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yns-world · 1 year

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House of The Dragon Reacting to You Being Courted and Wedded to Someone Else

part ii of The Heir series

part i

a/n: fem reader, race not specified, size not specified

Y/H/A = Your House Animal

Y/H/C = Your House Color

In this imagine, your jealous lovers are: Rhaenyra and Daemon

Context: After inheriting the crown, your first duty was to find a King's consort. As part of your heirship, King Viserys forbade any Targaryen to ever meddle with your reign, wanting your dynasty to be as true to you as possible.

Rhaenyra: As your Hand, she knew very well that it was your civic duty to wed and produce heirs, no matter how painful it was for her to watch. During your courtship, she created a 3-month tour to visit every kingdom on the map to find the most suitable match, because Rhaenyra knew that you weren’t just marrying the person; you were creating an alliance with the whole House. This required a careful evaluation of a lord’s status, wealth, and history. When she came back from her journey, she presented you with three candidates--

“Ser Tyland Lannister from House Lannister of Casterly Rock; Ser Laenor Velaryon from House Velaryon of Driftmark; and Ser Harwin Strong from House Strong of Harrenhal.” Rhaenyra presented the three men and they all bowed before the throne.

“And what do they offer the crown?” Queen Y/N inquired, clearly unimpressed by the selection.

“House Lannister has enough gold to fund the crown. House Velaryon has thousands of fleets that are pledged to fight for any and all of your greatest conquests. And finally, House Strong is a noble house that produced the greatest warriors ever known.” Rhaenyra answered, looking up at the queen with an arched brow, waiting for a snarky comment that never came.

Queen Y/N pondered on the options for a moment, flicking her eyes from Rhaenyra and to the three men standing before her.

“Congratulations Ser Tyland Lannister, you have the honor of being named the King’s Consort.” There was a layer of disdain in her voice, a layer that Rhaenyra picked up on.

In honor of the two Houses uniting, a brand new banner was designed-- Y/H/A and the Lannister Lion were sharing arms, while Y/H/A wore a crown and the Lannister Lion held a sword in its other paw. Your house colors switched places, with Lannister Red coloring behind Y/H/A and Y/H/C being behind the Lion.

From the beginning, the process of your marriage was a difficult pill for Rhaenyra to swallow, but all the pain and suffering was worth it when you named your first daughter and heir apparent after her-- Princess Rhaenyra L/N, second of her name, heir to the Iron Throne.

Daemon: Daemon was appointed Lord Commander of the Queensguard and a “friend of the crown”, so to speak. When it came to your marriage, you believed that Daemon would be unaffected by the political arrangement. To your astonishment, it was quite the opposite.

Just a few hours after the first candidate showing, Daemon decapitated the suitor that you had your eyes on-- some prick from House Lannister.

In the beginning of the killings, nobody knew who this culprit was. But you knew, you knew all along, you just wouldn’t be dettered so easily.

The next morning after the first death, Daemon sulked into the throne room and dropped to his knees in front of you. He latched onto your legs and started sobbing into your silk gown.

“All my life I was the second choice-- the second son, the second heir-- I don’t want to be your second lover. I want to be the only one. You are the Queen of the Realm, I am nothing but your servant.” After catching his breath, Daemon slowly raised his desperate eyes to your face. With a finality in his voice, he spoke. “Nobody is worthy of the Queen of the Realm.”

This killing pattern would continue with every single candidate that came close to becoming your consort. It got to the point where fathers of prominent Houses were terrified of sending their sons to ask for your hand in marriage. Eventually your council knew they couldn’t get you to wed for as long as Daemon stayed at your post, so they let you become a king-less queen.

The unfortunate victims of Daemon’s rage were labeled as the Queen’s Ghosts-- the 32 men who were brutally murdered in Queen Y/N’s name. These victims came from all of the major families and then some-- House Lannister of Casterly Rock, House Stark of Winterfell, House Baratheon of Storm’s End, the list goes on.

Daemon’s brutalities were quickly associated with you, earning you the title “The Queen of Death.” You didn’t mind the title, it only fueled fear in the hearts of the people that didn’t already bow to you.

Of course, there was the question of your next heir. Since you weren’t wed, how could you possibly have any children?

Fortunantely for you, the agreement between your House and House Targaryen forbade you from any legal contraction, but that didn’t stop Daemon from siring four of your children out of wedlock-- one boy and three girls. Your first son and heir was named Sol, after the sun. Unlike you, Prince Sol would grow into a king who would fit his inherited title of “The Ruler of Death.”

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :)

DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions, and comments are what keep writers going <3

i'm open to HoTD requests so just read my pinned post for request rules <3

if you have any ideas for other scenarios for this series or just any ideas in general, please don't hesitate to hmu!!! i want to hear what everyone has to say :)

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princess-of-thebes-1995 · 5 months

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A Life Bartered Ch 3

Yandere! Human Miles Quaritch x Mutant/Human Female Reader.

Set: Avatar 2009.

Warnings: Smut, Older man and younger woman, huge age gap, unhealthy love from men and Navi men. Foul Language. Attempt to impregnate. Painful Sex.

Four more nights till you will tie the knot to the Navi who 'won' you. To be Mated with Ebe. As to be his wife. Married and to bear his children.

You gulped. Was it even possible for an advanced human being such as yourself and a Navi male to produce half breeds?

Being a woman with natural maternal affection, you knew you would love any and all of your future children. You just wished your future babies would be sired by your ex lover. The Head of Security.

You blew an exhale of loneliness. You still had little battery life left in your cell phone. You wished you took pictures of your handsome “boyfriend”.

Or whatever he was to you. He treated you like his wife. But, because of your bitchy attitude, it was one sided. And he must have known.

You sometimes caught his hurt expressions when you didn't heed to his affectionate touches or gave him half assed responses.

You resented him for abusing his power to get you into his bed for money.

Come to think of it, you furrowed your brows in concentration. He didn't apologize to you after giving yourself in to get the funds back for the program, but he did more than his side of the bargain.

His soldiers would accompany the other scientists in the wild jungle to study plants and gather resources. The cafeteria received more quality food. The heating system got upgraded. Nice hot showers and heated air made the science bunks and labs cozy and comfortable.

And you, you got the lion share. You got the highest qualities of makeup, perfume, designer clothes from the magazine orders sent to and from Earth when supplies come in.

And not only that. The Colonel would voluntarily brush your long hair whenever he was free from work or gym. And for some reason he was fascinated with your feet. He once complimented how tiny they were. He would always massage them. But best of all, you liked his stares. When you applied makeup on the vanity mirror desk he ordered when you moved into his room. He would sit on his bed.

And watch you doll yourself up. He would lick his lips and look as if he was in pain. You found it amusing. Then eventually, he would always ruin your lipstick. He would look as if someone punched him in the mouth.

He would use soap and water to scrub your lipstain off his face. But, removing makeup was not easy. So, some staff noticed. But, they were too scared to tease their superior.

You smiled at the memory and stared at the stars of Pandora. You wondered if Quaritch was looking outside too. But, sadly, with all his work, gym, and extra work correcting the mistakes Selfridge would make. You assumed he was asleep and exhausted.

That poor man.

You treated him like shit.

You felt like a homewrecker.

A bad woman.

You looked at Ebe’s sleeping form. He didn't rape you. Not yet. You were lucky. He was waiting for the wedding night. Maybe, you should be kind to Ebe. He seemed to love you like how Quaritch did. He is ugly. But, maybe he looked ugly to you because you loved and missed the Colonel.

Closing your eyes you yearned to see the handsome face you took for granted. You hoped and wondered if the Colonel had pictures of you on his phone.

You dismissed it immediately. Even if he did have pictures of you, he probably deleted it. You don't deserve him.

“Good bye, My Love.” You whispered as you stared at the dark sky.

…………

The Colonel walked up to the quarters of his trusted sidekick, Corporal Lyle Wainfleet of his Marine Squad.

He remembered a crucial detail of you. He caught you talking and giggling with that female pilot that worked with Lyle. Judging by how many times you socialized with her, the Colonel assumed you two were close friends. Not as close as Grace. Better than nothing.

The harsh knock made a grumpy Lyle open the door with a mean look in his face. He was about to cuss out whoever woke him. Then he straightened when he saw his superior.

“Colonel?”

“Your pilot is a personal friend of Name, right?”

Lyle was taken back at the mention of your name. Since those Savages took you, no one dared to utter your name in the Colonel's presence.

After affirming the Colonel's question. The blonde man felt less tense and actually happy since that text you sent him.

Lyle missed you. He hardly spoke to you much. Besides greetings and how orders the Colonel gave him to you like to meet him somewhere or go to his office.

Lyle couldn't not notice not only your beauty but your personality and intelligence. He was smitten and jealous that the Colonel got to you first. But, you knew that the Colonel would steal you from him even if he didn't meet you before him.

Lyle guessed you were not fated to be with him.

Lucky bastard.

“Get that Pilot. We will get Name back. Only the three of us know.”

“Yes, Sir.” The Corporal wasted no time. Lyle was scared that you were perhaps either dead or almost dead after being raped. There is no way a pretty face like yours can't get taken advantage of. Navi or human. You were just that beautiful.

He still pitied you.

…………

Trudy was the same way when Wainfleet knocked on her door in the middle of the night. She was about to yell but Wainfleet whispered harshly and explained the rescue mission. Trudy was ecstatic.

Since Trudy was dating Norm, she knew the situation. That you were forced to be with the Colonel. And an evil Navi warrior wanted you.

She knew like all beings not all are totally bad or good. But the Navi man who took you. Damn, she hated him. He was no better than Quaritch.

Trudy dressed up in her pilot suit and jogged with the armed Wainfleet to her chopper waiting for them was the tough man Quaritch.

He was ready with his mask and machine gun.

Shit will go down.

Quaritch printed the tracking area code and picture of where you were located by his cellphone.

He gave the paper to Trudy. Starting the chopper, they finally set off.

The Warrior out to save the damsel in distress.

………

Trudy landed the chopper away from the intended area as the orders of the Colonel. Lyle and Quaritch jumped off the plane with their guns ready to kill. The night vision built in his mask indicated body warmth of two individuals. A Navi and a human sleeping under the abyss tree.

It must be her.

Colonel Quaritch nodded to Lyle. Taking the cue, Lyle threw the grenade to the far left of the field and it landed on a plant that had some kind of nest. Like a hornet nest.

Boom.

The flame engulfed the grass and the yells of those damn savages made Lyle and the Colonel crouch down to hide. The same ugly ass Navi came from under the Tree and was yelling in his native tongue.

Then Quaritch saw you. You came out obviously in shock from the commotion. Your eyes widened at the awful site. Fire burning the beautiful shrubbery and plants of the area.

What a shame. While feeling sorry for the lost wildlife. A hand covered your mouth. You were too unhealthy to struggle. You then turned to see the man you are aching for.

It was dark for you to see. But the fire showed some light. It was him.

He let go of you. You stared in disbelief as he put his finger to his lips and picked you up bridal style.

He ran to the chopper and he made you sit next to his seat before strapping you. He frowned when he noticed how even lighter you were in his arms. You lost too much weight. Were you even fed? That monkey probably tortured you.

Quaritch clenched his teeth with rage. Lyle hopped in and quickly ordered Trudy to go. The Colonel noticed your shivering form. He took off his Marine jacket and covered you. He held you close. He tucked you underneath his chin and wrapped his arms around you.

You couldn't hold it in. You burst into sobs. The Colonel felt his tank top wet. “I thought you were dead.”

You mumbled. “ Might as well.”

The Colonel heard it clear then sighed.

Lyle, on the other hand, watched the two of you with pity.

