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hiding-in-my-blanket-fort · 3 months ago

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Pucker Up - Tyler Harrison x Reader (gender neutral)

As a treat, Tyler gets you some candy, but he won't let you have it until you pay a small kissing tax.

Word count: 700ish Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, mild language, flirtation by childish insults, friends to lovers

Market day at Yvaga was always a sight to see - bursting with a rainbow of colors, the air filled with delicious mouth watering smells, and a relentless hum of activity as vendors clamored for the attention of visitors.

It didn't take long before you lost Tyler in the chaos. He disappeared when you turned your back for half a second. Now you stood on tiptoe, scanning the crowded street in the hope you might catch a glimpse of him.

At last, he came striding through the milling people, looking suspiciously proud of himself. He held up a small bag tied with a ribbon.

"I found you a little something."

Opening the bag, he angled it toward you so you could peek inside. The crisp scent of lemon rose up to greet you.

"Lemon drops," you breathed. "I haven't tasted those in years."

When you reached in to take one, Tyler whisked the bag out of reach with a playful gleam in his eyes.

"Now hold on a minute. It's not easy to come by sugar on Yvaga."

You shoved his shoulder.

"Don't be a fucking tease, Tyler. You know how much I love lemon drops."

He fished a piece of candy from the bag and popped it in his mouth, pushing it into his cheek with his tongue. You crossed your arms.

"Now you're just rubbing it in."

He shrugged.

"Yeah, a little. It's fun to watch your nose get all scrunched up when you're annoyed."

You huffed a laugh and lunged for the bag of candy. You almost caught it, but Tyler managed to snatch it away at the last second. You stumbled forward to catch your balance.

"Come on," Tyler said. "You'll have to try harder than that if you really want a taste."

No matter what you did - standing on tiptoe, stretching as far as you could reach - Tyler was still taller than you.

Narrowing your eyes, you glared up at him. He smirked down at you in response.

"Asshole," you said.

His eyes brightened and he put a hand to his chest.

"Is that a compliment? I'm blushing."

Your stomach gave that weird fluttery-twist it usually did when you were in close proximity to Tyler these days. At some point, you would have to admit that you were developing feelings for him, but there was no way in hell you would ever say anything out loud. That would be...mortifying. Especially if he didn't return your feelings. You didn't want to ruin your friendship with him.

You hurried to cover the burn in your cheeks.

"Are you going to let me have a piece of that candy or not, dumbass?"

Tyler stepped closer until he towered over you, an inch of space barely separating you. His eyes darkened and his tone softened.

"It comes with a price."

Your breath caught in your throat at the distinct shift between you. The crowded street seemed as if it was a thousand miles away and the only two people in the world was you and Tyler.

"Name it," you whispered.

"For the token of one kiss, you can have the whole damn bag."

Now you weren't breathing at all. You were friendly with Tyler, volleying lighthearted insults back and forth, but you never dreamed he actually liked you back.

"You better not be making fun of me." Your voice was painfully quiet as you haltingly bright your hand up and curled your fingers into his shirt.

Tyler shook his head. When he brushed his knuckles against your cheek, you could have sworn your knees would buckle. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"I've been looking for an excuse to kiss you for ages."

The next thing you knew, his lips were on yours. The faint hint of lemon sugar still lingered on his tongue. You felt his smile against your mouth. Then he scooped an arm around your waist, tugging you against him.

"Fucking finally," he muttered.

You felt like you had wings on your feet. Sliding your arms around Tyler's neck, you kissed him back, and all thoughts of the candy slipped from your mind.

****

Masterlist

#alien romulus #alien romulus imagines #alien romulus tyler #tyler harrison x reader #tyler harrison imagines #writing tag #archie renaux #gonna fill tumblr with tyler content #if it's the last thing i do

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geekgirl-1717 · 28 days ago

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sanji x reader. 2.5k words. spoilers for zou/whole cake island. fem! reader, no use of (y/n). angst no comfort :)

“i promise i’ll be back.”

it wasn’t uncommon for you and your crewmates to end up in unusual situations, but this was too much to handle. there was so much to process that you weren’t sure what to focus on first.

vinsmoke? wedding invitation? big mom? the situation was becoming more and more confusing by the second, and you could only watch helplessly as sanji became more and more distraught. you don’t think you had ever seen sanji so beside himself, and it made your heart hurt in a way that was hard to explain.

you weren’t sure when your feelings for sanji had bloomed into something more than just a friendship between fellow crewmates. at first, sanji treated you the same way as any other woman who so much as looked his way: doting and flamboyant and perhaps a bit obsessive. though sometimes endearing, his extravagant displays of affection and sugar-coated soliloquies of praise often struck you as superficial.

you always felt there was more to sanji, something authentic and vulnerable buried deep beneath his womanizing facade. it intrigued you from the moment you first met him, and after you joined the strawhats, you endeavored to uncover this hidden side to the chef.

you started spending more time in the kitchen, making casual conversation with sanji and watching him cook. initially, he kept up his loverboy antics around you, much to your chagrin. you could hardly say a word to him without sending him into a spinning, swirling mess of exaltations.

but with enough patience and gentle coaxing, sanji began to slowly open up to you. it started with simple anecdotes he shared while cooking. the story of the first time he ever made a particular dish. the origin of a certain recipe. a fond memory of his time at baratie. you cherished any and every tidbit of information he shared with you.

from there, your bond with the chef only grew stronger. upon arriving on a new island, instead of shopping with nami and robin or exploring with luffy and usopp, you would help sanji with food and supply runs, browsing local markets and searching for exciting new ingredients. watching sanji in the kitchen turned into helping him wash dishes turned into him offering to teach you how to cook.

these cooking lessons were the first hint that your relationship with sanji was developing into something more, something new and exciting and terrifying all at once. you felt your cheeks heat up whenever sanji would stand behind you while you chopped herbs or vegetables, placing his hands over yours to guide your movements and mumbling encouraging compliments in your ear no matter how rough and uneven your cuts were. when sampling something you made, he would always give you a beaming smile, patting your head and complimenting your work in such a genuine manner, it made your stomach flip. you pushed these feelings aside, not wanting to ruin this delicate friendship you’d worked so hard to form, but it was getting harder and harder to hide your affection for sanji with each passing day.

upon returning to sabaody after the two-year long separation, you quickly realized something had changed between you and sanji, something you struggled to put into words. of course, all of your crewmates had changed during that time, accruing new skills and stories and battle scars to bring into the new world. and you were no different. you had spent the bittersweet time apart from your crew getting stronger and honing your talents to ensure you could always help your friends and your captain, no matter how terrifying a threat you faced.

you had nearly tackled sanji in a spine-crushing hug the first time you saw him again, squeezing your eyes shut and burying your face into the crook of his neck to hide the joyful tears that threatened to spill down your cheeks. you were immediately enveloped in the familiar scent of nicotine and cologne, and for the first time in two years, you felt truly at ease.

sanji was shocked initially, but allowed himself to sink into your embrace, returning the hug with equal fervor and running a soothing hand up and down your back. it was only after you composed yourself that you were able to notice just how much sanji had changed.

you pulled back from his grasp to fully take him in. he was taller, you noted, and the scruff on his chin had grown into a full, neatly-kept goatee. his hair was a tad longer, and you noticed he’d changed the way he parted his bangs. though mostly hidden from sight under the many layers of his suit, you could tell as you’d clung to him that he had gotten stronger, his lean torso now solid with sinew and muscle. you had always found sanji to be charming in a boyish way, lanky and wiry with soft, round cheeks that looked so squishable (not that you would ever say that out loud).

standing before you was no longer a boy, but a man, chiseled and toned and finally having grown into those long, powerful legs of his. the word “adorable” had often come to mind when you thought about sanji before, but that word no longer did him justice. now, he was strikingly handsome.

that notion pulled you from your thoughts, a flush spreading across your cheeks when you realized you’d been standing there for gods know how long, blatantly ogling sanji as you appraised his appearance. luckily, he seemed to be stuck in a trance of his own, looking you up and down and admiring all the ways your appearance had changed since you last saw each other.

you both had the decency to look somewhat ashamed when you finally locked eyes again, realizing what the two of you had just been doing.

from that point on, everything was different. you could dice an onion or peel a potato with ease, but sanji always insisted on helping you, pressing his chest against your back and brushing against your sides as his hands moved to gently wrap around your own. these once-harmless touches were more deliberate, lingering just a second too long. you weren’t even listening to his instructions anymore, distracted by his hot breath against your ear and wishing you could hear his whispered praises for more than just your vegetable-cutting skills.

with many of the great adventures the crew had came many experiences you wished you could forget, and unfortunately nightmares were becoming a more common occurrence for you. on those nights when you knew sanji was on watch duty, you instinctively sought his presence. he always welcomed you with open arms, pulling you close to his chest to protect you from the chilly night air and the terrifying images that plagued your weary mind. the smell of cigarette smoke once bothered you, but now it was one of your favorite scents, mingled with hints of spices and cologne in a blend that was so uniquely sanji. whether it was a snack, reassuring words, or just a warm blanket with a warmer hug, sanji would give you whatever you needed and more.

you never said anything about your feelings for sanji and if he felt the same way about you, he was similarly silent. for months, the two of you had been like celestial bodies, pulled in by the weight of your attraction and perpetually orbiting around each other, never wanting to get too close in fear of a catastrophic collision ruining this perfectly-orchestrated dance.

and now, you were losing him.

you started panicking, unable to remain calm for sanji’s sake anymore. you pulled at your restraints, the metal chains rattling and clanking loudly against each other. your voice was shaky and strained, but you couldn’t stop the frantic pleas that came pouring out of your mouth.

