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sillysillygoofygoose · 11 months

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A Beach day with Nanami Kento Part Two!

MDNI!!! EXPLICIT CONTENT AHEAD!

Cw: Smut, breeding, daddy kink (only once), small mention of death.

Thank you all for your love on the first part 💕

Link to Part One!!

Previously:

"You'd be a good mama. I wove you." He says softly, you melt, touched by how appreciative he is.

Kento let's out an audible 'aw'.

"Love you too, Jiji." You respond, rubbing his back soothingly.

Kento was fighting his tongue not to repeat Yuji's words to you.

...

After a couple of hours in the blazing sun, Yuji decided that he was ready to go and ready to go now. The boy aggressively throws down the small plastic shovel that he was previously using to pack down the top of his crumbling sand castle, catching the attention of both you and Kento.

"Ughhh, I wanna be home. Dada, Y/N, can we please go?? It sooo hot." He stomps away, abandoning the small kingdom the three of you had just spent the upper part of forty-five minutes building. You hear Kento sigh, watching as his little boy hurriedly grabs scattered towels, angerily stuffing them into the open beach bag.

"Yuji, honey, please calm down." You reason, beginning to stand up and dust off the sand that stuck to your sunscreen-slicked legs.

In his small fit of rage, Yuji stubs his toe on the metalic support pole of the beach umbrella, falling backward dramatically. He tilts his small head back and begins full on sobbing, the pain in his little toe and the rough sand coating his body being the cherry on top for his building agitation.

"Alright." Kento breaths out, collecting the toys that built the mighty Nanami Empire.

Nanami Kento is a very patient man. However, one of his greatest pitfalls as a father is that he can not stand crying children. The high-pitched screams make him want to pull on his ears until they detach from the side of his skull. Luckily, that's where you came in. You fit into the equation like a missing puzzle piece.

You hike over to the small child, who is now looking up at you, big puppy dog eyes evident of exhaustion, tears streaking his chubby cheeks.

His stubby arms reach out for you, cries increasing in volume. You grab him off the sandy floor, hushing him quietly, bouncing him up and down softly. He clings onto you like his life depends on it, quickly calming down, sobs turning into soft sniffles.

Kento looks up from reorganizing the bag, shocked. How does she do it? God, how perfect can a woman be? Even when Yuji was throwing a completely blown out of proportion temper tantrum (as toddlers do), you didn't even huff, gently embracing the emotional boy.

Nanami smiled, relieved that his son found comfort and quieted down. He finishes packing up the rest of your items, walking over to his favorite pair. Yuji had passed out on your shoulder, a ghost of a smile present on his sleeping face. You're leaning your head on the smaller figure, the essence of a kind mother radiating off of the loving image.

Kento rests his hand on your upper back, catching your attention. You meet his eyes, staring into the honey brown souls.

"You really are so perfect for us. Such a beautiful girl, too." He smoothly expresses, for once in his life, speaking before thinking. Before calculating.

"You really think so?" You whisper, gazing softly at his lips.

"Mhm." He responds, beginning to lean in...

"Mama?" You hear a small mumble from your chest, tearing your focus away from the man next to you. Yuji is still dead asleep, slightly smacking his lips before nuzzling deeper into your neck.

"He must be dreaming about you... come. Let's get him home." Kento snaps back to reality, starting to grab the heaves of crap he somehow has to transport back to the car. You lightly pat Yuji on the back, almost as a 'Gee, thanks kid'.

...

The ride back to the Nanami residence was silent for the most part, both you and Kento just as tired out as Yuji. You felt yourself slightly drifting off when Nanami's large hand landed on your mid thigh. All you remember was gripping onto one of his long fingers before falling asleep yourself.

You woke on a suede couch, the fabric cool on your skin. You take in the familiar surroundings of the luxury condo, wrapped in a blanket that is busy combating the cool air conditioning.

"Oh good, you're awake." Kento walks into the spacely living room, two cups of tea in hand. He handed one to you before sitting across from you, studying your tired face.

"Don't worry, he's fed, showered, and asleep upstairs." Nanami smiles, picking up on the small look of worry present on your angelic features. He heard a small sigh of relief as you delicately lift the fragile, hand painted porcelain to your begonia-shaded lips.

"Thank you again, Kento. I really did have fun. You two are so special to me." It's Kento's turn to blush, his name rolling off your tongue like it was made to say it.

"Of course. You're really special yourself... you'd be a wonderful mother in the future. Have you ever thought about having your own kids?" Kento took a chance with the slightly personal question.

You look up at him, once again holding eye contact. Something in the tone of his was different. Almost suggestive, enticing to you.

"Uhm, yeah, yeah, actually. I would love to have kids." You stutter out, slightly taken a back.

"How many?" Rapid fire questions. Are you being interviewed for the job again?

"Hm, I'm not really sure. I think that's something that would come with time." You respond, unsure. Kento hums, seemly pleased with your answer. However, you have your own questions.

"Mr. Nana- I mean, Kento... what happened to Yuji's mother? If you don't mind me asking." A deep sigh exits the older man's mouth, making you immediately regret your question.

"Never mind, I'm so sorry... that was extremely inappropriate of me to ask." You immediately backtrack, covering your mouth, deciding you should've just stayed curious.

"No, no, don't apologize. It's alright. We separated before we knew she was pregnant with Yuji. We tried to make it work, but the flaws always overshadowed the strengths. She... she passed during childbirth. It really was a shame." Kento explains solemnly, clearing his throat as his eyes focus on the tea leaves left in his cup.

"Oh, I see. I really am sorry, Kento... sorry for your loss." Feeling your face drop, you quietly express your sympathy, the air around you thickens, becoming suffocating.

"It's quite alright. We get along just fine, don't you think?" He offers up a small smile, warming up the cool room. You nod, bowing your head as he takes your empty cup from your hand, walking it to the kitchen sink.

"You still look sleepy, let's head to bed, okay?" He turns, reassuringly rubbing your shoulder, guiding you to stand up. You furrow your brows, looking over your shoulder at the discarded blanket and pillow on the large couch.

"Don't be silly, you're not going to sleep on the couch... it's not good for your back. You can join me in bed. If that's alright with you, of course." Reading your thoughts before you even articulated them. You simply nodded again, still shaken up from the small feeling of guilt deep in your stomach.

...

Kento lended you a baby blue, oversized night shirt, watching as you walked out of the bathroom suite, the fabric falling almost to your knees. Your hair was still damp and slightly strewn after washing the smell of sunscreen and salt water off of your tired body. You looked as beautiful as ever to him.

The two of you crawl into the crisp sheets set atop of the memory foam mattress.

"Goodnight, Y/N." Kento speaks into the muted atmosphere of the shared king-sized bed.

"Goodnight. See you in the morning." You mumble, eyelids heavy and fighting to stay open.

...

Your eyes flutter open at the sound of a harsh beeping ringing out in the restful ambiance of the room. Eying the angry alarm clock, you attempt to sit up, stopped by a heavy weight on your waist. Kento has his strong arms wrapped around you, face nuzzled into your back. You shift in his arms, body heating up as his grip tightens at your scurrying. You gently glide your fingers through his blonde, disheveled locks, grazing your nails gently across his scalp.

"Kento... Kento, it's time to wake up." Your hand travels from his head to his neck and down to his muscular bicep, shaking him awake. He sits up, freeing you of his warm embrace, reading the alarm clock... four a.m.

Pushing multiple buttons, he stops the blaring alarm before laying right back down, pulling your back even closer to his bare chest.

"Kento, you need to get ready for work." You remind him, gently squeezing his forearm.

"Mmm, I know. Just lay with me, Y/N, baby. Just for a bit." He slightly presses his hips against yours, punctuating his request with his prominent bulge. You feel yourself clench around nothing as he groans, the pressure in his sweatpants building.

"Do you... do you want me to help you with that, Mr. Nanami?" Your voice shaking, anxious that you somehow got the wrong idea. He hums, moving your hand from his forearm to his growing erection.

You turn around in his arms, taking in his sharp features as you begin palming him through his thin sweatpants before completely pulling out his length. He looked unreal. Strong eyes softened, half lidded in pleasure. His normally stoic expression is broken, mouth hanging open, cheekbones tinted pink. Your fingertips lightly grazed the tip, sending sensations of euphoria through his still drowsy body. Slowly, you lower your head, keeping your eyes on his blissed-out expressions. You place kitten licks all over the head of his cock, each lick becoming progressively more lengthy. Before he can blink, you're taking his entire length down your throat, feeling each thick vein on your tongue.

His dick is just as gorgeous as he is. He was average length, but he made up for it in thickness. Your tiny hand can barely grip around the whole thing. The shaft a shade darker than his light tan skin, the head a blush pink. One prominent vein travels completely from the base, stopping right before his tip.

You bob your head up and down, small, muffled chokes escaping from your throat. Sucking in your cheeks, you create a strong suction around his member, making him buck his hips and moan.

"Oh fuck, Y/N. Stop, stop, stop, I'm gonna cum." Kento hurriedly blurts out. You try to keep your mouth on him, but he laces his strong fingers through your messy hair, pulling you off his dick with a 'pop'. You pout, eager to feel his cum hit your taste buds.

"C'mon baby girl, don't you want me to cum inside you?" He slurs, sitting up. You nod as he flips you over, hovering over you. His nimble fingers circle your clit, the cotton fabric of your panties sticking to your wet pussy. Wasting no time, he pulls the soiled fabric down your soft legs, almost salivating at the flower blooming between your spread legs.

"How about I give you your babies now, huh? Make you a pretty little mommy..." Kento whispers, nipping at your ear as he slides his erection up and down your aching cunt.

"Ah, please, please, Daddy, give me a baby. I want you to breed me. I need you."

That was all Nanami needed, pushing his fat dick inside your desperate pussy. He lets out a deep guttural groan, only for it to clash with your heavenly moan. You prop your legs up over his broad shoulders as he grips onto your hips, pushing himself as deep as he can reach. Your velvety walls entice him to snap his hips into yours harder, pounding you into the mattress.

"Fuck, wanted this for so long, sweetheart. So. Fucking. Long. You feel incredible, baby." He moans, trying to keep his breath steady. The two of you were in pleasured bliss together, the skin on skin contact overwhelming. You have found your nirvana.

"Oh Kento, you fuck me so good. God, I'm going to- I'm going to..." You throw your head back, clinging onto his shoulders.

"Go ahead, pretty. Cum for me." He cups your cheek, forcing you to gaze lustfully into his sharp honey eyes.

Everything goes white as the headboard bangs against the wall, Nanami fucking you through your orgasm. He follows close after you, the feeling of your soaking cunt clenching around him sending him over the edge.

He pushed your legs to your chest as he pulled out, holding onto your feet, hypnotized by the sight of his thick, white, creamy cum oozing out of your swollen pussy.

Licking his lips, he collected his own cum on his tongue, moving up to your fucked-out face. You open your mouth wide, allowing his tongue to intrude, mixing the combination of his cum and spit in your mouth.

He kissed your forehead, leading you to the bathroom, giving you privacy as he allowed you to take care of your business.

You settle back into bed, slipping on Kento's shirt as he went to shower, his rough fucking tiring you out.

You hear the bedroom door squeak open, revealing a small boy, hair sticking up in five different directions.

"Dada? What was that bang? Did something fall owver?.. Oh, good morwning, Y/N!" Yuji ran over to you, jumping onto the bed and cuddling into your side, quickly forgetting about the sound that startled him awake.

"Good morning, sweetie!" You held his small hand, disregarding his prior remarks.

...

Nanami steps out of the bathroom, a towel hanging from his wide hips. His heart melts at the sight in front of him... you and Yuji deep asleep, holding each other. He walks over to the two of you, big hands engulfing both of your smaller heads. His kisses both of your foreheads before getting dressed for work.

