#The worker: its a popular arrangement

[xysidhequeen]

The King And His Red Knight

Part 11

Parts 1-7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Warning: Jason's rampant vulgarity and love of creative cursewords

Danny woke up right when they reached the edge of Gotham, a cold shudder traveling through his body that dragged him from one of the best naps of his afterlife.

He knew what woke him. And knew he'll have to deal with it eventually. City Spirits can be territorial, but they all still fell under his purview. Even if not a one of them liked it, too used to being rulers of their own small kingdoms and viciously protective of the people they watched over.

This one didn't feel half as hostile as he expected, it was almost...welcoming.

If he ever returned to Amity, he thought this might be what it felt like.

Danny thought it might have something to do with the fact that he saved one of her Robins. And that he's bringing him back.

Perhaps it hadn't been only Clockwork who had a hand in their meeting, two and a half years ago.

Gotham loves her Robins, dearly. But Jason had always been Gotham's Robin. Born and raised in her streets, as connected to her people as the spirit itself was.

He still had the impression Gotham was watching him, wary, but willing to accept him. He saved her Robin, and he brought him back. That bought him a lot of goodwill.

He'd need that goodwill, seeing as he was planning on staying in Gotham for as long as Jason wanted to be here. And as much as the other halfa didn't want to admit it, Danny didn't think they'd be leaving for a very long time.

The Infinite Realms was home for Jason now, but it would be a grave injustice to say Gotham had ever stopped being Jason's home.

Danny let out a yawn that cracked his jaw as his eyes blinked open slowly. He was pressed against a warm chest, a thick arm wrapped tightly around him. A low, rumbling purr under his ear encouraged him to shut his eyes again and fall back to sleep.

Danny snuggled closer to Jason for a moment, noting absently that at some point in their sleep both of them had transformed back to human form. It was more a surprise for Danny than Jason. But being human had stopped feeling so unsafe sometime after he found Jason. Danny couldn't say for sure when the other halfa had banished the last of his fears with nothing more than his presence, but he had.

Jason was dressed in his tan leather jacket over a bright red hoodie, a pair of dark jeans and scuffed motorcycle boots. He smelled like cigarette smoke, leather, gunpowder and metal. A smell Danny has long grown accustomed to, and his mind now equated to home. To safety, to a ready smile and a sharp tongue that hid a soft heart.

Slowly Danny tried to pull back, but the arm around him only tightened, flattening him back onto a broad chest. Danny huffed out a breath in amused annoyance.

Jason had shot up and out over the past two and a half years. He almost matched Danny for height, those scant few inches Danny had on him a sore point. But what Jason lacked in height compared to Danny he'd more than made up for in muscle mass.

Danny didn't think anyone could beat Jack Fenton in pure size, but Jason had done his damndest. The man was built like a brick shithouse. And one of his tree trunk arms was holding Danny in place like a lanky teddy bear.

Danny sighed and let intangibility wash over him and lifted himself out of the, very comfortable, embrace. Being that close to Jason while conscious was doing dangerous things to his heart.

If Danny thought the butterflies and skipping heartbeats would fade over time, he'd been wrong. So wrong.

If anything the butterflies had unionized and multiplied, holding riots in his stomach regularly. And if he hadn't already been dead he'd fear weekly heart attacks.

But Jason had never even implied an interest, and Danny was loathe to approach him. Jason might put about as much stock in Danny's title as he did in the existence of Mothman, but Danny never wanted his friend, his best friend, to feel pressured to date him because Danny was his king.

So. Danny's crush stayed locked tight and the butterfly union never got their demands met.

"He's not my boyfriend!" Danny hissed, barely remembering to keep his voice quiet.

"Finally done cuddling your boyfriend?" Sam called out from behind the wheel. Danny flushed, scrambling away from Jason, arms waving wildly in the air.

"Uh huh. Right. And I'm Batman." Sam's voice dripped sarcasm and Danny rolled his eyes as he phased through the back of the passenger seat, buckling himself in as if he had anything to fear from a car crash.

Danny turned his head and located Tucker, head resting on his keyboard as random letters kept typing into a word doc. Danny chuckled quietly as he looked forward, taking in the sights.

Gotham looked much the same as it had the last time he'd been here. Only difference this time being that it was day. The heavy cloud of death and fear still coated the city like tainted paint, fueling the ambient ectoplasm that was most definitely a result of one of the several curses Danny could feel woven through the city.

