#Green Preservatives Industry

[coldpenguintaco]

Future of Green Preservatives: Market Trends and End-Use Applications Shaping the Industry to 2028

In terms of value, the green preservatives market is estimated to grow from USD 1.1 billion in 2023 to USD 1.5 billion by 2028, at a CAGR of 7.1%. Rising demand for natural preservatives from industries such as food & beverage, personal care & cosmetic, cleaning industry, pharmaceuticals, and others for a variety of applications is leading the market. During the forecast period, this is…

[mr-saavik]

AJ tentative life plans for next year (who knows what is going to happen though): graduate with my bachelors in cinema studies & English -> get top surgery -> recover -> take a semester or two off getting a low level job in a library to see if I like it -> if I do like it, apply to do a library/archival science masters online -> become archivist/librarian and work towards some kind of film related work. If I DON'T like it or don't think I could survive grad school, cry and scream and throw up because idk what else to do

[prettylilyanime]

Our Blessing ♡ Chapter 02

♡ Pairing: Toji Zenin x reader

♡ Synopsis: in which your ex boyfriend left you with your biggest blessing in life, or- a bundle of a blessing. And he doesn’t even know it.

♡ tags/warnings: 18+, (explicit content in later chapters) angst, and drama, exes to lovers, hidden baby trope, Toji is an asshole (but we love him), Reader just wants to raise Megumi in peace, CEO Toji, possessive Toji, emotionally constipated Toji, Tension, misunderstandings, Flashbacks to past relationship, Heavy themes of abandonment, trust issues, and redemption, baby Megumi is a cutie, Megumi is a mama’s boy, reader works at a flower shop, Hidden Baby Trope

♡ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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The bar reeked of one thing. Not alcohol, not drugs—opulence.

Perched atop one of Japan’s tallest skyscrapers, Horizon was the kind of place where power and money spoke louder than words.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Tokyo skyline, the glittering city stretching endlessly below, lights shimmering like constellations against the inky night. Inside, the atmosphere was a curated blend of wealth and exclusivity—dim mood lighting casting sleek shadows across black marble floors, deep leather seating arranged for whispered conversations, and servers in sharp-cut suits, trained to serve without being seen.

It was the first Saturday of the month. A tradition, unshaken even after college, no matter how busy their lives became.

At a private table, in a section roped off for only the highest clientele, sat a group of men whose names carried weight across the country. Japan’s most powerful, most untouchable, and most eligible bachelors.

Gojo Satoru, heir to a real estate empire of old money and power, his presence as blinding as the white hair atop his head. Geto Suguru, ever calm, ever composed, the sharp mind behind tech industries that would take most men lifetimes to control. Ryomen Sukuna, the wildcard, draped in arrogance, his wealth tied to underground dealings no one dared question.

Born into one of Japan’s most powerful families, Toji wasn’t just wealthy—he was the Zenin heir.

When his father died, leaving behind a fortune vast enough to sustain generations, Toji didn’t just sit back and preserve it.

He tripled it.

Through ruthless business ventures, high-stakes investments, and an instinct sharper than any financial advisor’s best predictions, he transformed the Zenin name into something more than just old money. It was new dominance. 

A force that dictated markets, bought influence, and ensured that the name Zenin wasn’t just spoken with respect, but with caution.

The scent of aged whiskey and smoldering cigars curled through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation. The four of them sat back in their private booth, drinks in hand, Tokyo glittering beneath them like a chessboard waiting to be played.

"Suguru, what's got your ass all twisted up? You've been off lately," Satoru drawled, nudging his best friend with a teasing elbow—an oddly childish gesture in a setting so drenched in wealth.

Sukuna snorted, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip. "Can’t believe I’m saying this, but the idiot’s right. You’ve been acting weird as fuck lately, man."

Satoru turned to fire back, lips already curling into a smirk, but paused when Suguru let out a deep sigh.

They weren’t wrong. He had been acting off.

And why?

His sharp, cat-like eyes flickered toward one of his oldest friends—Toji of all fucking people—and instantly, like a ghost haunting the back of his mind, he saw it again.

That kid.

The pint-sized version of Toji he had spotted weeks ago, sitting by your side eating pizza.

He was adorable, with big green eyes and dark hair that spiked upwards. He was also hauntingly enough, a replica of his dear friend sat across from him.

It gnawed at him.

How the hell was he supposed to sit here, sipping whiskey and smoking his cigar, pretending everything was normal, when Toji had a whole damn child he didn’t even know about?

With the love of his life, at that.

The secret sat like a stone in his gut, pressing heavier with each second. But still, Suguru brought his cigar to his lips, took a long drag, and exhaled slowly through his nose.

"Don't know what you guys are talking about," he muttered, voice smooth but empty.

Because fuck.

This wasn’t his business to tell.

Suguru forced the thought down, drowning it in another slow drag of his cigar.

Satoru, ever the gossip, rolled his eyes, swirling the amber liquid in his glass as he shifted in his seat. “Boring, Suguru. Well, since he’s not opening up, I might as well. Guys, you won’t believe what happened to me today.”

He leaned in slightly, the dim overhead lighting catching on the rims of his sunglasses as he peered at them all, clearly waiting for someone to bite.

Toji raised a brow, finally breaking his silence. “What, lost a bar of that shitty candy you inhale every day on your lunch break?” He snorted, lips curling.

Satoru waved him off, unfazed—and unwilling to admit that, yes, that had indeed happened earlier.

“Fuck you, Toji. No, I had an old hookup show up at my office today, screaming at my intern like a lunatic, claiming that I—”

Toji cut him off with a sharp grin, already amused. “Don’t tell me you knocked a one-night stand up.”

“I’ll have you know, she wasn’t a one-night stand.” Satoru placed a hand over his chest, feigning deep offense. “We met in Ibiza, and we had a magical week together!"

“That’s just a fucking nightmare,” Sukuna scoffed, tipping his glass back. “You, of all people, with a kid?”

“Oh come on, I’d be great! My kid would be gorgeous,” Satoru declared, ever confident. Suguru feels himself turning green with where this conversation was headed.

“Gorgeous with a mouth full of cavities, I bet,” Toji drawled, taking a slow sip of his drink.

“Nothing a great dentist can’t fix,” Gojo quipped, brushing it off like it was nothing. “Anyways, not the point of the story. She’s getting rid of it tomorrow—I had my lawyer draft up an NDA, so it’ll all be fine.”

Sukuna shook his head, amusement curling at the edges of his smirk. “F’course it’d be you out of all of us to have the first pregnancy scare.”

Satoru furrowed his white brows. “Is that a joke? Toji is sitting right next to you, y’know.”

Suguru could throw up right here, right now, all over this table and it still wouldn't be enough to make him feel any better.

Toji arched a brow, unimpressed. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?” He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I’m not out here sleeping around like you.”

Satoru grinned, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Well, no, but you were in a relationship for what—six years? And Y/N let me in on your little distaste for condoms, you know. I’m shocked nothing came out of that.”

Sukuna let out a low whistle, nudging Toji’s side. “Yeah, got you there, brother.”

Suguru took a slow, deep breath, staring at the swirling whiskey in his glass.

The conversation was pressing in on him, each word adding weight to the already unbearable tension in his chest. He couldn't do this. If he just stood up and walked out, would it be too obvious?

Toji rolled his green eyes, exhaling through his nose. “I didn’t meet Y/N and start fucking her raw after a week in Ibiza, Satoru. I was with her for six years. Sue me.”

Satoru backed off with his hands raised in mock surrender, a grin still tugging at his lips. “Relax, relax. Speaking of Y/N, I could’ve sworn I saw her the other day at that pizza place we used to go to. Did you see her too, Suguru?”

The shift in conversation hit Suguru like a freight train. His entire body tensed, but he forced himself to keep his expression steady.

He hadn't spoken to Satoru about seeing you and the kid, never even mentioned it.

Toji’s brow quirked up, green eyes flicking toward Geto with sudden interest. The curiosity in them was undeniable.

Suguru’s grip on his cigar tightened. Think. Quickly.

“Y/N?” He scoffed, shaking his head as he brought the cigar to his lips, inhaling deeply.

When he exhaled, he kept his voice smooth, controlled. “I remember the woman you’re talking about but it wasn’t her. Just someone who looked like her.”

Satoru hummed, none the wiser. “Yeah, makes sense. That lady had a kid with her, too. Y/N never even had family or friends like that to be babysitting for.”

Suguru’s fingers curled tighter around his glass. He took another slow drag of his cigar, the smoke curling up toward the dim overhead lights, masking the flicker of unease in his gaze.

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice low. “No way it was her.”

He took another sip of whiskey, but the burn in his throat was nothing compared to the storm brewing in his chest as bright green eyes lingered on him.

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Autumn has settled in fully now, painting the world in warm hues of amber, crimson, and gold.

Leaves crunch underfoot as the wind carries them in lazy spirals along the paved sidewalks. The mornings have grown brisk, the kind that nip at your nose and fingertips, making you pull Megumi’s little coat tighter around him before sending him off to school.

His scarf, a deep navy blue, is carefully wrapped around his neck, though he always tugs at it halfway through the day, complaining that it’s too warm.

He’s been thriving at school, and that alone fills you with a relief so deep it’s almost dizzying!

You worried about him, afraid that his quiet and blunt nature might leave him isolated, unsure of how to make friends. But those fears were put to rest the moment he came home and started talking—really talking—about a boy in his class.

A boy named Yuuji.

Apparently, Yuuji was assigned the seat next to him, and from that moment on, there was no escaping the whirlwind of energy that was his new best friend.

Every day, Megumi would come home with some new story, some ridiculous antic Yuuji had pulled.

And even though this boy you hadn’t met yet seemed like the complete opposite of Megumi—rambunctious, loud, endlessly excitable—you couldn’t be more grateful for his presence.

You had even found yourself smiling, shaking your head in amusement, when Megumi’s teacher gently informed you during a parent-teacher meeting that he had been talking a bit too much in class lately.

Talking too much.

You nearly laughed in disbelief. Your Megumi?

You didn’t mind. Not one bit. Because you were just so glad to hear that Megumi wasn't struggling at all in class, instead thriving academically and socially!