~Four year time skip~

"Mom, Mama! Hurry up! You have to see what Daddy taught me!" Yuji excitedly exclaims, running toward the ocean the second you reached the beach. You place your hand on your prominent baby bump, struggling to walk on the shifty sand under you.

"You doing okay, sweetheart?" Your husband Kento supports your back as he holds your hand, following your kid to the shore.

"Never been better." You respond, waddling along.

Eventually, you reach where your son was skimboarding on the thin waves crashing under his toes. He falls but quickly gets up, waving at you and his father. You both wave back like proud parents, smiling at your pride and joy. Kento pulls you close to him by your rounded waist, kissing the top of your head. You rest your head on his chest, smiling up at him. He smiles back.

#jjk x reader #age difference #jjk #size difference #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #dilfnanami

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probablyasocialecologist · 2 months

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There are enough highways, apartments and offices, malls and hotels, restaurants and theme parks—this despite an ongoing crisis of housing affordability. In the over-carbonised economies of the world’s wealthiest countries, maybe we don’t need to build any more, or only do so in a very targeted manner: hospitals and archives, cooling centres, housing and amenities for climate refugees. Even in these cases, there is often the capacity to reuse and redistribute what we have—to reconsider the role of design as one of maintenance, repair, and adequate comfort. Some buildings are needed. Class A office space and luxury condominiums, not so much. After the Covid lockdowns, the vacant office space in New York City could fill twenty-six Empire State Buildings. Seems like enough. Yet there are still cranes in the sky, still new towers on the boards—indeed, the production of the built environment (and not only in New York) is essential to a growth economy. Any form of enough-ness goes against this premise of relative economic strength being measured by growth, or really by the growth of growth—how much has the GDP gone up, and at what rate? To suggest that, individually or collectively, we already have enough goes against the very foundation of consumer culture. Many life worlds are organized largely, if not exclusively, around accumulation, wanting and getting more—more stuff, more space, more savings. The health of the US economy in particular is measured by rates of consumer spending, and through this measure implicitly directs the global supply chain. What, for example, is the carbon cost of the resurgence of interest in Barbie? The plastics, the shipping, the advertising, the repainting of houses. And given the carbon intensive energy regime that hums beneath this always-growing global economy, all of this—stuff, space, savings—is dripping in oil, vibrating with carbon intensity, keeping the arrow of emissions pointed inexorably upwards. The Austrian/Puerto Rican economist Leopold Kohr referred to this as Skyscraper Economics—how high can we build? How much can an economy grow? Is there a measure of health, or wealth, that is not about this competitive increase, but about a horizontal redistribution? At last year’s Beyond Growth Summit in Brussels, this was framed as a distinction between “ecologically harmful growth competition and well being cooperation.” Architecture’s fealty to growth, investment, and financialization is caught up in this distinction, and faces the challenge of finding opportunities for creativity within a new set of constraints. Why, when a new building is announced on Instagram or in a glossy magazine by some proud firm or client, do we see square footage, a few swanky features, but no mention of the estimated carbon emissions of the building’s life-cycle?

#degrowth #climate change #architecture

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dragonflavoredcake · 2 years

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Handy guide to Hermitcraft groups/platonic pairings

Squads

Aerial Sheep Service (S5): Zedaph, Tango, Xisuma

Allium Alliance: Bdubs, Etho, Beef, Doc, False, Stress

Architechs (S6): Mumbo, Grian, Iskall

Bed Trio / Sleepy Trio: Scar, Bdubs, Grian

Big Eye Crew (S8): Bdubs, Keralis, Tango

Blue Bin Bags (S10): Hypno, Iskall, Mumbo, Ren, Stress

Boatem Crew (S8): Grian, Mumbo, Scar, Pearl, Impulse

Boomers (S7): Impulse, Tango, Bdubs

Create Crew / Coggers: Bdubs, Keralis, Tango, Zedaph, Scar

Clockers: Cleo, Scar, Bdubs

Dragon Bros (S6): Grian, Iskall, Bdubs, Mumbo, False

Evil Empire (S8): Xisuma, Jevin, Beef, Wels

GIGS: Grian, Impulse, Gem, Scar, Skizz

G-Team (S6): Grian, Iskall, Cleo, Mumbo, Stress, Jevin, JoeHills, Tango

Hermitcraft Environmental Protection Agency [HEP] (S7): Scar, Bdubs, Cub, Tango, Xisuma, False, Keralis, Mumbo

Hermit Dads: Joehills, Bdubs, Docm77, Keralis, Tango, Impulse

Hermit Gals: ZombieCleo, Gem, Pearl, False, Stress

Her-munculous (S6): Cleo, False, Stress

Hippies (S6): Ren, Impulse, and Grian

IDEA (S6): Xisuma, Bdubs, Keralis

Jungle Crew (S7): Stress, Mumbo, Grian, Iskall, Scar

Knights of the Square Table (S9): Rendog, Bdubs, Cleo, Joe, Cub, Scar, Iskall

La Revolution (S5): Iskall, Ren, Stress

Magic Mountaineers (S10): Grian, Scar, Joel, Gem, Impulse, Skizz, Mumbo

Mustard Milk Tots (S10): Cleo, Beef, Doc, Skizz, Tango

Mycelium Resistance (S7): Grian, Impulse, Etho, XB, Ren, Jevin, Stress, Doc

Milk Sog Quartet (S9): Bdubs, Scar, Tango, Grian, Cub

Monolith Trio (S9): Ren, Bdubs, and Etho

New Hermit Order (S5): Bdubs, Doc, Etho, Beef

No Braincells Trio / Buttercups (S9): Grian, Mumbo, Scar

PET Neighbors (S10): Pearl, Etho, Tango

Purple Pickles (S10): Joe, Keralis, XB, Xisuma

Red Rashers (S10): Bdubs, Etho, False, Jevin

Sewer Cats (S7): Impulse, Scar, Grian, Bdubs

Soup Group / Trifle Trio (S9): Gem, Pearl, Impulse

Swamp Lump (S8): False, Gem, Stress

Team BEST (S10): Bdubs, Etho, Skizz, Tango

Team Canada: Etho, Beef, Gem

Team STAR / Hermit Gang (S6): Doc, Wels, False, Impulse, Xisuma, Ren, Mumbo (briefly as a double agent)

Team TIES: Tango, Impulse, Etho, Skizz

Team ZITS: Zedaph, Impulse, Tango, and Skizz

Team ZIT: Zedaph, Impulse, Tango

Wood Collective (S10): Beef, Doc, and Skizz

5k Club: False, Cub, Scar

Duos

Aerial Fox Service (S10): Zed and Skizz

Area 77 (S6): Scar and Doc

Aqua Town Duo (S7): Scar and Bdubs

Big Salmon (S10): Beef and Skizz

Birchfellas (S4): Cub and Wels

Boat Boys: Joel and Etho

Clock Duo / Homewreckers: Impulse and Bdubs

Clumsy Cooking Duo: Zedaph and Tango

Convex / ConCorp (S5-S6): Scar and Cub

Crastle Duo: Bdubs and Cleo

Deadliest Duo: Grian and Joel

DERP Duo: Tango and Impulse

Desert Duo: Grian and Scar

Elven Duo (S9): Gem and Scar

End Busters / Mafia Bros: Mumbo and Iskall

Gingerbread Duo: Grian and Gem

Hohenzollern Castle Duo (S8): Joe and Cleo

Horse Head Farms (S8): Hypno and XB

Logfellas (S4): Xisuma and Ren

Maple Duo (S10): Gem and Etho

Octagon (S8): Doc and Ren

Podzol Party (S7): Beef and Hypno

PogSupremacy Duo: False and Ren

Quartz Cleaners: Iskall and Beef

Rich Duo: Mumbo and Keralis

Shattered Savanna Duo (S8): Etho and Iskall

Shiny Duo: Gem and Pearl

Sky Siblings / Sky Duo / Skyblings: Pearl and Grian

Sunflower Duo: Scar and Pearl (S9)

Tall and Short (S9): Bdubs and Etho

Team Plastic: Ren and Iskall

Waffle Duo: Grian and Mumbo

Warden Wranglers (S9): Xisuma and Cub

Wither Duo: Grian and Impulse

PLEASE COMMENT WITH ANY I’VE MISSED, BECAUSE I KNOW I DIDN’T GET ALL OF THEM

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astoundingbeyondbelief · 3 months

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Kaiju Week in Review (March 3-9, 2024)

Shin Ultraman took an eternity to reach home video, but Godzilla Minus One will proceed as a more reasonable pace (by Japanese standards). Toho will release roughly one billion different editions on May 1, with Amazon- and Godzilla Store-exclusive physical bonuses both on offer. Godzilla Minus One/Minus Color is included with some of the pricier versions, or you can buy it as a standalone Blu-ray or DVD.

The black-and-white version of Shin Godzilla, SHIN GODZILLA:ORTHOchromatic, also hits Japanese home video on May 1. Like Minus Color, no 4K edition, just Blu-ray and DVD. A handful of new bonus features about ORTHOchromatic are included.

As is standard for Toho, none of these releases will be English-friendly. But given the films' popularity (and the lack of any legal way to watch Minus One since it left theaters), expect bootlegs to circulate at light speed.

Unsurprisingly, Godzilla Minus One cleaned up at the Japanese Academy Awards, with eight victories out of eleven nominations: Picture of the Year, Best Supporting Actress, Best Cinematography, Best Screenplay, Best Editing, Best Sound, Best Art Direction, and Best Lighting. That's one more than Shin Godzilla, and pretty much guarantees that the Toho Godzilla series will keep the prestige pictures coming. Strange times!

We'll see if Minus One can also capture Best Visual Effects at the American Academy Awards tonight. The Creator remains its biggest competition. The Gareth Edwards film is better-positioned by the usual metrics, with a second nomination for Best Sound and five wins at the Visual Effects Society Awards, but the enthusiasm gap for the films themselves may prove decisive. I'll be doing a much lengthier analysis during Wikizilla's Oscar stream tonight, which will start at about 6:00 PM ET, an hour before the ceremony begins.

Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire tickets may not be on sale yet, but Cinemark theaters have rolled out the above merch (much more efficiently than Target and Walmart have rolled out the toyline, if my local theater's any indication). I have a suspicion those plushies will be worth a mint a few years from now, small as they are; don't know about the other stuff. I bought the larger popcorn tin when I saw Dune: Part Two on Thursday. The promo image is deceptive, as the green area is transparent plastic and the Titan image is on the opposite wall of the tin, so that popcorn's either defying gravity or being held up by a hidden insert. There are Kong and Skar King variants as well, the latter revealing his height (318 feet). Poor Shimo; being the "secret" villain really narrows the amount of merch you get.

The other interesting GxK news this week (apart from the endless TV spot variants, which I'm not even trying to keep track of) is a collaboration with the American Red Cross, of all institutions. Donate blood, platelets, or AB Elite plasma from March 25 to April 7, get a free T-shirt. And for completion's sake, I'll mention the Roblox and Call of Duty cross-promos too.

Chibi Godzilla Raids Again, an unexpected delight last year, is getting a second season starting April 3. The official site revealed that Minilla is joining the cast, while those silhouettes to his right look like Titanosaurus (unjustly neglected in recent years), Gigan, and Gabara. Expect to follow the first season in being uploaded to the GODZILLA OFFICIAL by TOHO YouTube channel with English subtitles.

youtube

Here's another chance to watch Tsuburaya and Toei Animation's Kaiju Decode short, originally released in 2021. (It goes away at the end of the month, because every Japanese studio is apparently hellbent on making short films ephemeral, so download it now.) It's the basis for a recent mixed reality game for the Meta Quest 3 and Meta Quest Pro, hence its return to the spotlight.

UniVersus, a collectable card game predicated on pitting characters from various franchises against each other, is going all in on Godzilla after offering a couple of Minus One cards through highly convoluted means last year. They're releasing a couple of Godzilla Challenger Series (preconstructed decks) on June 21, one based around Godzilla and Mothra, the other around King Ghidorah and Rodan, with Mechagodzilla thrown into the mix for both. I've never played this game in my life, but the prospect of a shiny Godzilla card with James Stokoe art is sort of tempting.