He was also impressed by you too. He expected you to be haggard. You looked perfect as ever. Just sad and sick. Too skinny. Your hair was still glossy with no flyaways or frizz.

And your skin looked like it was filtered with Photoshop. With your blood red lips and pink cheeks you still had your natural makeup.

The oversized nightgown made you look oddly cute. But it was thin as fuck. The white dress was too big and not your size. Looked like the Navi who demanded you must have stolen the fabric materials when the cargo that arrived from Earth was to be sent to the base.

The chopper landed on the parking lot and Trudy waited for you to come out of your seat. The Colonel hopped out then grabbed your lithe hand and settled you to the firm ground. Trudy didn't hesitate to engulf you in a hug.

The Colonel and Corporal Wainfleet watched you hug back. Shaking his head, the Colonel had to return his weapons to the supply room. He ordered you to be sent to his room. Quaritch gave his room key to Trudy.

Quietly as mice, you and your friend snuck inside the luxurious room of the Colonel. You noticed how there were broken furniture and holes on the wall.

Trudy wasted no time turning on the hot shower. You didn't want to further burden your friend, so you did your best to shampoo your long hair and use soap on your body.

You forgot how long you were taken away by Ebe but you didn't want to know. It felt like years. Time went so slow. It was nice now. You felt a little invincible. You cheated death and escaped the true punishment of your wicked crimes against the Colonel.

You sure dodged a bullet. After that, Trudy wrapped you with the Colonel's shower towel and led you to his bed. You didn't notice but all your items were still in his room.

Your clothes, books, makeup, everything. The Colonel gave the cat equivalent pet he caught for you to the science pukes. Obviously, he couldn't take care of it. He wasn't cruel to starve an animal.

Those science bitches seemed to be thrilled to have that weird creature. Not that he was complaining. Quaritch didn't admit it, he was jealous that you showed more affection to that pet than to him before he gave you up.

“You may leave.”

Both women's heads turned to see the Colonel in the doorway without his combat gear. Trudy stood up but stopped when Quaritch held out a paper.

Turned out it was a check. You saw your friend's eyes widened as she read it. Must been a large sum of money. Trudy thanked Quaritch and disappeared.

You looked confused. Quaritch said nothing. He stripped himself and threw his clothes to the floor.

Sitting next to you, you didn't say anything when he brushed your long wet tresses. Like old times, He would stop and sniff them by gently grabbing the ends of your hair to his nose then continue brushing.

He finished and laid down on the bed and made you rest on top of him. You cling to him like a wounded animal. Quaritch felt you shaking and still cold. He wrapped your lithe frame closer to his heated body.

“Were you …?”

The Colonel couldn't bring himself to say it. You said not yet. The blonde man blew an exhale. That blue monkey was so lucky. If he did rape you. The Colonel would have made you go to the doctor regardless of being seen. And check if you were pregnant with a half breed.

And squash that fetus beneath his foot.

But, that fuckin’ Navi was planning on it and wanted to. The Colonel decided to not give him that bad of a painful death.

Noticing how still you were. He peeked down to see you asleep. What a night.

Corporal Wainfleet punched in the ticket for his superior . He announced to the staff today was the Colonel’s day off.

Quaritch didn't care what time it was when he woke from his peaceful slumber. He felt light as a feather.

He stroked your long (hair type) hair as you continued your slumber. You were still as a rock. Damn. You must have been really tired. Normally, you would toss and turn around nine times in bed.

With pity in his eyes the Colonel watched you breathe in and out. He wondered if you ever dreamed of him like he did of you. Or even thought of him. But, the memory of you texting him confirmed his curiosity. He screenshot your message and saved it to his photos on his cellphone.

Gently, he removed himself from your grip and off the bed. He hurriedly showered and dressed in his uniform to enter the Marine cafeteria.

He as usual was greeted with respect but he didn't want to look suspicious. He hoped no one would notice him gathering extra food to his tray.

He normally wouldn't eat luxurious food. Luxury makes a man weak to be lazy and pathetic. But, you lost so much damn weight and feared you might be sick.

He will go to the hospital wing and his own personal doctor will check you.

Quaritch will swore him to secrecy through bribes and also threats. As a Marine, you are to never trust no one. Unless proven greatly otherwise.

Like you. Quaritch didn't trust you before but now. He knew you changed.

He forgave you.

It was no surprise you were still sleeping. He placed the tray on his table and then leaned down to dip his face. He kissed your cheek and gently rubbed your shoulders.

You stirred and opened your lovely eyes in confusion before blinking. It was cute. You looked surprised to see him and looked around your area. The Colonel smirked. He made you sit up before wrapping his bathrobe around you.

He cut the Salisbury steak and pressed the fork to your lips. You were confused. You didn't eat meat. But, you knew the reason. If the Colonel got only plant based food for you. It would look suspicious. You assumed you were to be hidden until further notice.

And you needed muscles and gain weight.

You let him feed you like a toddler. You remembered how he ordered you to feed him while “dating” him.

He would tease you calling you his tradwife.

You felt offended and labeled him a toxic masculine man. Now, you realized you were foolish to not understand he was joking and you were the one toxic. A crazy witch.

As mentioned before, the Colonel would massage your feet whenever he had free time and brush your hair. Most important, he would take care of you when you were on your period and voluntarily feed you.

You cooked and cleaned out of duty but that was it. Few times he made you feed him and you complained. The colonel noticed your attitude then stopped asking you to feed him and other affectionate gestures. He became grumpy. He wanted you to act like a real girlfriend but was meeting him half way in the relationship. Like you didn't want it to work.

It reminded him again you were forced to be with him for the sake of the avatar program.

It added more guilt inside your chest. He didn't say if he forgave you or not. Then again, you apologized in the text and not in person.

You wanted to say sorry in person but the Colonel continued feeding you. He then took a few bites himself from the same fork and made you drink water. When you watched him drink from the same glass after you.

You felt… flattered. It was intimate without being sexual. Like real romance rather than superficial lust.

You blushed but sadly Quaritch didn't notice. He was too worried for you.

Ebe tried to feed you but you would always vomit your food later. Maybe it's because you would feel hopeless and sob later.

Now that you are much happier. You could stomach the delicious food. You may not eat meat due to pitying the animals, but you cannot deny it tastes good.

You would cook meat dishes for the Colonel at the base and your family while on Earth. And to be precise, you would taste your own food to make sure it tastes good. Meat or not.

The Colonel knew you were trying your best to not complain about eating. He set the plate away then caressed your cheekbone.

You looked at him confused. Quaritch explained his doctor will secretly come here to check you up. No one is to know of you.

So it's true. You realized that the Colonel acted on his own to rescue you. If Selfridge found out…

There was a hesitant knock. The Colonel knew that voice. A middle aged man walked in with a medic bag. Like the old days, this doctor visited you instead.

The Colonel stood back with his arms crossed and leaning against the wall and watched the doctor examine you.

“She is malnourished.” The doctor looked over his shoulder at the Colonel. “She needs a blood transfusion.”

Quaritch nodded. “I will give her my blood.” He didn't hesitate.

The doctor then looked at you. He asked if you ever knew you were pregnant before.

Your eyes widened and the Colonel kept his calm face but was also surprised inside.

“I am afraid you lost weight not only from starvation but miscarriage.”

You couldn't help it. You clutched your face and began to cry quietly. That explained you always vomiting in the jungle. The moodiness.

You remembered your last period. It was more painful than usual. And you felt weird when bathing. Ebe gave you a bucket to wash yourself. While doing so, you felt like something slide off between your legs when cleaning.

No.

Your poor baby.

Damn you. It was your fault.

The Colonel's breath hitched. No doubt that baby was his. After fucking you last before giving you up, you didn't pack anything. Including your pills.

He killed his own child. Damn him. It was all his fault.

The Colonel watched you sob he wanted to punch the wall again and make another hole.

“I will prescribe her depression and insomnia pills.”

The doctor stood up and whispered to the Colonel.

He said he suspected you to be suicidal and should be under all supervision.

The doctor left. Quaritch had a hazed look in his beautiful blue eyes. The doctor will return to start the blood transfer process by bringing the tubes and syringes.

The Colonel made sure to heat up the room even more. He sat next to you after dressing you up in your skirt and blouse. He didn't dress you in your underwear. He was sad as you were to care. While waiting for the doctor to return, the Colonel grabbed your hand and kissed your cold delicate fingers.

It used to be the opposite. He was always the cold one and it would compliment against your warm feathery touches. A knock came again and the doctor started the process.

Quaritch made sure you got extra blood but the doctor said he cannot do it all at once. Daily with regular transfusion and healthy eating and sunshine will make you good as new again.

But, since you were a mutant. It will make you recover quicker. Being alone finally, the Colonel stroked your hair.

“You're very young, and a mutant. You conceived because you didn't pack your pills and missed them for one day. It's impossible to not get knocked up again.” He tried to cheer you up.

You looked out the window. Then looked back at him with more tears. You told him how none of your future pregnancies can replace any child you lost before.

The Colonel said nothing about your answer. He kept his face to the normal stern look. Inside though, he felt warm by your morally right response. He was right about you all along. You didn't show it at first, being a spoiled brat. Rude to him too.

Maybe it was because he scared you to run to him at first when he almost shut the program. Not to mention, people stereotyped you all your life for always being the most beautiful girl. Assuming you had an easy life and were a snob.

The Colonel said nothing. He gently made you lay down on the bed and he hovered over you with his biceps caging you and he finally kissed you since the farewell kiss at the fields where he dropped you off.

He couldn't kiss you with that damn mask he was wearing when he rescued you.

You felt his callused hands hold your face against his. He immediately snuck his tongue inside and to his surprise, you responded and was bat shit crazy for him as he was for you. You must have been hungry.

Continuing kissing you. He kicked off his trousers and boxers. He then trailed his lips against your neck. He gently bit you. Then sucked the bruise. He knew you also wanted the same.

The Colonel moved out of your reach and looked down at your form.

He sighed and shook his head. If someone saw his neck, it would be suspicious. You huffed in disappointment. The Colonel gave you an apologetic look. He removed his tank top. Being bare and ready. He began attacking your perky tits.

You were so impatient. And he knew it. He wanted to suck your cunt. But to hell with it. Later. He sheathed his cock inside and bullied his shaft inside your wet hole.

He groaned in pain. He knew you didn't get laid in almost three months. But, this is torturous. It was like you were raping him. You looked at him with worry. Quaritch ignored you and dug inside deeper to loosen you up.

Finally, all his inches went inside. Already you felt your juices overflowing your womanhood.

He must have stopped masturbating. You wondered why.

Moans of pain and not pleasure escaped your fat lips and your nails dug in the shoulder of your lover. You hissed in pain. “Please slow down.”

Quaritch cursed again. “If I stop you will be even tighter before tomorrow.”

Having sex after months of celibacy was hell. Oh, well. As long as you don't get raped. You won't complain.

“Oh, my fucking God.” The Colonel clenched his jaw.

Quaritch saw the blood coming out of your vagina. It was working. Hopefully next time it will be easier. He needs to loosen the stronghold clutches of your cunt.

The Colonel cummed inside and spilled his hot seed. His and your breathings were ragged. With great difficulty, Quaritch slowly pulled out from your greedy vagina. His dick was swollen and red from the pain and not from the blood.

Damn. That was painful as fuck. It was like his penis was about to explode from the harsh friction.

He didn't blame you and shouldn't complain. He laid back on the bed next to you catching his breath. He pulled you to his muscular chest.

“We’ll try again.”

You let out a “hmm” as you clung to him. You went back to sleep. Quaritch kissed your nose then closed his eyes again.