Which is why today is so important.

A playdate.

The next step in any childhood friendship, and truthfully, you’re just as excited as Megumi.

He deserves this—deserves to have a friend he can run around with, someone who makes him laugh, someone his own age to share his days with.

Life can feel a little quiet when it’s just the two of you, and though Megumi has never complained, you’re sure he’s been longing for a companion outside of home.

The plan is simple. You coordinated with Yuuji’s father, Jin, since—according to the kindergarten gossip you’ve managed to gather from Megumi—his mom isn’t in the picture.

You don’t pry, but there’s a quiet understanding in the back of your mind.

First, you’ll meet them at the park, where the boys can run wild, burning through their seemingly endless energy.

Then, once they’ve had their fill of play, you’ll all sit down for lunch at a nearby restaurant, letting them refuel before no doubt finding some new way to tire themselves out again.

The walk to the park is peaceful, the late afternoon sun casting golden light over the quiet streets. 

The crisp autumn air carries the scent of fallen leaves, dry and earthy, while a gentle breeze rustles through the trees, shaking loose vibrant reds and oranges that drift lazily to the pavement.

Megumi walks beside you, his small hand warm in yours, but his steps begin to slow. You feel the slight tug on your arm before you hear his voice.

"Mama," he mumbles, rubbing his tired eyes with his free hand. "Carry me."

You glance down at him with an amused huff, already anticipating this. "Oh, honey, I don't know if my arms are strong enough anymore."

A darker thought crosses your mind. Toji could probably still carry him like it's nothing, like he's nothing more than a newborn.

You haven't seen the man in years, but if his physique was anything like it was back then—

You push the thought away just as quickly as it comes.

"Please?" Megumi's voice is softer this time, and when you glance down again, he's pouting, shifting on his feet like he already knows you’ll cave.

And how could you say no? Sore arms be damned—this is your baby! One day, far too soon, he’ll stop asking.

You crouch down, letting him wrap his arms around your neck before lifting him with a quiet grunt. 

He’s heavier than before, all gangly limbs and growing boy, but he sighs contentedly as he rests his head on your shoulder, his breath warm against your collarbone. You press a soft kiss to his dark hair, letting him nuzzle into your neck.

He won’t fit in your arms like this forever.

The thought lingers, settling into your chest with an ache. Soon, he’ll be too big to carry, too old to want you to. The weight of time feels heavier than the boy in your arms.

Your mind drifts to the slip of paper tucked away in your apartment. Toji’s phone number.

A part of you wonders if you’re wrong for not reaching out now that you can reach him. If you’re selfish for keeping Megumi to yourself. For letting Toji miss this—his son, growing up.

Megumi shifts slightly, pulling you from your thoughts. His small fingers toy with the pendant on your necklace—the little letter ‘M’ you got just for him.

You shake your head, pushing away the what-ifs. Today is about Megumi. About his happiness.

A sudden vibration against your hip snaps you back to the present. You shift Megumi in your arms to free one hand, retrieving your phone from your pocket.

Jin, Yuuji’s father: Hello Y/N! Something came up at work, so I wasn’t able to take Yuuji today, but my younger brother will instead. They’ve already left the house and will be there soon! Sorry for the short notice.

You type out a quick confirmation before tucking your phone away.

Megumi lifts his head slightly. "Are they here yet?"

"Not yet," you say, adjusting your hold on him. "But they should be soon."

His fingers absently trace over the smooth metal of your pendant before he hums in acknowledgment.

By the time you reach the park, the sun has dipped lower, casting long, dappled shadows across the playground. The cool breeze rustles through the empty swings, and the laughter of distant children fills the air.

You find an empty bench and sit, keeping Megumi settled in your lap a little longer, just because you can.

"Megumi!" He lifts his head, suddenly alert, his green eyes scanning the park.

The excited, high-pitched call is accompanied by the sound of small, eager footsteps. You barely get a glimpse before Megumi squirms out of your arms, landing on his feet with practiced ease. He straightens his posture, stuffing his hands into his pockets, trying to play it cool.

You turn toward the voice, and your heart melts at the sight.

Yuuji is absolutely adorable—fluffy pink hair, big brown eyes, a little shorter than Megumi, with the widest grin stretching across his face as he runs over. His joy is infectious, beaming like the sun itself.

But something about him feels… familiar.

Your eyes linger on the soft pink of his hair. It isn’t exactly a common color. And the longer you look at him, the stronger the unsettling familiarity grows.

No. There’s no way.

The thought barely has time to form before a deep, unmistakable voice cuts through your daze.

"Yuuji! Don't go running off without me, you brat."

Your breath catches.

No. Absolutely not.

Your blood runs cold as you turn toward the source, eyes widening, stomach plummeting.

There, towering over the playground with all his tattoos and his unmistakable aura of arrogance, is Ryomen Sukuna of all people.

You feel like the universe is playing some kind of twisted joke on you.

Big. Tall. Tattooed. Another one of Toji’s old friends.

And judging by the way he ruffles Yuuji’s hair—his nephew’s hair—he’s the younger brother Jin mentioned in his text.

Sukuna hasn’t even noticed you yet, too preoccupied with the excitable little boy bouncing in front of him. Yuuji beams up at you. "Wow, Megumi, your mom is really pretty!"

Megumi’s entire body tenses beside you. He steps closer, crossing his arms, his expression darkening.

"I know." he mutters, his glare sharp enough to cut through stone.

You snort, reaching out to rub his back. He huffs but doesn’t pull away, though you can feel the heat radiating off him. His protective streak never fails to amuse you.

The moment cuts through the tension in your chest, but only briefly. Because then you feel it—that unmistakable sensation of being watched.

"Megumi, let’s go play! I’ve been waiting forever! My uncle walks so slow," Yuuji exclaims, practically vibrating with excitement, his bright grin shining under the afternoon sun.

He’s adorable—so full of energy and joy that it makes you want to freeze this moment in time. Your son, on his first real playdate, with a friend who already seems so eager to be by his side.

But you can’t enjoy it. Because standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, towering like a living nightmare, is Ryomen Sukuna.

Of all people.

You blink, trying to process the absurdity of it. How the hell did this happen? What are the odds? What cruel joke is the universe playing on you?

Then, you decide—fuck it.

You’re not going to let Toji who's not even here, his idiot friends, or any other lingering ghosts from your past ruin this for you. This is Megumi’s moment. His first real friend.

You whip out your phone, ignoring Sukuna’s heavy stare as you crouch down slightly. "Alright, boys, stand together and smile!"

Megumi doesn’t really get the smiling part, settling for a neutral stare, while Yuuji doesn’t quite grasp the standing still part, fidgeting excitedly in place. It’s imperfect but perfect all the same, and you snap the pictures, your heart swelling at the sight of them together.

"Alright, go play, but make sure I can see you," you call out.

The second they take off running, your smile drops. You turn to Sukuna, a deep sigh escaping you. He stares right back at you, eyes running up and down your body as if trying to confirm that it is indeed you in front of him.

"Y/N, what the fuck?" Sukuna blurts out, disbelief etched across his face. His eyebrows practically hit his hairline as his sharp gaze flickers between you and Megumi who at this point, was climbing up the stairs to the slide.

Gosh, couldn't even start with a hey, how have you been?

You roll your eyes, already exhausted by this encounter. Seeing Suguru and Satoru was traumatizing enough. This? This is just the cherry on top.

"Ryomen, trust me—I’m feeling the same way. God what are the odds?" You inhale sharply through your nose, leveling Sukuna with a flat stare. His mouth curls into something between a smirk and genuine disbelief, arms folding across his broad chest as he waits for your response.

"Going out on a limb here," Sukuna drawls, tilting his head toward the direction Megumi ran off, "but is the little squirt Toji's?"

Your fingers tighten slightly around your phone. You knew the question was coming—it was inevitable the second he laid eyes on Megumi. The resemblance was too obvious.

Still, hearing it out loud makes something twist deep in your stomach.

"Don't call him that," you say coolly, arching a brow. "And what if he is?"

Sukuna lets out a sharp, amused breath, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. "Shit." His gaze flickers to Megumi in the distance, then back to you, something razor-sharp glinting in his expression. "Does Toji even know? There’s no way he does—he never mentioned it. Not once."

Your jaw tightens. You don’t answer right away.

Instead, you focus on Megumi, watching as he follows Yuuji up the jungle gym. His usual serious expression softens—just slightly—when the younger boy tugs at his sleeve, babbling excitedly about something.

Sukuna doesn’t need a verbal response. Your silence tells him everything.

"This is crazy," he breathes, his grin widening, teeth flashing like the devil himself. "You didn’t tell him?"

You exhale through your nose, resisting the urge to rub your temples. "It’s none of your business, Ryomen."

He lets out a low whistle, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Damn. That’s cold. And coming from you? Toji would never believe it."

Your scowl deepens. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Not about the kid," he clarifies, rolling his shoulders. "I mean, shit, we were literally talking about this last night. But you keeping this from him? He always thought you were harmless."

Something flickers across his face—amusement, sure, but also intrigue, like he’s trying to piece together how the hell this slipped past him. Past Toji.

"You gonna tell him?" Sukuna asks after a beat, gaze sharp, assessing.

Your stomach twists. The question has been haunting you ever since Suguru stepped into your shop weeks ago.

For years, you made peace with the fact that Toji would never know. That there was no way to reach him. That no matter how much it hurt, he had to be let go since Megumi always came first.

You had spent years stretching yourself thin—between your job, chasing after Toji, and most importantly, being a new mother. Something had to give. And bitterly enough, that something was Toji.

Now, after all this time, you have his number. Full access to him.

And you haven’t dialed it once, because something else is holding you back now.

Fear.

You glance back at the two boys, now racing toward the swings, their laughter ringing through the crisp evening air.

"Like I said," you mutter, voice quieter now. "None of your business."

Sukuna clicks his tongue, rocking back on his heels. "Alright, alright, I get it." He exhales, like shaking off the conversation. Then, with a pointed smirk, he adds, "But if you think he won’t find out eventually, you’re dumber than I remember."

Your eyes narrow. "You're not gonna tell him?"