#kaiju week in review #godzilla minus one #shin godzilla #home video #oscars #chibi godzilla raids again #godzilla x kong the new empire #king kong #kaiju

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theculturedmarxist · 11 months

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SHANGHAI — Over the past generation, China’s most important relationships were with the more developed world, the one that used to be called the “first world.” Mao Zedong proclaimed China to be the leader of a “third” (non-aligned) world back in the 1970s, and the term later came to be a byword for deprivation. The notion of China as a developing country continues to this day, even as it has become a superpower; as the tech analyst Dan Wang has joked, China will always remain developing — once you’re developed, you’re done.

Fueled by exports to the first world, China became something different — something not of any of the three worlds. We’re still trying to figure out what that new China is and how it now relates to the world of deprivation — what is now called the Global South, where the majority of human beings alive today reside. But amid that uncertainty, Chinese exports to the Global South now exceed those to the Global North considerably — and they’re growing.

The International Monetary Fund expects Asian countries to account for 70% of growth globally this year. China must “shape a new international system that is conducive to hedging against the negative impacts of the West’s decoupling,” the scholar and former People’s Liberation Army theorist Cheng Yawen wrote recently. That plan starts with Southeast Asia and extends throughout the Global South, a terrain that many Chinese intellectuals see as being on their side in the widening divide between the West and the rest.

“The idea is that what China is today, fast-growing countries from Bangladesh to Brazil could be tomorrow.”

China isn’t exporting plastic trinkets to these places but rather the infrastructure for telecommunications, transportation and digitally driven “smart cities.” In other words, China is selling the developmental model that raised its people out of obscurity and poverty to developed global superpower status in a few short decades to countries with people who have decided that they want that too.

The world China is reorienting itself to is a world that, in many respects, looks like China did a generation ago. On offer are the basics of development — education, health care, clean drinking water, housing. But also more than that — technology, communication and transportation.

Back in April, on the eve of a trip to China, Brazilian President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva sat down for an interview with Reuters. “I am going to invite Xi Jinping to come to Brazil,” he said, “to get to know Brazil, to show him the projects that we have of interest for Chinese investment. … What we want is for the Chinese to make investments to generate new jobs and generate new productive assets in Brazil.” After Lula and Xi had met, the Brazilian finance minister proclaimed that “President Lula wants a policy of reindustrialization. This visit starts a new challenge for Brazil: bringing direct investments from China.” Three months later, the battery and electric vehicle giant BYD announced a $624 million investment to build a factory in Brazil, its first outside Asia.

Across the Global South, fast-growing countries from Bangladesh to Brazil can send raw materials to China and get technological devices in exchange. The idea is that what China is today, they could be tomorrow.

At The Kunming Institute of Botany

In April, I went to Kunming to visit one of China’s most important environmental conservation outfits — the Kunming Institute of Botany. Like the British Museum’s antiquities collected from everywhere that the empire once extended, the seed bank here (China’s largest) aspires to acquire thousands of samples of various plant species and become a regional hub for future biotech research.

From the Kunming train station, you can travel by Chinese high-speed rail to Vientiane; if all goes according to plan, the line will soon be extended to Bangkok. At Yunnan University across town, the economics department researches “frontier economics” with an eye to Southeast Asian neighboring states, while the international relations department focuses on trade pacts within the region and a community of anthropologists tries to figure out what it all means.

Kunming is a bland, air-conditioned provincial capital in a province of startling ethnic and geographic diversity. In this respect, it is a template for Chinese development around Southeast Asia. Perhaps in the future, Dhaka, Naypyidaw and Phnom Penh will provide the reassuring boredom of a Kunming afternoon.

Imagine you work at the consulate of Bangladesh in Kunming. Why are you in Kunming? What does Kunming have that you want?

The Bengali poet Rabindranath Tagore lyrically described Asia’s communities as organic and spiritual in contrast with the materialism of the West. As Tagore spoke of the liberatory powers of art, his Chinese listeners scoffed. The Chinese poet Wen Yiduo, who moved to Kunming during World War II and is commemorated with a statue at Yunnan Normal University in Kunming, wrote that Tagore’s work had no form: “The greatest fault in Tagore’s art is that he has no grasp of reality. Literature is an expression of life and even metaphysical poetry cannot be an exception. Everyday life is the basic stuff of literature, and the experiences of life are universal things.”

“Xi Jinping famously said that China doesn’t export revolution. But what else do you call train lines, 5G connectivity and scientific research centers appearing in places that previously had none of these things?”

If Tagore’s Bengali modernism championed a spiritual lens for life rather than the materiality of Western colonialists, Chinese modernists decided that only by being more materialist than Westerners could they regain sovereignty. Mao had said rural deprivation was “一穷二白” — poor and empty; Wen accused Tagore’s poetry of being formless. Hegel sneered that Asia had no history, since the same phenomena simply repeated themselves again and again — the cycle of planting and harvest in agricultural societies.

For modernists, such societies were devoid of historical meaning in addition to being poor and readily exploited. The amorphous realm of the spirit was for losers, the Chinese May 4th generation decided. Railroads, shipyards and electrification offered salvation.

Today, as Chinese roads, telecoms and entrepreneurs transform Bangladesh and its peers in the developing world, you could say that the argument has been won by the Chinese. Chinese infrastructure creates a new sort of blank generic urban template, one seen first in Shenzhen, then in Kunming and lately in Vientiane, Dhaka or Indonesian mining towns.

The sleepy backwaters of Southeast Asia have seen previous waves of Chinese pollinators. Low Lan Pak, a tin miner from Guangdong, established a revolutionary state in Indonesia in the 18th century. Li Mi, a Kuomintang general, set up an independent republic in what is now northern Myanmar after World War II.

New sorts of communities might walk on the new roads and make calls on the new telecom networks and find work in the new factories that have been built with Chinese technology and funded by Chinese money across Southeast Asia. One Bangladeshi investor told me that his government prefers direct investment to aid — aid organizations are incentivized to portray Bangladesh as eternally poor, while Huawei and Chinese investors play up the country’s development prospects and bright future. In the latter, Bangladeshis tend to agree.

“Is China a place, or is it a recipe for social structure that can be implemented generically anywhere?”

The majority of human beings alive today live in a world of not enough: not enough food; not enough security; not enough housing, education, health care; not enough rights for women; not enough potable water. They are desperate to get out of there, as China has. They might or might not like Chinese government policies or the transactional attitudes of Chinese entrepreneurs, but such concerns are usually of little importance to countries struggling to bootstrap their way out of poverty.

The first world tends to see the third as a rebuke and a threat. Most Southeast Asian countries have historically borne abuse in relationship to these American fears. Most American companies don’t tend to see Pakistan or Bangladesh or Sumatra as places they’d like invest money in. But opportunity beckons for Chinese companies seeking markets outside their nation’s borders and finding countries with rapidly growing populations and GDPs. Imagine a Huawei engineer in a rural Bangladeshi village, eating a bad lunch with the mayor, surrounded by rice paddies — he might remember the Hunan of his childhood.

Xi Jinping famously said that China doesn’t export revolution. But what else do you call train lines, 5G connectivity and scientific research centers appearing in places that previously had none of these things?

Across the vastness of a world that most first-worlders would not wish to visit, Chinese entrepreneurs are setting up electric vehicle and battery companies, installing broadband and building trains. The world that is looming into view on Huawei’s 2022 business report is one in which Asia is the center of the global economy and China sits at its core, the hub from which sophisticated and carbon-neutral technologies are distributed. Down the spokes the other way come soybeans, jute and nickel. Lenin’s term for this kind of political economy was imperialism.

If the Chinese economy is the set of processes that created and create China, then its exports today are China — technologies, knowledge, communication networks, forms of organization. But is China a place, or is it a recipe for social structure that can be implemented generically anywhere?

Huawei Station

Huawei’s connections to the Chinese Communist Party remain unclear, but there is certainly a case of elective affinities. Huawei’s descriptions of selfless, nameless engineers working to bring telecoms to the countryside of Bangladesh is reminiscent of Party propaganda and “socialist realist” art. As a young man, Ren Zhengfei, Huawei’s CEO, spent time in the Chongqing of Mao’s “third front,” where resources were redistributed to develop new urban centers; the logic of starting in rural areas and working your way to the center, using infrastructure to rappel your way up, is embedded within the Maoist ideas that he studied at the time. Today, it underpins Huawei’s business development throughout the Global South.

I stopped by the Huawei Analyst Summit in April to see if I could connect the company’s history to today. The Bildungsroman of Huawei’s corporate development includes battles against entrenched state-owned monopolies in the more developed parts of the country. The story goes that Huawei couldn’t make inroads in established markets against state-owned competitors, so got started in benighted rural areas where the original leaders had to brainstorm what to do if rats ate the cables or rainstorms swept power stations away; this story is mobilized today to explain their work overseas.

Perhaps at one point, Huawei could have been just another boring corporation selling plastic objects to consumers across the developed world, but that time ended definitively with Western sanctions in 2019, effectively banning the company from doing business in the U.S. The sanctions didn’t kill Huawei, obviously, and they may have made it stronger. They certainly made it weirder, more militant and more focused on the markets largely scorned by the Ericssons and Nokias of the world. Huawei retrenched to its core strength: providing rural and remote areas with access to connectivity across difficult terrain with the intention that these networks will fuel telehealth and digital education and rapidly scale the heights of development.

Huawei used to do this with dial-up modems in China, but now it is building 5G networks across the Global South. The Chinese government is supportive of these efforts; Huawei’s HQ has a subway station named for the company, and in 2022 the government offered the company massive subsidies.

“For many countries in the Global South, the model of development exemplified by Shenzhen seems plausible and attainable.”

For years, the notion of an ideological struggle between the U.S. and China was dismissed; China is capitalist, they said. Just look at the Louis Vuitton bags. This misses a central truth of the economy of the 21st century. The means of production now are internet servers, which are used for digital communication, for data farms and blockchain, for AI and telehealth. Capitalists control the means of production in the United States, but the state controls the means of production in China. In the U.S. and countries that implicitly accept its tech dominance, private businesspeople dictate the rules of the internet, often to the displeasure of elected politicians who accuse them of rigging elections, fueling inequality or colluding with communists. The difference with China, in which the state has maintained clear regulatory control over the internet since the early days, couldn’t be clearer.

The capitalist system pursues frontier technologies and profits, but companies like Huawei pursue scalability to the forgotten people of the world. For better or worse, it’s San Francisco or Shenzhen. For many countries in the Global South, the model of development exemplified by Shenzhen seems more plausible and attainable. Nobody thinks they can replicate Silicon Valley, but many seem to think they can replicate Chinese infrastructure-driven middle-class consumerism.

As Deng Xiaoping said, it doesn’t matter if it is a black cat or a white cat, just get a cat that catches mice. Today, leaders of Global South countries complain about the ideological components of American aid; they just want a cat that can catch their mice. Chinese investment is blank — no ideological strings attached. But this begs the question: If China builds the future of Bangladesh, Indonesia, Pakistan and Laos, then is their future Chinese?

Telecommunications and 5G is at the heart of this because connectivity can enable rapid upgrades in health and education via digital technology such as telehealth, whereby people in remote villages are able to consult with doctors and hospitals in more developed regions. For example, Huawei has retrofitted Thailand’s biggest and oldest hospital with 5G to communicate with villages in Thailand’s poor interior — the sort of places a new Chinese high-speed train line could potentially provide links with the outside world — offering Thai villagers without the ability to travel into town the opportunity to get medical treatments and consultations remotely.

