late but this is for Day 3 of the write-a-thon. it’s based off of the book I’ll give you the sun by Jandy Nelson but I sort of got a little off track with the plot, oops. I ended up making it a lot longer than I originally intended and theres still quite a bit left in the google doc, so I’m dividing it into either 2 or 3 chapters and I’ll be posting the next parts some time in the next few days. Without further ado, enjoy my fic.

It was said that the fall from the cliff would be fatal, but you knew better. You’d seen Anthony take the dive countless times, miraculously swimming back to the surface after a few moments of submersion. It wasn’t the fall that would kill you, it was the rocks.

If you weren’t careful about where you landed, you’d hit the rocks rather than the cold embrace of the water. And yes, that would indeed be fatal.

Despite having witnessed Anthony survive the plunge time and time again, you still felt your stomach drop to your knees every time he did so. Yet he always broke through the surface only a few moments later, but still: there was always that terrifying, heart stopping moment as you watched him fall through the air, and for a fraction of a second, you were convinced that he’d miscalculated his dive, that he would hit the rocks, but luck always prevailed.

You watched through eyes darkened by worry as Anthony climbed up the set of stairs that had been built into the cliff. His curly hair was matted against his head, and his clothes were dragged down by the weight of the river water, but his face was still illuminated by a wide grin.

His eyes sparkled with a fervent and ever burning fire, a genuine sort of happiness that Anthony seemed to carry with him in his pocket, a ray of sunshine that he held close to his chest at all times.

As soon as he was close enough to reach, you smacked him playfully with the sleeve of your hoodie. “For fuck’s sake, Ant. It’s got to be thirty degrees out, and you could freeze.”

He raised his hands in surrender, grinning like an idiot. “Hey. Hey. I’m fine, aren’t I?”

“This time,” you mumbled under your breath, earning another laugh from your cousin. “You could get seriously hurt,” you told him, knowing that this was no surprise to him

“Don’t worry about it, (Y/N).” That stupid smile remained on his face. As much as you loved your cousin, it was impossible to reason with him. He paid no regard whatsoever to his own safety, preferring to but his life on the line just for the sake of fun.

You stood your ground, daring to keep your gaze steady, meeting his. You were happy to stand there staring him down until the world around you had crumbled into nothingness and your life had become as meaningless as the words on the pages of the books you read: forever to be glazed over and soon to be forgotten.

Drawing out a smile, Anthony threw his head out a let out a great bark of an Anthony Ramos laugh: loud and clear, cutting through the still air with the sharpness of a knife. “You worry too much.”

His words were thinly veiled in truth, but forever failing to contain it in its cloak of white lies. You did worry too much, but only when it came to Anthony.

You shoved his jacket out towards him. “I’m not worrying right now.” Your words slid bitterly between your teeth. You weren’t lying: in that moment, you weren’t worried at all, not now that the moment of anxiety had passed.

Anthony took the jacket, an amused look taking over his face. “What’s the matter?”

You rolled your eyes, drawing your gaze out around the park. The world seemed to be washed in various shades of grey, a cold and artificial setting for the cold and artificial people to carry on with their cold and artificial lives.

The ground was littered with empty soda cans and candy wrappers, a bitter visual reminder that teenage recklessness would always reign superior over common sense, and that the high schoolers would forever carry with them such a blatant disregard for nature, with no reason in their minds to care for preserving the beauty of the world around them.

“I think you’re being an asshole.” You offered up what you both already knew.

Anthony smirked and dug around in the pocket of his jacket for a few moments before pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “I know.” He knew. He knew it a thousand times over, just as he knew that jumping off cliffs was reckless and stupid and that smoking could give you cancer. But he couldn’t find it in himself to care, as he lit a cigarette and tucked the rest of the pack safely away in the pocket of his jacket. He slung it over his shoulder and held the cigarette loosely between his lips, in what seemed to you as some pathetic attempt to look cool.

You often struggled to define the nature of your relationship with Anthony. You were much closer than many other pairs of cousins, yet you often found yourself losing your temper with him. People constantly told you that you and Anthony acted like siblings- perhaps that was it. You were like twins, always joined at the hip when he came into town. But lately Anthony had seemed off, much different than how he usually tended to act. There was the cliff diving, and then the smoking habit which had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Anthony was a different person than he’d been when you two were little, but then again, so were you.

“It’s five, we should be getting home,” Anthony told you, all too cynical and formal. You sometimes forgot that beneath the tough and fearless exterior, Anthony cared quite a bit about pleasing adults.

“My parents won’t care,” you supplied, knowing that that was vastly untrue. But lately your parents had become intolerable, even more so than Anthony. It seemed as though all they cared about was your art, and every moment with them was spent discussing your application for CSA: California School for the Arts, the prestigious artistic school in San Francisco.