"It's gorgeous here. I'm never leaving." Sam sighed dreamily as she swerved around other cars who seemed to take traffic laws as suggestions.

"We almost there?" Danny asked as he checked the touchscreen navigation on the dash.

"Almost." Sam nodded, taking a turn fast enough to make the tires squeal but no heads even turned.

"Did you and Tucker switch off? You could've woken me up to drive." Danny rested his elbow on the door, chin in hand.

"Dude, you needed the sleep. Your bags had bags." Sam chastised and Danny flushed.

Alright, maybe planning the destruction of the GIW and liberation of their prisoners had taken up his time for the past several days, meaning he got no sleep, but still!

"And here we are." Sam raised a hand and pressed one of many buttons on the dash.

She took another sharp turn and barreled towards a derelict warehouse, a wall opening smoothly seconds before collision. The van slid inside, and the door dropped behind them. In front of them the floor rose, revealing a tunnel that Sam drove down.

Darkness covered the van, lights flashing by as they continued along for several minutes before another wall opened and Sam drove into what looked like a bunker. Several motorcycles and other cars waited for them, an elevator sat across from them that would lead them to the rest of the hideout.

Something like this, smack in the middle of Crime Alley no less, did not come about overnight. No, it had been the work of years, Danny using the basically unlimited funds of the King of the Dead to slowly put it together.

He'd always known Jason would want to come back to Gotham, and Danny had prepared for that day.

Danny phased back through his seat as Sam turned off the van. Settling next to Jason, Danny reached out a hand and gently shook his shoulder. He let a wash of Calm/Safe/Home/Calm cover Jason, knowing far too well how violently Jason could wake up.

Danny didn't judge. He'd frozen Jazz several times back in Amity when she tried to wake him up. It was a side effect of being a hero.

"Mmmph. Wazzit?" Jason slurred, blinking sleep heavy eyes at Danny.

"We're here. Time to see our new home away from home." Danny grinned at Jason, slipping his hand from the other halfa's shoulder to his hand so he could tug Jason up.

"Wait we're already here? The fuck? How long was my undead ass out?" Jason regained his sense quickly, green tinted blue eyes clearing as he looked around.

"Apparently as long as me. Tucker and Sam put us in nap time time-out." Danny chuckled, letting intangibility wash over himself and Jason as he tugged the other man out of the van.

Why use a door when you were a ghost?

"Wait. Are those my bikes?!" Jason demanded, rushing forward, Danny tugged along behind him like a balloon as he let go of gravity and floated along.

"Yup, even Nightmare." Danny nodded at Jason's pride and joy, his baby.

The bike Johnny had given him had changed a lot since he got it. It almost resembled a horse made mechanical, and Danny knew it would spit flames out of its exhaust when it was started. It was painted a dark red that shone almost blood red under the right lights.

"When did you guys do this?" Jason asked, free hand running lovingly down the side of his bike.

Danny was a weak enough man to admit, this wasn't the first time he'd been jealous of a fucking motorcycle. At least Jason hadn't realized he still had Danny's hand gripped in his.

"Right before we left for the mission. Johnny and I moved all the bikes over." Danny said with a shrug.

"So do you want to stay in the basement or do you want to see the rest of your surprises?" Sam called out from where she was dragging a half asleep Tucker out of the van.

"Wait. Where the fuck are we?" Jason asked, finally registering they were in a building.

"So we paid attention to all your safe house and base spiels." Danny started as Sam and Tucker walked over.

"And I know a thing or two about how to buy things without a trail." Sam added in proudly.

"And I'm not bad at finding condemned and abandoned buildings no one wants." Tucker raised his head with a yawn.

"And I have the money and manpower, do you have any idea how many construction worker ghosts there are? A lot. So many of them die angry, its a problem. To make just about anything happen." Danny finished nodding around them.

"So you three....made a what? Next gen fucking Batcave?" Jason asked, leaning against his bike with one hip.

"Pshaw. Batcave? Please. Bruce Wayne wishes his creepy little man cave was half as cool as this." Sam snorted with a shake of her head.

"We can call it the Ghostcave! Or the Ghost Nest? Haunted House?" Danny tilted his head with an excited grin. None of them had wanted to name their new secret base without Jason.