“sanji, please. i don’t- i don’t know what’s going on or what they’re telling you, but please.”

you knew you sounded utterly pathetic, but you couldn’t help yourself. you saw sanji’s shoulders tense before he stood up from the table.

when you finally saw the look on his face, tears poured from your eyes in earnest. he was smiling, but it was a sad, empty smile, like he was trying to convince you everything was alright even though you both knew it wasn’t. his gaze held a swirling hurricane of emotions; guilt, regret, hesitancy, bitter resolve, and… tenderness? love? you didn’t know.

the clanking of chains grew louder as you struggled harder against your bonds, uncaring of the strain it was putting on your wrists. the words were spilling out of you like vomit, fast and jumbled and out of control.

“sanji. sanji, it’s okay. it doesn’t matter- it doesn’t matter what they’re telling you. d-don’t listen to them. we’ll help you! we’re your friends! i-we care about you. we’ll fight whoever we need to fight! just please! please don’t leave.”

you’d been nearly shouting, but the last sentence came out quiet and soft, quiet enough that sanji may not have heard you had he not been slowly making his way over to you during all of your rambling. that sad smile never left his face as he kneeled down in front of you.

one hand came up to stroke your cheek, futilely brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing. he leaned in so his forehead was pressing against yours, whispering so that only you could hear him.

“i’m so sorry, love.”

you hardly had time to process his words before he pressed his lips against yours.

the kiss was gentle, chaste and pure and perhaps a little hesitant at first, as though he were afraid you would pull back at any moment.

but you didn’t.

tears still streaming down your cheeks, you reciprocated as best you could, pouring all of your unspoken devotion and affection for sanji into the kiss.

suddenly, everything fell away around you. the fire-tank pirates were letting out groans of discontent, intermingled with the shocked gasps of your crewmates next to you. you heard none of it. as far as you knew, you and sanji were the only two people in the world right now.

sanji was always so selfless, putting the needs of his friends above his own and bending over backwards to fulfill any request given to him. but in this one moment, he was greedy. his hand slipped down from your cheek to the back of your neck, tilting your head slightly and kissing you like it was the last thing he would ever do on this earth. the sharp taste of menthol mixed with the saltiness of tears as you moved your lips against sanji’s, savoring every second of the kiss and dreading the inevitable moment when you would be forced apart.

“kissing another woman right before your wedding? vinsmoke, you dog!”

bege’s voice cut through the stunned silence that had permeated the room, replacing it with raucous laughter and jeers.

as if snapped back into reality, sanji reluctantly pulled away, giving you one last sad smile before turning his attention to the rest of your crewmates next to you.

you knew he was saying something to them, slipping some piece of paper into nami’s pocket and apologizing for how he’d hid all this from the crew. you couldn’t care less, though. you would gladly get caught in a web of lies spun by sanji if it meant you could be with him.

sanji pulled you and your crewmates into his arms, giving you all a final embrace. you wished you could tear off your chains if only to hold him one last time, but you settled for burying your face in his shoulder, basking in the smell of cigarettes and spices and cologne you’d grown to love so much.

it seemed the universe couldn’t allow you even the briefest of indulgences as you were ripped from your reverie, a sudden feeling of weightlessness shocking your senses. you and your crewmates had been sent flying, hurtling out of the strange entity that was capone bege’s body.

everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. you wouldn’t be surprised if the earth itself had stopped spinning in that moment. you were able to make out sanji’s expression in extraordinary detail. it was as if your mind knew this could be the last time you ever saw him, and you wanted to commit his every feature to memory.

he wore a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, one that you could tell was fake even if you hadn’t already seen him smile a hundred times before. it was nothing like the way he smiled while he was cooking for the crew, easy and contented and in his element. it was nothing like the way he smiled at you when you proudly displayed the dish you’d made under his guidance, toothy and beaming as the corners of eyes crinkled with joy.

it was nothing like the way he smiled when it was just the two of you in the crow’s nest late at night, gentle and loving and full of so much that was left unspoken.

no, now sanji’s smile was shallow, empty. his words were somehow even more hollow as they reached your ears.

“i promise i’ll be back. tell everyone i said hi.”

liar.

you’d didn’t even try to brace yourself as you hit the ground with a dull thud, now back in the forest of zou. your crewmates were talking worriedly around you, trying to make sense of what had just happened, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying.

your tears had all dried up now. you stared at the sky with an empty gaze. the chains were still digging into your skin, but even the insistent press of the harsh metal couldn’t compare to the anguish in your heart. sanji’s last words to you played over and over in your mind like a broken record, each rendition making your chest ache further and further.

“i promise i’ll be back.”

liar.

#reader insert #fanfic #one piece #one piece fanfiction #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #one piece x reader #sanji #one piece sanji #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji x reader #angst #angst no comfort #I finally got to zou/whole cake and this scene made me cry so I must share my sadness with everyone :)#consistent post formatting? what’s that?

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literaryvein-reblogs · 1 month ago

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Writing Notes: Cocktails

"Cocktail," like many words, has evolved over time, broadening its meaning.

While it once indicated a narrow range of drinks—perhaps originally a single drink—it is now customarily used to cover nearly the full range of mixed drinks available in the bars of the world.

Purists may insist that a true cocktail include at least 3 ingredients, two of which are distilled liquor and bitters. Others may argue that any drink mixed on the spot from two or more ingredients, at least one of which is alcoholic, is a cocktail.

The first known references to drinks called cocktails come from the late 18th and early 19th centuries. At that time, alcoholic beverages were largely served in inns and public houses, and weary travelers and thirsty locals would order concoctions.

LONG DRINKS

Also known as tall drinks, are simply drinks in tall glasses with larger amounts of mixer than short drinks.

Some, like highballs, are simple and straightforward; others are complex concoctions.

What they have in common is a relaxed quality, in that they present a relatively low concentration of alcohol and, often, an easy-drinking accessibility.

SHORT DRINKS

A drink served in a tumbler or old-fashioned glass.

Since they contain a higher concentration of alcohol than long drinks, they tend to be built more for slow, deliberate sipping—but there are no hard and fast rules here.

UP DRINKS

The classic image of a cocktail: shaken or stirred with ice and served, almost always strained, in a cocktail glass.

The most elegant of the cocktails, and not only because of their presentation.

Subtle or intense, austere or rich, they tend to have distinct personalities.

SHOTS & SHOOTERS

The most recreational of cocktails.

Despite their popular image, most of them are actually rather low in alcohol; the danger of shots lies in the temptation to drink too many, too quickly. Given how delicious many of them are, that can be all too easy to do.

HOT & FROZEN DRINKS

Hot cocktails have a long history, having been used for centuries to warm chilled travelers and bar customers.

Frozen cocktails are a more recent development, but they offer a bracing kind of refreshment that is perfect for steamy summer evenings.

Some Cocktails

Classic Cocktails

Some drinks have become timeless, iconic libations of cocktail culture:

THE MARTINI Despite a myriad of variations since its first appearance in the nineteenth century, the classic Martini remains the quintessential elegant cocktail: a cool, somewhat austere drink, not showy, but certainly powerful.

THE MANHATTAN The richness and power of whiskey gives the Manhattan slightly rougher edges than the Martini. It gained prominence in the 1930s as one of the five Borough cocktails of New York.