He raises a brow, almost offended. "Why would I? It’s not my business to tell."

You scoff. "Oh please. He's your best friend."

Sukuna just grins, slow and knowing. "Yeah? And maybe I’m being a good friend by keeping quiet." He rubs his chin, tilting his head like he’s savoring the moment. "Wouldn’t wanna tell Toji that his favorite girl’s been keeping something like this from him all these years."

Your breath catches.

There’s something about his tone—something not quite mocking. Not quite amused. Something almost... pitying.

It makes your stomach churn.

Before you can press further, Yuuji’s excited voice slices through the tension like a blade.

"Uncle Sukuna! Push me!"

Sukuna’s gaze lingers on you for a beat longer, unreadable, before he turns away. "Saved by the brat," he teases, already striding toward the swings.

You exhale slowly, rubbing a hand over your face.

Of all people, it had to be Sukuna.

And now, whether you like it or not—one more person knows your secret.

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Lunch is… weird.

The kids, thankfully, are oblivious to the tension radiating off you in waves, too engrossed in their own little world to notice. Well, Yuuji chatters—Megumi mostly listens, nodding at appropriate intervals, his expression neutral but not disinterested.

Still, you have a feeling Megumi senses something is off.

He refuses to sit anywhere but next to you, his small frame pressed against your side, his tiny fingers curled into the fabric of your jacket. It’s a quiet, grounding presence, but it does nothing to settle the storm in your chest.

Across the table, Sukuna is insufferably at ease.

He lounges like this is a casual dinner between friends rather than a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t press, but his amusement is palpable.

You can feel it in the lazy way he drums his fingers against the table, the way his lips curl at the edges, the weight of his gaze lingering on you like he’s waiting—just waiting—for you to crack and curse him out.

You refuse to look at him.

Instead, you focus on the kids. Yuuji is deep in a monologue about a video game he’s been begging his dad to buy, talking between massive bites of a burger that looks almost too big for him.

Megumi, as always, listens quietly, picking at his chicken tenders, offering the occasional hum of acknowledgment.

And you? You’re barely holding it together.

Your food sits untouched, stomach twisted too tight to even pretend to eat. You’ve tried to play it cool in front of Sukuna, to act like you’re unaffected by the weight of this secret, but the truth is, you’re terrified.

Toji’s circle has always been small. Satoru, Suguru, Sukuna—his only real friends. The ones who had earned a place in that impenetrable fortress of trust.

And now, two out of three of them know about Megumi.

But Toji doesn’t.

And that thought alone is enough to make you want to curl into yourself and disappear.

You grip your utensils tighter, swallowing around the lump in your throat, barely registering the sound of laughter and clinking dishes around you.

There should be guilt buried somewhere in the mess of emotions clawing at your insides, but all you really feel is sheer, bone-deep anxiety.

Megumi, at least, has finally started actually eating, nibbling on a chicken tender while sipping a kid-sized soda. Yuuji, on the other hand, is still in a battle with his burger—one that’s about the size of his entire face.

Then, in the way only a child can, Yuuji shatters your already fragile nerves with a single, innocent comment.

"You don’t look anything like your mom, Megumi! You must look like your dad. I look just like mine!"

Your stomach plummets.

You freeze, fork clattering against your plate, pulse spiking so hard you swear your vision tunnels for a second. The world tilts, the restaurant noise fading into a muffled blur, your brain scrambling desperately to think of how to steer the conversation anywhere else before—

“Yeah, I guess.”

Megumi says it so nonchalantly, so effortlessly, that for a second, you think you imagined it.

Your head snaps toward him. He’s still calmly eating, tearing off a piece of chicken tender, unbothered, as if Yuuji hadn’t just dropped a grenade in the middle of dinner.

He… doesn’t care?

You feel like you’re about to combust, but Megumi—Megumi, who never talks about his father, who has never once asked, who you’ve spent years bracing yourself for questions from—just shrugs it off like it’s nothing.

You don’t know if you’re relieved or if it somehow makes the situation worse.

And then, because of course, of course, you make the mistake of looking up—

—only to lock eyes with Sukuna, who is watching the entire thing unfold with the most infuriating, knowing grin.

He doesn’t say anything, but the sharp shit eating smile on his stupid face says enough.

You swallow thickly, dragging your gaze away, forcing yourself to take a slow, steady breath. Megumi is fine. He’s not upset. There’s no need to react.

Even though every nerve in your body is screaming otherwise.

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At the gym, the rhythmic clank of metal echoes through the near-empty space, broken only by the occasional grunt of exertion. It’s just past five in the morning—an ungodly hour for most, but perfect for Toji.

No distractions. No waiting around for machines. Just him, the weight of the bar in his hands, and the steady burn in his muscles.

At least, that’s what he wants.

But Sukuna exists.

The sharp clang of the bar hitting the rack cuts through the quiet as Toji exhales, rolling out his shoulders before reaching for his water bottle. That’s when Sukuna, sprawled out on a neighboring machine like he owns the place, decides to run his mouth.

"You ever think about how you have a type?"

Toji pauses mid-sip, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

Sukuna smirks, the kind that makes Toji immediately regret acknowledging him. "That girl you were with last night? She could’ve passed as Y/N’s sister."

The statement is so absurd that Toji almost laughs. Almost. Instead, he lets out a slow breath, shaking his head. "Didn’t do anything with her. Wasn’t with anybody."

"Sure, sure," Sukuna drawls, clearly entertained. "Just crazy how you only let chicks that look like Y/N within a ten-foot radius of you—"

"Sukuna," Toji grits out, reaching for the bar again, "it’s five in the goddamn morning. I’m finishing this rep and then I’m out."

Sukuna snorts but doesn’t push further. He just leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, watching like he knows exactly what he’s done.

Toji ignores him. He doesn’t have a type. That’s bullshit. And it’s not like he’s been chasing after anyone, anyway.

Not since you.

Sure, there were opportunities. A lingering glance, an open invitation, a number slipped into his palm—but none of it ever went anywhere.

He’d tell himself he wasn’t interested, that he didn’t have the patience for it, but deep down, he knew better. Nothing ever felt right. Not after your relationship.

Sukuna’s words settle in his mind, impossible to ignore.

With each rep, his thoughts betray him, dragging up images—snapshots of you. The way your voice used to sharpen when you were annoyed. The way you always had something quick and cutting to say back to him. The way you—

His grip tightens on the bar, jaw clenching.

And then, before he can stop himself, the words slip out—

"Why has everyone been bringing up Y/N lately?"

A pause.

A fraction too long.

Toji doesn’t miss it.

Sukuna covers it up well, tilting his head in mock confusion. "Just a coincidence, man. I dunno."

But Toji knows a bullshit answer when he hears one.

And it’s not just Sukuna.

It’s Suguru, stiff as a board at the bar the other night, suddenly quiet whenever Toji spoke. It’s Satoru, casually dropping that he saw a woman who looked just like you. It’s the little things, insignificant on their own, but when pieced together…

Something doesn’t sit right.

It’s not suspicion. Not yet.

But it lingers, an itch at the back of his mind.

And for the first time in a long time, Toji finds himself thinking about you longer than he should.

⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖

Back at home, you sit in bed with your pajamas on, scrolling through your phone to try and distract yourself.

The soft glow from your bedside lamp casts a warm, golden hue over the cozy room, the faint scent of lavender lingers in the air from the candle you had blown out earlier, and the plush comforter is pulled up over your lap, cocooning you in warmth.

Behind you, a pile of pillows props you up against the headboard, their familiar softness a small comfort against the weight pressing down on your thoughts.

The room is quiet, save for the occasional hum of the air conditioner and the distant sound of cars passing outside.

Megumi is fast asleep after a long day of running around in the sun with his friend. A warm bubble bath and a home-cooked dinner had knocked him right out, and now he’s curled up in his own little bed, lost in whatever dreams a four-year-old has.

You, on the other hand, can’t sleep. Your heart is still racing, unsettled by the events of today.

You can’t stop replaying the moment Yuuji mentioned Toji—how Megumi had barely reacted. No curiosity, no interest, just a shrug, like the thought of his own father meant nothing to him. And that realization sits heavy in your chest.

Guilt.

Guilt gnaws at you—guilt that Megumi doesn’t even wonder about his father. Guilt that Toji hasn’t given him a reason to.

You exhale, your fingers pressing into your temple, trying to massage away the tension that’s been creeping up your neck all night. Just as you’re about to sink back into the quiet, the faint creak of your bedroom door cuts through the silence, making you glance up.

There, in the doorway, stands Megumi.

His small figure framed by the dim light spilling from the hall, his bright green eyes squinting sleepily as he stumbles toward you, his tiny feet padding softly against the floor.

Without a word, he climbs onto the bed, his movements sluggish and heavy with sleep.

His little body wiggles under the sheets until he's nestled beside you, looking almost comically small against the vast, cushioned expanse of your bed, the covers pooling around him like a blanket fort.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” you ask softly, brushing a hand through his tousled hair, your fingers lingering in the mess of it.

“I wanna sleep in your bed, Mama,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible, thick with sleep as he curls himself into the pillow, his small hands gripping it tightly. His face, so peaceful and innocent, presses into the soft fabric, making him look even cuter than he already is.

You can’t help but smile, warmth spreading through your chest as he shuffles even closer. The weight of him, the slow rise and fall of his breaths, lulls you into a sense of peace. Maybe now you can finally relax, let go of the thoughts spinning in your head.

But then, just as you start to relax, his small, unsteady voice breaks the calm.

“I think my dad is stupid.”

Your heart stops for a moment, the words hanging in the air like a sudden chill. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and instinctively, you sit up straighter, facing him fully now.

“Megumi?!” you exclaim softly, your eyes wide. “What did you just say?”

“Whoever my dad is, he’s a dummy,” he mumbles, his voice so matter-of-fact that it almost stings.

A rush of emotions floods you—confusion, concern, and something sharper that you can’t quite place.

“Megumi, what’s this all about?” you ask gently, trying to mask the tightness in your chest. “Don’t say such mean things.”

“A kid from class told me that since I don’t live with my dad, it means that he left us,” Megumi says quietly, curling into the pillow a little more, his tiny body pressed against yours. “So I think he’s a dummy.”