Who knows what tomorrow may bring.

AU: I know I said I am taking a break. But, I forgot I already typed this on my old google docs. I do not want to torture my followers. I will post Anti-America and Anti Israel and Pro Palestine pictures. I am working on my new Yandere! Gellert Grindelwald x Reader. A new version of Lowly Desires.

I will call it Dark Desires. Just to spoil it. I will not add a love triangle. Credence may love Reader Chan but she does not love him and will not have an affair with him.

#avatar #miles quaritch #yandere miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch x reader #yandere miles quaritch #smut

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toskarin · 11 months

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Honestly tho, people keep calling Cyberpunk a disaster but I don't think that's fair anymore. Yes, the game was buggy as hell at launch and the devs couldn't fully reach the heights their original vision promised, but especially now that the lion's share of the bugs and issues and whatnot have been fixed and reworked and ironed down, Cyberpunk 2077 is still a damn good game with a great world, great characters, and a great story. And the tie-in Trigger anime was the single best thing that studio has ever made, by a lot. And I'm including the stuff that Trigger made back when trigger was Gainax, like EVA and Gurren Lagann!

sure, but make no mistake, it was absolutely a disaster

regardless of what improvements were made, it obliterated cdpr's reputation (making arguably the most expensive game ever released isn't something you can do without a nearly perfect reputation) and was initially a financial nightmare to the point where they had to cancel their extensive plans for future support

they bit off significantly more than they could chew and heavily mismanaged things to the point where (with the gift of hindsight) it's remarkable that the game released at all before some investor could freak out and pull funding

I think it's probably the most gorgeous urban environment simulator that's ever been released, but its reputation remains a black mark of the time a B studio bluffed a little too hard

they'll probably never get that much money to work on a single release again. it was so scary that other studios will probably struggle to do it in the near future, too

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inky-duchess · 4 months

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How is the state treasury filled? Other than taxes, is there money from state exports, treaty settlements, etc?

Also, in my WIP, the royal family's personal money is kept separate from the treasury (as in, their money is generally separate from the people's taxes, etc - treasury is only used for for state ceremonies).

What are some ways that royalty could generate a private and personal income for the family?

Other than taxes which made up the lion's share of the treasury, there would also be funds from spoils of war, the sale of royal assets (many royal women sold their jewels to find wars), acquisitions from traitors, seizure of other lands's resources.

Yes, personal royal expenditure always comes out of a treasury separate from the state. Personal income can come from investiments in mines or businesses or even things like horses - like QEII used to do. Personal income can also come from personally owned land.

#ask answered

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countriesgame · 4 months

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Please reblog for a bigger sample size!

If you have any fun fact about Namibia, please tell us and I'll reblog it!

Be respectful in your comments. You can criticize a government without offending its people.

#namibia #country polls #africa #polls

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warsofasoiaf · 5 months

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Do you believe the theory that Neville Chamberlain appeased the Axis to have more time to prepare for WW2? Or is that a revisionist take the British came up with to not feel as dumb as they actually were?

It's more complicated than that. We know that, following Munich, Chamberlain began quietly rearming, so it's clear that in part, that revisionist take isn't quite so revisionist. We also know that Britain's land forces were definitely not prepared in a land war in Europe should it have broken out over Munich.

However, in the event of a Franco-British-Czechoslovak war with Germany, the primary utility of Britain was going to be the Royal Navy blockade, to starve out fuel and steel imports into Nazi Germany. The Navy always received the lion's share of Britain's war funding. So in that sense, it was a real mistake because "buying time" against Nazi Germany cost the allies their numerical superiority.

Thanks for the question, Superior.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

#world war ii #world war 2 #history

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blurban-form · 22 days

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This is a summary of the article that appeared in Bloomberg BusinessWeek, April 3, 2024. I summarized it a fair bit to focus on what was interesting to me in the article. That said, this is still a long read.

Watch out, a couple of swear words in here.

Bluey may be acquired by Disney which would help Disney: 20% of all TV views on the streaming service Disney+ are “Bluey”. In the fourth quarter of 2023 (excluding movies). Americans watched 731 million hours of “Bluey”.

Brumm accepts an award for best children’s program from the Australian Academy of Cinema and Television Arts in 2019.Photographer: Brendon Thorne/AFI/Getty Images

Joe Brumm is 46, likes sports and surfing, and is brash and unpolished; he seems a little like James Dean in that he’s talented but uncomfortable with fame and having to follow Hollywood conventions and rules… It was noted that Joe Brumm had public relations minders/handlers with him from Disney and the BBC to watch what he said when he was interviewed.

Brumm’s influences include Simpsons, South Park, Peanuts, and Calvin and Hobbes. “Peanuts just meant so much to me growing up” said Brumm. He studied animation in the 2000s at the University of Brisbane and worked in London for the BBC before returning to Australia in 2010 to start Ludo animation.

He came up with Bluey himself, and it was a hard sell initially that the show would be targeting adults and children. He used a lot of his own experiences with his kids to come up with story ideas.

For a while there was the idea of making the show something like an R-rated version of “Peppa Pig”, but that idea was dropped because there was already a similar adult Australian sitcom about raising kids being piloted.

The Australian Broadcasting Company liked the concept of “Bluey” and provided Brumm with A$20,000 ($13,000 US) to create a pilot, which became “The Weekend” episode of Season 1, which was screened at the Asian Animation Summit in November 2016.

Bluey is created at Ludo’s headquarters in Brisbane rather than contracting out the animation overseas, which allows Brumm to continue to tweak episodes up until the last minute. If there’s something he doesn’t like them. He also uses local vocal talent.

The ABC and BBC put up A$6 million to complete the first season of “Bluey”. The BBC made it possible to do this, providing the lion’s share of funding in exchange for distribution and merchandising rights. Australia didn’t have the resources to make the show happen otherwise.

Brumm was very angry when an early critique of Bluey in 2018 said the show made fun of stay-at-home dads; Blumm said he thought to himself “go fuck yourself”.

Within seven months, Bluey was the most watched series ever on the ABC streaming service with 75 million plays of episodes, which led to the BBC commissioning a second season of the show.

Ludo was able to retain control the show, and Brumm was entitled to a share of the revenue.

By 2019, networks in the US were interested in Bluey: Nickelodeon wanted “Bluey”, but they were worried about the name, because it was too close to “Blue’s Clues”. Other networks wanted to change the accents of the characters, and this was a dealbreaker for Ludo and Brumm.

This created an opening for Jane Gould, who was at the time the executive vice president of research and scheduling at Disney’s general entertainment division, who had a comfort level with Bluey because she hailed from Brisbane, and she understood the desire of Brumm and Ludo to keep the show Australian. She didn’t think this was a problem, and she borrowed two episodes to test screen in the US; the kids and parents didn’t have a problem with the Australian aspects of the show. Disney acquired the rights from BBC Studios to air Bluey everywhere except Australia, New Zealand and China.

“Bluey” didn’t get the same marketing push as shows like “The Mandalorian” when Disney+ began broadcasting "Bluey" in June 2020, but soon begin to dominate viewership numbers, in part due to the COVID-19 pandemic. (There was a lot of families spending time watching television and they watched a lot of Bluey.)

The ABC didn’t have a problem with the off-colour humour in “Bluey”, like the use of the word “poo”, and seeing a pony poop in “Markets” and this had to be edited out. Brumm said he hated making these edits... Disney defended these edits saying they were trying to be respectful of different cultural sensitivities, and it’s noted that Disney has since released the uncensored versions of the episodes.

Brumm likes to control his creation. He was upset with some of the early prototypes of Bluey toys because Bandit didn’t look right, he looked like a fridge. He was also concerned that at the beginning that there was too much of a focus on Bluey herself and there weren’t enough toys of all the characters. This concern turned out to be accurate; people wanted toys of all of the characters in the show.

Brumm originally was not sure he wanted to do a second season of “Bluey”, fearing it might not be as good as the first. Brumm doesn’t want to repeat himself in terms of episodes. He wants to make sure that each season is better than the previous one. He was also worried that Bluey would have to stop when Brisbane shut down during the COVID-19 pandemic, but the show continued, with staff working from home.

The “Rain” episode was dialogue-free because Brumm wanted to take a break from writing dialogue at the time.

In Australia, the public and the media have publicly questioned why the ABC didn’t try harder to retain control of the profits from "Bluey" merchandise sales. There was an article in the “Australian Financial Review” that lamented that the ABC had let a gold mine slip through its fingers. It was thought that this decision was shortsighted, but the ABC responded saying they made the best deal at the time that they could. Disney has also been said to have made an error in passing on theme park rights and allowing BBC Studios to retain those rights; people go to Disney parks and ask why they can’t see Bluey there.

Disney isn’t releasing details on whether it’s explored buying “Bluey”, but Ludo says Bluey isn’t for sale, but this could change.

It is noted that there hasn’t been a clear announcement of a fourth season. Brumm has stated previously there will be a hiatus and he’s concerned about the children’s voices changing. His preference not to have to replace the voice actors, and he knows he can’t continue to draw upon his own kids experiences because they’ve grown up.

During the interview, Brumm’s handlers interjected and couldn’t said he couldn’t discuss the final episode.

Speaking anonymously, someone familiar with Disney’s “Bluey” dealings said that Brumm is trying to decide whether he’s comfortable letting other people write for the show, which would make it easier to continue to create episodes, and possibly smooth the way for a Disney acquisition in the future, as Disney would be reluctant to spend billions on a show with only three seasons of episodes.

Brumm said over email that he’s already collaborated on writing some additional episodes and ultimately it isn’t his decision who writes Bluey as he doesn’t own the show.

He thinks the final episode is magical and it sums up everything Bluey has tried to do in the last few years.

#Bluey long reads #Imagine an R-rated Bluey. Wow!#Interesting stuff #Bluey

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behindthesoul · 2 months

Text

Seasonal Flames - Spring

Shang Tsung x Quan Chi

Masterlist

Summary -

Quan Chi’s eyes bore into Shang’s skull, his intense eye contact making his spouse glance away.

“My soul was yours the moment you looked in my eyes.”

Word Count - 2496

Warnings - none, for now

A/N - this is an A/U based on a song I enjoy :)

Outworld is known to be a place with great wealth, beauty, and knowledge. Its rich history dates back eons. Outworld's capital, Sun Do, is perhaps the most serene place in all the realms. Home to the golden palace that housed Empress Sindel and her daughters, Mileena and Kitana, Sun Do glows with unmatched elegance. One couldn't forget that with Outworld's beauty, comes the pain and suffering of those not fortunate enough to catch the eyes of the Empress herself. Sun Do rests on the backs of citizens who were forced to sculpt every statue, lay every tile, and sew every expensive garment, all while eating scraps and wearing tattered clothes. Shunned by the rich and wealthy, Outworld's poor were scattered along the outskirts of the realm, hidden from outsiders so they wouldn't embarrass the royal family and tarnish the realm's gorgeous reputation.

Outworld’s spring arrives in one such outskirt in unwanted fashion; a thunderstorm cascades upon the timeworn streets of the weathered town, its cobblestones glistening under the heavy rain and tears of the unhoused. Each drop, a melancholic sonnet, whispers secrets of forgotten villagers, only to be drowned out by the rumbling growl of thunder. Here, time dances to the rhythm of the dark weather, a symphony of nature's lament. The town’s insignificant population breathes as a collective – inhabitants all seek refuge from the thunder's booming cadence, retreating into the safety of their homes like ships seeking harbor in the storm. The streets lie deserted, abandoned by the hustle and bustle of daily life. Grumbles come from many homes; angry, the weather forces them to discard the day’s work, further exhausting what little funds they have.