THE OLD FASHIONED Long before Don Draper of Mad Men revived interest in this classic, adding bitters and sugar to whiskey was a mainstay of cocktail culture and one of the most basic drink preparations.

THE DAIQUIRI The classic rum cocktail, the Daiquiri was a favorite of Ernest Hemingway and John F. Kennedy, and has spawned a host of variations.

Seasonal Drinks

Though most cocktails inhabit the perpetual season known as cocktail hour, many capture—or help create—the distinct mood of each quarter of the year.

SPRING & SUMMER Light, refreshing cocktails dominate the spring. Consider such classics as slings, smashes, lemonade drinks, and colorful coolers. Go-to cocktail: a French 75 Summer is, of course, the season for clear and tropical cocktails. Fresh fruit fills the market stands, the sun pours down through long days, and a cold, sweet-and-tart drink is what you crave. While you could always go for a Gin and Tonic, for a bit more personality try one of the great Caribbean drinks—a classic Daiquiri will keep you cool.

FALL & WINTER As Keats put it, autumn is the “season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,” and that vibe is what you’ll want in a cocktail. Deeper, richer drinks come to the fore. Any drink involving apple juice or apple brandy chimes with sentimental visions of autumn. Go-to cocktail: a Sidecar. When winter comes, linger over an Irish Coffee or Hot Toddy; or brace yourself against the cold with a potent whiskey drink—stay toasty warm with an Old Fashioned.

Champagne Cocktails

Occupy a distinct niche in cocktail culture.

At once colorful and elegant, festive and intimate, they lend themselves not only to romantic settings but also to expensive parties.

Source: The Ultimate Cocktail Encyclopedia by Walter Burns More Writing References: Wine-tasting ⚜ Drunkenness ⚜ Drinking

#writing notes #food #cocktail #writeblr #spilled ink #writing reference #mixology #literature #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #dark academia #writing prompt #poetry #light academia #creative writing #fiction #novel #writing resources

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fatehbaz · 5 months ago

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Indigenous genocide and removal from land and enslavement are prerequisites for power becoming operationalized in premodernity, a way in which subjects get (what Wynter names) “selected” or “dysselected” from geography and coded into colonial possession through dispossession. The color line of the colonized was not merely a consequence of these structures of colonial power or a marginal effect of those structures; it was/is a means to operationalize extraction (therefore race should be considered as foundational rather than as periphery to the production of those structures and of global space). Richard Eden, in the popular 1555 publication Decades of the New World, compares the people of the “New World” to a blank piece of “white paper” on which you can “paynte and wryte” whatever you wish. “The Preface to the Reader” describes the people of these lands as inanimate objects, blank slates [...]. [Basically, "Man" is white, while non-white people are reduced to an aspect of the landscape, a resource.] Wynter suggests that we [...] consider 1452 as the beginning of the New World, as African slaves are put to work on the first plantations on the Portuguese island of Madeira, initiating the “sugar-slave” complex - a massive replantation of ecologies and forced relocation of people [...]. Wynter argues that the invention of the figure of Man in 1492 as the Portuguese [and Spanish] travel to the Americas instigates at the same time “a refiguring of humanness” in the idea of race. This refiguring of slaves trafficked to gold mines is borne into the language of the inhuman [...].

---

The natal moment of the 1800 Industrial Revolution, [...] [apparently] locates Anthropocene origination in [...] the "new" metabolisms of technology and matter enabled by the combination of fossil fuels, new engines, and the world as market. [...] The racialization of epistemologies of life and nonlife is important to note here [...]. While [this industrialization] [...] undoubtedly transformed the atmosphere with [...] coal [in the nineteenth century], the creation of another kind of weather had already established its salient forms in the mine and on the plantation. Paying attention to the prehistory of capital and its bodily labor, both within coal cultures and on plantations that literally put “sugar in the bowl” (as Nina Simone sings) [...]. The new modes of material accumulation and production in the Industrial Revolution are relational to and dependent on their preproductive forms in slavery [...].

---

Catherine Hall’s project Legacies of British Slave-Ownership makes visible the complicity in terms of structures of slavery and industrialization that organized in advance the categories of dispossession that are already in play and historically constitute the terms of racialized encounter of the Anthropocene. In 1833, Parliament finally abolished slavery in the British Caribbean, and the taxpayer payout of £20 million in “compensation” [paid by the government to slave owners for their lost "property"] built the material, geophysical (railways, mines, factories), and imperial infrastructures of Britain and its colonial enterprises and empire. As the project empirically demonstrates, these legacies of colonial slavery continue to shape contemporary Britain. A significant proportion of funds were invested in the railway system connecting London and Birmingham (home of cotton production and [...] manufacturing for plantations), Cambridge and Oxford, and Wales and the Midlands (for coal). Insurance companies flourished and investments were made in the Great Western Cotton Company, for example, and in cotton brokers, as well as in big colonial land companies in Canada (Canada Land Company) and Australia (Van Diemen’s Land Company) and a number of colonial brokers. Investments were made in the development of metal and mineralogical technologies [...].

The slave-sugar-coal nexus both substantially enriched Britain and made it possible for it to transition into a colonial industrialized power [...]. The slave trade [...] fashioned the economic conditions (and institutions, such as the insurance and finance industries) for industrialization. Slavery and industrialization were tied by the various afterlives of slavery in the form of indentured and carceral labor that continued to enrich new emergent industrial powers from both the Caribbean plantations and the antebellum South. Enslaved “free” African Americans predominately mined coal in the corporate use of black power or the new “industrial slavery,” [...].

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The labor of the coffee - the carceral penance of the rock pile, “breaking rocks out here and keeping on the chain gang” (Nina Simone, Work Song, 1966), laying iron on the railroads - is the carceral future mobilized at plantation’s end (or the “nonevent” of emancipation). [...] [T]he racial circumscription of slavery predates and prepares the material ground for Europe and the Americas in terms of both nation and empire building - and continues to sustain it.

---

All text above by: Kathryn Yusoff. "White Utopia/Black Inferno: Life on a Geologic Spike". e-flux Journal Issue #97. February 2019. At: e-flux dot com slash journal/97/252226/white-utopia-black-inferno-life-on-a-geologic-spike/ [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Text within brackets added by me for clarity and context. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism.]

#ecology #multispecies #tidalectics #indigenous #carceral geography #abolition

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najia-cooks · 1 year ago

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[ID: Sweet potatoes with black, charred skin on a decorative plate. One has been opened to show bright orange flesh, sprinkled with sugar. End ID]

بطاطا حلوة مشوية / Batata hiluwa mashwiyya (Roasted sweet potatoes)

Sweet potatoes are considered a traditional and nostalgic food in Palestine—a gift from the land, a seasonal delicacy, a potentially profitable crop, "red gold." Every fall and winter, as they are grilled in taboon ovens throughout Gaza, their smell fills the air.

This recipe uses a method of preparation common in rural Palestine, which applies direct heat to char the potatoes; the black, crackly skin is then peeled off, leaving tender, steaming, sweet flesh with a roasted aroma. The peeled sweet potato is eaten on its own, or sprinkled with sugar.

The recent history of sweet potatoes in Gaza is a microcosm of Israel's economic control of the region during that time. Though they grow well in Gaza's soil, they are a risky commitment for its farmers, as the seeds or seedlings must be imported from Israel at considerable expense (about 40 shekels, or $10, per plantlet), and they need to be weeded every day and irrigated every other day. Water for irrigation is scarce in Gaza, as Israel drains and contaminates much of the supply.

Nevertheless, the crop would be a profitable one if Gazan farmers were allowed to export it. In the shmita year of 2014, for the first time since the Israeli military's deadly 51-day invasion two months prior, restrictions briefly eased to allow Gazans to export some agricultural products to Europe; the first shipment contained 30 tons of sweet potatoes. However, an estimated 90% of the sweet potato crop was at that time unsuitable for export, having been damaged by Israeli shrapnel. The Gazan Ministry of Agriculture estimated that damages of this kind cost the agricultural sector about 550 million USD during this year.

Gazan economist Maher al-Taba’a holds that Israel temporarily allowing export of a token amount of sweet potatoes “is nothing more than media propaganda which is meant to confuse international audiences" by giving the impression that the siege on Gaza was looser than it had been before the 2014 ceasefire agreement; meanwhile, the number of allowed exports had actually decreased since before the invasion occurred. Gazan farmers, in fact, were not even allowed to export produce to Palestinians in the West Bank until 2017.