You search for the right words, but they feel impossible to find. What can you say? The kid wasn’t entirely wrong. Toji did leave you at least—he just didn’t realize he was walking away from Megumi as well.

You take a deep breath, ready to say something comforting, to try and ease the hurt in his little heart.

You want to tell him that Toji loved him, that even though things were messy, his father cared. But before you can get the words out, you feel the weight of Megumi's head settle further into your pillow. His small breaths are steady, slow, his tiny body already drifting back to sleep.

He murmurs again, barely audible. "Gnight Mama.”

You glance down at him, his eyelids fluttering as he drifts deeper into slumber, his hand still curled loosely around your wrist. You smile softly, a pang of something tender in your chest. It’s moments like this that remind you of how much he needed the quiet, the calm.

You don’t push him. You just let him be, letting the words hang in the space between you two, unsaid.

With a sigh, you reach over and switch off the bedside lamp, the room plunging into the soft embrace of darkness.

The only sound is the soft rustling of sheets as Megumi shuffles closer to you, his small body curling into yours with the kind of comfort only a child can seek. His little face nuzzles against your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

For a moment, you think you might finally find the sleep you’ve been chasing all night. But the stillness in the room only heightens the weight in your chest, the tightness of unanswered questions.

Your thoughts keep drifting to Toji—the way his absence hung between you, even now, even here.

You can’t help but wonder if he ever thought about your failed relationship, if he ever truly understood what he’d left behind. Maybe not just you, but him—Megumi, the child who would never ask for a father but still had a place for one.

You try to push it out of your mind, focusing on the warm weight of Megumi against you, but it lingers.

You close your eyes, but sleep remains just out of reach.

[kateswallofweird]

THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM . . .

oliver queen / the arrow x reporter reader; cw angst ish fluff ish

💭 written with smallville!oliver queen in mind

oliver queen, notoriously rich playboy (and the green arrow behind closed doors), is not amused when he meets you, the nosy reporter from the daily planet who doesn't have an ounce of self-preservation.

the first time oliver meets you is as the green arrow. slinging through the streets of star city, he's surprised to find some metropolis journalist so far from home. but more than that, he's shocked to see just how careless you are when you're chasing a lead. it's like you don't even care if you get hurt!

"for your information, i totally had that handled." you dusted off your pants and waved away the outstretched hand he offered.

he rolled his eyes under his mask. "you almost got your ass handed to you by that fence, which might i add is electrified."

"and that concerns bootleg peter pan because?"

at that he scoffed. "i'm—"

"the green arrow aka arrogant asshole vigilante, yeah i know."

"arrogant asshole is taking it a little bit far," he deadpanned.

you ignored him. "listen, i'm sure there's some damsel in actual distress out there for you to help, but i've got a story to chase on queen industries, mr. glorified leprechaun, so i'll take my leave now."

he watches you leave and a very tiny part of him smiles at the thought of you despite the sarcasm and biting insults.

the second time he runs into you, oliver is at a charity gala that queen industries is hosting to boost their publicity (or rather, their public image which has taken a dip in light of recent news). he sips leisurely on the glass of champagne as his eyes trail after you (because he wouldn't admit it, but you looked damn good in what you were wearing tonight).

"mr. queen, sorry to interrupt, but i'm with the daily planet," you flash your business card to him and try not to act surprised when he actually takes it, "i've just got a few questions for you."

"and this wouldn't be about the collaboration between queen industries and luthercorp on meteorite technology, would it? because that isn't public knowledge yet, and considering that we recently had a security breach," he looked at you squarely, "it'd be awfully convenient for you to have insider information regarding said breach."

you tensed under his gaze. technically, breaking and entering wasn't criminal unless you got caught, which you hadn't been. plus, it's not like you stole anything, you'd just been . . . exploring queen industries' laboratories for a scoop on their experimenting.

"i have my sources," you settled on saying. "unless you're accusing me of—"

he scoffed, and you frowned. it sounded familiar.

"no, i wouldn't be so much of an arrogant asshole to accuse you of such a thing," he quipped sarcastically, the comment slipping out before he could think twice.

that was definitely familiar.

"now that you mention it mr. queen, how are you so sure it wasn't that green masked vigilante that no one seems to know anything about that broke in?" you pressed on, gauging his reaction, "mr. glorified leprechaun could have been the cause of your security breach."

he didn't say anything nor give you the satisfaction you were looking for, but you'd gotten all the reaction you needed.

"i'll be seeing you around, mr. queen."

"that's not likely."

the third time oliver sees you is when his mask slips off his face from all the blood. he'd stopped in an alleyway briefly to catch his breath; he should have known better than to let his guard down.

the lit cigarette between your fingertips fell to the ground as your eyes widened with recognition.

"i knew it," you breathed. "oh, i fucking knew it."

and you're all but barreling over to him before he can stop you from coming any closer. he's bleeding from all over, bruised from the night's patrol, and he doesn't want to hurt you. not to mention, he's feeling faint—dangerously faint.

so he catches you in his arms just as you catch him.

"you can't tell anyone," he says before passing out leaving you with one hell of a problem on your hands.

💭 i'm feeling a part 2 in the works

💭 update: i have crazy writer's block for oliver queen i'm sorry 😭 the part 2 is being worked on but if it'll see the light of day any time soon . . . i'm not sure

[reality-detective]

“I gathered all vaccine ingredients into a list and contacted Poison Control. After intros and such, and asking to speak with someone tenured and knowledgeable, this is the gist of that conversation.

Me: My question to you is how are these ingredients categorized? As benign or poison? (I ran a few ingredients, formaldehyde, Tween 80, mercury, aluminum, phenoxyethanol, potassium phosphate, sodium phosphate, sorbitol, etc.)

He: Well, that's quite a list... But I'd have to easily say that they're all toxic to humans... Used in fertilizers... Pesticides... To stop the heart... To preserve a dead body... They're registered with us in different categories, but pretty much poisons. Why?

Me: If I were deliberately to feed or inject my child with these ingredients often, as a schedule, obviously I'd put my daughter in harm's way... But what would legally happen to me?

He: Odd question... But you'd likely be charged with criminal negligence... perhaps with intent to kill... and of course child abuse... Your child would be taken away from you... Do you know of someone's who's doing this to their child? This is criminal...

Me: An industry... These are the ingredients used in vaccines... With binding agents to make sure the body won't flush these out... To keep the antibody levels up indefinitely...

The man was beside himself. He asked if I would email him all this information. He wanted to share it with his adult kids who are parents. He was horrified and felt awful he didn't know... his kids are vaccinated and they have health issues...”

~  By  Iris Figueroa

Here are just SOME vaccine ingredients present in routine vaccines:

◾️Formaldehyde/Formalin - Highly toxic systematic poison and carcinogen.

◾️Betapropiolactone - Toxic chemical and carcinogen. May cause death/permanant injury after very short exposure to small quantities. Corrosive chemical.

◾️Hexadecyltrimethylammonium bromide - May cause damage to the liver, cardiovascular system, and central nervous system. May cause reproductive effects and birth defects.

◾️Aluminum hydroxide, aluminum phosphate, and aluminum salts - Neurotoxin. Carries risk for long term brain inflammation/swelling, neurological disorders, autoimmune disease, Alzheimer's, dementia, and autism. It penetrates the brain where it persists indefinitely.

◾️Thimerosal (mercury) - Neurotoxin. Induces cellular damage, reduces oxidation-reduction activity, cellular degeneration, and cell death. Linked to neurological disorders, Alzheimer's, dementia, and autism.

◾️Polysorbate 80 & 20 - Trespasses the Blood-Brain Barrier and carries with it aluminum, thimerosal, and viruses; allowing it to enter the brain.

◾️Glutaraldehyde - Toxic chemical used as a disinfectant for heat sensitive medical equipment.

◾️Fetal Bovine Serum - Harvested from bovine (cow) fetuses taken from pregnant cows before slaughter.

◾️Human Diploid Fibroblast Cells - aborted fetal cells. Foreign DNA has the ability to interact with our own.

◾️African Green Monkey Kidney Cells - Can carry the SV-40 cancer-causing virus that has already tainted about 30 million Americans.

◾️Acetone - Can cause kidney, liver, and nerve damage.

◾️E.Coli - Yes, you read that right.

◾️DNA from porcine (pig) Circovirus type-1

◾️Human embryonic lung cell cultures (from aborted fetuses)

You can view all of these ingredients on the CDCs website: 👇

You are always welcome to do your own research, in fact I encourage you to do so. 🤔

[opbackgrounds]

The Romanticism of One Piece VI: Nature and the Sublime

AO3 Part I Part V

“Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils”

—William Wordsworth

Anyone making even a cursory reading of the Romantics, particularly the English Romantic poets, will soon find an obsession with nature. Even in the early 1800s, the scars of the Industrial Revolution were starting to be felt in the environment. Increased urbanization, a technological boom, and the capitalistic glut for increased output which in turn demanded the consummation of increased natural resources was destroying old orders one after the other in order to make room for the coming modern age. 

The advent of trains, steamboats, and the telegraph changed the way people traveled and communicated forever. The allure of the city drove people from the countryside to work long, dangerous hours in factories. It seemed like the traditional way of things was being lost, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Poets and artists looked back fondly on the simplicity of their youths, and went in search of the beautiful and the sublime. 

When reading these poems and looking at these pieces of art, you’ll also find that solitude was an important aspect of this search, the ability to get away from the neverending wheel of the rat race to be alone with one’s thoughts. Quoting from Walden, Thoreau said it best, “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” There was so much about modern society and civilization that rang false to these men, and it was only when communing with the primordial forces of nature that these falsities could be stripped away to reveal something pure and true.

One Piece is a manga that delights in its environments. Oda has clearly done his research while lovingly rendering each location, particularly once the series hits the Grand Line. I’ve always been amazed about how even minor islands with little page time feel fully realized, and how even similar environments can be easily distinguished from one another at a glance. The jungle of Little Garden looks nothing like the jungle of Skypiea, which in turn is completely distinct from Green Bit. 