Many houses are dark, the villagers seeing no use in wasting candle wax and firewood – instead using the opportunity to catch up on much needed sleep, or letting the rain drown out blissed out cries shared by lovers. One house stands out, ignoring the rain and choosing to illuminate the immediate area with soft orange light. The fireplace inside roars, but its sound is nothing but a kitten’s meow compared to the lion’s shriek of the thunder. Two hands carefully look over the flames. Tending to a fire involves a delicate dance of care and attention, a ritual as old as time itself. As the flames crackle and flicker, casting their warm glow upon the surroundings, its caretaker approaches with reverence, bearing a long metal rod in hand. With a free hand, he places a small log onto a pile of wood, watching as it immediately darkens. The caretaker leans in close, feeling the heat radiate against his skin. He adjusts the logs, arranging them just so, coaxing the fire to burn brighter, fiercer; asking the heat to warm his face just a bit more. Sparks rise like tiny stars into the air.

“Any closer and your hair will catch fire, Shang Tsung.”

The caretaker – Shang Tsung – turns his head to see his lover, Quan Chi, entering their shared common room; in hand, carrying a teapot and two saucers. He sets them on the floor and sits next to Shang, quickly admiring how the fire’s glow paints over his soft features. Quan Chi expects an eyeroll, a scoff, any negative reaction to his comment, but Shang quietly returns his eyes to the flames, seemingly caught in the fire’s trance.

“Nonsense,” he mutters, just barely shuffling away from the fireplace. “I am not that close.”

Quan Chi lets out an amused huff. He reaches over to Shang and pulls his hair back, gently wrapping it in a ponytail with a shiny black ribbon. Stubborn strands of hair fly away from the ribbon, framing Shang’s face. Quan Chi chooses to ignore them and places a kiss on his lover’s shoulder. “The tea grows cold…”

“Only because you choose to waste your breath on foolish scenarios.” Shang finally pulls away from the fire’s grip, turning his back to the flames and giving his full attention to Quan Chi. He places both hands in his lap and fiddles with the gold band wrapped around his finger. Quan Chi sported a similar band, crafted by him decades prior when he and Shang vowed to spend the rest of their long Edenian lifespans together.

“You are a fool, Shang Tsung, if you consider my concerns to be foolish.” Quan Chi sets teacups in front of himself and Shang and carefully pours an equal amount of black tea in both. “What am I to do if you break your vows to me by carelessly setting yourself aflame?”

“Collect rainwater and douse me,” a quick response – expected from a tongue as sharp as Shang’s.

“You’ll burn to a crisp before a bucket fills halfway. A shame you’ll be the first of us to go.” Quan Chi feigns a sorrowful expression and stares at the ground.

“Quiet down and drink your tea,” Shang hisses in reply, his soft eyes revealing the lack of anger in his words. He picks up his own cup and gently blows the liquid, watching it ripple. Shang’s eye catches a slight rim in the cup. His hand moves the cup to his lips, they slightly spread and allow the tea to fall on his tongue. Indeed, the tea had chilled during their conversation, but it hadn’t cooled enough to make the experience unpleasurable. Its warmth comforted his soul, akin to how the fire warms his skin.

Quan Chi and Shang sit and choose not to speak, instead allowing the booming thunderstorm and roaring fireplace to fill the air. The sounds soothe them both as their bodies wind down, signaling the need for a nap. Their eyes meet, two sets of deep brown irises pooling together and refusing to let go, speaking volumes in the silent language of love. They cradle the delicate porcelain cups and raise them to their lips, taking another sip. Quan Chi’s face suddenly twists into disgust. Shang only raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Dull. We are out of honey and without it, my tea is dull.” Quan Chi looks out the window, watching lightning take its anger out on an innocent tree. “I was to make a visit to the markets and purchase another bottle.”

His eyes snap back to his lover when he hears a laugh. “You are not serious.” Another laugh escapes. “Why make tea if you are unable to handle its unadulterated taste? Water, wine…” he trails off. “Yes, we could be enjoying anything else. Why tea?”

Quan Chi slightly shrugs before downing the last of his tea, shivering at the bitter taste. “I was reminded of the day we met.”

Shang tilts his head in confusion and curiosity. “That is sudden.”

"The day our fates intertwined, a century past, within the hallowed halls of the Sun Do teahouse; it rained then, too. Both of us found sanctuary within those ancient walls." Quan Chi’s eyes bore into Shang’s skull, his intense eye contact making his spouse glance away. “My soul was yours the moment you looked in my eyes.”

Shang is silent. The sudden confession brings in a wave of emotions that try to break down his spirit like water rushing a dam. His body aches as his chest tightens and love gnaws at every fiber of his being. Their first meeting was a memory locked deep in his mind, the thought now making him unconsciously play with his wedding ring. “And I will never let it go.”

Quan Chi opens his arms and Shang accepts the invitation, quickly crashing into his beloved. Their hearts soar; beating fast, but beating as one. The fireplace, angry at being forgotten, dies out. The fading glow is replaced with eyes that could only shine when looking at a lover. They lean in, taking each other in a soft, quick kiss. Shang presses a kiss to Quan Chi’s jaw before hiding his face in his lover’s neck. Quan Chi notices the dead fire and hums.

“I suppose this is our cue to clean our mess.”

“Your mess,” Shang yawns, “I was not the one responsible for brewing sentimental tea.”

Quan Chi rolls his eyes before separating himself from Shang, grabbing the teapot and cups before standing. “Go and rest, I will join momentarily.”

Shang only nods in response, slowly lifting his body off the ground and dragging himself to the bedroom. It wasn’t much; a mattress that showed signs of aging, a small dresser that held their clothes, a desk with books Shang’s read three times over, and a pile of dirty laundry that Quan Chi swears he’ll get to soon. Shang collects enough strength to light a candle next to his bed before collapsing into the sheets. He stares at the candle, its fire almost growing taller than the wax itself. He makes a mental note to buy another candle as soon as possible. Shang sees Quan Chi enter their bedroom from the corner of his eye. He yawns, not bothering to look at his husband.

“We will need another very soon.”

Quan Chi could almost laugh. “One fire goes out, so you immediately light another.”

“They please me.”

“Why?”

A shrug; Quan Chi can’t figure out if Shang doesn’t know the answer or if he simply doesn’t feel like giving one. Quan Chi walks over to the bed and lays next to Shang, sighing as he feels his body relax. The two are silent, choosing to listen to the sound of thunder rumbling. Rain beats down on the window like bullets, and yet its sound is able to lull Quan Chi to a half-asleep state. Through heavy eyes he stares at Shang, whose back faces him. He sighs knowing he won’t be able to drag his lover’s eyes away from the burning candle. Quan Chi inches forward just enough to wrap an arm around Shang’s waist. It wasn’t often the two cuddled before bed, Shang complains about Quan Chi being too warm to hold, and Quan Chi complains about Shang moving too much.

As expected, Shang squirms a bit at the sudden contact. “We will both overheat like this.”

Quan Chi slightly lifts his head and blows enough air to kill the candle’s flame. “There,” he closes his eyes and pulls Shang closer to his chest. “The threat of overheating is gone.”

“You know very well that is not what I-”

“Hush. Sleep. Maybe the gods will fill your dreams with arson.”

Shang almost rolls his eyes out of his skull – but is quick to comply. Dreams of sitting by a fireplace doesn’t sound bad.

In the quiet aftermath of the angry thunderstorm, the clear morning comes in peacefully. Outworld’s citizens were slow to resume their usual activities, not wanting to deal with puddles and muddy grounds. Animals dance and celebrate the return of the sun. They sing songs of freedom as they search for their first meal of the day. Through a small window, the sun is able to light the bedroom with a golden hue. The light gently caresses Quan Chi’s face, encouraging him to wake up. He is slow to open his eyes, wishing the darkness the thunderstorm brought would return. His hand reaches up to rub his eyes, shaking the bleariness out. When they refocus on the environment, he realizes the bed is empty. Shang Tsung nowhere to be seen.

Quan Chi groans and lifts the blanket, wincing when the warmth leaves his body. Heavy feet haul his body out the bedroom and in search of his spouse. His first thought is the kitchen, thinking that Shang would most likely be eating breakfast, but finds the room empty upon entering. He sighs and leaves to search somewhere else. Quan Chi walks from room to room – no Shang. He almost panics but stops when he hears a faint voice outside. He walks closer to the entrance, hearing the voice get louder. His hand opens the door to see Shang swaying his body to the beat of an imaginary drum.

Quan Chi can’t place the song that blesses his ears. It was soft and sweet; a pleasant morning gift. He racks his brain to see if he could remember its tune, but each new lyric cements its unfamiliarity. With a breath of joy, Shang sings of spring’s arrival with the chirping birds; his tenor and their soprano blending to create a beautiful harmony. Every note flies and weaves through the air like a gentle breeze. Quan Chi smiles and stays put, it wasn’t often that he got to hear his lover sing.

“Your voice is beautiful,” Quan Chi cuts in as soon as he hears the song fading. He shoots an unapologetic smile when Shang jumps in surprise. Shang saunters over to him and is immediately wrapped in a strong embrace. “Why are you outside so early?”

Shang shakes his left arm, bringing attention to the small bag he had in hand. “I woke up with a troubled mind; I went to the market to soothe my anguish.”

Quan Chi looks at Shang with concern. “Why didn’t you wake me if you were struggling?”

“There was no need,” Shang reaches into the bag to pull out a small item wrapped in protective paper. “Open it.”

Quan Chi takes the item and slowly unwraps it, making sure to be gentle. The paper tears to reveal a porcelain teacup, adorned with gold embellishments. He looks at Shang with a confused expression – only getting an impassive look in return. “Your mind was troubled…and a teacup set you at ease?”

“Last night my cup was chipped. If I didn’t replace it, I would’ve lost my mind.” Shang takes the teacup from Quan Chi and cradles it in his hands, as if he was testing it out. His slender fingers compliment the porcelain well. “I felt broken. This,” he raises the cup so Quan Chi can get a better look at its details, “makes me feel whole again.”

“You are the strangest person in all the realms, Shang Tsung.”

“And that is why you made me yours, Quan Chi,” Shang smirks, walking past Quan Chi and making his way to the door. He hesitates as he goes to open the door. His head turns to his lover, his face hardening.

“Tell me, Quan Chi,” he pauses, thinking how to phrase what he wants to say. “If someday I no longer had this beautiful voice, would you still, even then, love me?”

Quan Chi raises an eyebrow. He, once again, searches Shang’s face for an explanation, an emotion behind his question. When was Shang ever insecure in Quan Chi’s love for him? Did he not show it enough? He walks up to Shang, hand stroking his cheek. He places a kiss on Shang’s temple.

“Of course.” another kiss.

Shang smiles, the positive reply and kiss pleasing him. He finally opens the door and grabs Quan Chi’s hand. “Come,” he says, leading his lover inside, “I will sing for you whilst we make breakfast.”

Quan Chi quickly nods. “I would like that.”

#mortal kombat fanfiction #mortal kombat fanfic #shang tsung angst #shang tsung x quan chi #quantsung

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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 1 year

Text

A small Kansas town is reeling after a baby-faced 23-year-old manipulated procedural technicalities to reinstall himself as mayor in one night, seemingly taking a page from the playbook used by former President Donald Trump after he was voted out of office.

Only, this time, it worked.

“People have said this reminds them of Germany in 1935,” Jeffery Jones, whose bid for a council seat in Goddard, Kansas, collapsed last week as Hunter Larkin abruptly took control, told The Daily Beast. “Like, ‘Hey, we don’t like you anymore and we’re gonna vote you out and put our own person in.’”