The next shmita year (an agricultural sabbath during which ultra-Orthodox Jews allow their fields to lie fallow) began in September of 2021, around the same time as the beginning of the sweet potato harvest. In anticipation of the shmita year, and in keeping with the trickle of Gazan exports that had been allowed into Israel in the intervening years, many farmers had planted more than they otherwise would have. But Israel delayed accepting the imports, leading many farmers to throw away rotting produce, or to sell their produce in the local market for far lower prices than they had been expecting.

Israel's habit of closing off Gaza's exports arbitrarily and without notice recurred during the harvest season of 2022. When Israeli former MK Yaakov Litzman called on Minister of Agriculture and Rural Development Oded Forer to import sweet potatoes from Gaza due to a shortage of the produce in Israel, Forer refused, citing Israeli soldiers whom Palestinian resistance fighters had taken hostage as rationale for his decision. Other officials were surprised at the linking of an agricultural matter to a political one.

Farmers had no choice but to enter the harvest season hoping that the decision would be reversed and that their time, labor, money, and scarce water resources would not go to waste. With these last-minute decisions that cause Gazan farmers to be unable to fulfill their contracts, Israel damages the future viability of Gazan exports to European markets.

Support Palestinian resistance by calling Elbit System’s (Israel’s primary weapons manufacturer) landlord and donating to Palestine Action’s bail fund.

Equipment:

A fire, wood-burning oven, gas stove, or broiler

A baking sheet

Ingredients:

Sweet potatoes. Choose a variety with red or orange skin and orange flesh, such as garnet or jewel.

Sugar, cinnamon, date syrup, or tahina, to serve.

Instructions:

1. Wash sweet potatoes. Place them at the bottom of a taboon oven, or on a baking sheet or griddle laid over a cooking fire or gas burner. You may also place them on a baking sheet or cast-iron pan inside an oven with a broiler setting.

2. Turn the gas burner on medium-high, or the broiler on low. Heat the sweet potatoes, occasionally rotating them, until their skin is blistered and blackened in multiple places and they are tender all the way through.

3. Remove potatoes and allow them to cool slightly. Slice each potato open lengthwise, or peel away its skin, and eat the interior.

Roasted sweet potatoes may be eaten on their own, or sprinkled with sugar or cinnamon-sugar, or drizzled with date syrup, tahina, chocolate sauce, etc.

#sweet potatoes #gluten free #Palestinian #cooking

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reddest-flower · 4 months ago

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Cuba broke through its colonial domination into freedom. From the mountains of the Sierra Maestra and from the cities came the torrential power of the people against the US-backed dictator Fulgencio Batista. ‘The revolution is made in the midst of danger’, said Fidel Castro as he led his band of peasant-soldiers from the hills into the cities. They had triumphed against remarkable odds. Quickly, the revolutionaries passed a series of decrees – just as the Soviets had – to draw the key classes to their side. To draw in the urban Cubans, the revolutionaries cut rents by half – sending a strong signal to the bourgeoisie that they had a different class outlook. Then, the revolutionaries took on the United States, whose government held a monopoly over services to the island. Telephone and electrical companies – all American – were told to reduce their rates immediately. Then, on May 17, 1959, the Cuban government passed its agrarian reform – the keystone of the revolutionary process. Land holdings would be restricted so that no large landowners could dominate the landscape and so that the US sugar industry could not strangle the hopes of the island. The most radical part of the reform was not the land ceiling itself, but the logic that agrarian reform would transform the stagnation of the Cuban economy and its dependence upon the United States. The law clearly stated that, from a socialist standpoint,

«The agrarian reform has two principal objectives: (a) to facilitate the planting or the extension of new crops with the view of furnishing raw materials to industry, satisfying the food requirements of the nation, increasing the export of agricultural products and, reciprocally, the import of foreign products which are essential to use; (b) to develop the interior market (family, domestic) by raising the purchasing power of the rural population. In other words, increase the national demand in order to develop the industries atrophied by an overly restrained consumption, or in order to create those which, for lack of customers, were never able to get started among us.»

The revolutionaries wanted to diversify their sugarcane island, produce food security for their people, remove people from desperation, increase the ability of people to consume a range of goods and engineer a people-centred rather than an export-centred economy. Long before Castro announced his commitment to communism, the regime had already developed a carefully thought out socialist platform.

The United States of America, having overthrown the radical nationalist government in Guatemala in 1954, was eager to repeat the task in Cuba in 1959. An embargo came swiftly, as did every form of humiliation possible against the Cuban people. The Cuban economy was structured around dependency to Washington, with the sugar bought by the US firms and with the island turned into a playground for American tourists. Now, the US decided to squeeze this little island, only ninety miles from the US shoreline. Gunboats were readied, a failed invasion tried in April 1961 at the Bay of Pigs. Cuba was vulnerable but also protected by the deep roots of its revolution. But would this protection be sufficient? Could Cuba, alone, be able to survive the onslaught from the United States?

On February 5, 1960, a leader in the USSR and an Old Bolshevik – Anastas Mikoyan – came to Havana to join Fidel Castro at the opening of a Soviet scientific, cultural and technical exhibition. A week later, Mikoyan and Castro signed an agreement for the USSR to buy Cuban sugar at the world market price (in dollars) and provide credits for the Cubans to buy Russian goods. The USSR would subsequently buy almost all the Cuban sugar harvest, even as the Russian consumer market could very well have been supplied by beet sugar from within the USSR. Prices fluctuated, but, on balance, the Cubans were able to find a regular buyer to take over from the United States. The Russians also provided over a $100 million in credits toward the construction of Cuba’s chemical industry as well as trained Cuban technical and scientific workers in the USSR. Diversification of Cuba’s economy remained on the cards, although it became clear that it would not be an easy task. In August 1963, Castro announced that diversification, as well as industrialization, would be postponed. Cuba needed to concentrate on its sugarcane harvest to earn the means to survive the embargo.

On February 24, 1965, Che Guevara addressed the Second Economic Seminar of Afro-Asian Solidarity in Algiers, Algeria. He had come to talk about the economic problems for a revolution in a post-colonial country. Overthrowing the former colonizer was not enough, Che said, since ‘a real break’ is needed from imperialism for the new state to actually flourish and not remain in dependency. How could the post-colonial state survive a hostile economic climate? Who would buy its goods – mainly primary, unprocessed goods – at a fair price, and who would lend it capital at fair terms to develop? Capitalist banks and countries would not provide the post-colonial state, particularly a socialist state, with the means to break out of the trap of underdevelopment. Banks would lend money to a post-colonial state at rates higher than it would lend to a colonial power. Expensive money would only put the post-colonial state into further difficulty, as it would find it hard to service its debt and see its debt multiply out of hand. To prevent this situation, Che argued, the ‘socialist countries must help pay for the development of countries now starting out on the road to liberation’. Trade between socialist countries must not take place based on the law of value of capitalism, but through the creation of fraternal prices. ‘The real task’, Che said, ‘consists of setting prices that will permit development. A great shift in ideas will be involved in changing the order of international relations. Foreign trade should not determine policy, but should, on the contrary, be subordinated to a fraternal policy toward the peoples.’

China, in 1960, offered Cuba credit of $60 million without interest and without a timeline for repayment. This was an enviable loan. But the scale was much smaller than the Soviet assistance. By 1964, the USSR had provided Cuba with economic assistance valued at over $600 million, while the Eastern European countries offered several hundred million more in aid and assistance. The USSR had also trained over 3,000 Cubans in agronomy and agricultural mechanization as well as 900 Cubans as engineers and technicians. Che recognized the value of the Soviet ‘fraternal policy’ both in terms of the training and in the prices offered. ‘Clearly, we could not ask the Socialist world to buy this quantity of sugar at this price based on economic motives’, he had said in 1961, ‘because really there is no reason in world commerce for this purchase and it was simply a political gesture’.

Red Star Over the Third World, Vijay Prashad, 2019

#vijay prashad #cuba

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abbyromanoff · 1 year ago

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Hi! I want to request Sugar mommy! Agatha x R

$TING

PAIRINGS: Agatha Harkness x reader

WORD COUNT: 2,970

WARNINGS: sugar mommy/sugar baby relationship, hook ups, punishment, praise, degrading, guided masturbation, mommy (A), pure smut, edging, orgasm denials, body writing, open relationship (kinda), jealousy, fingering, spit kink, clothed sex, voyeriusm, exhibition, small age kink, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

The sun blared through the large windows of your apartment as the expresso machine brewed your morning energy. There were a few dishes left in the sink that you forgot to attend to earlier on, along with clothes scattered all over the place. Not all of them were yours, they belonged to the woman that had decided to stay the night, much to your dismay.