The IMF has proposed that Asia’s developing belt “should prioritize reforms that boost innovation and digitalization while accelerating the green energy transition,” but there is little detail about who exactly ought to be doing all of that building and connecting. In many cases and places, it’s Chinese infrastructure and companies like Huawei that are enabling Thai villagers to live as they do in Guizhou.

Chinese Style Modernization?

The People’s Republic of China is “infinitely stronger than the Soviet Union ever was,” the U.S. ambassador to China, Nicholas Burns, told Politico in April. This prowess “is based on the extraordinary strength of the Chinese economy — its science and technology research base, its innovative capacity and its ambitions in the Indo-Pacific to be the dominant power in the future.” This increasingly feels more like the official position of the U.S. government than a random comment.

Ten years ago, Xi Jinping proposed the notion of a “maritime Silk Road” to the Indonesian Parliament. Today, Indonesia is building an entirely new capital — Nusantara — for which China is providing “smart city” technologies. Indonesia has a complex history with ethnic Chinese merchants, who played an intermediary role between Indigenous people and Western colonists in the 19th century and have been seen as CCP proxies for the past half century or so. But the country is nevertheless moving decisively towards China’s pole, adopting Chinese developmental rhythms and using Chinese technology and infrastructure to unlock the door to the future. “The internet, roads, ports, logistics — most of these were built by Chinese companies,” observed a local scholar.

The months since the 20th Communist Party Congress have seen the introduction of what Chinese diplomats call “Chinese-style modernization,” a clunky slogan that can evoke the worst and most boring agitprop of the Soviet era. But the concept just means exporting Chinese bones to other social bodies around the world.

If every apartment decorated with IKEA furniture looks the same, prepare for every city in booming Asia to start looking like Shenzhen. If you like clean streets, bullet trains, public safety and fast Wi-Fi, this may not be a bad thing.

Chinese trade with Southeast Asia is roughly double that between China and the U.S., and Chinese technology infrastructure is spreading out from places like the “Huawei University” at Indonesia’s Bandung Institute of Technology, which plans to train 100,000 telecom engineers in the next five years. We’re about to see a generation of “barefoot doctors” throughout Southeast Asia traveling by moped across landscapes of underdevelopment connected to hubs of medical data built by Chinese companies with Chinese technology.

In 1955, the year of the Bandung Conference in Indonesia, the non-aligned world was almost entirely poor, cut off from the means of production in a world where nearly 50% of GDP globally was in the U.S. Today, the logic of that landmark conference is alive today in Chinese informal networks across the Global South, with the key difference that China can now offer these countries the possibility of building their own future without talking to anyone from the Global North.

Welcome to the Sinosphere, where the tides of Chinese development lap over its borders into the remote forests of tropical Asia, and beyond.

#china #economics #capitalism #communism #hmm

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titleknown · 5 months

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RANDOM ARMY BUILDER FIGURE GENERATOR!

So, as a follow-up to the "build your character like a Ninja Turtle" thing I did based on @therobotmonster's idea, I figured I may as well come up with another one inspired by a fun, silly thing from toy-collecting: Army building mooks!

So...

What sort of Mook are they?

Humanoid

Android/Cyborg

Fleshy Undead

Plant/Fungus

Mineral

Humanoid Animal (Vertebrate)

Alien

Nonhumanoid Robot

Skeleton

Rideable Mount For Other Mooks

Monster-Person

Magic Construct/Doll

Bound Energy/Element/Force

Demon

Alien

Gynoid

Spirit/Ghost

Cosmic Horror

Animate Inanimate Objects

Rideable Vehicle For Other Mooks

What sort of antagonist or force do they work for?

A Dreadful Virus Or Corruption

Advanced Ancient Civilization That Wishes To Rule Again

50s/80s-Type Stylized Street Gang

The Good Guys (Sincere, Bad At It)

PIRATE KING!

The Legions of an Evil Wizard

Satan Or Some Stand-In Parents Won't Whine About

Conquest-Hungry Space Empire

Evil Corporate Capitalist Bastards

The Shiny Pretty "Good Guys" (Secretly Evil)

A Hunger Beyond Time And Memory

Guards/Mancatchers For A Super-Prison

Dishonorable Ninja Clan

AI Either Gone Insane Or Far Too Sane

We Will Assimilate You (AKA Fun With Biopolitics)

Some Variety of Mafia

To Stop The Evil I Must Become Evil (AKA Fallen Heroes)

There's Some Time Travel Shenanigans/Bullshit Going On Here

Big Monster(s) That Think They're The Top Of The Great Chain Of Beings

I Can't Believe It's Not A Mashup Of The Nazis And The Modern US Military

What sort of environment does this mook generally work in?

Jungles

Deserts

Urban Areas

Icy Biomes

Deep Space

Underwater/Ocean

Underground

Swamp

Mountains

Anywhere/Generalist

Cyberspace

Ancient Dungeons/Tombs

Toxic Wastelands

The Sky/Floating Islands

Haunted Places

Prehistoric Ecosystems

Jideigeki/Anime-Type Japan

Volcanoes

Inside A Monster And/Or Fleshy Meat-World

The Future!

What sort of toyetic gimmick does this particular mook type have?

Self-Destruct

Pullback Motor

Vac-Metalized Parts

Hidden Integrated Weapons

Slime Dripping

Grapples/Imprisones Other Figures

LED Lights

Removable Organs/Internal Circuitry/General Guts

Water Squirting

Translucent Plastic

Multiple Interchangable Integrated Weapons

Flapping Wings/Tendrils

Glow in the Dark

Excessive Projectile Launchers

Spinning Blade/Drill

Biting Jaws

Parasitizes Other Figures and/or Vehicles/Mounts

Full of Tinier Men

Excessively Large

Roll Twice

What sort of toyetic gimmick do they have toyline-wide? (Roll once if you're rolling multiple "figures" from the same "line" on this table)

Holograms

Attachable Armor

Spring-Loaded Melee Attack

Comes With A Little Buddy

Magnets

Spring-Loaded Projectiles

Unusual Packaging Integrated Into the Play Pattern

Interchangeable Parts

Collectible Action Figure Game (Yes, That's A Thing)

Transforming

Integrated Shiny Jewel

Some Variety of Slime

Combining

Rooted Hair

Marble Launching

Integrated Speaker/Sound Chip

Pocket-Sized (Think Battle Beasts or Food Fighters)

Die-Cast Parts

Cap Firing

Roll Twice

Have fun!

#random charts #random tables #action figure #toy #toys #toyetic #toy design #army builder #army builders #mooks #minions #no not those ones

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inkykeiji · 2 years

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i love you - i know

anonymous said: ik you’re a pretty big star wars (and vader) fan so i’m kinda curious—would touya-nii binge watch the movies with her, and if reader is obsessed with vader like you, how would he react to her thirsting over anakin? i can just picture him getting jealous over a fictional villain and getting all mad and overprotective

character: todoroki touya | dabi

genre: fluff with a sprinkle of angst

notes: set in my touya-nii au, this is an extremely self-indulgent piece and was written as more of a comfort for myself than anything else but i wanted to share it here since anon prompted it!!! with that being said, this is generally how touya-nii would react to anyone’s favourite character in the most basic sense, so if you’re interested in that, read on!

warnings: no smut but still +18 minors do not interact, stepcest, toxic relationship (possessiveness, jealousy), star wars spoilers (lmao???)

words: 2.1k

synopsis:

“You, uh, you like me better than him though, right? I’m, like, your ultimate favourite, am I not?”

And he hates how small, shy, unsure his voice sounds, coughing harshly to clear the tremble sticking in his throat.

They’re stupid questions; he knows they’re stupid questions, knows the answer is yes, absolutely, of course you do, yet he can’t help but vocalize them, pathetically vying for that concrete reassurance pouring from your lips and cascading over his skin, encasing him in an indestructible coating of your comforting, unconditional love.

“You are my most favourite person in the whole universe,” you tell him lightly, giving him a quick glance through the corner of your eye. “On this planet or any others, niichan, I promise.”

—

It’s a special type of torture, watching these films with you, subjected to all your little mewls and moans that you attempt to subdue, to tone down, purely for his sake; all your little whispered wisps of Daddy that manage to slip from your throat every time Vader’s onscreen, so delicate, so precious the endearment merely caresses your lips on its way out.

It’s the most rewarding type of torture, watching these films with you, privy to all of those sweet bubbles of laughter—vaporized happiness that he devours; down his throat and into his lungs and straight to his very soul—that warm him from the inside out, that make it all so fucking worth it.

On the days where nothing seems to be enough, on the days where his kisses can’t quell the glittery tears staining your cheeks and his cuddles can’t calm the shuddery sobs rattling your ribs and his words can’t lull the misery incessantly ricocheting off the walls of your skull, he’s forced to bring out the big guns.

“Where are you going?” you nearly whimper, body involuntarily leaning forward to follow his heat, his comfort, as he leaves the couch and pads towards your impressive blu-ray collection, proudly displayed across the dark wood shelves lining the far wall of your living room.

Touya doesn’t answer, merely casting a glance over his shoulder in your direction, the grimace chiseled into his face melting into something softer, something sweeter when he spots you curled in a cute little ball, chin resting on your folded knees as gleaming eyes watch him in curiosity, your favourite fluffy blanket wrapped tightly around your form.

Revenge of the Sith, that’s the one that holds the most nostalgia. It isn’t your favourite—no, that’s the one with that weird yeti creature at the beginning, the one where Luke gets shoved into that deformed horse or whatever the fuck that thing is before he dies of hypothermia; The Empire Strikes Back, that’s the one—but it holds a special place within your heart, and it’s a foolproof way to crack the trepidation coating your features with a precious little smile, even if only for an hour or two, one filled with childhood memories and the deep seated soothing nostalgia seems to bring with it.

Slender fingers drum against the plastic held in his palms, Hayden Christensen staring up at Touya from the blu-ray case, beautiful and brooding, and Touya swallows a sigh.

He hates this film.

It isn’t the atrocious writing, or the dreadful CGI, or the cardboard acting—though they all do their part, respectively—it’s him.

It’s the way you react to him, with those girlish squeals and gushing whispers, with hearts in your eyes and pure adoration in your voice, instantly engrossed in Anakin Skywalker’s aura any time he’s on the screen.

Touya supposes he can’t blame you, though. Anakin is your favourite character, after all.

Doesn’t mean Touya has to like it.

“Oh, niichan,” you breathe, a wave of watery appreciation rushing to cloud your vision the moment you realize his intentions.

“You’re having a really rough day,” Touya offers as a halfhearted explanation, a shoulder shrugging awkwardly as he looks away from your penetrative gaze, pure love pouring past your lashes, so potent, so powerful he swears he can feel it stretching his lungs with each inhale, surging down his throat and through his veins, his blood and tissue sparked aflame.

“Thank you,” you whisper as he settles back beside you, taking his rough hands between yours and squeezing, teardrops chasing each other down your smooth cheeks.

“No need to thank me,” he says gruffly, even though he appreciates the gesture more than he can verbally express. “And no more crying, yeah?” Calloused thumbs swipe through the steady streams flowing on your face, killing them instantly. “I’m sure Anakin wouldn’t want you crying either, princess.”

And try as he may, he can’t help the way his features pucker as he all but spits the sentence from his mouth, the name putrid on his tongue.

You don’t seem to mind, though, a giggle-infused sniffle catching tenderly in your throat at his reaction, snuggling into his side as a reluctant finger finally presses play.

And then the film begins, the first few notes of that iconic theme song blaring proudly through the speakers, and Touya feels a distinct shift in your spirit—looser, lovelier, muscles relaxing as rosy nostalgia infused with warm comfort weaves thickly through your blood.

Touya stays quiet for the first little while, watching with fleeting, soured disinterest, refraining from commenting his caustic thoughts until Anakin is reunited with his secret wife, Padmé, the camera pushing in on his face, bright blue eyes and perfect smile shimmering against his flawless skin as he gazes at his lover.

“Pretty boy,” Touya grumbles through a scowl, eyes shaded by his tightly knit brows as he glares at the screen.