The convoluted machinations by which Larkin maneuvered his way back into power were described as “essentially, a coup” and reminiscent of a totalitarian regime, according to one recently departed council member. And while Goddard, a Wichita suburb with a population of just under 5,400, isn’t necessarily going to influence policy shifts on a national scale, the strategy used by Larkin—a right-winger who last year promoted an appearance in Goddard by accused sex pest and conservative kingmaker Matt Schlapp—could serve as a stark warning of what’s possible elsewhere.

“I have to hand it to Larkin,” Wichita Eagle columnist Dion Lefler wrote. “I’ve covered cities for a long time and have seldom seen a political takeover that was this sleazy, and yet this well-orchestrated.”

Larkin’s improbable ascent to office can be traced back to August 2020, when the then-mayor of Goddard stepped down amid a fraud charge for counterfeiting tickets to the local zoo’s “Zoobilee” charity fundraiser. Then-21-year-old City Council President Hunter Larkin was appointed to the job.

In November 2021, Larkin, who by day works as an accounting manager for a fiberglass oil field pipe manufacturer owned by a wealthy local family that has helped fund his political aspirations, was busted for DUI. He later pleaded guilty, receiving a sentence of probation and staying on as mayor until May 2022, when he resigned in the wake of a news report calling his ethics into question. Larkin said he was leaving office to focus on a statehouse run, but kept a seat on the city council.

“This campaign is about giving a voice to the people of our community and defending what so many of us hold dear, like voter integrity, the right to bear arms, protecting the unborn and keeping Critical Race Theory (CRT) out of schools,” Larkin’s campaign website thundered. “As your next Representative, I can promise that I will fight for just that!”

Vice-Mayor Larry Zimmerman was then appointed Goddard’s mayor, and has filled the position since—until last Tuesday night.

The agenda for that evening’s city council meeting didn’t appear particularly unique, at least on the surface; members would, among other things, consider a sign regulation amendment, discuss a road closure request for a Lions Club car show, and appoint a new city councilperson after a councilman named Michael Proctor relinquished his seat on Dec. 31.

Zimmerman nominated Jeffery Jones, who works as a hospice chaplain, for Proctor’s old job.

However, the vote ended in a tie. So Zimmerman instead nominated Aubrey Collins, a radio host and residential solar panel salesman who goes by “Cowboy Rip.” Collins’ candidacy was approved, and he was sworn in.

And, according to Jones, “That’s when everything kind of went haywire.”

As Collins was being seated, Larkin, who lost his bid for the Kansas legislature, immediately moved to amend the agenda and hold a non-public executive session to discuss “unelected personnel.” According to Lefler, the newspaper columnist, Larkin was eager to cast out City Administrator Brian Silcott, who has been critical of him in the past.

At this point, Jones left, thinking the meeting was over.

“Had I known what would happen next, I would have stayed,” he told The Daily Beast. “Because when they came back, that’s when Hunter asked for the election of a new mayor.”

When they returned, Larkin swiftly proposed removing Zimmerman as mayor, a motion which was approved by all except Zimmerman himself. Vice-Mayor Sarah Leland was then installed as mayor of Goddard—briefly. She immediately addressed the others, saying she felt she did not have “the capability to do these job duties… especially the current situation we are dealing with, so I would like to nominate Hunter, as I feel he can complete the steps that need taking.”

And with that, Larkin became mayor, switching seats with Leland, now his second-in-command. Larkin quickly moved to oust Silcott, who he considered a fly in the ointment, prompting now-ex-Mayor Zimmerman to quit his city council seat in protest.

“Before you get to that point, I’d like to tender my resignation from the city council, effective immediately,” he said, and walked out.

The council then filled Zimmerman’s empty council seat with resident Keaton Fish, a support staffer at a local special-ed school. As he took his position, Larkin introduced a motion to terminate Silcott’s employment. They then went to a second closed session to discuss Silcott’s firing, where the decision was consummated. (The next day, Assistant City Administrator Thatcher Moddie resigned.)

“The day and age where unelected bureaucrats ran this town is over,” Larkin later exulted. “This governing body is going to be more involved than ever before.”

This, Jones argued on Friday, is wholly disingenuous.

“Hunter said ‘we’re tired of being run by unelected bureaucrats,’ but I’m like, ‘Well, you’re kind of unelected.’ He was elected as a council member, no one voted him in as mayor [either time]. And right now, there’s a petition out for a recall.”

The recall campaign was started by Proctor, the councilman who quit office on Dec. 31. He called the situation in Goddard “a disaster.”

“He needs to go,” Proctor told The Daily Beast of Larkin, adding that he was baffled by the vice-mayor’s support for his mayoralty.

He said he will need roughly 168 signatures to move the proposal forward, and feels confident he’ll get them.

“Look, there’s complete outrage over this,” he told The Daily Beast. “Getting those votes won’t be difficult, there are plenty of willing participants.”

Proctor has also started a Facebook group called “For Goddard’s Sake,” where he is organizing and rallying support.

“This city is a joke!” one commenter wrote. “in who’s right mind is DUI kid a good choice for mayor after not being re-elected.”

“[H]unter has made it clear that he intends to turn the city into a rental community by helping his developer buddies build as many multi family dwellings as possible,” wrote another. “This is a very clear pattern all in the name of ‘growth’ and it is going to fundamentally change this town. He and his gang now make a majority and will be able to approve whatever Hunter’s little heart desires.”

“So where can concerned citizens file complaints?” wrote a third. “Surely we have a lawyer or three within reach who can help Goddard with its latest problem. Anyone?”

Proctor said he will be filing a report with the sheriff’s office, alleging campaign finance improprieties by Larkin which Proctor claims violate the Goddard city code.

“Somebody’s gotta do it,” he said. “Somebody’s gotta stand up. Otherwise, there’s a vacuum that’s going to be filled by somebody who shouldn’t be doing it.”

Replacing Silcott will also be a heavy lift, according to Proctor, who said Goddard last week “went from a city where up-and-coming city managers would love to come and work, to a bottom-of-the-rung situation, overnight. He’s delivered quite a mess.”

Fish did not respond to a request for comment on Friday. Zimmerman, for his part, told local outlet KWCH that Larkin’s maneuvering “wasn’t right.”

Brady Burdge, an assistant district attorney in Wichita who was in the running for a council seat but withdrew his name on Monday due to his heavy workload, said he found the Larkin situation “really unfortunate.”

“It is definitely troubling,” Burge told The Daily Beast. “The local level is where it all starts, and you definitely don’t like to see things like that happening in your own community… [Larkin] has had trouble in the past building trust with our community, and it looks like it happened again.”

Jones said he is not planning to fight the outcome of the election, and is “just going to let the chips fall where they may.” At the same time, he isn’t going anywhere, anytime soon.

“I feel honored that the mayor at the time selected me, but I’m not going to raise a fuss,” he conceded on Friday. “I told them at that meeting that I want to effect change within Goddard, and if I can't do it from the [city] council, I’ll do it from the community. And I’m going to be there at as many council meetings as I can, where I’ll be bringing up questions that the people want answered.”

For his part, Aubrey Collins said he is looking forward to his first experience serving in public office.

“I have no comment other than, we’re going to do the best we can for the city,” Collins told The Daily Beast. “I believe the steps that were taken will allow Goddard to win. Goddard is gonna win, based on what transpired.”

Before the council session concluded, Larkin remarked, “Today was a tough day. I know. Wasn’t fun, I don’t think anybody here enjoyed it. But I want you all to know it was done out of love.”

Larkin, who told local NBC affiliate KSN TV that he’s not concerned about any challenges to remove him, did not respond to multiple requests for comment by The Daily Beast.

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kp777 · 4 months

Text

By Scientist Rebellion

Common Dreams

Dec 15, 2023

This disastrous COP28 must be the end of vague political promises. The people of Earth are on to the lies.

The United Nations climate summit, hijacked by the fossil fuel cartel, has gifted a blank check to rich countries and Big Oil to kill one billion people and force billions more to flee their homes by 2100. The so-called ‘historic’ outcome of COP28 fails to deliver the most basic and necessary measures which would have prevented societal and ‘earth systems’ collapse, as outlined by the IPCC: eliminate fossil fuel subsidies and halt all new gas and oil projects.

Instead, the new resolution includes numerous loopholes which will allow polluters to greenwash emissions through fictional carbon capture, meaningless carbon credits, and the re-classification of methane (“natural gas”) as a transition fuel. But to remain under 2°C of warming, we cannot afford to burn the fossil fuels we already have in reserve, let alone drill for more.

COP28 has taken a few tentative steps in the right direction, but only thanks to the blood and sweat of many people on the frontline of our climate crisis. The summit’s overall trend to support “business as usual” will result in further delays in meaningful climate action and condemn us to miss “the brief and rapidly closing window of opportunity to secure a livable and sustainable future for all.”

Wealthy countries have once again manipulated the climate summit in order to advance their ecocidal colonialism. Rich nations have been pillaging the natural resources of poorer ones for centuries and have used their fuels to emit far more than their share of CO2. They bear the lion’s share of responsibility to decarbonize first and fastest and provide much-needed funding to poorer nations, which are already heavily impacted by the escalating climate crisis. Instead, rich countries are racing in the opposite direction: the US, Canada, and just three other countries are responsible for more than half of planned oil and gas expansion.

UN governance failure is also to blame here, however, and urgently needs addressing. Even if COP had succeeded in a commitment to phase out fossil fuels, it could not be implemented without a binding treaty and enforcement mechanisms. Additionally, COP must demand reporting of any conflicts of interest and ban fossil fuel executives and lobbyists from tainting any more climate summits.

The Loss & Damage Fund could be an important first step, but without proper financing, it is condemned to fail. Loss and damage already costs more than $400 billion annually, but COP28 has only pledged $429 million in initial funding—a mere 0.1% of what is needed just for this year. By contrast, governments are using $7 trillion of our money every year to subsidize fossil fuels (despite the 1 in 5 deaths—12 million people annually—caused by air pollution alone) while the oil industry rakes in obscene profits.

That said, even a fully-financed Loss and Damage Fund can never fix a dysfunctional economic system which is fundamentally flawed, is based on endless growth, overconsumption, and extractivism, and is guaranteed to accelerate the global crisis. Studies have demonstrated that greenhouse gas emissions are firmly linked to resource exploitation and GDP growth. We have no choice but to create an economic system which aligns with the goals of a fair and equal transition, because the current one has failed both humans and all other 10 million life forms on this planet. Implementing a low-carbon economy is cheaper than sustaining the catastrophic costs of climate change, but the need to maintain and grow profit is preventing any progress. Profit will never fix what profit has created.

1.5°C is dead, and 2°C will be dead by 2050, if not earlier, if we continue down this path. 2023 was the hottest year on record; we passed 2.0°C for the first time in history, and 2024 is projected to be even hotter. Human behaviors inflict massive planetary stress beyond the burning of fossil fuels. “20 of the 35 planetary vital signs are now showing record extremes.”

We cannot entrust the fight for all life to the very politicians, companies, and markets that forced us into this existential crisis in the first place and who are right now brutally marching us off the cliff. This disastrous COP28 marks the end of vague political promises. The people of Earth are on to the lies. It is time to listen to the scientists, hundreds of whom have been driven out of their labs and into the streets to engage in civil disobedience: if we want to avoid condemning both this generation and all that follow to the worst outcomes of the climate crisis, we must all rise together in order to keep fossil fuels in the ground. The time is now.