You met her at a bar the night before and hit it off. You could still feel her wandering hands that left you on edge. It wasn’t exactly her fault, she did have good skills when it came to pleasure, but she wasn’t her. She wasn’t Agatha.

You wanted more than what you had with the older peer, but the two of you often made the excuse that you were too busy for a relationship. You were a full-time college student with a high GPA that you intended to keep, while Agatha was head CEO of a market-developing company. You didn’t really understand what she did, only that the money piling into her wallet, as a result, became yours quickly after.

“Good morning.” The woman, who you lacked the knowledge of her name, spoke. You whipped your head around, giving her a small, tight-lipped smile that she returned.

“How’d you sleep?” She stood behind you now, placing her arms on either side of your waist and resting her head on your shoulder. You tensed up when feeling her lips on your neck and her hands rubbing circular directions on your skin.

“Mm, pretty well. What about you?” It was clear she saw this as much more than a hook-up, and you weren’t ready to let down another person. You stepped away, trying to subtly address your thoughts.

“I slept fine, yeah.” She hummed in response and watched as you traveled over to the door where the clothes were ripped to shreds in the night of lust. You could nearly feel her gawking at your ass as you bent over, gathering the pieces in your hand and returning to your spot in front of her.

“Well, I have to head out soon so here, I believe these are yours.” It felt like hours before she left, writing down her number on a pad of paper and kissing you graciously at the door. She turned around after giving you a wink, bumping into an individual and sending a quick rush of apologies that were left unheard.

You gulped fearfully when they appeared at your doorstep, a small bag in hand as they glared down at you. She watched the woman leave while shooting you a glance, hoping to catch your eye.

“What are you doing here, Agatha?” You demanded. You tried to seem annoyed, yet you still left your door wide open for her to follow you. She chuckled at the use of her real name while removing the suit jacket she kept on.

“Hm, I thought we were past full-name basis by now, are we not?” You rolled your eyes, not the best choice. You knew she had nothing but vexation for brats, but that was the fun in it.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, baby.” You were finally able to get a better glimpse at the item held in her right hand, it was a shopping bag, one of luxury. She wasn’t one to be seen in low-quality stores that you often found yourself a regular at.

“What’s in there?” She placed it on the counter which you stood next to, her body leaning against the fridge that she helped afford.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” You let out an irritated sigh with no intent to show your hidden excitement. You loved when she bought you something new, it made you feel seen. She could spend her money on anyone or anything yet she decided to get you new gifts daily, that was how she showed her love.

“Well? Do you like it?” She surmised when catching the small gasp that escaped you. You had pulled out a purple lingerie set, her favorite color on you. It was a one-piece that left very little to the imagination.

“I love it! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Your act seemed to have started its process of fading away as you surged yourself forward into her grasp. She kissed the top of your forehead that was situated on her chest as her fingers sifted through your hair softly.

“You’re very welcome, my dear. How about you try it on for Mommy, yeah? Give me a little show?” You nodded and waltzed into your room where you discarded the little amount of clothing left that clung to your body. You wanted it to be a surprise, which is why you forced the older lady to remain on the other side of the closed door.

“You almost done in there?” She was impatient and she didn’t care, she knew it spurred you on every time.

“Come in.” She quickly opened the entryway and the sight that greeted her was one to make anyone foam at the mouth. The lace fit you perfectly, showing every curve and mend to your body.

“Oh, sweetness…” She was at a loss for words when admiring your effortless beauty. There was no such thing as perfect, yet here you stood, your body on display as if you were a walking goddess. You stalked closer to her, placing your hands on her chest as you gazed up at her, innocence painting your eyes.

“You like it, Mommy?” She groaned deeply and lifted you by the backs of your thighs, letting your legs wrap around her waist and arms venturing to her shoulders. Your breasts were right in front of her face, and it took all of her not to press her lips against them.

“You look so beautiful. My beautiful little girl.” Your cheeks reddened at her praise as you were lowered onto the bed that sat beneath you. You expected a touch, a kiss, something more than just her watchful eyes.

“You know, I was going to come here today, give you your gift and touch you a little bit, make you cum as a reward for being so, so good. But when I got here, I found out someone else was touching my property. She was chasing your attention so badly, but you didn’t want her, did you?” You shook your head at her remark, nervously fiddling with your fingertips. She noticed, gripping your wrist tightly in her hand as her nostrils flared, her jaw clenching as you noticed a small vein on her forehead that looked as if it was going to pop.

“No, because you know you’re mine. Tell me, did she make you cum?” Another shake of your head was received. “Mm, I bet she didn’t. You can’t cum without Mommy’s help, how pathetic.” She faked a pout, cooing at you in a gentle manner that almost made you believe she felt bad. But there was no remorse, she wanted you to suffer.

“I’m sorry, Mommy…” You tested your luck, praying that’d she show you at least a small amount of mercy. Her hand finally let go of your wrist as it came up to cup your cheek, her thumb rubbing the skin softly in false comfort. There was a small part of you that expected it when she drew back, only to slap the same area she had just been touching.

Tears brink at your eyelids from the harsh contact before she was gripping your chin and forcing your lips to part. She leaned down, almost convincing you that she was going to kiss you with passion like usual. But instead, you felt a wad of spit fall onto your tongue. It nearly made you moan with how dirty she was making you feel.

“Don’t swallow until I say so, baby.” She directed, knowing she was able to boss you around however she pleased and you’d always obey.

“That’s a good little slut.” The feeling of her saliva going down your throat was one you never imagined. It felt magical, and the noises you let out were pornographic. Of course, you did it all with permission when she finally granted you the chance to swallow.

“Please, Mommy-” Your pleas were cut short with another slap to your cheek, this one seeming to pain you even more than before.

“Did I say you could speak?” You were going to apologize, but her predatorial gaze stopped such words from releasing.

“Now shut the fuck up and listen to what Mommy has to say.” Her hair tickled your face as she leaned close to your ear, her voice coming in a low and hot whisper.

“Touch yourself, baby.”She guided your palm down your body where they stopped at the tops of your thigh. Your breath quickened the closer you got to your heat, your clit already throbbing under the confinement.

“Since you think anyone is allowed to touch this pussy, why don’t you add to the list, hm?” You squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment as you were guided in pulling the panties to the side, gathering your slick on your fingers as you dragged them along your folds.

“Does it taste good?” She inquired when bringing your singular digit to your mouth where you subconsciously wrapped your lips around it. You nodded slowly, repeating your actions but this time letting her soak in your flavor. She had fucked you enough times to be able to memorize the taste of your sweet nectar, yet she could still never get enough. It was her fuel, her gas pedal.

“You think you can fuck yourself without my help? Or do you need Mommy to do everything for you?” Before you could gather a response, she was already answering for you.

“Well, you didn’t seem to need my help last night when you let that bimbo fuck what’s mine, I don’t see why you can’t do the same now.” You were ready to beg, but with one glare you were quickly shut up. She led the desk chair on the other side of your room over to where you sat, placing it right in front of you where she’d watch you as if you were the TV. One leg crossed over the other, her tie mindlessly being toyed with by her palm.

You knew this was your only option, she’d sit there all night and wait for you to move if you didn’t. The thought was what led you to continue your movements from earlier, this time without her guidance. You were only provided with her watchful eyes that were so easy to get lost in.

“No wonder no woman ever wanted you, you can’t even fuck yourself properly.” The derogatory remarks only led you to venture further, your neglected clit finally getting the attention it begged for as you rubbed small circles.

“M-mommy-” You whimpered, hips bucking into nothing while your arm struggled to hold you up. Your head was thrown back as you followed every move you recalled her creating while teasing your desperate and leaky cunt.

“Moan for me, sweetness. That’s it, such a dirty little girl.” She watched your face contort into pleasure the faster you went, your other hand teasing your breasts and pinching your nipples. You had already been edged by your denial from the night before and now it felt closer than ever.

First, you penetrated your hole with one digit, then a second, and then a third when it wasn’t enough. Nothing you did was sufficient, nothing flourished the bliss pleasure you felt when Agatha was the one creating it.

“Aww, is it not enough? But you’re already stretching yourself out so much, I wouldn’t want you to be in pain.” That was a lie. You knew she loved seeing you in any form of pain as long as she was the one inflicting it, your tears were what spurred her on the most. She adored seeing you cry out for her to stop, knowing you deep down were begging for more.