Of course, you wanted more than anything to get into the school, but the constant pressure that had been put on you by your parents had begun to take the fun and excitement out of the process. Even the act itself of doing art, which had once been an escape had started to feel like a chore. Each drawing, every painting had to be done perfectly and in such a short amount of time that you could barely remember why you’d once loved it.

“They’ll care.” Anthony spoke with a sort of finality, putting his foot down to squash any sort of disobedience. Your mother had told you to be home by five thirty, and being even a minute late would the single most horrible act a person could commit- at least in the mysterious mind of Anthony Ramos.

“You’re a dick,” you decided with the kind of nonchalance that dug down deep with intent, set out purely to get under Anthony’s skin. Sure enough, you were met with success.

“Because I jump off cliffs and want to enjoy my life instead of just letting it fly by like you do?” Anthony demanded, indignance drawing itself out in his voice.

“Because you risk your life for the sake of having fun and you think that those cigarettes will make you look cool,” you clarified. You gave way to the smallest of smirks as you crossed your arms over your chest. “But by all means, continue what you’re doing. Don’t let something as simple and irrelevant as common sense stop you.”

Anthony chuckled softly, regarding you with a smile. He seemed to be at a loss for words: he simply turned and began the walk home, way too confident that you would follow.

But you did. You always did.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hi! I just found your blog and I am already in love can I please request 50? Pls have fun with it, I don't mind which HP pairing you do it with ;D My week hasn't been the best (*cough**cough* depression) So it would be great to read something so sweet and funny that it makes me squeal with happiness (as most of your writing already does) Have a great day!

This was co-written with the talented @pennigg101297 

Penni’s writing

My writing

50 - “I’m pregnant”

Draco wanted to murder someone.

Preferable Harry Potter.

(If only you could murder someone while still preserving their beauty. It would be a waste, after all, to not be able to look at Potter anymore, however much it hurt to do so.)

For Potter was stretching on the Quidditch pitch, legs spread, feet solidly planted on the ground and arms elongated over his head. The movement made his his t-shirt rise up, showing a glimpse of defined abs and trail of dark hair leading to… Draco snapped out of his daze the minute he realised that he was openly staring at Potter’s crotch.

Why must you be so gay, he chided himself, forcing himself to look away. To purposefully not pay attention to the way Harry’s bronze skin seemed to be shining, to not see how his muscles stretched tight and almost obscene.
Draco lasted about three seconds before snapping his head back.

Potter was now laying down on the ground, arms resting next to his torso… what in the hell was he doing? But then… oh. Potter lifted his butt, lowered it to the ground and repeated the movement. Again and again and again. Fuck, Potter was doing butt bridges. Draco wanted to face palm, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene.

The little control Draco had over himself until that point seemed to slip away.
Potter was humping into the air, and he was panting, sweating, his hair sticking to his forehead and, fuck, Draco shouldn’t find this hot, but he did, his blood rushing south so fast it was almost dizzying, his stomach so full of heat that it was almost as if he… 

“I’m pregnant,” he choked then, unable to hold it in, because he felt like he was, pregnant on his desire for Harry, Harry, Harry…




Draco had actually said that. Out loud. 

And the worst thing was… Potter had stopped moving. Potter had heard him.

Next time he came to spy on the Gryffindor practice, he was not going to seat on the first row of beaches. Hell to that, he wasn’t going to come watch the Gryffindor practice ever again. He wasn’t going to show up at lessons, either. He was going to run back to the manor, right at that second, be home schooled for for the rest of that eighth year, then work from home. There was no way he would ever show his face outside again, he was going to live as a hermit and - 

“What did you just say?” came Potter’s voice, interrupting his train of thought.

That brought Draco back to reality with a snap.

Potter had risen completely, looking at Draco with wide eyes shining beneath his glasses. “You’re pregnant?”

Draco opened his mouth. Closed it again.

For the first time in his life, he felt speechless in front of Potter. 

Potter raised an eyebrow at his silence, sighed, and then did the most improbable thing - he started walking towards him.


Potter inched closer and closer and closer, until he was standing dangerously near. “Potter, what are you… ” Draco started saying, but was swiftly cut off by Potter, who had bent down to kiss him.

For a second everything else disappeared, Draco’s world zoning down to this, to the soft sigh against his lips, to Potter’s body falling down against his.

Then he reacted, scooping Potter up in his arms to get more, he needed more -

Draco Malfoy wanted to murder someone.

At the moment, though, he was content like this, with Harry’s soft lips against his.

Preferably forever.