Similarly, Robin’s desire to preserve and protect ancient relics of the past is something the Romantics would have approved of, and with Luffy at the helm, the Straw Hat Pirates don’t just travel the wonders of the Grand Line, but embrace each and every island they come across, no matter what insanity lies in wait. While it’s not a central focus of the series, arcs like Wano and Egghead explore environmental themes and the dangers of pursuing technological advance at the cost of careful ethics.

Poet William Wordsworth famously fought against building a railway through the Lake District of England, where he lived and wrote much of his best-regarded work, so much so that he wrote a sonnet voicing his displeasure with the proposed project, as well as the thought of hundreds of unappreciative tourists destroying the peace and beauty of the area. 

So while nature was to be appreciated, it was to be appreciated in the right way. It wasn’t enough to take in the sights for the sight’s sake, but an experience to be savored. Nature was an essential part of these writers and artist’s creative muses, and while many Romantics weren’t orthodox in their religion, there was a spiritual aspect in their veneration of the created world, particularly in their search for the sublime.

One Piece and the Sublime

“I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense of sublime, of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting sun, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man” —William Wordsworth

While the concept of the sublime existed long before the Romantic period, it was the Romantics who really took the idea and ran with it. It must be said that the sublime as talked about here is quite different from how the word is typically thought of in the modern day. The sublime’s roots are found in philosophy, as a sub-branch of the study of aesthetics. In his essay A Philosophical Enquiry into the Ideas of the Sublime and the Beautiful, late Enlightenment/early Romantic writer Edmund Burke for the first time divided the ideas of the sublime and the beautiful into two distinct and separate categories. This essay was hugely influential to the Romantic movement going forward, particularly in England. 

According to Burke, “Whatever is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain and danger, that is to say, whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source of the sublime; that is, it is productive of the strongest emotion which the mind is capable of feeling.” 

So, in short, the sublime is a powerful emotion. The most powerful emotion a person is capable of feeling. In typical English fashion, Burke thought the strongest negative emotions were more powerful than the strongest positive emotions, so it stood to reason that the sublime must in turn come from the negative. While this might initially read as a rather unpleasant experience, the sublime was something actively sought out by the Romantics, and according to Burke was a pain that caused delight. 

Attempting to define something as ineffable as the sublime is like trying to define love. No matter how many lines a poet inks or how many portraits an artist completes attempting to capture the feeling of lightning striking the soul, they will always be incomplete. It’s the feeling of going out to an open prairie and being crushed by the weight of the sky, or walking in the shadow of a mountain and feeling your own smallness. It’s looking up at the bright night sky and recognizing that you are one amongst billions, a speck of cosmic dust drifting aimlessly on an insignificant planet in the corner of an insignificant galaxy in a universe whose vastness you can’t begin to comprehend. 

It’s the finite’s attempt at grasping the infinite, a complete breakdown of the rigid walls of the Enlightenment thinkers, the embrace of irrationality and emotion over cold, calculated reason. To use one of Burke’s own examples, it's the peasant kneeling before the dread majesty of their king. For some it was a way to commune with God. For others it replaced God altogether.  

Take for example a painting like The Monk by the Sea by Caspar David Friedrich. The titular monk is tiny compared to the broad vastness of the sky and ocean, which seems about to swallow him whole. Whether the figure in the painting is contemplating the divine, or whether the sublimity of the moment is itself divine is open to interpretation, and like many figures in Friedrich’s works, the monk is turned away from the viewer so his face, his identity, is not visible, because who any individual person is when compared to this overwhelming force isn't important. 

While terror was important to Burke in searching out the sublime, it was equally important that there be a layer of distance between the perceived danger and the subject searching for it. After all, the sublime was something to be contemplated just much as it was experienced. A sailor caught in a storm is just fighting for their life. There’s no ability to allow themselves to reflect on the nature of eternity on a mortal soul when they’re trying not to drown. But a person contemplating a painting of a ship caught in a storm, or better yet watching a stormy sea from a high cliff, has that element of terror without actually placing a person in immediate danger. That distance allows the person to be subsumed in the moment, in the feeling, of the sublime.

As a manga, there is a natural distance between the reader and what goes on in One Piece. The wild, cartoonish, fantasy further separates it from the real world. This gap is perhaps too great for some to find the sublime within its pages. At the same time, it ticks many of Burke’s boxes: the vastness of its world, the displays of power from the characters within, the call to imagination, awe, wonder, and, yes, terror. While I very much doubt Oda had the idea of the sublime in mind when he came up with the idea with Conqueror’s Haki, overwhelming power causing the weak-willed to faint while foaming at the mouth very much fits the vibe Burke was going for in his essay.

If given a choice in the matter, Luffy will always take the more dangerous path forward. While he’s not nearly contemplative enough for the traditional Romantic mindset, the narrative rewards his desire to seek out experiences and adventure. The series’ focus on emotional truth over realism invokes powerful feelings in the reader. The wonder of the White White Sea is all the stronger because of the danger of the Knock-Up Stream. The descent to Fishman Island is made all the more grand by the fragility of the bubble that protects the crew. The vast majority of the East Blue Saga is spent hyping up the danger of the Grand Line, and wouldn’t you know it, the Straw Hats barely sail into its waters for five minutes and there’s already a dozen things trying to kill them.

Even places like Water 7, which the Romantic’s push against urbanization would not have seen as sublime, is elevated by the whimsy of the sea train and the danger of Agua Laguna. Oda takes inspiration from all over the world and elevates those inspirations into something greater than reality, injecting so much high fantasy creativity and verve into every location that the reader cannot help but be moved. And nowhere can this be better seen by how Oda portrays the sea.

To quote Burke one last time, “A level plain of a vast extent on land, is certainly no mean idea; the prospect of such a plain may be as extensive as a prospect of the ocean; but can it ever fill the mind with anything so great as the ocean itself? This is owing to several causes; but it is owing to none more than this, that the ocean is an object of no small terror.” 

[fatehbaz]

Originally I had attached these tags about British imperial forestry to a post about United States treatment of forests, Indigenous peoples, and land administration from 1900-ish to 1935-ish, during a transition period when clear-cutting logging was threatening profit so the US turned to a German- and British-influenced "sustained yield" forestry paradigm:

And in response, someone added:

In the midst of the first Empire Forestry Conference of scientists, academics, and administrators in 1920, the chairman of the Forestry Commission of Britain, Lord Lovat, said that forests were "grown for use and not for mere ornament ... Forests are national assets only so far as they supply the raw material for industrial development."

Rajan (in Modernizing Nature) directly quotes professor of forestry at Oxford, R.S. Troup, who had been influential in the Indian forest service; at the same forestry conference in 1920, Troup promoted sustained yield like this: "Conservation was a 'wise and necessary measure' but it was 'only a stage towards the problem of how best to utilise the forest resources of the empire'. The ultimate ideal was economic management [...], which regarded forests as capital assets, fixed annual yields in such a manner as to exploit 'to the full interest on this capital [...]' and aimed for equal annual yields so as to sustain the market and provide regular supplies of timber to industry."

One of the big - and easily accessible/readable - summaries of the shift to sustained yield and rise of US and British administrators embracing "economic management" of forests:

Modernizing Nature: Forestry and Imperial Economic Development, 1800-1950. S. Ravi Rajan. 2006.

Concise look at the trajectory from East India Company and Royal Navy timber reserves; to British foresters training in Germany and/or in German traditions (including sustained yield) before joining as officers in the powerful British-Indian land administration bureaucracy; to US scientists being trained by those British administrators; to 1920s/1930s Empire Forestry Conferences promoting industry while identifying forests as essential to power.

---

This has also been covered by:

Vinita Damodaran, Richard Grove, Jeyamalar Kathirithamby-Wells, Jonathan Saha, Gregory Barton, Rohan D'Souza.

More summaries of the situation (shorter length, accessible):

"Imperial Environmentalism or Environmental Imperialism? European Forestry, Colonial Forests and the Agenda of Forest Management in the British Empire, 1800-1900". S. Ravi Rajan, In: Nature and Orient: Essays on Environmental History of South and South East Asia, 1998.

"'Dominion over palm and pine': the British Empire forestry conferences, 1920-1947". J.M. Powell, Journal of Historical Geography, Volume 33, Issue 4, October 2007.

Elsewhere, Elizabeth DeLoughrey and George Handley described it like this: 'These forest reserves [...] did not necessarily represent "an atavistic interest in preserving the 'natural' [...]" but rather "a more manipulative and power-conscious interest in constructing new landscapes [...]."' While Sharae Deckard adds: '[T]he subversive potential of the "green" critique [...] was defused by the extent to which growing environmental sensibilities enabled imperialism to function more efficiently by appropriating botanical knowledge and indigenous conservation methods [...].'

---

And the book:

Commonwealth Forestry and Environmental History: Empire, Forests and Colonial Environments in Africa, the Caribbean, South Asia and New Zealand.

Edited by Damodaran and D'Souza, with work from conferences hosted by Grove, in 19 chapters including:

"Worlds Apart? The Scottish Forestry Tradition and the Development of Forestry in India" (K. Jan Ootheok); "Redeeming Wood by Destroying the Forest: Shola, Plantations and Colonial Conservancy on the Nilgiris in the Nineteenth Century" (Deborah Sutton); "Nature's Tea Bounty: Plant Colonialism and 'Garden' Capitalism in the British Empire" (Jayeeta Sharma); "Industrialized Rainforests: The Ecological Transformation of the Sri Lankan Highlands, 1815-1900"; "Forestry and Social Engineering in the Miombo Woodlands of South-Eastern Tanganyika" (Thaddeus Sunseri)

---

Rajan also points out (again in Modernizing Nature):

"[An] extremely important aspect to the repackaging [of forestry science and management] [...] [and] a critical principle that stands out here is that of sustained yield, or sustainability (Nachhaltigekeit). This concept was fundamental [...]. By the turn of the [twentieth] century a large pan-colonial [British-United States] scientific community was in existence, trained in the German and French tradition of forestry [...]. Following the revolt of 1857, the government of [British] India sought to pursue active interventionist policies [...]. Experts were deployed as 'scientific soldiers' [...]. Dietrich Brandis [...], considered the founder of Indian forestry [...] married Rachel Marshman, who was [...] also the sister of the wife of General Havelock, a close friend of Lord Dalhouse, the then governor-general of India. On Havelock's recommendation, Brandis was put in charge of the forests of [...] Burma [...] and was subsequently appointed inspector-general of forests of India. [...] He also trained prospective foresters of the forest department of the USA, including Gifford Pinchot. [...] Chancellor Bismarck gave the visiting British Prime Minister Gladstone an oak sapling [...]. Prussia prided itself on helping devise [...] modern forest management. [...] [T]he Forestry Commision [...], [or] [t]he Imperial Visionaries, as they became known, believed that an increase in primary production in the tropical dependent empire would result in the growth of the British economy. [...] They deemed their own job to be serving the imperial economy."