#cop28 #climate change #climate crisis #climate emergency #fossil fuels

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amjustagirl · 2 years

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chapter one: there’s smoke in the air

chapters: 1 / 15 pairing: miya osamu x f! reader genre: romance, angst, fluff, inarizaki shenanigans wc: 4.3k summary: miya osamu does not dare to set fire to his heart. it burns anyway.

(next)

It’s the faint smell of smoke that sets off Osamu’s alarms.

He’s already closed the shop for the day, released his staff early even though ‘Tsumu and the kids are still sprawled across the expanse of his wooden counter. Because - well, if Tsumu’s decided to use him as reinforcement to look after his kids when Kaiyo (Tsumu’s long-suffering wife, the one woman with enough steel in her spine to make Miya Atsumu behave and act like a decent human being) is away on some fancy work dinner, then he can damn well help him clean up the shop instead.

‘Sides his staff deserve a break from ‘Tsumu’s spawn-lings.

Not that he doesn’t love his niece and nephew dearly - he does, he’d do anything for them, set his store on fire if need be - but Shino already shows every indication that she’s inherited ‘Tsumu’s pig-headedness and Kaiyo’s mischief, which is incendiary when paired with an angelic smile. Just last week, she’d managed to sweet talk his hapless part-timer Miyamura-san into tossing disposable chopsticks to her in some made-up exercise to improve her reflexes, leaving his kitchen floor looking like it’s been strewn with twigs and firewood. Kaiyo made her daughter pick up every last chopstick and pay him back with her own pocket money (he’d set the money aside in the fund he has stashed as a wedding present to her), but still.

And Shoma.

Five year old Shoma with wide, solemn eyes, and a penchant for toddling around the bustling kitchen, heedless to the danger of finely sharpened knives and bursts of hot steam around him. The kid doesn’t say much, just watches with rapt attention as rice is shaped into balls, fillings prepared with care and occasionally swipes a bite or two - and that’s all fine, but he refuses to be shooed out unless it’s time for a meal. His staff treat him like their mascot, but Osamu knows first hand it’s troublesome to have to work in an overheated kitchen with a child underfoot after nearly spilling a trayful of precious cod roe because Shoma was crouched by the rice cooker investigating the rice that Kita brought over right after harvestime.

“Can’t you just order pizza for them instead of dragging them all the way here?” he asks ‘Tsumu, who sticks his tongue out petulantly.

“Sho-chan wanted yer onigiris and Shin-chan complained she hasn’t seen ya in ages, so who am I to say no to them? ‘Sides - ” Atsumu hefts Shoma up, holds him out as if Sho-chan’s a lion-cub being presented to his future subjects (he really really hates that he’s watched every single disney movie with the kiddos, nevermind that Lion King made him sniffle - he’ll deny it til his dying day) - “are ya really going to say no to Sho-chan when he’s hungry for his favourite uncle’s lovingly made food?”

Damn ‘Tsumu for hitting his weak spots with a bulls-eye (or a carefully thrown set, but nevermind the volleyball references), because everyone knows Osamu would rather swandive out of a window rather than see someone hungry, let alone his five year old nephew who’s secretly his favourite (he’ll deny it til his dying day). So he turns away with a huff and signals his defeat by making yet another negitoro onigiri that he knows is Sho-chan’s favourite.

It’s at that moment the scent of something burning hits his nostrils.

At first, he wonders if it’s just stubborn old Ishii-san from next door who’s snuck out back for a quick smoke - the whole street knows that his wife’s banned him from cigarettes after his hacking cough led him to be diagnosed with early stage cancer - but he quickly surmises that that can’t be the case when even Atsumu frowns, mouth puckering with worry.

The famed twin telepathy that Gintama always marvels at (which Suna dryly terms as them sharing a single brain cell) comes into play the instant they actually see a tendril of grey smoke creeping out of his back kitchen. Atsmu rockets to his feet, stool clattering behind him as he grabs Shino’s hand, hauling Shoma off the counter and onto his shoulder, dragging both children out of the shop despite their protests. Osamu for his part dashes to the kitchen, and suspicion confirmed when he sees bright flames licking their way through his kitchen, he spares only a moment to rescue his precious set of knives forged by Kaiyo’s family, a famed knife makers in the rolling hills of Hyogo before kicking the door closed.

“Called the firefighters already. They’re on the way”, Atsumu calls from the counter, busy emptying the register of the day’s takings.

Osamu passes the knives over to him with a nod, sprinting to the back office to empty the safe, madly grabbing documents, licenses, cash, the hard-drive with his records, his laptop - Atsumu appears to help, magicking a bag out of nowhere to toss everything pell-mell into its depths - he even manages to grab the drawing the Sho-chan did of the shop when it first opened before Atsumu hauls him out.

“Ma’ll kill me if I let you barbeque in your own damn shop, you idiot”, he hisses. “You can replace everything else but - ”

A high pitched scream, panic ringing clear in the night air.

“DAD!”

Atsumu takes off, practically flies to where Shino is, Osamu following closely. She’s bawling, fists clenched to her side and it’s hard to make out what she’s saying through her sobs as she verges on the edge of hyperventilating -

“Sho - Shoma - ”

The blood in his veins turns into ice.

He glances around but whilst the street is rapidly filling with well-meaning neighbours and bystanders, there’s no little boy - no Sho-chan around even though he’s sure Atsumu gave Shino strict orders to keep Shoma with her on the street, trusting in little boy’s general compliant nature to keep him out of trouble.

Realisation slams into him a split second before Atsumu even catches on. Instinct makes him shout at Shino to keep her dad with her - because ‘Tsumu has a family that needs him, Kaiyo’s been through too much pain to lose her idiot husband to a random fire of all things, and Shino is only twelve and he doesn’t even want to go there but they’ll need to pull together if Sho-chan - he’s not going to entertain any grim thoughts in the seconds that he pounds through his shop, cursing the shadows that might hide a five year old -

“Shoma!” he yells, smoke seeping into his lungs. “Sho-chan!”

He can’t tell whether it’s the inhaled gasps of smoke or fear pooling in his chest that constricts his throat, making it harder to breathe. Shoma isn’t anywhere in the front of the store where flames are already licking at table legs and chairs, which means he has to delve deeper into the belly of the store - the kitchen, the epicentre of the blaze and fuck fuck fuck it’s already hot enough that he’s sweating through his shirt -

“SHOMA!”

Any normal kid should have fled the kitchen by now, but Miya Shoma exists to defy the odds. Osamu flings the door to the kitchen open, choking at the fumes and practically lunges forward when he finally catches sight of a small form, the scarlet of Shoma’s coat unswallowed by the smoke and shadows.

Only to be stopped short by an infernal groaning sound above him.

The sudden crash of a wooden beam into the ground a veritable stick of dynamite. It just makes an already dangerous situation yet more deadly.

“Fuck” he curses, picking his way gingerly in the direction of Shoma. He’s got to get them both out before Atsumu loses his mind and storms in, something he really needs to avoid because sure, his loved ones would mourn if he died today, but he doesn’t have a family of his own unlike Atsumu, so his life is worth less than that of his brother’s - stop stop stop - these grim thoughts are just slowing him down -

C’mon.

The way out isn’t blocked yet, they can both still make it out. It’s hot as the circles of hell, but he persists, pushing through towards Shoma who seems fine at the very least, crouched near the rice station - deemed thus for the numerous industrial rice cookers and wooden buckets where he carefully fluffs up his rice - all of that will burn into ashes, but there’s no time to mourn that either, they need to get out, stat.

The little boy weighs less than a sack of rice in Osamu’s adrenaline-filled rush to get out. Nerves of steel like his mother then, because he doesn’t even wail, and thankfully doesn’t put up a fight either, curling up his short limbs around Osamu’s neck and arms like a frightened housecat. The floor beneath him feels almost as if it’s caked in lava, scorching his heels through the soles of his feet so he runs for his life, precious cargo in his arms, the scant few steps between the kitchen and the safety of the streets outside never seeming so long before.

But he dashes through the wooden frame of the front door, doesn’t stop running until blonde hair comes into view, until he sees his twin’s face collapse in relief and sheer joy as he passes Shoma back to Atsumu, already crying -

“You’re so dramatic”, he says to rib his twin.

Or more accurately, that’s what he’d like to say because pain, red hot and blistering shoots up through the length of his arm into his shoulder, a million, billion, trillion times worse than the time he was stupid enough to try flipping tuna cheeks on a grill with nothing but his bare hands and a bucket of ice cold water in imitation of a street hawker he idolises.

So instead, he stumbles to his side, his focus already so bleary that his twin’s hoarse shouts don’t register. His head swims through the cacophony of ambulance sirens and the hubbub of the crowd that’s gathered, sinks between his hands as he tries to anchor himself, crouching low on the sidewalk. It’s awfully dark despite the fire burning bright in the night sky, he thinks to himself, before everything blissfully fades to black.

There’s a faint beeping in the background when he breaks the surface for air

Ripples of consciousness start to return to him in waves. A spark in the kitchen, his shop going up in flames. Finding Shoma despite the plume of black smoke, relief despite the ash in his mouth. Pain that only emanates as a dull ache.

He cracks an eye open.

A mirror image of himself stares back at him, albeit blonde.

“Samu”, Atsumu breathes, jumping to his feet to lean over the rails of the hospital bed. “‘Samu - d’you need water? Maybe I should call a nurse, get someone to check ya over - ”

Before Osamu can nod, Atsumu’s already reaching over to clumsily pour water from the waiting jug into a flimsy paper cup. He’s fed the water like a baby, and by the time he finishes the proffered water, which thankfully eases the parched desert in his mouth, Atsumu manages to wave down a passing nurse, who then drags a couple of doctors to this ringside show of him being subjected to a barrage of tests and questions that to determine that he’s still all there and hasn’t left his mind in his burnt down shop.

“M’fine” he croaks, after he’s finally, thankfully left alone. “Thought I might’ve died. But seeing yer ugly mug confirmed that I still got some ‘ways to go.”

“D-don’t joke about that.” To Osamu’s alarm, his idiot twin actually starts blubbering up. “Y-you gotta, - you gotta live a long life - you promised you’d show me that you’d have the better life, you’re not allowed to die yet - I still got a better life than you, you crazy scrub -”

He takes another sip of water before a terrible, awful thought hits him, steals his breath away.

“Is Sho-chan - ”

“He’s fine”, Atsumu cuts in, surreptitiously wiping his tears away. “Got some burns on his hands and they’ve stuck him in here for observation cos’ they’re concerned about smoke inhalation but he’s gonna be just fine.”

Osamu heaves a sigh of relief, a burden off his shoulders. “I was worried for a moment. Shouldn’t you be with your kid instead of lounging around by my side? Skiving again?”

Atsumu snorts wetly before barking out a laugh. “Kaiyo and I are takin’ turns. You better watch out when she comes up to see ya. She’s gonna weep and make a heck lot of noise before throwing herself at you, both to hug you and scold you for daring to get injured.”

He matches his twin’s snort. “Sounds ‘bout right for Kaiyo. S’okay, I’ll take the scolding like a big boy, but I’m glad the little guy’s okay.”

“He is”, Atsumu says, smile dropping. “Well - better than you - ”

“You better not start cryin’ on me again or I’ll call a nurse over to kick ya out - ”

“Piece of shit - I ain’t gonna waste my tears on ya!”

They catch each other’s eye. A beat - before they both burst out laughing or well, Atsumu laughs while Osamu wheezes until they get a stitch in their sides and knock fists to show their affection, the callsign of siblings who’ve reduced their collective brain juice to one cell apiece. No maudlin show of affection, a fistbump is enough for him, thank you, even with a near death experience.