"We'll work on what to call it, King of Dumbass Names." Jason tugged playfully on Danny's hand as Danny's cheeks puffed out in anger.

"Anyway, we have everything you could need to be a hero, or crime boss, or supervillain. The outside looks like an abandoned apartment building but we gutted the insides." Danny explained, bouncing in the air excitedly.

"There's so many levels! Below us is one of the workshops, then a lab. Above us is another workshop then Tucker's command center slash Ops room. It definitely looks like a Best Buy threw up in there. Then a med bay- Jazz made us add one," Danny rolled his eyes but kept talking, not even taking a breath in.

Jason was watching with an impressed expression. Though if that was because of what they'd built, or because Danny could talk so fast and so much without air was anyone's guess.

"And then we have the training room! It's huge! Big enough for us to go all out. And! And! The entire base is surrounded by cement and titanium walls, ten feet thick around the lab 'cause I wanna make a Ghost portal down there. And between those and the walls we see is five feet of my ghost ice!" Happy trills and chirps were making their way between Danny's words, and the almost unconscious chirps Jason responded with had a distinctly amused flavor to them.

Defenses had been his first thought when it came to Gotham. The frequency of rogue attacks meant anything not kitted out to the nines would inevitably be destroyed.

Someone could drop a missile on their roof and surround the building with bombs in the middle of an earthquake and their drinks wouldn't even slosh. Danny hadn't expected his Obsession to translate into building the most secure building this side of the veil but death was full of surprises. He had precious people staying in this building, and he didn't want to see a single one of them hurt.

"You expecting us to get nuked or some shit?" Jason asked with an amused twist to his lips.

"Dude. It's Gotham." Tucker chimed in.

"Nuff said." Jason shrugged, but he looked impressed and Danny's core purred.

The only thing stopping Danny from floating straight through the ceiling was Jason's hold on his hand, but Danny was vibrating so hard in excitement even Jason's arm was shaking.

"Then we have the ground floor. It has a huge kitchen Jay, everything you wanted in one! And three ovens! Three!" Danny could feel a grin splitting his face as Jason, Sam and Tucker watched him word vomit, barely contained laughter puffing out their cheeks.

"It's got the living room, and the dining room and Sam wanted a theater so we have that too!" Danny bounced up and down in the air while Jason turned to look at Sam, an eyebrow raised.

"A theater? Really? What kind of rich people shit is this?" Jason asked, Sam huffed, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes.

"Look me in the eyes, Jason, and tell me Nightmare on Elm Street isn't better on a wall sized screen. I dare you, bird boy." Sam challenged. Jason held up his free hand in surrender, wisely choosing not to argue with Sam.

"And then we h-" Danny started when Sam waved a hand at him.

"Let's show him, D." Sam stopped him from giving away the best part.

Danny brightened, tugging at Jason again, directing them towards the elevator.

"What am I? A fucking dog?" Jason grumbled as Danny dragged him away from the love of his life, his Ancient's damned motorcycle, and to the elevator.

"You look like a bitch, so yeah." Danny taunted over his shoulder as they reached the doors.

"Bark bark, motherfucker." Jason snapped his teeth, inhuman fangs on display as Danny laughed. Sam rolled her eyes, slamming a hand on the scanner by the elevator.

"Welcome home, Sam." A robotic feminine voice called out, Jason jumped in surprise as the elevator doors opened.

"Ahhh, Ophelia, my love." Tucker gazed at the touch screen panel inside the elevator like a lovesick puppy.

"Ophelia?" Jason leaned towards Danny, whispering.

"Tucker and Technus made her. She's a program but she's more than slightly ghostly." Danny shrugged.

Ophelia was Tucker's magnum opus, and Danny was fairly certain he was trying to figure out how to actually marry her.

"Ah. Make sense. Totally not having Terminator flashbacks or anything. Skynet, anyone?" Jason nodded, shooting a suspicious look at the panel as Tucker pressed something, and they started to descend.

"Ophelia would never betray me!" Tucker shouted, stroking a hand against the side of the panel.

"See that? Thats what you look like with your bikes and guns." Danny pointed out and Jason gave him a disbelieving stare.

"Boys, boys. You're all pretty. Let's get on with the tour." Sam broke in, quieting the bickering.

Danny wanted Jason to see everything so the elevator took them down first, to the lab and the second workshop. Jason had to be pulled back from leaving the elevator to 'look around' which really meant, get distracted by a project and lose a week of time.