---

And also:

Empire Forestry and the Origins of Environmentalism. GA Barton, 2002.

"Colonialism and Green Science: History of Colonial Scientific Forestry in South India, 1820-1920". VM Ravikumar Vejendala, Indian Journal of History of Science, 47:2, pages 241-259, 2012.

"Imperialism, Intellectual Networks, and Environmental Change: Unearthing the Origins and Evolution of Global Environmental History." Vinitia Damodaran and Richard Grove, in Nature's End: History and the Environment, 2009.

"The Reconfiguration of Scientific Career Networks in the Late Colonial Period: The Case of Food and Agriculture Organization and the British Colonial Forestry Service" by Jennifer Gold, and "A Network Approach to the Origins of Forestry Education in India, 1855-1885" by Brett M. Bennett. Both chapters are form Science and Empire, 2011.

Triumph of the Expert: Agrarian Doctrines of Development and the Legacies of British Colonialism. Joseph Morgan Hidge, in Series in Ecology and History, 2007.

Nature and Nation: Forests and Development in Peninsular Malaysia. Jeyamalar Kathirithamby-Wells, 2005. And also: "Peninsular Malaysia in the context of natural history and colonial science." Jeyamalar Kathirithamby-Wells, New Zealand Journal of Asian Studies, Volume 11, Number 1, 2009.

"Empires of Forestry: Professional Forestry and State Power in Southeast Asia, Part 1". Peter Vandergeest and Nancy Lee Peluso, Environment and History 12, no. 1, pages 31-64, February 2006.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Today, it’s common to see farms covered in plastic. It lines the sides of greenhouses, blankets fields as “plastic mulch,” covers hoop houses, and winds through farms as irrigation tubes, among other forms. In satellite images, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) has observed the typically golden and green agricultural fields turned white, as though dusted in snow, from all of the plastic. Agriculture is responsible for 3.5 percent of global plastic production, a figure that may seem small until you consider the sheer volume of plastics produced: around 400 million metric tons per year.

[...]

The Earth’s soils have become a waste bin of the world’s plastics. Soil is thought to be even more polluted with microplastics than the ocean, which contains an estimated 358 trillion plastic particles. Agricultural soils have been called a “reservoir” for not just the plastic produced on farms, but also plastics from other industrial sources that enter the water to eventually wash up on farms during a flood, or are carried by the wind. In a world where all industries run on plastics, these fine particles can also find their way onto farms through poultry litter, sewage sludge applied to soils, and even fertilizer. “There are currently no viable remediation techniques,” said Cusworth. “If you want to remove them from the soil, [the solution] is to stop producing them in the first place.” The major producers of plastics, like ExxonMobil and Dow, continue to sell plastic to farmers as a way to adapt to extreme weather conditions like drought and flooding. For instance, ExxonMobil promises that plastic sheets, like those used by Emmert, will “protect and preserve harvests in even the most demanding weather conditions.” Yet the production of plastics—a derivative of fossil fuels, typically obtained through fracking—is a major contributor to climate change, responsible for over 5 percent of global emissions. This creates a vicious cycle, where the production of plastic drives climate change, which drives up demand for plastics on farms. Extreme weather also causes plastics to degrade more quickly, causing microplastic litter. Indeed, a 2021 report from the United Nations’ Food and Agricultural Administration noted that the demand for plastic on farms is projected to grow by 50 percent between 2018 and 2030.

5 June 2024

[mewguca]

Since Tumblr allows me to write text, here it is transcribed into the post itself, yay <3:

Why I think the Fifth Urge being tied to the Concept Of "The Self" Is Really Cool!!

(aka my Apocryphal Texts personal interpretation of the fifth urge lol) - by egguca/mewguca

My personal favorite label/title for the Fifth Urge is "Self-Preservation", as it lends itself quite nicely into double-meanings. I also interpret the Urges as manifesting differently on a base level VS on a higher level. (like with animals vs with people, though people can still regress to displaying baser forms of the urges. Hopefully that makes sense?)

On a base level, "self-preservation" manifests as a survival instinct.

To preserve one's current life, rather than accepting death and rebirth. Lesser beings seem to struggle with this greatly, as the slugcats we play as (vanilla) cannot move past Fifth Karma without external assistance (FP or Echoes). I think a lot of people tend to focus on this due to Survivor's association with the symbol.

On a higher level, this is the preservation of the "Ego." Of the very idea of the self. One's self-image. Ascension is often referred to as

"crossing oneself out", so wouldn't that naturally mean to accept an extinguishment of the self? Of course, Ascension is intentionally vague, but I feel like it makes a lot of sense for the Fifth Urge to be tied to ego, at least on a higher level.

In-Game References

Notice how Karma 5 is displayed over the Ancient's face, which is crossed out. This is not seen in any of the other murals. Coincidence?? I think not! /ref

Bright Blue Industrial Pearl

"Abatement of the Self" is mentioned. Shoutouts to "the self" being mentioned.

Bright Red Farm Arrays Pearl / Sky Islands Dark Blue/Green

Moon mentions "ego" here. In Latin, "Ego" means "I." Thus, Ego is tied to the concept of the "Self." The concept of

"crossing oneself out" is tied to the concept of Ascension, and this suggests that the Persistence of the "Self" is (possibly, there are other ideas for this what causes "Echoes" to form.

This stresses the importance of shedding the Fifth Urge in all its manifestations.

＊(I'm not trying to argue my interpretation is "correct" or anything; this is just for fun, lol. Do what you want! It's why this is titled "why I think it's really Cool" and not "why it's correct")

[lyinginbedmon]

I don't know how much I can reasonably lean into the weird-fae-creature bit before it becomes unhealthy, but I do find a lot of familiarity and comfort in it.

First and foremost, it's liberating to deliberately identify with something that by definition isn't human. I don't have to concern myself with unreasonable standards if I'm not something in their jurisdiction. So what if I'm weird, so what if people will stare, they did that anyway.

Secondly, it's an indelible tie to my family's history in Ireland. Our modern understanding of the fae is a complex subject, but a lot of it originates in Irish folklore and the sidhe, as well as it its historical interaction with Christianity. Having never even set foot in Ireland myself, a second-generation immigrant (assuming zero-indexing, because of course I am) raised entirely outside of that culture, that's deeply meaningful. It means I'm carrying something from the island with me every day and encourages me to learn more about it.

Thirdly, it's predictive. Fae being repelled by iron is a myth, but the fae are tied in with a lot of ideas about naturalism and anti-industrialism. So in a nutshell, anything bad for nature is invariably going to cause me problems, which aligns neatly with my circumstances as a multiply-disabled chronically ill person. Green fields and fresh air won't help those circumstances, but they certainly won't make them worse (at least as long as they're reasonably disabled-access). So it gives me a grounded place from which to argue for climate preservation, for wildlife protection, and other things of that ilk. I may be a city kid, but I've always held a deep appreciation for such things, and having that direct tie to them is galvanising.

And lastly, perhaps most importantly, it's just fun. I get to be whimsical, I get to be care-free, I get to look for delight in mundane things, I get to be the clown my little nephews can look bemused at, and I get to take principled stands as a messenger from ancient stories here to humble humankind once again.

I might not literally be a daoine sidhe, but I do like being one. It suits me very well. Perhaps that's reason enough.

[maybe-boys-do-love]

So far, Kidnap the series, is BL-ing in all the right ways. It's light fare, but that's exactly what it aims for, and its hitting near the bullseye every episode. Just because its light doesn't mean its bad. Consider this my plea to everyone--for the sake of romance, BLs, and Thai BLs in particular--to stop equating dramatic naturalism with 'good' art. Kidnap is silly, sweet, and such a throwback to classic BLs--it's already hit most of the BL tropes. More importantly, Kidnap understands a major 'why' of BLs and light fare, and the series, itself, is depicting that 'why': they can give an overwhelming sense of reparation for queer people's buried traumas.

On the podcast Boys Love Boys Love, hosts and gay married couple Adam and RJ have been recapping their first watch of ITSAY (which very much broke open many traditions of the BL genre) with guests. In all three recaps so far, the guests and hosts have detailed vividly how, despite feeling 'proud' of their sexuality, BL shows allowed them to revisit painful experiences of isolation and abandonment in adolescence that occurred because of homophobia and then re-imagine an adolescence in which they weren't constantly on guard but instead experienced genuine adult care, friendship, and uninhibited explorations of first love. BL shows and their happy endings help queer people process griefs we don't realize we've suppressed.

I see a parallel to this experience in Kidnap as Min aids Q in coping with his acute PTSD, especially in the play acting scenes. Q can safely engage with his past experience and gain a sense of control and compassion over what he couldn't manage originally. Because I'm a performance dork at heart, the context of Ohm, the 'king of BLs,' leading Leng, an entirely green actor, within the show and through the actual process of acting in BLs doubles down on the theme. With each clear-from-outer-space romance beat, the show promises that this is a safe place to be vulnerable.

In the latest episode (episode 5), the series even began to reveal plot-relevance to its BL levity. We've all joked about Min's incompetency with all the crime he's been drawn into. After the first episode, the people on the internet chucked it up to a cheesy show disinterested in researching and committing to the realities of crime, but then James walked in the next week and called him out on it all. It was just Min, not the show. His exuberant care and desperation to please has led him, unsurprisingly, into a web of deception with no way out.