“No, Mommy, please, I can handle it.” You bit your lip, the words just barely being able to escape with broken-up moans.

“Only big girls can make their own decisions, and you’re far too little for that. Now, slow down, angel, wouldn’t want you getting too ahead of yourself.” You wanted to quicken your pace, but you feared the consequences too broadly. Sure, you were a grown adult, but you were just a sweet baby who needs protecting in her eyes. Anything she said goes, and if you didn’t follow that, there were lists of cruel punishments she’d choose from and not one of them was for your enjoyment, it was for hers.

“‘M sorry, I’m only yours, Mommy- ugh!” She hummed as you fought for her endorsement, yet she gave no indication of any. You were getting closer, your thrusts meeting halfway with your hips that had a mind of their own. You were merely brushing over that sweet spot inside of you that had your toes curling and free hand gripping the sheets. Your palm was rubbing against your clit every time you moved, everything was so overwhelming yet so divine.

“What are you- what are you doing?” You saw her stalking towards you with a sharpie in hand, she must’ve gotten it from the desk. Her knees hit the floor with a thud as she gripped your open thighs, spreading them even further apart. She didn’t tell you to stop, so you assumed that was your permission to continue.

“Mommy just wants to doll you up a bit more, alright?” You nodded without hesitation. You could always trust her, there was no doubt about that.

You could feel the tip of the sharpie pressing onto your skin, leaving lines of ink as she wrote. You didn’t know what she was spelling out, you even tried to follow the letters with your mind but found yourself unable to focus.

“Don’t move, wouldn’t want me to mess up this gorgeous body.” Your movements faltered for a moment as you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold back if they didn’t. She stopped, and with one look you knew exactly what she wished of you.

“But-”

“No but’s, baby, do as Mommy told you.” You insisted on instead torturing your clit once more, already missing the feeling of being full but wanting to please her as best you could. She didn’t tell you anything she wrote, nor did she utter a word until she stood.

“I can’t hold it anymore, feels too good.” You brainlessly shuddered. As badly as you wanted to cum, you wouldn’t be able to unless you had her permission, she completely ruined you for anyone else including you.

“Shh, let me take a photo. I’m sure my colleagues will love this.” She knew of your shared infatuation with some of her lower coworkers, and you were exceedingly surprised when she wasn’t enraged. In fact, it only brought more teasing your way, something you were forced to get used to with her.

“Oh, don’t you look adorable?” She spoke, staring at her phone that now held the lewd picture of you. She was already planning on sending them whether you liked it or not, it was just a matter of time before they’d struggle to look you in the eyes whenever you stopped by her office.

“Oh, shit! I’m gonna-”

“No, you’re not.” She was quick to demand, grabbing her purse from off the hair and settling her phone in her pocket.

“You won’t be cumming until I say so, got it?” It took you a moment too long before you mustered out a nod while tears streamed down your face. She was patient, though, and when you finally did so, she grinned happily.

“Good girl. I need to head into the office, I sent three hundred to your account, go neaten up and get yourself some food before I come back later.” She started to walk out the door to your bedroom while ignoring your whines of protest, only to stop mid-way and turn to face you once more.

“Oh, and if you cum, I’ll know.” Her eyes set place in the corner of a wall as a smirk took over her. You followed her eyesight, finding a blinking red dot that was situated on what looked to be a camera. Your eyes widened as you went to look back at her, only to see that she was gone.

You then took sight of the mirror that wasn’t so far from your bed. Standing on shaky legs, you walked over to stand in front of it, and that’s when you noticed all of the degrading words printed onto your skin.

‘Slut’, ‘Cum here’ with an arrow pointing to your weeping hole. ‘Breeding whore’, ‘Mommy’s toy’, and lastly, ‘A.H’s property’. You didn’t know how exactly you were to get these off, but you couldn’t deny the deep arousal it caused. The lingerie piece was kept on as she requested, and you truly felt as though you looked exemplary. There was no doubt in your mind that Agatha would be receiving many photos throughout the day, only fueling to the large fire that was your punishment.

Suddenly, you heard a ping from your phone that you left on the nightstand. You grabbed it quickly, expecting to see a text from the woman in mind but smiling smugly when seeing her coworker's contact appear. It was Wanda, one of the sweetest and seemingly wholesome people you’ve ever met.

‘Hey, just thought I’d let you know you looked absolutely stunning in that photo. Maybe you could stop by my house sometime so I can show you just how beautiful I think you are.’

#agatha harkness smut #agatha harkness #agatha harkness fluff #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x reader smut #agatha harkness x reader fluff #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness x female reader #Agatha Harkness x reader angst #Agatha Harkness angst #Agatha Harkness x reader fic #Agatha Harkness x female reader smut #Agatha Harkness x fem!reader #Agatha Harkness x fem!reader smut #Agatha Harkness x fem!reader angst #Agatha Harkness x fem!reader fluff #Agatha Harkness x female reader fluff #Agatha Harkness x female reader angst

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dostoyevsky-official · 25 days ago

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‘China is not Cuba’s sugar daddy’: ties between communist nations weaken

China publicly supports Cuba’s right to choose its own path to economic development “in line with its national conditions”, but privately Chinese officials have long urged the Cuban leadership to shift from its vertically planned economy to something closer to the Chinese model, according to economists and diplomats briefed on the situation. Chinese officials have been perplexed and frustrated at the Cuban leadership’s unwillingness to decisively implement a market-oriented reform programme despite the glaring dysfunction of the status quo, the people said.

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happy-beeeps · 4 months ago

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No Really I Can

Summary: You're a schoolteacher, and you've developed a little bit of a crush on the new dad in class.

Pairing: Din x reader

WC: 1.6k

Warnings: alcohol use!

It’s quiet when he enters, only the mild hum of chatter between your students recapping their recent days off. It’s a sound you’ve learned to work through, scrolling through your data pad to look at their recent homework—drawings of their family.

You almost don’t notice him enter, until that mild hum stops all together. One of your students, Twyla, a quiet Deverronian girl, speaks first. “It’s him.”

The Mandalorian moves through the desk with the practiced ease of a mercenary. The baby behind him, not so much. You vaguely remember seeing him with a small bundle strapped to his chest in the few times you’ve seen him in the market, but you hadn’t made out the shape of the child until now.

“Students! We’re going to get started soon, please open up your data pads and take a look at today’s system.” They oblige, you have a good group, and the Mandalorian stops at your desk. “How can I help you?”

He’s quiet at first, then hoists the child up in his arms so he’s level with your desk. “This is Grogu, I think I’m supposed to sign him up for school.”

“It’s nice to meet you Grogu,” you murmur, voice quiet. He smiles and coos in response, and you can feel the heavy gaze of the Mandalorian on you. “Where is he at, schooling wise.”

“He had a… specialized education.”

“Okay, what languages does he speak? He may have to be transferred to the droid-led class.”

“He doesn’t, not really.”

“Do you speak Mando’a at home?”

There’s a heavy pause before he continues, “no, no we don’t. He doesn’t speak at all. But he listens.”

You smile at Grogu, and reach out to pat his hand. “I work with students of all ability, his speaking is not necessary to his learning, or to his being a good student.” You motion to reach for him, and the Mandalorian obliges. He’s heavy in your arms, but warms up to you instantly, and you know in your heart it’s going to be hard to keep yourself from loving this little guy. “Pickup is in five hours. Magistrate Karga has donated datapads to all the students, so he’ll get to take one home today. It’s time to say goodbye for now.”

He’s deliberate with his movements, holding the child’s hands before pressing his forehead to Grogu’s. He’s out the door before you can speak, and you realize you never got his name.

* * *

Grogu is a funny kid, he’s emotive and quick to respond. He loves to draw, and you can tell he listens intently to his classmates, like he’s wise beyond his years. You teach a wide age of students, and he feels quickly in line with his younger classmates, but your older kids are easily including him, picking him up and carrying him to recess. You determine there’s a few things about his special education that his father neglected to mention, especially when you notice the ball your students are playing with seemingly levitate to Grogu.

And his father. Your mind lingers on him now, nursing a martini in the cantina. He’s been respectful, kind, patient every day at drop off and pick up. He’s quiet, but not shy. Closed off, you’d guess. He asks after you every morning, and on the last day before the week break he’d brought you caf. It was black, lacking the creams and sugars of your usual order, but the thought was there. The silver vessel is still in your bag, admittedly sending a flutter through your chest when you hear it rattle against your things.