“You’re a pretty boy, too, niichan,” you nudge his shoulder with your own, a playful little smirk painted across your swollen face.

“Oh, shut up,” he rolls his eyes, unable to suppress the grin fluttering on his lips, bashfulness tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“M’serious!” you sit up a little straighter, sincerity shining in your stare, residual tears still glazing your eyes, old teardrops stubbornly clinging to your lashes. “You’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen, niichan, I swear,”

A dainty pinky is held upright between your chests, wiggling a little in enticement.

And despite the melancholia still saturating your features—a twitching nose, a hitching chest, a quivering lip—your love for him is still so bright, so genuine, so real that it almost hurts, your sheer devotion raw and uncut and so fucking strong, and he has to look away, burning emotion swelling in his chest and crawling up his throat, mouth watering a little as it sits densely on the back of his tongue.

“Alright, princess, alright,” he’s clearing his throat as a large pinky twines itself around yours and squeezes, sealing the promise. “I believe you.”

Miraculously, he manages to get through the majority of Revenge of the Sith without complaining, save for the occasional unintelligible growl, mumbled out under his breath, his strong arms continuing to tighten around your waist with each soft gasp or muted squeal you emit, pressing you closer and closer to his heart, a silent reminder that he is there, that he is yours, as delicate little fingers curl in the faded material of his hoodie, pulling further and further, a silent reminder that you are his, too.

It isn’t until Padmé confronts Anakin on his decision to join the dark side that Touya truly speaks up, the question, heavy with emotion, scathing his tongue.

“Would you follow me to the dark side?”

“Of course I would,” you answer without hesitance, automatic and instinctual.

“I mean,” Touya begins, rolling the words around on his tongue. “He’s doing it all for her, isn’t he?”

“He is,” you confirm with a nod. “Anakin’s intense, uncontrollable emotions—his love, his hate, his anger, his jealousy—are ultimately his downfall.”

Fidgeting beside you, Touya clears his throat roughly, pricks of heat crawling up the back of his neck.

“Interesting.”

If you notice his discomfort, or the similarities between him and your favourite character, you don’t say anything, silently allowing him to haul you into his lap and cradle you against his chest; a shield of sorts, against the raw vulnerabilities he and Anakin seem to share.

And yet, it’s…comforting, in a weird, almost inexplicable way, knowing that your favourite character has so many commonalities to Touya himself, knowing that you love him just the same regardless of his deeply flawed nature and unforgivable mistakes.

Watching as Anakin burns is nearly unbearable, the crackling of flames and melting of skin conjuring painful memories to the forefront of Touya’s mind—the sight of bright oranges and the smell of burnt flesh and the taste of ashy air overwhelming his senses—and he has to look away, jaw flexing with a thick swallow.

Burnt to a crisp and left to die by someone they loved, yet another similarity between him and your favourite.

At last, the torture of Hayden Christensen ends, the large man decked out head to toe in Vader’s extravagant suit as he steps off the steel operating table, rickety and tottering like Frankenstein’s monster as he hollers that ridiculously long, overly dramatic and extremely cliche Nooo! at news of Padmé’s death.

The crushing in his chest alleviates with the removal of the disk, Touya drawing in a few slow, steady breaths as he swaps one Star Wars film for another. It isn’t fully eradicated, a sort of bruising weight of clawed green envy still gnawing on his ribs and swiping at his heart, but he feels he can breathe a little easier now; the hardest and heaviest part is over, and he no longer has to look at Hayden’s Abercrombie & Fitch model face anymore.

It isn’t until halfway through Rogue One that Touya speaks again, low voice swiftly following your excited cheers of seeing Vader on the screen for the first time in the film.

“You, uh, you like me better than him though, right? I’m, like, your ultimate favourite, am I not?”

And he hates how small, shy, unsure his voice sounds, coughing harshly to clear the tremble sticking in his throat.

“You are my most favourite person in the whole universe,” you tell him lightly, giving him a quick glance through the corner of your eye. “On this planet or any others, niichan, I promise.”

Despite the nonchalance embedded in your tone, he can see the concern clear as day in your eyes, and he’s grateful that you don’t push, allowing him that space to find his reassurance without making a big deal out of it, without humiliating him or patronizing him further.

He nods in response, burying his face in your hair and inhaling deeply, head nodding again as he nuzzles into you.

It’s incredible how even after all these years, your reaction still hasn’t dulled in the slightest, bright smiles and breezy giggles conjured up the minute your favourite character appears.

It’s incredible to hear notes of elation and amusement seeping from his baby’s lips after a day full of sobs and sniffles, to see those sparks of mirth in your eyes—flares that have dried up, dried out, all of the sadness and tears—even if you both know it’s fleeting escapism at best, a few hours of bliss conjured up by a sugared sentimentality.

Because even if it’s only for a few transient moments, it’s all so worth it, suffering through all of your fawning and fussing over this character, continually shoving down those jealous and possessive notions desperate to make it past his lips, remarks that grate this throat with every thrust back, sharp and covered in thorns. It’s all so fucking worth it if it makes you feel better—if Touya can make you feel better, wielding nostalgia as his weapon—irregardless of how long the effects last.

Eventually, though, it all becomes a bit too much for him.

Shuffling your body on his thighs roughly a quarter through the fourth Star Wars film you’ve put on, Touya turns you away from the television, physically forcing your attention to him as he rearranges you to straddle his hips.

“I think you’ve been staring at him for long enough, don’t you?” he mutters, head dropping to scatter a few well-placed kisses along your neck, front teeth nipping a little at the sensitive skin. “Niichan is feeling a little left out,”

His voice is heavy with an exaggerated pout, words filtered through a jutted bottom lip. And although his tone is playful and teasing, you can see it, that little glimmer of truth, of insecurity, of jealousy shining bright in his sapphire eyes.

“You’re cute, niichan,” you murmur softly, a thumb gently caressing his protruding lip. His tongue catches it easily, sucking the appendage into the heat of his mouth.

“Cute, huh?” he speaks around the finger held between his teeth, an eyebrow raising in challenge.

A warm, wet tongue curls around your thumb, swallowing it further into his mouth before he lets go of it with a pop, teeth scraping against your flesh as the digit is pulled from his lips. A smirk carves itself into his face at your eager nodding, cute little uh-huhs spilling from your throat, Touya huffing out an airy little chuckle in response.

Sapphire glitters in the waning rays, weak beams of sunlight bathing the room in pale gold, eyes seeming to darken with the rapidly setting sun.

“Oh, I’m gonna show you cute, princess.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi fluff #todoroki touya fluff #todoroki touya x reader #i rly enjoyed writing this waaaaaaah #tw stepcest

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starblue2406 · 12 days

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Well, technically the varnish is still missing, but hey! Look at this custom pony!

I used my first Rainbow Dash as a victim and it was from the crystal empire collection, years ago I had already tried to make a custom with it, but due to childish immaturity,Little knowledge and lack of tools ended up ruining this poor pony.

Many years passed and I returned to that poor Raindow Dash, it was almost impossible to restore it after everything I did, so I wanted to make a custom (causing the paintings in my plastic arts workshop They are of better quality than any paint sold in a stationery store).

I originally wanted to do Tenya Iida or Nicholas II, but my cousin forced me to do Damos:

Rebeca:And tell me, which one do you prefer?

Abraham: Emmm... Tenya doesn't convince me and Nicolás, since you already have a book, it's not that big a deal.Better go to Damos.

R: ... Why?

A You already have Arceus, right?

R: So yes, but why?

A:Because I like your comic, the ship and because I paid $200 MXN

R:And if I do not do it?

A: I accuse you with my aunt (my mother)

End

With the constant monitoring and supervision of my dear cousin, I began to work on this custom. I'm not complaining, on the contrary, I thank him and looking back, In fact, it turned out much better than if I had done any of the previous ones since it has many more details and with Damos I already suffered too much xdd

Because I'm very stupid I didn't take photos when it was a Raindow Dash in a state worse than my energy to pass this last partial, however I took photos when I put the base color on it, the cold porcelain(I originally wanted to make it by hand, I failed and had to buy one already made), when I painted it and a photo from the great photo session I did with Arceus.

The marble was given to me by my best friend, in fact he gave me four, so I will do various things with them.

I'm thinking about making another custom with this other Rainbow Dash that I got about a month ago, I'm not sure since it could be restored without any problem.

Maybe one of Argique, Acomfire or Martha, But first I must decide if I will forgive her or if I will do to her everything I did to poor Raindow Dash earlier.

#damos #Thank my annoying cousin #it was a good idea #the varnish is missing #I think it still deserves a few more small touches.#Because I was stupid #and I got the right wing a little dirty with paint #and because she was stupid #she kept quiet about it #of the lock of hair #I'll leave it like this #my art

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yacinthemorning · 4 months

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Birdsongs

Chapter 3

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Summary: The Life Pilgrimage is the biggest music festival of the century, set to take place all across the continent. Small-time rock band, GIST, and the up-and-coming alternative band, Empire, are both lucky to be among the hundreds set to make appearances, but there's just one problem. Neither can afford the travel expenses on their own. For better or worse, they're stuck with each other for the next five weeks as they try to make their dreams come true.

And, perhaps, among the chaos and music, two unsuspecting souls find one another...

Ships: Jimmy/Tango (slow burn romantic), Joel/Lizzie (romantic), Jimmy & Scott (platonic)

Warnings: Alcohol, Mentioned Divorce, Burns, Singing, Anxiety

The trailer door had just closed when Jimmy turned on the shower. He sighed as the warm water hit his poor muscles, sore from being sat in the car with almost no room to move all day. Though he hadn’t wanted to complain, the seats were much too far forward. Dust from the open window had also collected in his hair, which he quickly went to scrub out.

Outside the bathroom there was noise, and then a shout. “Oi, Jimmy.” The door flung open.

Jimmy squeaked, turning away from Scott, covering up as much as he could. “Scott, what the heck!” He snapped, but Scott only raised an incredulous eyebrow.

“Literally what haven’t I seen already?”

“That doesn’t mean you can just barge in!”

The man rolled his eyes, then held up a small, blue pouch. “You forgot your toiletries.” He said, flinging it to Jimmy. “Brush your teeth while you’re in there. And don’t forget to wash under your nails, they’re filthy. Also, don’t touch mine and Lizzie’s shampoo, it’s for dyed hair only.��

“I know.” Jimmy grumbled. Only a grunt came in reply, followed by the flimsy plastic door shuttering. Though the sounds outside had grown he didn’t hear Scott leave. Jimmy had just finished rinsing his hair when he spoke up again.

“So, how was the car ride with Tango?”

It was such an oddly polite question, it made Jimmy laugh. “You okay, mate?”

“Am I not allowed to ask?”

“Wh- no, that’s.” He sighed, grabbing the soap. “It was fine, he’s nice.”

“Mmm…” There was a click, and then the distinct scratching of tested strings. “Glad you got over it, then.”

Jimmy turned to the door indignantly in the place of Scott. “What?”

“I saw you before you guys left. You looked like you were expecting him to unhinge his jaw and bite your head off. I’m glad you got over it. It was pretty funny, though.”

He sputtered. Maybe it was true, but did he have to say it? What if someone heard him? Oh, god, what if Tango heard him? Jimmy would die and never be able to drive with the man again. “Well, I don’t know what you mean, he’s great, actually.” Jimmy turned off the water and spoke just a bit too loudly for his own ears. If anyone outside heard they didn’t react.

“Oh, I noticed that, too.”

He nearly stumbled out of the bathroom. Scott was laid out on the queen bed, Jimmy’s guitar across his lap while he absently picked at the strings. There was that smile on his face, the smug one that said I know what you’re thinking better than you do . It was directed at Jimmy far too often.

“A cute guy says something nice to you and you’re on his heels the rest of the day... Where’ve I heard that before?”