Brother Mhen laid it flat out this week: just because Min takes care of him doesn't mean he doesn't also provide kinds of care for his brother. Min, like any human-being, has his own weaknesses and issues of self-worth, and Q, with his savvy and prerogative of self-preservation learned from his upbringing, is positioned perfectly to provide the care and encouragement Min needs. I don't think the show has invited this comparison as directly, but it does make me think about how we figure the lighter BL shows and people like Ohm, a particularly evocative representative for creators in the industry, who endure controversies and vitriol to bring their best attempts to lighten the burdens of audiences.

For all the intense feelings ITSAY or The Eight Sense or The On1y One produced in me, I can recognize that their 'cinematic' style, with its naturalistic performances and precise camera work, is still just a style. It's not inherently better than shows recorded on sound-stages with more theatrical performance styles, though many critics and scholars have trained us to think that way. I Love Lucy, The Golden Girls, and shows like them are undeniably celebrated series that have no interest in approaching cinematic style.

Stable cameras, broader characters, and more absurd situations allow for subversive problems to be broached and tackled (and laughed at) while maintaining audience comfort. The slapstick and screwball comedy is one of the things I've adored about Thai BLs, in particular. The audience can feel for but not with the characters. And, that healthy distance is not to be diminished. Comfort can be a vitally important aesthetic experience, and the rules for judging genres that prioritize it are very different than those used for judging prestige tv and *poetic cinema.*

Too much realism would be detrimental to an action rom-com like Kidnap because the audience would no longer feel safe to laugh and coo about these characters in their situation. Although GMMTV is leaning more into its cinematography for BLs recently with this series and The Trainee (maybe toss Moonlight Chicken in there), I personally appreciate how they've maintained the genre's unpretentious sentimental tone, even as they've allowed creators to expand the breadth of the genre and address its problems. That tonal lightness allows us, in Kidnap, to safely dive into PTSD and perhaps our own experiences as queer adolescents with parents who left us unseen as we suffered alone; we trust the show will leave us and the characters resolved in the end.

But I don't want to mistake that kind of depth as the main point of BLs. Those are the undercurrents but we're meant to have fun here. You don't pull-up Miss Congeniality on your TV to understand the human condition. We like these characters, feel safe to open up our hearts, and trust, even as threats of death loom, queer love will conquer all.

[introvertedlass]

I've been talking about this for a while now both here, LSA and in private chats. Portugal has been trying to market itself as the European Hollywood since 2020 (one of the article I list is from 2018). I'm sure it's been going on even longer. Connect the dots.

I mean, I don't work in the industry but I can read.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Trajectories for the Future

In "Dark tidings: Anarchist Politics in the Age of Collapse," Uri Gordon paints an ominous picture: "industrial civilization is coming down," so "anarchists and their allies are now required to project themselves into a future of growing instability and deterioration."[20] I am not so sure about the imminent downfall of industrial civilization or the collapse of capitalism, but I concur that we need to project ourselves into some image of the future in order to prepare for it.[21] A complication is that the future is partially decided by how we project ourselves into it and how we imagine it. There is not a predetermined future that we merely need to prepare for. It will be shaped by how we prepare for it and by what future we prepare for. To fixate ourselves on a particular vision of the future could affect us by constricting our capacities in the present to those actions that lead to that future, blinding us to other possibilities.

Gordon mentions some possible future scenarios, summed up as "grassroots communism, eco-authoritarianism, or civil war."[22] As the ecological crisis becomes more clear and people demand change, global capitalism might attempt to recuperate by making minor adjustments and putting on a "green face" without any changes in the system that is actually causing the crisis: capitalism itself. This can only buy time, and as the crisis intensifies capitalism will employ more authoritarian and repressive measures to stay in power. It can do this either in an authoritarian, neoliberal form, deploying superficial, liberal "progressive" rhetoric while preserving existing hierarchies; or it could instead turn to "eco-fascism," combining nationalist, racist and misogynist ideas of population control and "belonging" with the need to protect nature by totalitarian means. Both are tendencies that exist in the present.[23] In either case, it can only be a matter of buying time by managing the crisis until the inevitable collapse. In his piece Gordon suggests a number of praxises that are necessary in order to resist the authoritarian tendencies during this period of interregnum as well as to build alternative communities that prefigure a new way of life, independent of global capitalism.

Another, more recent, theory of possible futures is Geoff Mann and Joel Wainwright's (M&W) "Climate Leviathan."[24] They see four different trajectories: Either the capitalist order will continue under an increasingly authoritarian global sovereign - a planetary regulatory regime that decides who gets to pollute and at which cost ("Climate Leviathan") - or it will continue without such a sovereign as reactionary and nationalist movements refuse any serious collective efforts to mitigate climate change ("Climate Behemoth"). The global sovereign might also emerge as a non-capitalist world order: the state-socialist dream of a global centrally planned economy but with an emphasis on reducing carbon emissions ("Climate Mao"), and finally there is the more unknown path which involves a rejection and transcendence of both capitalism and political sovereignty ("Climate X").[25] Although climate denying "anti-globalist" right-wing movements have gained political power in several countries in recent years, the authors doubt this "Behemoth" will be long-lived: at some point the climate crisis will become so apparent it cannot be ignored.[26] They find the capitalist "Climate Leviathan" the most likely scenario as it can be built on global institutions and structures that already exist.[27] Climate X is less certain but is the only scenario the authors see as a viable strategy for the future.[28]

There are several overlaps between Gordon's and M&W's theories. Gordon's vision of eco-authoritarian capitalism is not that far from their Climate Leviathan: an attempt to manage the escalating crisis while preserving the existing structures of inequality. In his updated version, he admits that the prediction that capitalism would adapt by accommodating environmentalist and progressive concerns has not been realized. Instead capital has tended to "opt for full-blown reaction" expressed in climate denial and national chauvinism[29] - a trend that aligns with their vision of Climate Behemoth. The main point of convergence in the two theories is the hope for "Climate X" / "grassroots communism" - a movement of movements struggling for social justice, equality and self-management. My own theory is close to these. I also think we will see an increase in authoritarianism and inequality, but I posit that this is not really a change in the system but merely an intensification of the tendencies already contained within it. But the growing crises do give room for and force into existence other forces with the potential to create something new. I too, place my hope in "Climate X" - not as a utopian unknown but as concrete and existing praxises that can be expanded and amplified.

My aim here is thus not to critique the previous theories but to supplement them with empirical cases of what is already happening as the world responds to climate disaster - how the state and capital tries to consolidate the existing political structures on one side, and, on the other, how communities are responding by changing their social relations. Examining these cases from the present can give us a better idea of what to expect from the future and where to focus our struggles. I also add an element to "Climate X" that is under-emphasized in the aforementioned works, which focus primarily on protest and resistance to the dominating powers with the goal of preventing the destructive course.[30] Given the fact that climate disasters are already happening we also need to take into consideration how we are going to survive in the future. The politics of adaptation must be considered from the grassroots level.

[girl4music]

“But, in fact, love is clarity. We never see Adora more focused than when she channels She-Ra in Season 5. And in those scenes, she is most herself: not She-Ra the weapon, but Adora, who cares enough to fight. It’s motivated by love, against all logic, against self-preservation, for her to see the odds and take the gamble because something, or someone, is worth the risk. There’s nothing more clear-headed than that.

It’s love that saves them both in the end. So, why? Why is love this power? We could come up with a bunch of poetic reasons but fundamentally I think it’s that love helps us express our authentic self. That authentic self we talked about before, that can get pushed down and corroded by fear. Because when Adora and Catra accepted their love over their fear, that’s what saved the world. So power and love share the fact that they’re both sources of safety, but of two very different kinds. Are you safe because you’ve accumulated enough influence to keep those around you in check? Or have you developed closeness and connection enough to know that you don’t have to? Newly outfitted with Glimmer’s boots, Bow’s heart, and Catra’s crown, the new She-Ra isn’t a weapon, it’s a celebration of connection. And it’s that same human connection that motivates the decisions that turn the tides in battle, human connection that reaches through to those who were chipped. And as Prime is defeated - it’s clear: the conflict was never love or power, it was authentic connection VS outside manipulation: our genuine selves against the constructs imposed on us. And this contrast between natural and artificial has been a steady motif from the start of the show. Let me explain.

Since Season 1, magic and nature have been associated with each other, and juxtaposed with things that are mechanical. Think, even just the landscape of the Etherian woods VS the polluted wasteland look of the Horde. Horde Prime is consistently associated with the artificial; he and his ship are all jagged edges, creepy sterile white and sickly green. It’s even clear in the language he uses to talk about other people: “every part of the machine is of value”. He collects cultural artifacts as trophies of conquest, severed from the people who gave them meaning. Then, on Krytis, it’s very deliberately revealed that his own weakness is magic. Magic is natural, a part of the planet, and then magic is thematically linked to love. Shadow Weaver describes She-Ra as a “being of pure magic”, and then we see She-Ra’s pure form activated by care for others. So, Prime’s weakness to magic might as well be a weakness to love - something he apparently tries to overcompensate for with this “Etherians are so predictable with their emotions” and “I see all” routine. But neither love nor magic can be quantified, constructed or controlled; like nature, they’re living things that grow on their own. So, love saves the world, magic envelops the planet, and the natural supplants the industrial. Prime’s ship is engulfed by a tree (interject by OP: that’s very ‘FernGully’ if you’ve ever seen that animated movie - it’s a great one that taught me quite a lot growing up). It’s even fitting that Perfuma, with her plant-power, is the one who makes the most compelling case for vulnerability to Catra, a product of the machine-like Horde upbringing. So here the intrapersonal, interpersonal, and environmental conflicts all mirror each other. And with the season’s focus on the mind control chips, we’re brought full circle to the show’s commentary on abuse. Prime’s chips work very well as metaphors for the effects of abuse and trauma. The series has shown us, at different points, people being controlled and manipulated for the benefit of others, whether through chips, the sword, or their emotions. And each time, the manipulator was threatened by love. Light Hope even erased her own memory of warmth for Mara in the name of the mission. Prime’s chips are artificial, but so is abusive conditioning, in the way both lead us away from who we are in favour of imposing on us someone else’s identity, or reality. The Sword of Protection itself was an attempt by others to co-opt Adora’s power; Season 5 She-Ra is what happens when she found her own. We don’t access our own full potential by denying parts of ourselves. Adora shatters the sword, and finds herself, her love and her greatest power, all at once. Surrounded by her Rebellion family, and motivated by her love for them, she only glitches out of She-Ra when she sees Shadow Weaver - the one who, an episode ago, told her to reject love. Both Prime and Shadow Weaver treat those beneath them as extensions of themselves, rather than people with feelings and aspirations. They used different behavioural or technical methods, but the effect is the same. A person’s agency and identity suppressed for their benefit. But we are not the expectations of us; however outside forces might try, we belong to ourselves. Consider in this context, this quote, from Bow to Scorpia: “Prime may have made you do a lot of things but he can’t turn you into something you’re not”.