“Are you even listening to me?” Your friend asks, eyes rolling as she watches the dizzy look in your eyes.

“Sorry, just thinking about work.”

“Sure…” she says slyly, knowing all too well what that dazed expression means. “Oh, don’t look now, but the Mandalorian just walked in.”

You whip around at near lightspeed, ignoring your friend’s smooth that she murmurs under her breath. He’s here, he really is. You’ve seen him here maybe once before, and in fact he had Grogu with him, huddled against his chest while he and Karga were tucked away at a booth in the back of the room, chatting easily.

“He’s walking over here, maker, what did you do.”

“Nothing!” You shout as quietly as possible, doing your very best to nonchalantly fix your hair, your face, literally anything you can get your hands on.

She’s quick to read you, “Ah, I should’ve asked who you did.”

He’s at the table before you can respond, words dropping off your tongue as you look at him.

You’ve never been this close to him, his thighs nearly pressing against the edge of the table you’re at. He’s so large, commanding, and it sends a blush to you to think about.

“Grogu’s teacher, right?”

“It’s me, do I look that different out of the classroom?”

He’s quiet, then responds, “You look relaxed. Happy.”

You move to answer, but your friend beats you to it, “Well, I was just leaving,” she pats your arm as she stands up, “get home safe now, okay.”

You don’t miss her wink as she leaves the bar.

“I’m sorry about her-“

“Can I buy you a drink?”

You speak at the same time, and you blink in response to his question. “Absolutely.”

He’s back at your table quickly with a new martini, and you’re kicking yourself for ordering such a heavy drink. He slides into the seat and sets it down in front of you.

“Where’s yours?”

Reclining back in his chair, the answer comes to you as soon as he speaks it. “I don’t. Not here, anyway.”

Right. The helmet. “So, what brings you to a bar?”

“You.”

It’s spoken so simply it catches you off guard, and you cough on your drink.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” if you knew him better you’d say he’s embarrassed, “I just wanted to get to know you.”

You smile, and take another sip. “I’d like that.”

He moves the napkin around in front of him awkwardly, and you realize how out of place he looks in a place like this. “What’s your name? Your first name.”

You tell him, and he repeats it back, as if he’s tasting it on his mouth. The intimate way he whispers it has your blush creeping back. “Can I ask yours?”

“I’m not used to telling people,”

“Oh, I’m sorry you don’t have to.”

“It’s Din. Din Djarin.” He replies quickly, as if you gave him no hesitation.

“Din.” It’s your turn now, to turn his name over in your mouth. “Grogu is a great kid.”

“He is. He’s with Karga now actually, he loves him.”

“Doesn’t surprise me, he’s hard not to love.” You’re quiet, taking another sip, “can I ask why you just now decided to enroll him in school.”

“We’ve been… touch and go lately. Wasn’t sure where we’d end up. I’ve never really been in one place for long.”

“Mandalorian thing?”

He chuckles, “Me thing.”

“I get it. Everyone here came here for a reason. People are only just starting to move here for fun.”

“Can I ask what brought you here?”

You shrug, “The empire, same as everyone else. Actually, I got here right after you left, if I gather all the stories about you correctly.”

“Oh, theres stories about me?” He’s teasing, his voice dipping into a joke.

“Hundreds,” you smirk at him over your glass, “that you’re secretly a Wookiee, that you’re a cold blooded killer, that you have more guns than friends.”

He’s silent, and moves to trace a finger around the bottom of your glass. “Only one of those things isn’t true.”

A chill runs up your spine, but not out of fear, though you know it should be. “Can I ask which?”

“Nope,” he nearly pops the ‘p’, and leans back in his chair, “where’s the fun in that?”

* * *

You’re tanked when you leave. You’ve never been more grateful, or more embarrassed when Din helps you home. “S’sorry. Not normally like this.” You slid against him, and he merely places his other hand on yours, grasping onto his bicep like it’s your last hope.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who bought you them, if anything it’s on me.”

You should be terrified, but Din is nothing but a gentleman while you talk his ear off on the walk back. He laughs when something is funny, and nudges your shoulder when you tease him. Still. You should be terrified. You remember the day the pirates came to Nevarro, remember the way he had defeated them all by himself.

You’re at your door quicker than you’d like, and you’re leaning on him while you fumble for your door code.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he replies, hand tracing down your arm.

“Was this a date?”

He doesn’t answer at first, then asks you, “Do you want it to be?”

“Yes please.”

He chuckles, “Then call it our first.”

“I don’t do this, just so you know.”

“Do what?”

“Date all the hot dads at school.”

“I don’t either.”

“Date all the hot dads?”

“No,” but he pauses to laugh, a true uninhibited laugh. “Date. At all.”

The door clicks open, and you pat the cheek of his helmet. “S’okay. I can teach you.”

You enter your apartment before he can respond, and the door slides shut with a hiss. You’re struck like a university student again, leaning against the door. Your brain is telling you to run, to date some boring, normal. But you can’t, you won't.

Your last thought before slumping into bed, makeup and all is simple.

I can fix him.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din x reader #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandolarian

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macgyvermedical · 8 months ago

Note

Hey babe, wanna hear something hot? *whispers* history of metformin

Ok okay I'll talk

So metformin is commonly thought of as the most boring of diabetes drugs. Like, everyone who has ever thought about maybe having type 2 diabetes is taking it unless it gives them diarrhea, and even then their doctor still probably wants them to take it. But it's a first line because it's old, it's cheap, it doesn't often cause hypoglycemia, and it has relatively few side effects compared to other diabetes drugs. Also, like a lot of older drugs, it does way more than it says on the packaging. And a lot of stuff we're still learning about.

In order to talk about metformin, we have to talk about a plant called goat's rue. Goat's rue is a plant native to Europe, Africa, and Asia, and currently grows just about everywhere. In ancient times it was used as an anti-parasitic, a plague remedy, and to relieve the excessive urination caused by what might have been diabetes. In 1918 it was found to contain a chemical called galegine, which did lower blood sugar. Galegine as an anti-diabetes medication is probably too toxic to use long term. However, with a few chemical tweaks, it could become a drug that lowered blood sugar without the toxic effects. Metformin was born.

Metformin came out in 1923 and is a type of drug called a biguanide. it's actually the only type in it's class still available as an anti-diabetic agent, because the other drugs in it's class that came out in the 1920s and 30s caused lactic acidosis and liver problems (similar to the types of reactions seen with galegine), and were taken off the market.

Metformin (and pretty much all oral antidiabetic agents in development at this time) didn't do well initially, probably because they came out the same decade as insulin, and insulin was a lot more effective at treating any kind of diabetes.

It fell out of use extremely quickly, and didn't get picked up again until the 1940s, when US access to antimalarial drugs was cut off, just as a war in the pacific was ramping up. Metformin was evaluated as an antimalarial during WWII, and while noted to have some anti-malarial properties (particularly as a malaria preventative) it also was noted to significantly lower blood sugar in diabetic patients- while not lowering blood sugar very much at all in non-diabetic patients.

This effect, rather than it's antimalarial properties, was what got scientists really interested. Unfortunately, it would not be until 1957 in France that metformin had its first major studies to determine that it did, indeed, work against diabetes. Metformin lost the race to the "first" (successful) oral antidiabetic agent by a year, to a different drug that was found while looking for a new antibiotic- Diabenese.

Metformin became a commercial success in France, while Diabenese became successful in the United States. Metformin would actually not be approved for use in the US until 1995.

But now we get to talk about what metformin does and why it's so freaking cool.

Type 2 Diabetes- lowers A1C (a measure of blood sugar control) by 1-2 full points

Prevents/reverses weight gain due to antipsychotics

Prevents and treats malaria

Makes the flu shot work better

Decreases severity of respiratory illness and complications related to the flu

Changes gut microbiome for the better

Regulates periods and reduces other symptoms in people with PCOS

Lowers risk of breast, colon, and prostate cancer

Lowers risk of dementia

Lowers risk of stroke

May increase lifespan

#whump reference #writing reference #diabetes #metformin #chronic illness

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vessels-two-front-teeth · 2 months ago

Text

Sleep Token Lore theory

From the pov of someone deeply interested in psychology and a survivor of narcissistic abuse.

Warnings: mentions of narcissistic abuse, brief mentions of suicidal ideation, alcohol use.

Disclaimer: my idea of what all of it means is less in the esoteric direction and based more on my opinions of some of Vessel’s personal experiences. I’m basing all of this on lyrical content, the evolution of his masks, how he behaves on stage, and my own personal experience. I will not mention any of his previous work or related individuals. I will keep this as neutral as possible out of respect for all of their privacy.