“By the way”, Osamu says when the stitch subsides. “Did anyone figure out why Sho-chan literally ran back into a burning building?”

At that, Atsumu groans.

“What?”

“That little bugger snuck back in ‘cos he wanted to save some rice paddle he’d been storing there. Apparently he got it from Asami-chan, and he couldn’t bear to lose it.”

Osamu can’t help but cackle. It’s a running joke that Atsumu and Kita would inevitably end up as in-laws the way their respective wives keep arranging for play-dates between their children. Of course, it’s only natural since Kaiyo and Ichika, Kita’s wife, are best friends - in fact, Kaiyo claims responsibility for setting Kita and Ichika up in the first place, and so their matchmaking machinations seem to have spilled over to their children, evident from the way Asami would light up whenever Shoma visits the farm and bawls when he leaves, and the way Shoma follows Asami around like a duckling and happily plays along with all her tea parties.

“You should just consider Kita family at this point by now”, Osamu jokes. “It’ll be official in twenty years time anyway.”

“Both my kids are gonna end up with my captains’ kids”, Atsumu moans. “Shino’s gonna run away with Meian’s son at the rate we’re going. It’s so weird - how can I even try intimidating the kid when his dad used to make me run laps ‘cos I poked fun at Omi-omi just a bit too much during practice - ”

“Well at least it’s Shinsuke’s daughter that Sho-chan likes. Imagine if it were Sakusa’s kid.”

The twins share a collective shudder.

“I’m just glad they’re cousins instead, so no chance of that. Though - d’you remember when he kinda pitched a fit when he realised that we’d all be one big happy family cos he married Kaiyo’s cousin? I get to tease Omi-omi during family gatherings now!”

“I’m sure he enjoys that”, Osamu replies dryly.

“He does!”

“He definitely doesn’t”, a female voice declares definitively.

Atsumu brightens up immediately, leaping to his feet. “Baby! You came to see me!”

“I came to see ‘Samu not you, you big lug”, Kaiyo says as she blows in like a beautiful storm, arms full of bags bulging with tupperwares of food (which Osamu sniffs appreciatively at, hospital grub isn’t really up to scratch and he’s already missed breakfast), swatting Atsumu away playfully as he winds his arms around her, nuzzling her cheek. “Though I am here to relieve you so you can go grab lunch, Sho-chan’s asleep and I wanted to spend some time with my favourite brother in law - ”

“I’m your only brother in law”, Osamu remarks dryly but only receives a gentle tweak of his ear in reply.

“I guess I’m off then”, Atsumu pats his back. “My turn to sit by the little rascal in case he decides to run away to Hyogo before Ichika and the girls come over, and it’s your turn to get nagged at anyway - ”

“Are you calling me a nag, Miya Atsumu?” Kaiyo asks archly.

Osamu has the pleasure of watching Atsumu turn sheet white as he backpedals furiously, assuring Kaiyo that she’s the best wife in the world, and he’d never think she’s a nag, and her scoldings are just her way of showing love - which is great, you can continue scolding me, c’mon I’ll even lie down and let you step on me, I probably deserve it anyway, until Kaiyo grows tired of his silliness and boots him out of the room.

“Don’t look at me like that”, he says, hands up in defence when she turns to him.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re undecided whether to scold me or cry over me, or worse, thank me, - ”

“Miya Osamu, you nearly died - ”

“I didn’t, just came out with a few burns or two, your kid damn near scared me to death though - ”

He’s interrupted by the press of shaking lips to his temple.

“Oh, ‘Samu - ”

“You’re not allowed to cry all over me - ”

She chokes back a broken sob, and Osamu will insist until he’s laid in his grave that his eyes remain bone dry. “C’mere”, he says roughly, opening his arms out as she climbs in beside him, laying her head on his shoulder. Her hand catches his, squeezing tight, saying what she’s left unsaid.

He has the honour of meeting Kaiyo first, besting Atsumu in that regard. Barely in their twenties when she stumbled into his ramshackle first shop - she, then a poor student on the lookout for a part time job to make ends meet, him, struggling to make a business from nothing into something. A prank on Tsumu is the first spark that explodes into a wildfire, one that tears through their lives. When it culminates in his twin stumbling into a marriage he definitely doesn't deserve and almost losing the only woman in the world with enough steel in her spine to match him, he’s always thought the only silver lining to the entire situation is that he gained her as a sister.

('D'you love her?' Atsumu demanded, when their marriage falters, almost irrevocably damaged by his own hands.

Osamu thinks of her struggling to hold down the fort as Atsumu jaunts off to Milan, juggling Shino and a full time job, gritting her teeth and holding her head high even as everyone else looks at her with judgement in their eyes, whispering about her, pitying her behind her back.

'Of course I do', he'd replied, as natural as breathing. 'She's my sister, you asshole. I hate that it’s my brother who’s causing her pain.')

A decade later, long after the grass has grown over the scorched earth, after Atsumu finally recognises the immense luck he’s had winning Kaiyo as his wife and puts in the backbreaking work needed to fix his marriage, that hasn’t changed. Time has only made them closer - she’s also been giving to him, generous with her time and help (having an accountant in the family makes filing taxes a breeze), a warm presence in his busy life, a listening ear with much more sense than his volleyball crazed brother.

So yes, he loves her. She’s family - it's only natural that he'd do anything for her and hers.

“He’s your boy - but he's mine too”, he says simply.

“You - ”, her voice breaks off, a little cracked. “You can’t say things like that and expect me not to cry, Miya Osamu - You can’t, you can’t”, he coughs in an attempt to hide the growing heat in his eyes, but it’s futile when she curls her fingers in his, when the sleeve of his hospital gown becomes damp.

“I was so, so scared when ‘Tsumu called me. When I heard you got hurt. And then I hear you got hurt running into a fire to drag Shoma out, I don’t think I could breathe properly until the doctors said you were fine - ”

“See, you’re cryin’ for nothin’ - ”

“Stop it! At least let me thank you properly - ”

“You don’t need to”, he says. “I’d do it again. Won’t even think twice about it.”

He yelps when she tries her best to crush his ribcage in her chokehold of a hug, especially since he’s still a little tender from the whole diving headfirst into a fiery inferno kinda thing. “I’m gonna thank you anyway”, she murmurs. “And at the rate I’m going, it looks like I’m gonna owe you in the next lifetime or two. Maybe we should make it three, just to be safe.”

“Nah”, he affects a drawl through his blocked nose and wet eyes. “I guess if you count that I’m responsible for settin’ you up with ‘Tsumu, consider us even.”

She smacks his good side. “Don’t say that about your own brother!” she scolds, but he’s relieved to hear the lilt of her laughter, clear as a bell.

“You and I both know he’s a piece of shit and you’re crazy for puttin’ up with him - ”

“Only I can bully him, you stop being mean -”

“Hey, I had to put up with him since we were in the womb - ”

She rolls her eyes as they fall into their familiar patterns of bickering, and he lets her boss him around, eyes gleaming when she lays out tupperwares full of food. Kaiyo isn’t the best of cooks, she’d admit it herself, but he taught her all he knew about making food, so he laughs aloud when he sees the familiar rice and nori combinations - deconstructed onigiris, she calls them, the ingredients packed on the side. He happily wields his chopsticks to scoop perfectly cooked rice up, screwing up his eyes in delight when he pops a jewel-like umeboshi into his mouth.

Food is a simple pleasure, it truly makes his belly sing. It also makes him fall fast asleep.

When he wakes, he’s greeted by some of his staff. It’s grown from just Kaiyo in his early days to a sizable crew, necessary to man the three shops he has dotted around Osaka - well, two now that one’s burnt down. Suzuki, the matriarch who mans his busiest store downtown in his stead with an iron fist, brings a cake with piped flowers instead of real blooms (she alone knows about his secret sweet tooth), Miyamura, the college aged part-timer who takes on far too many shifts to be good for his grades shyly slides over some homemade burn ointment from his mother in Kyushu, Morita and Ishida, his dynamic duo of cooks stationed in his second shop sneak in pints of beer to the horror of the nurse in attendant, and stoic Murata, who he’d sent home early that night, gruffly pats his back and wishes him well.

“I’ll need to adjust the schedule. And call the suppliers in the morning, cancel some orders if we’re only running two stores instead of three”, he frowns, fingers itching for his phone which Atsumu confiscated, correctly surmising that he’d be unable to just take a break, damnit Samu! You nearly died - which is annoying, because he does have arrangements to make.

“The lady boss is on it”, Murata says.

He can’t help but chuckle when Morita and Ishida start to recount an animated and likely embellished tale of Kaiyo taking over the reins, arranging schedules, browbeating suppliers, popping into the shops to reassure his regulars - all this in the afternoon, whilst he slept.

“I guess I should count myself lucky that you decided to walk into my shop ten years ago”, he tells her, when she returns to his side after dinner.

She huffs a laugh, arranging the pillows before she climbs in beside him again. “It’s a damn good thing I’ve been in charge of your accounts all these years.”

“It’s a good thing my brother married an accountant - ”

“Your filing system would be a mess otherwise. I can’t believe how many fishmongers I had to call today - all of them say don’t worry about a thing, just get well soon, except for Hara-san - who’s very grumpy by the way - it was super hard to stay polite, because he insisted on sending tuna to you, never mind that your shop is a burnt out husk - ”

He bumps her with his elbow, offers his good shoulder to her as a pillow. “Sounds exhausting”, he says lightly. “You sound like you need a nap.”

“I can’t believe you do this everyday”, she grouses, but she’s out like a light almost immediately. He curls a protective arm around her as she lets out a gentle snore, but even then he takes the opportunity to steal her phone and snap a surreptitious photo of her (a habit learnt from Suna, no doubt), sending it immediately to Atsumu with the cheeky caption - look at sleeping beauty right here. It’s rare that he gets to clown on Kaiyo, just a little bit. Besides, it’s fun turning the tables on her once in a while and siding with ‘Tsumu, she’ll pretend to rage about it when she finds out, and it’ll distract her at least from the situation they’re in.

There’s a hesitant knock on the door just as he’s about to fall asleep himself. He wonders if it’s the nurse, here to check on his burn dressings.

(it isn’t. it’s someone he hasn’t met yet. someone who may or may not play a starring role in this chapter of his life.)

The door slides open. You step in.

“Hi”, you say, then you bow.

(fire can be the catalyst of new beginnings, even as it destroys)

a/n: a dramatic first chapter! it may be helpful to read storm chaser in context (i.e. the story of Atsumu and Kaiyo), since that’s referenced quite heavily in this fic, but can be read as a standalone.

and as always, let me know what y’all think!

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu angst #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x you #osamu x you #osamu x reader #osamu x y/n #miya osamu x y/n #haikyuu romance #miya atsumu #inarizaki

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sickbroinc · 1 month

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Not cool, bro.

American tax dollars are now going to defending Sweet Baby inc. in the wake of backlash to an employee’s harassment campaign against a Steam user.

Take This is a mental health oriented non-profit that emphasizes “the unique needs of the game development community and embraces the diverse cultures and issues of the game community”.

In a recent post by Take This, the organization labeled the backlash Sweet Baby is facing as “Gamergate 2” and blaming the lion’s share of harassment on gamers, despite the initial harassment coming from Sweet Baby employees.

#sweet baby #gamergate

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eretzyisrael · 4 months

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by Phyllis Chesler

Both Butler and Gessen seem to revere Jewish vulnerability, statelessness and martyrdom. Are they also Nazis in drag?