“I am not!” Jimmy whined, pulling his shirt on first to hide his reddening face. “It’s just nice to meet someone new.”

“And oh, how nicely you get along.” Scott practically sang, strumming Jimmy’s guitar.

“Stop it, it’s not like that. I just met the guy.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Jimmy’s shoulders tensed, “Yeah, and look how well that worked out for me then.” He snapped.

The trailer went quiet. Regret instantly weighed down Jimmy’s stomach, unable to turn to face Scott.

A small snap, then click, then, “… You know I don’t mind.” Scott’s voice was soft now, though Jimmy could not tell if it was from caution or pain. The trailer shifted, and Jimmy’s case was being pushed into his grasp. “It’s your business.”

“I’m sorry.” He blurted out, unable to muster any dignity for it.

Scott’s lip twitched. “I know.”

“… It really isn’t like that. It’s just…” Outside, Tango shouted, joined by Skizz’s laughter. He sighed. “It’s nice, talking to other people. Who don’t… Y’know?”

Scott shifted on his feet. “A breath of fresh air?”

It was about as close as either could get to saying what they both knew he meant. Jimmy clutched his case tight to his chest. Scott gave his shoulder a pat, “Well, get your trousers on and join us outside.”

Tango miserably pushed the fire log around, sending a flurry of sparks up into the darkened sky.

“Y’gonna burn yourself there, mate.” Joel piped up from his folding chair. Lizzie was on his lap, leaning into his shoulder while nursing a cheap beer they’d both been sipping from.

“Nah, I’m pretty impervious to fire.”

“Those burns from that time you ‘fixed’ the engine say otherwise.” Skizz just had to intrude, getting the laugh he was searching for out of the young couple. Tango attempted to kick a rock at his friend’s foot, but just had a dust cloud coat his pants instead. Skizz laughed. “Aw, is Tangle Top cranky?”

“Shut up.” He grumbled, turning back to the fire.

“And where’d your little buddy go?”

“Inside with Scott.” As if on cue, Jimmy’s muffled shout came from within the trailer.

“Oh gosh,” Lizzie said, eyeing the trailer. “I hope it isn’t a fight. Maybe I should go check on them.”

Tango glance behind them. The curtains were pulled closed but there was the vague movement of a silhouette. Should he not have let Jimmy go in alone? “Do they do that often?”

Joel shrugged. “Not usually, but, y’know, maybe if they did then they wouldn’t be divorced.”

The poker slipped off a log, throwing Tango forward right into the path of the fire. He shrieked as his forearm slammed into the heated metal firepit and got a face full of ash. Someone yanked him back by the collar of his shirt. “Tango! Are you okay?” Skizz’s jerk of a question was caught between concern and hysterics. “I’ll go get the first aid kit. Jeez, Top, don’t fling yourself off a cliff or something before I get back.”

Tango glared up at him through tears. Instead of answering he wiped his face, but it only agitated the red mark on his arm.

“Are you okay?” Lizzie asked. Both her and Joel looked concerned. He waved them off.

“Yeah, just a little burn, no biggie.” It did little to convince them, but Tango had other concerns. “So, they’re married? Or, er, were married?”

Lizzie gave him a suspicious glare that was absolutely uncalled for. “… Yeah, broke up about a year ago now.”

“And they… just… stayed in a band together?” It seemed, to Tango, like the world’s worst idea imaginable. Though, he supposed he’d seen his fair share of amicable breakups, but something as personal and emotionally driven as a band being caught up in it…

“It’s what they agreed to.” From the look the couple shared it had been the subject of more than a few conversations.

Well, it really wasn’t any of his business. So long as it didn’t cause problems on their shared trip, at least. They wouldn’t be here if they couldn’t put it aside for their art. Then again, he had yet to hear any of their music. Maybe they were one of those emo bands that were humiliatingly personal in their music and this sort of thing was just fuel to them. Or were they the exact opposite? Maybe he should have asked to borrow their discography like Skizz.

He was thinking about this too much. What did it matter to him, anyways?

The trailer door opened and only Scott hopped out. Immediately Pearl flagged him down from her spot at the table, their maps spread out in front of her. Tango smiled. Surrounded by half-drunk bandmates and she was still working, figures.

Jimmy finally left the trailer, hair still damp and case in hand. There was no way to tell it hadn’t also been in the shower. A small tension between Tango’s shoulders relaxed into amusement. For a brief moment their eyes locked. The look the guitarist gave him was unreadable, and Tango wondered for a moment if his earlier awkwardness had done more damage than he thought. Jimmy’s gaze soon shifted past him, though, and quirked into a smile. Tango had no time to wonder why before his eardrums were assaulted.

He shrieked, drowned out by reverberation and laughter. Gem stood right behind him, blue Predator in hand, Fwhip beside her with an amp held up to eye-level. The little lady and her doppelganger laughed so hard they both nearly dropped their equipment.

“Hey, hey, hey! You’re gonna explodificate my ears!” Tango shouted, massaging the side of his head.

Gem giggled, “Sorry Tango, but it was too tempting.”

“If you’re gonna play, then turn it down a bit.” Pearl called out to them, though even she was holding back a laugh. “The other campers probably won’t appreciate so much noise this late.”

“Whatcha up to there, Glitter Girl?” Skizz finally returned, first aid bag and his water bottle in hand. Trailing just behind him was Impulse, carrying his own bottle. Before the conversation could get started, Impulse snatched up the first aid and quickly got to work on Tango’s arm. It was hardly necessary, given he could barely feel it already.

“Oh, I was just thinkin’ we should play a little bit to celebrate our first night.” She explained as she turned down the amp. “We won’t reach the first venue for a few days still, so why not?”

Tango yanked his arm away from Impulse, much to the man’s distaste, and started toward the trailer. “Now you’re talkin’!”

Impulse groaned, a sentiment mirrored by Joel. “No offence, but I really don’t want to have to move the drums anymore than they have to be. And I think we’d get kicked out.”

“Doesn’t mean me and Gem can’t have some fun!” He said while digging through the compartments for his bass. Instead he stumbled upon another, smaller, case. One he thought was familiar in the darkness but, as he pulled it out into the fire light, realized it was dyed a navy blue rather than the clean black of his own.

He blinked down at the violin case in surprise, until Scott stood up. “Oh, I was wondering where it was put.”

“Yours should be on the other side, Tango.” Pearl pointed to the right. “Nothing else fit with the drums other than your two’s smaller instruments.”

“You play violin?” Tango passed the case over. It was placed on the table, popping open to reveal a classic looking little acoustic fiddle in near-pristine condition. Not that it seemed unloved, judging from the aging on its case’s leather and the fond smile Scott gave it.

Scott lifted the instrument to his chin as if second nature, raising his bow to test it. “Usually. We play whatever I think the composition needs.” He explained.

“By that he means him as Lizzie play whatever they need.” Joel quickly corrected. “Overachievers that they are. Me ‘n’ Jim are just there for when they can’t grow an extra set of limbs to hit the cymbals.”

“Oh, stop it. The drums are very important.” Lizzie lightly smacked her husband’s shoulder who gave a cheeky grin back.

Skizz appeared next to Tango, nudging him in the rib hard enough he nearly dropped his own violin. “That’s just like Tango! Always picking up whatever catches his eye in the moment. This jerk made me learn bass just so he could mess with a theremin for a summer!”

“Hey, I was right, it was really cool!” Tango defended, pulling away from his bandmate to place his case down. Next to Scott’s classic fiddle, his electric violin looked almost cheap. Was he some rich kid or just especially passionate? “That’s a real nice instrument y’got there, though. Your main?”

His smile stretched. “I like to add a touch of Scottish folk to our songs.”

Not an answer, but okay. Or maybe it was and he was just stupid. He still wasn’t quite sure how to interact with these new guys. Tango never was good with people, and he’s had almost the same friends for nearly two decades until they added Gem and Pearl to the family. The girls didn’t have that look in their eye that Scott did, though. Like he had Tango all figured out after just saying ‘ hi ’ to him. Joel and Lizzie seemed nice, but the pair were in their own little saccharine world. Maybe he shoulda picked up some self-help books these last couple months…

Jimmy watched sympathetically while Tango crumpled under Scott’s gaze. He’s just like that, you’ll get used to it , he wanted to assure Tango. It was quite funny, watching a man who dressed like a biker cringe away.

“How are you at that, anyways?” Scott asked, leaning forward until he was practically looming over Tango. That was how Jimmy knew he was doing it on purpose, though to what ends he didn’t know. Jimmy had learned a long time ago he wasn’t smart enough to keep up with the 5D chess going on in Scott’s brain at all times.

Tango wavered in his response. “Y’know, I’ve been playin’ a good four or five years.”

“He’s a fast learner.” Skizz praised.

“That so?” Scott’s eyes shone with mischief, “How would you like to help me kick off this little impromptu party, then?”

The chance to play seemed to wipe away any nerves Tango had, replaced with a cheeky grin. “Oh, absolutely! What you have in mind?”

That was how they wound up split around the fire, Jimmy stuck behind Scott while Gem and Skizz had Tango’s back, Impulse off to the side with his drum stick ready to try and make an instrument of the side of the trailer rather than pull any part of his set out. Lizzie and Joel couldn’t be bothered to join them, clapping along as Scott found his rhythm and began.

Most of them were already buzzed, laughing at Fwhip as he tried to narrate the song instead of any of the many vocalists among them. His beat was off entirely, almost a different song. “See, the devil went down to Georgia ‘cause he was lookin’ for a soul to steal-”

“Boo, you suck!” Gem shouted while Lizzie’s laugh turned into a piggish snort, drowning the poor manager out, until he nearly flung his beer can at Tango to start his part.

Immediately the man was swept up in his assigned half, jumping on top of the tree stump left for chopping wood and twisting his face into a comically evil sneer like he was playing a mad scientist in a Saturday morning cartoon. One of the blood red straps of his pants flung out in the movement like a devil’s tail, and for a second Jimmy could see his character too clearly. A menace tempting his quarry. “Now you play a pretty good fiddle, boy, but give the devil his due.” He sang, voice rough and copying a southern accent as he wagged his finger, then pushed his violin forward. “I bet a fiddle of gold against your soul, cause I think I’m better than you!” The entirety of GIST cheered on his little act.

Never one to be outdone in showmanship, Scott glided up onto his own feet, flinging his arm out to take up as much space as possible. As always his pitch was absolutely perfect. “I’ll take your bet, you’re gonna regret, ‘cause I’m the best there’s ever been.” Scott jerk forward into Tango’s personal space, the two now eye level, as he held just a bit longer than needed on ‘ best .’

Jimmy could see the slight surprise in Tango’s eyes, stumbling back half a step. It seemed to be what Scott was looking for, straightening up with his shoulders a bit more squared while he took over the fiddle for the chorus. When his smirk turned to Jimmy like a smug cat he jokingly rolled his eyes back before he turned his focus to harmonizing. If he didn’t concentrate when they played Lizzie and Scott could easily leave him in the dust.

The song played on. Tango seemed to struggle a bit at his part, face twisted in concentration, tongue stuck out, to keep up with an extended version of the devil’s odd solo, but clearly enjoying himself. His bandmates all joined in and part of Jimmy was amazed at how easily even Gem, the newest member by a wide margin, fell in sync. It was messy, imperfect, but it was a feature not a flaw. They all seemed to be having the time of their lives listening to one another play along. Tango especially gazed back over his shoulder with the biggest and softest smile Jimmy had yet to see on the man.

They’d always gotten along since Jimmy met them, but in that moment something just clicked. No ego, no embarrassment or fumbling when a note tripped up. Immediately someone else picked up the slack and guided them back in before it could be noticed, and they were more than happy to do so. They played like there wasn’t anyone else in the world but each other and the music between them. This is why they’re here.

It left a strange feeling in his chest, like something pulling him down to earth.