Those who try to control others reject connection in doing so - and without connection, they are simply weaker. Entrapta pretty much sums it up: “You can’t control us! You don’t understand what makes us strong and that’s why you’ll never win!” Love and the bonds we have with each other give us something worth fighting for, and that’s just the stronger “why”. And the finale emphasises this with the sheer number of “I love yous” we get between characters. Without having been child soldiers, we all might have wounds that feel inevitable to us, like we can’t tell where our pain ends and we begin. Pain doesn’t explain itself to us, it just comes. And often, the worst part isn’t just sitting in our own darkness, but feeling like we’re doomed to be the only ones who can see it. Pain doesn’t explain itself to us, but love doesn’t either. We could break love into all its component “whys”, and it still wouldn’t add up to the warmth of a hug or the comfort of a hand to hold. Life isn’t always gentle. That’s just part of the deal and it’s not up to us. But to be kind in spite of it is our choice. And as a battle fought for love breathes new life into the ground, we see that kindness inform the world around it for the better. And maybe, it doesn’t always happen. But if there’s a place for fiction, I think it’s for hope. The Universe might be indifferent, but we don’t have to be. Does this mean love has to save us? Or that it’s the end all to our journeys? I don’t think it’s that simple. And certainly, thinking another person’s love will “save” us might just be another narrative that doesn’t do either of us much good. But we’re not monsters for wanting to be cared for and I don’t think that it’s naive to believe that love can help us heal. And this absolutely includes love towards ourselves; after all, a big part of Adora saving herself was believing that she deserved a future where she wasn’t just a soldier, a martyr, or a weapon. Just Adora. Late to Scorpia’s first ball. Whatever you call them - narratives, expectations - these things that tell us who we are, really are just about control. And control is just another word for predictability. “Adora will make me proud, Catra won’t ever amount to anything” =/= “Will”/“Won’t”. But the world is nothing but unpredictable. Adora leaves! Micah survived! Catra saved Glimmer! Shadow Weaver sacrifices herself! Bow has parents! Catra has a cute sneeze! People can leave you. They can hurt you. Even if they don’t mean to. So what? So. What? Control is hard to come by, and I don’t think it’s the point. A forest isn’t beautiful because we commanded it to grow. A song doesn’t make us feel something because we know how it ends. Genuine connection isn’t a grasp for control, but a desire to share. And it’s those things we share that I think make life sweetest. Sharing music. A meal. Laughing until our stomach hurts. Sleepovers. In the space between people sharing love, we create something new. ‘Cause I think there’s one more word: Home.

Home looks different to all of us. A different skyline, different smells, different laughter. So I think it’s defined best just by the way it makes us feel. Safe and comfortably ourselves. ‘Cause that’s where it really all started. Adora left and Catra thought she’d never see home again. But they finally found each other again, and suddenly home wasn’t a place to go back to. I think home is, through love, life made greater than the sum of its parts. Where, despite doubts we might have about ourselves, or what we’ve seen the world to be, together, even for moments, we can have peace.

And maybe that’s magic.”

An exceptionally well-worded and thought out analysis that I had to transcribe a good chunk of it for emphasis on my point about the theme/trope of “Power of Love”.

At the end of the day, it goes back to Yin and Yang. In all honesty, I think the only time I’ve ever seen the Power of Love theme/trope done well or right is when it is as equally paralleled and juxtaposed with the Love of and for Power. Every other time, it either falls completely flat narratively or I’m emotionally indifferent to it. I feel nothing. I acknowledge that it’s there and then… just move on. But I SHOULDN’T be doing that if it’s the entire conclusion. It SHOULD resonate. I SHOULD feel.

And the fact I don’t is not because I’m emotionally closed off, not listening or not paying attention to it.

The media just fails to capture the heart in me because it’s not sincere or natural enough to influence my mind. In a sense,… it does not psychologically connect, so it does not emotionally resonate. That’s the honest truth.

As Five By Five Takes said: It’s not AUTHENTIC! Only that of which is authentic can ever have a real impact.

[roguesynapses]

i feel like a lot of nihilistic and especially ecological green anarchist ideas would make a lot more sense with the context, of, say, Desert (e.g. readdesert.org). like, getting people to follow an ideology or whatever isn't really the Goal, nor is offering solutions (that seek to perpetuate the existing state of affairs). in fact, such things are really antithetical to what nihilists are doing/arguing for, really. would def def def recommend desert and other nihilist texts like Blessed Is The Flame

i have read desert and while it's certainly interesting i gotta be honest i am very much against the idea that our future is already decided and the only thing to really be done is an almost hedonistic self destruction before basking in the catharsis of the supposed collapse in a "i told you so" kind of way.

yes, the climate will very likely get worse, which will lead to a lot of people dying. yes, the leftist movement is fractured, scattered, where half of us would rather emulate our oppressors than do something about it. yes, trying to preserve some technology and industry means the planet has to be somewhat exploited and people have to labor. but i'd much rather take a chance of 7-8 billion people living on this planet with reduced electricity and less ability to travel and lives in free communes supported by mutual aid networks than have to live or have my children live in a world of one billion people ruled by petty tyrants farming grain for 14 hours a day in the melting permafrost.

i'd rather fucking try something that's not "lol let's overdose on speed and bomb a police station"

[nardo-headcanons]

Kirigakure Worldbuilding II - Specialties

Inspired by a recent conversation I had with @pxssy-stuntin-for-itxchi, I got wanted to add more to my Kirigakure worldbuiling post!

Food Preservation Since except for a month during the winter, it never really gets cold in Kirigakure. This has lead to its citizens becoming very creative at enhancing the shelf life of the food that they have. Meat/fish is dry-aged and smoked, fruits are turned into preserve, cheong, or slow-dried. Dairy is a luxury in the water realm, so there are a lot of plant based dairy alternatives already, so it’s no surprise the wave realm has a quite big vegetarian and vegan population. Even though their spice tolerance is not the highest, when talking SALT tolerance, no village can beat Kiri. They are VERY generous with salting their food. In order to get a smokey flavor to any dish, you can obtain smoked salt everywhere in the country. The water realm was the first region the come up with the concept of fermentation of food. Milk is turned into yoghurt and cabbage is turned into kimchi and its more popular variant - sauerkraut. Fun fact: Suigetsu comes from a high ranking caste, so he actually was able to afford dairy yoghurt and jello with actual gelatine, and they're his favorite foods.

Kimchi and Sauerkraut

The general spice tolerance of Kiri citizens is not the highest across the shinobi world, so kimchi is mostly exported to Konoha and Suna. The cabbage grown in the water realm is specifically bred to be extra heat resistant and crunchy. In order to cut down on waste, the excess is turned into sauerkraut juice. To put less of a strain on the public healthcare system, the water realm government has issued its citizens to exercise and eat healthy – especially children. To get more children to drink sauerkraut juice, it is produced in portable, biodegradable little juice boxes which are handed out for free in the Kirigakure academy. Every Kiri genin has tasted it atleast once. Scurvy was once a big problem for most shinobi going on long term stealth missionas, since most just lived off dried meat and crackers, except for Kiri Nin, since they always carry sauerkraut juice (and kumquats) with them.

Fruit

Mangos: With their sweet and fruity taste, they’re popular amongst children, especially when dried, rolled into balls with an added sugar crust. While other countries see them as a special treat they’re a staple in Kiri. Papaya: Another Kiri staple. It is eaten either as a fruit in its orange form or in its green form in more hearty dishes. The seeds are ground and sold as a pepper alternative. Its extracts of the are used by the Kiri beauty industry, which is the biggest one, closely followed by Suna's beauty industry. Peaches: Often grown on the mountaintops of the water realm, they’re loved all over the country. Peach trees are seen as a sign of fertility, renewal and good luck. The pits are turned into persipan, which many foreigners don't like. Durian: Those stinky fruit are banned in Kiri’s public spaces. However, it is still the most popular fruit overall, so only a few get exported yearly, much to the other countries' durian lovers' chagrin. Jackfruit: Not a lot of Kiri citizens like its fleshy texture but it is often used as meat alternative by Kiri’s large plant-based population. Lychee: They’re often sugared and canned, or added to jelly. They're amongst the most popular fruit to make cheong with.

Kumquat: Kiri nin love them because they’re basically easily portable, vitamin c filled snacks. Other honorable mentions include: Rambutan, Mangosteen, Starfruit, Cherimoya, Soursop, Yuzu and Tamarillo.

Jelly If you’ve read my last post on Kiri specialties, you probably know that instead of manufactured candy, Sweet tooths (teeth?) in Kiri chomp down on dried fruit, fermented sugary sticky rice and – jelly. Gelatine, like most non fish animal products, is a luxury so most jellies are made with agar-agar, a plant based “gelatine”. Just take some fruit juice and set it with agar – and there you have jelly. Most foreigners find Kiri’s obsession with jelly pudding off-putting, but that doesn’t stop them. Fun fact: Suigetsu comes from a high ranking caste, so he actually was able to afford dairy yoghurt and jello with actual gelatine, and they're his favorite foods. Non food fun fact: As genetic engineering gets more advanced and Kirigakure already having no issues using bacteria, they're also the biggest exporter of nutrient agar for agar plates which are used for the cultivation of bacteria and funghi. Kigakure is the leading village when it comes to biological and medical advancements, which is why Orochimaru has visited very often (and eventually ran into Kimimaro)