The two conformists see Jewish vulnerability to persecution as far more “ethical” than the Jews’ ability to defend themselves from persecution and genocide. According to Prof. Corinne Blackmer in her brave book Queering Anti-Zionism: Academic Freedom, LGBTQ Intellectuals and Israel/Palestine Campus Activism:

“Butler implicitly argues that Jews were better off suffering rather than perpetrating state-sponsored persecution. … Two possible lessons or conclusions can be drawn from the fact that Jews experienced considerable state-sponsored violence, persecution and discrimination in the galut [exile], culminating not only in the Holocaust but also the forced removal of nearly one million Mizrachi Jews from their ancestral homes in the Middle East before or during the establishment of Israel as a Jewish state in 1948. One, supported by Butler and other BDS advocates, states that precisely because Jews suffered extreme state-sponsored violence, they should endeavor to avoid state-building, although this formulation leaves unanswered precisely under what political system Jews should (peacefully?) reside.”

In her piece in The London Review of Books, Butler does “condemn without qualification the violence committed by Hamas. This was a terrifying and revolting massacre. This was my primary reaction, and it endures.”

However, she then goes on to “contextualize” this statement by trotting out all manner of false allegations against Israel: “We should develop some understanding of why groups like Hamas gained strength in light of the broken promises of Oslo and the ‘state of death, both slow and sudden’ that describes the lived existence of many Palestinians living under occupation, whether the constant surveillance and threat of administrative detention without due process or the intensifying siege that denies Gazans medication, food and water.”

Butler appears to be either ignorant of or deliberately concealing several important facts: Israel left Gaza in 2005. Hamas—an Iranian-funded Islamist terror group—controls, indoctrinates, tortures, torments and impoverishes Gazans. Hamas has taken the lion’s share of the aid meant for Gaza civilians and diverted it into their own bank accounts abroad and into building their terror tunnels and weaponry. No Arab country has been willing to offer Gazans refuge, even temporarily. Egypt has walled off Gaza from the Sinai. Hamas has increasingly forced women to wear veils, marry into polygamous families and risk being honor-killed if they “shame” their families.

#judith butler #masha gessen #jews #gaza #hamas

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reasoningdaily · 1 month

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The Clinton Foundation faces accusations it mishandled funds intended for Haiti earthquake relief, as the Justice Department investigates whether the Clintons gave or promised policy-related favors to foundation donors. (Photo: Current Affairs)

As a result of the recent comments by President Donald Trump — in which he called Haiti and African nations “shithole countries” and said, “Why do we need more Haitians? Take them out” — the issue of the Haiti’s plight has resurfaced, but within a different context. The Clinton Foundation has been accused of corruption and misuse of funds, including allegations the foundation committed fraud in Haiti.

As The Hill reported this month, the Justice Department is conducting an investigation in Little Rock, Ark., into whether the Clinton Foundation engaged in “pay to play” politics while Hillary Clinton served as Secretary of State under Obama. Specifically, the FBI is investigating whether the Clintons promised or fulfilled any policy-related favors to foundation donors, or if donors gave to the charity for the purposes of receiving access to Clinton or particular outcomes from the government. Trump, whose campaign and supporters adopted the phrase “Lock her up!” has called for investigations into his former political rival. When he was on the campaign trail supporting Trump, now-Attorney General Jeff Sessions accused Hillary Clinton of using her position leading the Obama State Department to extort foreign governments to benefit the Clinton Foundation.

A November 2, 2016, report from the BBC immediately before the election noted that Trump has criticized the Clintons’ work in Haiti. “I was at a Little Haiti the other day in Florida. And I want to tell you, they hate the Clintons because what’s happened in Haiti with the Clinton Foundation is a disgrace,” Trump said in the final presidential debate with Clinton. In the 1980s, Haiti accused former dictator Jean-Claude Duvalier of laundering money he stole from Haiti by purchasing an apartment in Trump Tower. Trump sold the Trump Tower apartment to Duvalier through a Panamanian shell corporation in 1983, a practice which hides the finances and identities of buyers.

The January 2010 earthquake in Haiti killed an estimated 220,000 people. International donors pledged an estimated $13.3 billion in aid to the Caribbean nation in the wake of the devastation. Along with Haitian Prime Minister Jean-Max Bellerive, former President Bill Clinton, who was UN Special Envoy to Haiti, became co-chairman of the Interim Haiti Recovery Commission (IHRC). From January 2010 through June 2012, $9.04 billion in international funding was raised — $3.04 billion from individuals and companies, and $6.04 billion from bilateral and multilateral donors. Of the $6.04 billion, 9.6 percent, or $580 million went to the Haitian government, while 0.6 percent or $36.2 million went to local Haitian organizations. The lion’s share, 89.8 percent of $5.4 billion went to non-Haitian organizations, including private contractors, international NGOs, and military and civilian agencies of donor countries, including the Pentagon, which charged the State Department hundreds of millions of dollars.

Critics have pointed at the Clinton Foundation, alleging the charity had control over the billions of dollars in aid to Haiti. During the 2016 presidential campaign, the Clintons’ involvement in Haiti translated into mixed feelings in the Haitian-American community about Hillary Clinton, ranging from low enthusiasm to disappointment and anger. As secretary of state, Clinton supported the presidency of Michel Martelly, intruding into Haitian electoral politics by flying to Haiti in 2011 to pressure President René Préval to allow Martelly to participate in a two-person runoff. Martelly won. As president, Martelly selected Special Envoy Bill Clinton’s chief of staff as prime minister, and gave important positions to people with criminal backgrounds, and was known for corruption and violent government repression, and attempting to install his successor. Mrs. Clinton’s brother, Tony Rodham, became a member of an advisory board of a mining company that owns a gold mine in Haiti and was introduced to the company through the Clinton Global Initiative arm of the Clinton Foundation. All of this fueled speculation that the United States and the Clintons were installing a puppet government and engaging in profiteering and drew the ire of Haitians and Haitian-Americans.

According to right-wing commentator and financial analyst Charles Ortel in an interview with journalist H.A. Goodman in Huffington Post, the hurricane created an opportunity for the Clinton Foundation and its allies to raise considerable resources, but with little accounting of these funds. “The Clintons seem to be ‘merchants around misery’, operating as a kind of ‘Robin Hood in Reverse’ — there are many disasters that they seem to have exploited,” Ortel said. “In brief, the Clinton Foundation solicited massive sums to ‘fight HIV/AIDS’ but did not check carefully enough to ensure that these drugs were supplied in intact form, and neither adulterated nor watered-down,” he added. The Nation also reported the “hurricane-proof” classroom trailers the foundation used in Haiti were structurally unsafe and laced with formaldehyde, a product of the same company sued by Hurricane Katrina victims.

Reflecting the anger against the Clintons among the Haitian-American community, on January 12, the Committee to Mobilize Against Dictatorship in Haiti (Komokoda) held a protest outside the Clinton Foundation headquarters in New York City. Speaking at the protest was Dahoud Andre, president of Komokoda and a radio host.

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The organization says it continues to protest the Clintons because “there is still no justice despite the billions they have stolen through Bill Clinton’s position (as) UN Special Envoy to Haiti in March of 2009 in the aftermath of 4 major storms which devastated parts of our country; through the post 2010 earthquake Interim Haiti Reconstruction Commission; through foreign governments and corporations funneling hundreds of millions (most of them undisclosed) for favors from then US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton to the Clinton Foundation under the guise of helping Haiti; and through the Clinton-Bush Fund,” Komokoda said in a press statement. In light of the announcement by the Justice Department, the group says it remains vigilant and demands a serious investigation, and that any crimes are fully prosecuted and punished. “It is itself a crime that this Justice Department prosecuted and got a conviction against Corrine Brown, Florida’s first African-American Congressperson since Reconstruction for corruption related to $800,000 from her ‘One Door for Education’ charity and yet it took them this long to even start an investigation of the Clintons,” the statement added.

Komokoda’s claims of the Justice Department’s tardiness in looking at the Clintons notwithstanding, Bill and Hillary Clinton have together and separately weathered multiple federal and congressional investigations ranging from Whitewater in the 1990s through the probe into Hillary Clinton’s use of private email servers as secretary of state that wrapped up in 2016 during her campaign for president. The latest probe, a renewal of an investigation that began under the Obama administration, has found the Clintons prepared to respond.

The Clinton Foundation told Atlanta Black Star that it raised $30 million for the Haiti earthquake relief efforts, and did not have control over the bulk of the $9 billion raised for Haiti. “Overall, we’d point out that many of the claims about the Clinton Foundation and Haiti have been found to be flat-out false,” the Clinton Foundation press office said in a statement. “All funding collected by the Clinton Foundation for Haiti was distributed in full to aid groups on the ground, and we have documented which groups received this funding and what it was for. The Clinton Foundation did not take a penny in overhead for our work.”

The foundation also pointed to various refuted claims, including Trump’s assertion that Secretary of State Hillary Clinton did favors for Clinton Foundation donors, and that “Hillary Clinton set aside environmental and labor rules to help a South Korean company with a record of violating workers’ rights set up what amounts to a sweatshop in Haiti.” Politifact depicted his claim as “mostly false.” BBC reported that the foundation and the State Department arranged with the Haitian government for a $300 million, 600-acre factory to produce clothing for retail giants such as Target, Walmart and Old Navy. Several hundred farmers were evicted to clear the land, and the South Korean textile company Sae-A Trading Co. later donated between $50,000 and $100,000 to the foundation. While Clinton said the facility would produce 100,000 jobs, only 8,000 were created.

The Washington Post rebutted another allegation, that Hillary Clinton and the Clinton Foundation raised hundreds of millions of dollars for a hospital that was never built. Further, Jonathan Katz, who was the Associated Press correspondent in Port-au-Prince during the earthquake, wrote a piece in Slate stating that “neither I nor anyone else has found the coveted evidence of either Clinton making off with vast sums of money from Haiti or the relief effort.” Katz offers the historical backdrop of U.S. intervention in Haiti and elsewhere, and the failed earthquake recovery in Haiti, which led to spiraling inflation and spikes in violence. “No two individuals, including Haiti’s own leaders, enjoyed more power and influence than the Clintons in the morass of the failed reconstruction following the deadly Jan. 12, 2010, earthquake, when a troubled country managed to go from catastrophe to worse,” he said, arguing that there is no proof the goal was to financially benefit the Clintons.

Katz did find fault with Hillary Clinton for pursuing “badly flawed” vision of prosperity for Haiti focused on “foreign investment in tourism, construction, and low-wage garment factories” which would mean low wages and little money flowing in the local economy, rather than the stated goal of reliving Haitians from poverty and preventing future refugee crises. That model, he argued, has been pursued by the U.S. since the 1960s. “The system isn’t designed for them; it’s for us. The low wages that the U.S. embassy helped suppress are the reason we can enjoy a steady stream of $9 Mossimo camisoles and $12.99 six-packs of Hanes T-shirts. Even U.S. military uniform parts get made in Haitian sweatshops,” Katz added.

Snopes has debunked two conspiracy theories that have circulated in conservative circles and among misinformation news sites, specifically that former Haitian official Klaus Oberwein died of a suspicious suicide days before he was scheduled to testify against the Clinton Foundation or Hillary Clinton, and that a “U.S. surgeon who exposed ‘Clinton Foundation corruption in Haiti’ was found dead in his home under suspicious circumstances.” And Bill Clinton denied any claims that the Clinton Foundation used money designated for Haiti for personal means.

While there is disagreement over the role of the Clinton Foundation in Haiti, it is certain that billions of dollars were raised for Haiti.

The American Red Cross raised $500 million for Haiti, spent one-quarter of the funds on internal expenses and only built six houses. The people of Haiti, the first Black republic, have suffered and continue to suffer. Everyone has failed Haiti.

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