Johnny’s solo soon arrived. Jimmy fumbled, but that hardly mattered. Scott immediately blew everyone else out of the water. Perfect fiddling, perfect voice, perfect dancing, perfect face. Every inch of his performance shone with practice and a deep passion Jimmy wished he could catch just a drop of. He could see it in the other band’s faces, that they saw it too. It was impossible not to, the sort of thing even a layman could see. Scott was like the brightest star in the sky had deigned to fall into their presence for just a brief moment, enraptured in his own little world everyone else could only try to chase after.

A sigh escaped Jimmy as the solo wound down, his limbs feeling heavy as he tried to push away old emotions that only momentarily tasted like they used to before the sour aftertaste flooded back.

The groups cheered and shouted and laughed, patting each other on the back and praising one another. Most of all they congratulated Scott, before Tango’s bandmates all laughed at some mistake one of them had made. A strange spark Jimmy had never felt before filled his stomach like pop rocks as Tango put Gem in a headlock and messed up her braids, while Skizz stole one of Impulse’s drumsticks to play on their heads until Tango let go.

Scott’s performance was dazzling, his part the most technically impressive, and it was never a competition to begin with.

So why does it feel like we lost?

The next morning Tango wakes up to a hand smacking him in the face, boiling, and sore. He groggily tears his eyes open ignoring the sleep crusting them closed to stare directly into a collarbone just barely jutting out from a blue pyjama shirt with a wet stain near the top button. Jimmy had completely encompassed them, long gangly limbs wrapped around Tango while their thin blanket was half trapped under them and half tangled by their feet. His cheek was pressed into Tango’s hair, murmuring a soft snore.

If Tango was more awake, he would probably be embarrassed, but one brush of the freezing morning air against the back of his neck sent him huddling closer into his bunkmate.

A whispered giggle sounded somewhere near the foot of the bed. Then there was a flash. He grumbled, shifting just enough to glance down and see what mischief makers were bothering his beauty sleep. It was Pearl and Gem, of course, still in their own sleepwear, trying desperately to cover their mouths, while a disposable camera was held tight to Gem’s chest. Pots and pans distantly clacked together from the open window behind them. The girls laughed again. This time Jimmy began to shift with an upset moan.

“Good morning, cuddle-bugs.” Gem teased. Tango stuck his tongue out at her.

“Wha’you wan’?”

“Scott and Impulse’re makin’ eggs for breakfast.” Pearl said, throwing her thumb over her shoulder. “Thought you would like some.”

Jimmy suddenly shot up with an airy squeak. Wide eyes stared at the girls in shock before it turned to Tango, then back to the girls. All the while his face turned darker and darker. He quickly detangled himself from Tango and the blanket. “Where is- What time is it?”

“Just after seven.”

Tango groaned and grabbed Jimmy’s pillow – abandoned at the edge of the pull out next to Jimmy’s guitar – and plopped it over his face. “Too early!” He tried to say, though the pillow muffled it beyond comprehension. Some folding part of the metal frame under the foam mattress dug into his spine until he also sat up just for some relief.

Jimmy was stumbling out of bed, whining after Gem who ran outside with the camera. “Please, Gem!”

“Nuh-uh! This is going in the first page of my scrapbook!”

“Gem!”

Tango’s bones ached like a retiree just watching them flail around after the camera. Or maybe it was the damn bed, Tango had never felt something so uncomfortable in his life. Everyone else in the trailer was still curled up, save the two mentioned to be outside, though not necessarily asleep thanks to the camera combat. Another freezing morning breeze ran through him. God, he wanted his cuddle buddy back.

It seemed his prayer had been answered when Jimmy returned inside, walking stiffly up to the bed. Instead of returning to Tango, though, he only grabbed his guitar, sitting down on the edge to hug it close stubbornly while pouting. Part of Tango really wanted to ask, but that was probably too personal for someone he only met yesterday. Regardless, they were both unfortunately awake now, and so was everyone else, so Tango settled for grabbing his sweater from his bag and pulling the thin blanket over him. Jimmy didn’t seem to have been too happy with getting so snug with a stranger.

Only then, when he had accepted his loss, did he see Jimmy shudder. Tango blinked, narrowing his eyes. Yep, the poor guy was covered in goosebumps. With a defeated sigh, he removed the blanket from himself and pressed it to Jimmy’s shoulder. “You cold? Kinda lookin’ like a plucked chicken.” He tried to joke. Really? A plucked chicken? That’s the best you got? How many people have even seen a plucked chicken? Wait, was that why they’re called goosebumps-

Jimmy stared at him. Whatever was going on in that little head of his was out of reach no matter how much Tango stared back. He finally took the blanket from Tango, muttering a thanks, and wrapped it around himself and his case tightly. With a happy sigh, he sunk into the blanket, no sign of issue.

“You okay?” Tango couldn’t help but ask anyways. He was no good with new people. Never good at picking up on tells or body language he wasn’t used to. It was like being in a masquerade. In the dark. And he was blindfolded and high.

Jimmy nodded. “Yeah, I was just wondering if that’s why they’re called goosebumps.”

Tango sucked in a snort, almost choking on his own spit. “Yeah?” He squeaked.

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m not good with cold.”

“Oh, dude, same.” Tango whined, leaning back on his wrists. “It sucks. I just hibernate all winter.”

“I wish!” Jimmy bemoaned dramatically, to which Tango laughed.

“Just don’t let your fingers freeze, hard to play without them. Trust me, I know.”

Bafflement and concern decorated his face, fingers curling a bit further into the blanket. “What did you do?”

“Don’t worry they reattached them, they’re all good now.”

“Tango?” His voice high with shock, a laugh cutting it off.

Then Gem’s face reappeared in the doorway, “Eggs are done!” And once again she was gone.

Outside everyone had groggily surrounded Impulse and his portable stovetop. A pan bigger than the element sat atop it, absolutely filled to the brim with cheesy scrambled eggs. Scott was on the toaster, popping out nearly a whole loaf while slicing up oranges and tomatoes.

“You got the whole shebang going on out here, it’s like a five-star hotel!” Tango said, hands on his hips and eyes wide.

Jimmy scooted past him to get a spot at the table. The thunk of his case alerted Scott to his presence, who raised an eyebrow, then suddenly abandoned the toaster. He came back and threw a blue sweater at Jimmy while snatching away the blanket. Jimmy paused for a long moment, but eventually wiggled the sweater on overtop his PJs. Unsure what just happened, Tango sat down beside Jimmy to wait for their plates.

“So, what’s the plan, planning lady?” He asked when Pearl passed by.

“Not much but drivin’ as long as we can.” She said, “If we’re lucky we might be able to get to the first venue by dinner tomorrow.”

Scott placed a loaded plate down in front of each of them, then coffee next to where he’d already set up the jam and peanut butter. “And someone else buys the snacks today.” He said as he turned off the burner while passing Impulse, who was facing away, pushing the last eggs onto his plate.

“Hey!” Skizz shouted, but no one came to his defence, a unanimous chorus of agreement.

Tango raised an eyebrow. “Are there none left from yesterday?”

“We grabbed a few at the station, but they were too expensive.” Joel said through a yawn. Beside him Lizzie was practically asleep again, face squished into her husband’s shoulder. A fact Jimmy seemed to notice as something sparked in his eye. He opened up his case, reaching into a small pick pouch and pulled out- was that a sticker?

It was. A grumpy little calico kitty cat playing with a lemon that said ‘ sourpuss ’ underneath, and it very carefully made its way onto the sleeping woman’s cheek. Joel was side eyeing the taller man but to Tango’s surprise said nothing. Not until after Jimmy had fully retreated and started digging into his meal did Joel nudge Lizzie awake. Tango raised his eyebrow to his bunkmate, who was trying not to snicker too loudly.

They were fed, changed, and packed up by nine. The folks who hadn’t showered the night before did so before they lost water. This time the car keys were tossed to Pearl and Skizz, allowing Jimmy and Tango to sit in the trailer for the ride. Not as fun as Tango hoped, with having to keep their seat belts on and everything locked away, but definitely still better than being crunched in a full car.

It was nice to be able to talk to Impulse and Gem. As lovely as Jimmy’s company was, if Tango had been stuck with no one but a complete stranger for a second day in a row he might have just driven straight home. That day, consequently, went by in a blur of laughter, card games, and cat naps.

Only every once in a while did he dare look up to see Lizzie’s face still obliviously marked by the cheap sticker. There it stayed the whole day, even when it hit noon and Joel began to grumble, passing a five-dollar bill into Jimmy’s grabby hand. They had not intended to be subtle by any means, but Lizzie seemed far too enraptured in whatever embarrassing story about GIST Gem was willing to share.

The blow up finally happened at a gas station. Tango was filling the tank so he never saw what went down inside the store. All he saw was Jimmy and Joel nearly break the door off its hinges and beeline for the trailer, locking and holding their door shut just as Lizzie came shouting after them with a stick of jerky as a weapon. He leaned back, whistling for her attention when she started yanking on the door knob. A thumb over his shoulder directed her to the unguarded back door that would be hidden by the kitchen sink inside. Moments later there was more screaming, and Jimmy nearly ate asphalt escaping thanks to the weight of the guitar on his back while Joel tried to calm down his wife. It only ended when Pearl stepped in.

Overall, Tango was starting to think this arrangement might actually work out.

“Do you like westerns?” Jimmy asked, leaned against the side of the trailer while they waited for the last bathroom runs. On the road, the trailer was emergencies only.

Tango tilted his head back, trying to recall, “I mean, can’t say I’ve watched a lot, but cowboys are pretty cool.”

His face lit up and he reached into his bag, pulling out a cardboard video box. “They had some VHSs inside, and I found Pale Rider in them.” He showed off the movie, box coated with dust from how long it must have been sitting in the middle-of-nowhere station. “Would you help convince everyone to watch it? They never let me pick movies.”

“You got my vote, little buddy, for whatever it’s worth.” He gave a thumbs up. There was a little tv up in the back corner of the trailer with a built-in player. Tango knew he was a techy, not everyone was so quick to buy a dvd player as him when you could hardly find dvds to play on it, but it still felt so old. The trailer itself was yellowing here and there, clearly a bit of an older model in all ways, but well-maintained. He hadn’t even thought about on-board entertainment, or he might have brought a couple. Then again, “Just a warning though, I also don’t usually get to pick movies.”

“Do you only pick horror movies?” Jimmy guessed. “Or action?”

Tango made a little wavering noise. “I mean I guess some of them are, but nah. Just tend to be fine with their picks and not vice versa.”

“Well, if you find something, I’ll vote for it, too.”

“We’re heading off!” Impulse called from the driver’s window as Scott climbed up into the seat next to him.

Jimmy gave a salute, and Tango was about to do the same when the younger spun on his heels with a big grin and reached past Tango’s shoulder. His brain never caught up with what was happening until Jimmy was already backing away from the one arm hug and running back inside. “Thanks for the vote, partner!”

It took another moment for him to climb back into the trailer, confused and oddly warm. Well, that certainly scrambled a piece of the Jimmy puzzle Tango was putting together. Maybe he was just a koala in disguise. That’s why he was always hugging that case.

It wasn’t until an hour later, while reaching for a bag of sunchips, that a tug against his skin caught his attention. Slapped upside-down right over top of the GIST tattoo on his forearm was a little ginger tabby in a cowboy hat with the words ‘ meowdy purrtner ’ beside him. It took all of Tango’s strength not to laugh or look at the bickering culprits. Maybe he could pretend he never saw it, just to get his partner another five.

A day and a half later they finally stepped foot into the first venue.

It was a pretty nice one, a big field not too far from town and surrounded by sparse forest. Not a well-known spot compared to some of the others. Jimmy recalled an interview with Griande where she spoke about the venues, though, saying it was a more personal choice. The site of her first big rock fest. They’d arrived just in time, the last set-up being done on the stages for opening tomorrow afternoon. Campers already dotted the designated areas, breaking out drinks and turning the air sour with all sorts of questionable substances.