1. The deity of Sleep: I believe that Sleep is less of an actual deity (I know it’s mostly a marketing gimmick), and more of a metaphor for someone that Vessel used to be in a relationship with. This person was very toxic and likely abusive in some manner. They also definitely had a god complex. In my opinion they most likely displayed a lot of narcissistic tendencies, such as love bombing, denying responsibility, manipulating, lies, mind games, and other such things. Emotional and psychological abuse are very likely. People who display narcissistic traits tend to worm their way into the minds of their targets. They prey on their insecurities, weaponizing them. Hence “my insecurities surround me like lions in a den.” This person met Vessel, noticed the things he was probably already insecure about and deliberately poked at those wounds, making them worse. This person also probably made efforts to isolate Vessel from the rest of his family and friends, making him dependent on them and them alone. If you have no one else to turn to, you are much less likely to try to escape.

2. Vessel’s part in the toxicity: in multiple lyrics from different songs Vessel expresses deep all consuming guilt over the way that he acted in this relationship. Being in a relationship with a narcissist will change you into a different person, but who you become depends on who you are to start with. Some people become more argumentative and fight back, which the narcissist enjoys. They like it when you react emotionally, they take it as a chance to say “look at the way you’re acting, you’re being the bad guy. Now I can go and make my smear campaign to make me look like the victim.” Other people shut down emotionally, becoming even easier to manipulate and control. In Vessel’s case, I think he mostly became the argumentative version, though inside he was likely pretty emotionally numb. This is shown in DYWTYLM when he says “maybe it’s not that you conceal your feelings, they just don’t exist.” The narcissist has succeeded in alienating him from himself so much that he can’t recognize his own emotional state or needs.

3. Vessel’s emotional state: with the narcissistic behaviour that I mentioned earlier, it’s very likely that Vessel was the recipient of a lot of mind games and love bombing. Love bombing, to put it in the simplest terms, is when a narcissist pours on the charm in opportunistic times to get you to believe that they are the nicest person ever. They follow this up with extremely shitty behaviour, and then more charm. This way you start to believe that you imagined the shitty part and that they couldn’t do anything wrong. This back and forth creates a pattern that the victim will be addicted to, the good parts are so good that they brush off the bad. This is shown in Sugar “I’ve developed a taste for you” and in Distraction “you come crawling back to me, but I’m already on the ground.” If the narcissist is tenacious enough, this will push their victim to the point of wanting to take their own life or attempting to. This is shown in Atlantic, Are you really ok?, Dark Signs, and several others. References to scars on arms, trenches deeper than the scars can show, tearing off limbs, etc etc.

4. Vessel’s actions during: there are several songs where he describes self sacrificing behaviour, the biggest example being The Offering. Just the whole entire song. He gave himself over completely to this person. In a healthy relationship this isn’t a bad thing, but in an unhealthy relationship, it most certainly is. His entire identity could’ve been defined by the other person. “I am Vessel, and I belong to ________. They are my purpose.” That kind of thing. A complete erasure of who he was prior. At this point, he does not know who he is, he depends on them to tell him and others who he is. Through this he also grew to hate himself, and to believe that all of his dreams were probably unrealistic or something like that. And that he is ugly, as is shown in the Fall For Me video. This probably acts as the main driving force behind the masks in the first place. To literally hide behind, in fear that if the mask were to go away, that we the audience would no longer be interested. There’s those insecurities again. Afraid that he’ll lose all of his success if they see his face. Despite the fact that we don’t buy his albums to listen to his face.

5. The aftermath of this: When this relationship ended, which would’ve been after a long course of back and forth, and probably some on again off again cycles, Vessel would’ve been left feeling completely dead inside. To put it simply. Recovering from this kind of abuse takes a very long time, for most it takes months, for others years. At the start, he would likely struggle to see any worth in himself at all, hence him saying that who he is behind the mask does not matter. He was taught that belief. I think we can all agree that for Vess, it took several years to fully recover, and we continue to see his progress with every performance. We can also see this via the evolution of his mask, in the beginning covering his whole face, very much not human. Then the second mask, also not human but also softer. Not as archaic in appearance. But still not human. Still not him. The current mask showing a portion of his face at all times, the red lace like design on the bottom. It’s prettier, softer. It’s more human and approachable, but it has the spikes on it. He still feels the need to defend and protect himself. The other ways we were able to see the damage incurred, was through the fact that for many earlier performances, Vessel was drunk on stage. It doesn’t take a lot of thought to see that he wasn’t feeling too good about himself. A lot of victims of this kind of abuse tend to turn to some kind of vice/addiction to get them through the pain. After going through and getting out of something like that, self care and healthy habits usually isn’t a top priority. All you want in that situation is to numb the pain and distance yourself from it.

Someone on TikTok also pointed out to me the line (I think) from TMBTE “I’ll take a pound of your flesh before you take a piece of my pay stub.” With the idea that the person he was in a relationship with he also worked with, and they hogged a lot of his money. This aligns very much with narcissistic tendencies, as financial abuse is also extremely common.

More about the other members and their roles tomorrow.

#sleep token lore #sleep token #sleep token vessel #sleep token ii #sleep token iii #sleep token iv #sleep token worship #sleep token theories #vtft lore theory

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derythcorvinus · 2 months ago

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🧠🪱Wiggly Wednesday 🧠🪱

Thank you for the tag @wheneverfeasible 💚

Alright so last week's was about Steve, but today we got an Eddie brain worm wriggling around. Or two, really.

I actually head cannon that Eddie is versatile. He can and will bottom, but he prefers to top. He can and will sub, but he prefers to dom. The reason being is simply because he enjoys having people put that trust and control in his hands. And it's so much harder for him to give all that up to others. There's also just something about watching someone slip and settle into subspace.

But that's so thing he craves sometimes. He wants to be put down like that, he wants to feel fuzzy and floaty. He's just terrified that he'd be treated wrong so he doesn't let that side of him show.

With all that said, he's learned how to be a damn good dom. Aftercare is his favorite thing. He gets to watch his partner just revel in the afterglow, satisfied whether they have a tear stained face or not.

Now let's go back a few years when Eddie had his first hangover. He was miserable and bitchy, snapping at Wayne while he tried to curl up underneath blankets. Wayne leaves for a while and Eddie starts to wonder if he really messed up this time, but then his uncle comes back, spends some time in the kitchen making (in Eddie's opinion) too much noise.

Then the blankets and sheets are being ripped off of the unsuspecting Eddie, and a glass of what looks like water is being held out towards him. There's also a sandwich, but Eddie forgoes that and takes a sip of the drink. His face scrunches up and he stares at the glass in his hand, asking Wayne if he just made him drink salt water. Wayne laughs and tells him that it's unflavored Pedialyte. Eddie feels better than he thought he would after a few glasses of the Pedialyte.

Now Eddie's go to drink of choice for his subs after intense sessions? Pedialyte. It's got less sugars than most other electrolytes replenishing drinks. He sticks with the unflavored Pedialyte, just to be safe, and explains what it is before the sub drinks it.

Then he and Steve start a Dom/Sub relationship. Steve kind of laughs at the Pedialyte thing at first, not in a mean way though, it's just surprising and thoughtful. He gets used to the unflavored one. But in passing, he mentions he likes strawberry flavored drinks, and after their next session, his drink is pink and has a hint of sweetness from the strawberry flavoring; opposed to the normal clear and flavorless liquid.

And, just like every other time they've done this, Eddie makes sure Steve drinks the entire glass before he's allowed to do anything else.

And some time later, when their relationship develops into something with more feelings, Eddie learns to trust Steve with a role swap. Eddie experiences subspace for the first time, finds out just how well his aftercare tactics are when Steve does everything Eddie had done for others. And yeah, it's probably changed up a little bit to be authentic to Steve, or maybe he develops his own aftercare routine over time.

But he always makes sure that Eddie has a glass of apple flavored Pedialyte after. And he always makes sure Eddie drinks the entire glass.

I don't care if the apple flavor Pedialyte didn't exist in the 80's, it exists for Eddie in my mind. The whole Pedialyte brain worm happened because I was drinking Pedialyte last night. I did do some research on it to see when it was invented, I ended up finding out that people use it for hangovers and that's why they started marketing it towards adults. Don't know if it's true or not, but I think that's neat.

#wiggly worm wednesday #brain worms #steddie brainrot #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington

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