“This is it.” Lizzie said, dropping a case beside Jimmy and making his heart skip in its racing. Both bands were busy sorting out their instruments behind them. Jimmy gave a stiff nod, willing his nerves enough to calm to at least help. Unfortunately, Lizzie knew him too well. “Why don’t you relax while we set up?”

He didn’t want to. As terrified as he was, he wanted to do something. They were just bags, he could carry those, right?

But it was eighteen hours before things started and the crowds were already pooling in tandem with the weight in his gut. “Yeah.” He mumbled, pulling his guitar in close to his chest.

Lizzie smiled, her hand resting on his back. “It’ll be okay, Jimmy. We’ll do great. And if anyone tries to heckle us, I’ll just beat them up!”

“Sure.” He chuckled, trying to imagine his petite sister wading through the crowd to slap someone in the face. She would, or try to, at least, security be damned. Heckling wasn’t the problem, though. With Lizzie and Scott he knew they would be well-received, and Joel was more than competent. No, it’d always been what happens on stage that terrified him. The things people were too polite to say but were always thinking.

Lizzie gave him a small hug, then started toward the stage they’d be playing on. “Make sure to check your tuning before tomorrow.”

“Right…”

Jimmy took a deep breath and plopped himself down on the grass, leaning across his case with his cheek flat against it. He could feel his heartbeat slow a little, but it was still hard to breathe. Both bands buzzed around him, with the exception of Skizz. He was far off, exchanging cash to a group of hippy-types who already looked absolutely baked. Scott was off with Fwhip and Pearl having the big boy discussions, while the rest of GIST sorted the two band’s equipment from one another next to them. Joel’s silhouette could be seen in the trailer, running about, until he came out with a folding table. I should be helping him. But he didn’t move an inch. With how his hands were shaking he’d just drop something important.

Muddy footsteps trampled up to him. He turned to rest his other cheek against his case and look up at Tango. He carried a long, green bag and a nervous smile. “You doin’ anything, partner?” He asked, as if it wasn’t obvious. Jimmy shook his head. “Wanna help me set up the tent? I dunno about you but two nights on that damn table is more than enough for me.”

Jimmy choked on a laugh. “Yeah, sure.”

Tango beamed and shuffled the tent on his shoulder to offer Jimmy a hand up. Before he could think about it, Jimmy took it, letting the shorter heave him and his guitar up off the ground. He could feel the mud clinging to the back of his jeans but ignored it for now.

“Alright then, let’s see how bad we can do!” Tango cheered.

#tangotek #jimmy solidarity #solidaritek #team rancher #rancher duo #trafficshipping #empireshipping #traffic series #hermitpires #fanfiction #fanfic #mcyt #alternate universe #modern #band au #hurt/comfort #sharing a slice of cake

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et-excrucior · 1 month

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So I’m going to highlight something I’m not sure people who like skeletons and curiosities think about often:

the human skeletal remains you see for sale in oddities shops were invariably grave-robbed.

I worked with human remains in an academic research context in the US for more than a decade. One of the first things I tried to teach my students was respect for the remains in our collections, not only because they were people, deserving of dignity in their death, but also because most of the skeletal remains in academic teaching collections were not donated voluntarily. In most cases, we have no idea exactly where they came from or to whom they belonged.

Historically, there has been a huge international trade in human skeletal remains for teaching medical students. The trade reached its peak in the 19th Century and continued for much of the 20th, and while ostensibly the practice was banned in India in 1985, it does still exist illegally. In the US and Europe, most of the remains in teaching collections were sourced from India through bone traders. Bone traders were (are) lower caste people charged with disposing of human remains—often by cremation, but also by interring in graves—but instead of doing so, sold the remains on to medical schools in the US/Europe through the intermediary of anatomical and medical supply companies. These anatomical specimens are the remains of people who were, unknowingly and without consent of their loved ones, denied their humanity in death to satisfy the appetite of the West for anatomical specimens, despite the remains of their own people being considered largely sacrosanct.

Which leads me to my next point: this practice originated under British Colonialism in India. I hope I don’t need to draw this point out, but objectification of these remains by medical students and researchers is a furtherance of the Western colonial project and othering of people of colour. As medical students, we’re trained to divorce ourselves emotionally from the remains we learn from in the name of professionalism. Medicine can often be confronting, and it serves patients and doctors alike to be able to continue working calmly and objectively in the face of those challenges. But in a world where empires and scientific disciplines have been (and continue to be) built on a legacy of scientific racism and dehumanisation, it behooves us to consider exactly how those teaching specimens were acquired—and how they came to be for sale.

Any human skeleton or human bones you see for sale in oddity stores are invariably retired teaching specimens, or were otherwise originally purchased through an anatomical specimen supply company that leveraged bone traders for acquiring their wares. In other words, those remains were grave-robbed, or stolen from funeral pyres and morgues. It is vanishingly unlikely that they are remains of known, ethically-sourced provenance like informed donation. If they were, they would not have been relinquished to the general public to be sold for profit. There would be contractual obligations that dictate how those remains would be managed once they need to be retired from teaching/decommissioned.

Please keep this in mind when you see human remains for sale in oddity shops. Buy plastic or ceramic teaching models instead. Don’t unwittingly continue creating a market for stolen human remains.

#personal #if you’re wondering what should be done with the remains if we can’t teach with them the answer is inter and memorialise them #universities and medical schools need to make a concerted effort to shift their reliance on these remains towards intentionally constructed #teaching collections of known and ethical provenance #this is a hugely expensive time-consuming and complicated enterprise #but to be honest I’m not sure I like what it says about most institutions that theyd want to do it on the cheap #I also did a lot of work back in the day in repatriation of indigenous remains in museum contexts and I will tell you:#if the institution can’t tell you where they came from or to whom the remains belonged #they likely aren’t there voluntarily #medicine #human skeleton #anatomical specimens #oddities #scientific racism #Calcutta bone trade #osteology #anatomy #anatomical study

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mrcaptainrex · 2 years

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In Another Life

Imperial!Crosshair x F!Reader (First Person)

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Violence, Betrayal

Word Count: 1.3K

Summary: After being captured by the Empire, Y/N and Crosshair have a chat about the life that could have been. The life that almost was.

A/N: Based off of my favorite line from Everything, Everywhere, All at Once (2022), “In another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.” Also, this is my first fanfiction. Please, reblog, even if it's shit. I would also love feedback, don't worry about hurting my feelings. Especially if it's shit.

I was really hoping that blaster shot would have killed me.

The mission was a longshot - we all knew that. It was going well at first, until Tech accidentally gave our position away. Then it all went to shit.

I barely even remembered getting shot. I remembered a searing pain in my side, dropping to the floor, and voices. One was familiar, I think. The others were completely foreign. And most importantly they weren't the Batchers. They were talking.. An argument maybe? Or maybe they were just tense. I could barely even see. It was like one of those dreams where you can't keep your eyes open, no matter how hard you try.

"Sir, she's a rebel. Shouldn't we just -" I don't remember much of this voice, but I definitely remembered the smell. Disgustingly clean and plastic-y.

"Don't you fucking dare!" This voice I knew. I know I had heard it before, but I wasn't quite conscious enough to place it. "This woman is your top priority. She dies, every single person in this room goes with her!" The voice was angry - no, scared. I think it was Crosshair. The last thing I saw before completely losing consciousness was a mask being placed over my face.

At that moment, I assumed I was just going to die. Those moments that I could barely even remember would be my last.

Oh how I wished that were true. I should have known life was never that kind to me.

The cell was surprisingly bright, and much warmer than the planet we were on. Assuming I was even on the same planet - or even a planet at all. I was on a small, incredibly uncomfortable cot in the corner of the cell. As I tried to sit up, the wound on my side screamed in protest. It was meticulously bandaged, and I could make out small IV marks on my arm. They treated me? Why?

It was then that I heard footsteps. Hastily, I lied back down in the shitty excuse for a cot and pulled the blanket back over me. Maybe if I just stayed asleep, they would-

"I know you're awake, Y/N." Crosshair said. This time his voice was unmistakable, no matter how badly I wanted it to be anyone but him.

I stayed quiet. The childish part of me thought if I stayed still he would leave. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect. With a sigh, he passed through the ray-shields keeping me captive and sat by my feet.

"Are we going to talk like mature adults?" He taunted.

I took a glance at him and sighed. "You look like shit."

"I'll take that as a no, then."

It wasn't a complete lie. He looked thinner, and pale. I couldn't even guess when the last time he'd slept was. His hair was freshly cut. I imagined that it must have felt weird for someone other than me to cut it. But his eyes, the ones I once looked at with such love and adoration, were dull. The light behind them was gone, as was his cocky smirk. The thing I hated the most was his armor. I remembered the day we spent an evening repainting it together. Now it was dull and grey.

We stayed quiet for a while. It felt like if one of us spoke we'd have to confront the reality neither one of us wanted to be in. He was the first to break the silence.

"We can still fix this. We can still fix us." He said softly. I could even hear traces of a stutter in his usually calm and collected voice. "I'm tired of pretending to hate you."

Despite the love in his words, they hurt nearly as bad as the blaster wound on my side.

"Me too." Was all I could force myself to say.

Carefully, I sat up and placed my hand over his. The second his skin touched my own, his body relaxed and a sigh escaped his lips. His perfect soldier posture dropped and he allowed himself a moment of peace. Just a moment.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you, Crosshair." I whispered. I could practically feel the relief flood through his veins as I spoke. He leaned forward slightly for a kiss, only to be stopped by my hand on his chest. "But we can't do this." I finished. I wanted so badly to pull my hand from his chest and kiss him with all the love I could muster. But I knew this couldn't work. Not when we're both fighting opposite sides of the same fight. As long as he was willing to do whatever the Empire wanted from him, I knew this couldn't happen. But that didn't mean I loved him any less. In fact, not being able to have him only made me want him even more. It killed me inside to have him so close yet so far.

I could tell that my rejection hurt him. In an instant, the façade came right back, and he pulled away. A disgusted scoff ripped through his voice as he stood from the cot. He pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply before turning back to me.

"Have you ever, once, thought about how I might feel about this?" He snapped. "I have been given a higher purpose! I was bred to do one thing - to fight. And under the Empire, I finally can. We can do good, Cyar'ika."

"Crosshair, I'm tired of fighting. We don't owe the Empire anything. We could run away together, be a family again." I pleaded. I stood up from the cot, ignoring the excruciating pain from my wound. "Look at Cut and Suu, they're happy-"

"Wasting their lives on a farm doing laundry and taxes. Do you honestly think I could ever be satisfied doing that with you?"

We both froze. As much as I wanted to believe it was his inhibitor chip, I knew he meant it. In his heart, he truly believed that he belonged under the Emperors thumb. It hurt to think that he thought so little of his possibilities when I knew he could be so much more.

He stood centimeters from me, still panting from his tangent. I tried so hard to hide the way my lip was trembling. I hated this. I hated how he stood, seemingly unaffected by the harshness behind his words. I hated how powerless I felt. I hated that I knew I could never bring myself to hate this man, no matter what cruel things he spat at me.

"Do you really mean that?" I asked.

He let out a frustrated sigh and shook his head. "This could all be so simple." He said. "Leave them behind. My brothers. The Rebellion. You won't win, and I won't be able to stop the things they'll do to you."

The dam broke, and silent tears spilled from my eyes. With all the strength I could muster, I forced myself to look into his eyes. "You know I can't do that." He held contact with my eyes for a few moments before feeling his own tears start to creep through his eyelids, and forcing himself to tear away. He made his way back through the ray-shield, but stopped when I called out one last time.

"In another life, I would have really loved just doing laundry and taxes with you."

But this wasn't that life, and we both knew it. This was the life where we are forced to hate each other, despite the love we both harbor. The life where we are destined to never truly earn our happy ending.

He processed my words for a moment, before placing his helmet back on his head, and walking away wordlessly.

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