It wasn't until they hit the second workshop that Jason spoke up again, eyes lighting up in recognition.

"Did you transport everything from the castle?" Jason asked, pouting slightly at being held back once more from entering a workshop. Danny understood, he wanted to go in too. But they had a base to explore!

"Everything but the delicate and volatile projects." Danny nodded, kicking a foot in the air nervously.

"I- We wanted it to feel like home." Danny said softly, glancing at Jason, whose face had taken on a soft, warm expression that was gone in a blink.

The next time the door opened, it was into a room practically overflowing with technology. Walls were covered in screens, and there were keyboards across multiple surfaces. Server towers and computer towers stood like little soldier awaiting battle.

"This is the command center. AKA Tucker's cave." Danny nodded at the room, Sam was holding Tucker back with both arms as he sobbed, trying to get to his 'babies'.

The elevator closed and they rose to the next level, opening out into a large room full of sparkling, brand new medical equipment. Much of it transported right from the Far Frozen.

"Med-bay, Jazz insisted we have one. Said first aid kits from Walmart 'weren't enough'. Frostbite helped design it." Danny explained the next room.

"Maybe if you didn't have the dodging abilities of a dead fucking squirrel we wouldn't need it." Jason poked at Danny's chest with a shit-eating grin.

"Well maybe if someone stopped running head first into every fight and tanking hits Jazz wouldn't worry!" Danny retorted, swatting at Jason's hand.

"Next is the giant training room, so if you two want to fight take it in there." Sam took over, talking loudly over the bickering halfas.

"See, Jay, you're missing the tour, you little shit!" Danny hissed, floating as far away as he could, still connected to Jason by their hands.

You'd need to cut Danny's arm off before he'd willingly let go.

"Little? What about me is little you blind undead bastard?" Jason asked, tugging at Danny's hand to get him back in range for more rough housing.

"Boys. Stop flirting." Sam ordered and that froze the two halfas. Their hands separated, Danny and Jason flinging themselves to seperate parts of the elevator.

"We're not flirting!"

"I wasn't flirting!"

Jason and Danny spoke at the same time, voices loud to cover the twin blushes on their cheeks. Sam snorted, rolling her eyes and shaking her head as the doors opened on the next level.

Jason craned his head, trying to see the kitchen from the elevator but it was currently out of view. For the best, Danny didn't know if he'd be able to stop Jason from convincing them to take a snack break if he saw the state of the art kitchen.

Danny was fully vibrating, floating so high his head banged against the roof of the elevator as it rose again. Jason was watching with amused curiosity, Sam and Tucker were watching Jason excitedly. Danny saw Tucker pull out a smartphone to get a picture of Jason's face at their next stop.

The doors opened to a level filled floor to ceiling with books as far as the eye could see. Cozy chairs and couches were thrown around the room and there were a few hard to see, hidden reading nooks too.

"Ghost Writer helped me fill it with all your favorites, and every book we thought you might like. There's first editions, and unpublished books too." Danny said quietly, hands twisting nervously in his shirt.

Jason was looking at the room as if he'd seen heaven. Then again, he had that look anytime he saw a library. But every time Danny saw it, his heart skipped a beat as the butterflies revolted in his stomach.

"Do you...do you like it?" Danny asked hesitantly, Jason ripped his gaze from the books to look at Danny.

And. Oh. Jason was looking at him like he'd hung the moon.

"It's amazing, Danny, it's perfect." Jason's voice was soft, reverent as if they were in a holy place.

Danny felt his core send a pulse of cold through his body as it purred strong enough he feared he'd start vibrating again. Small trills and chirps filled the air between them. And a soft, barely there emotion floated off of Jason.

Loved/Special/Important

It was gone before Danny could fully understand them, or who they were directed at.

"Before you two start doing something disgusting like confess your undying love we have two more levels and surprises waiting." Sam burst in, literally stepping between them and waving her arms as if she could dispell the sappy feelings in the air.

"Next up is the gaming level and then the bedrooms." Sam closed the doors, Jason letting out a pitiful, hurt whine when his books were hidden from him.

They quickly ascended and showed Jason the last two levels. He was obviously curious, but they all knew he was going to head for the library the second they took their eyes off of him. Sam stopped that by grabbing Jason with one hand and Tucker, who was trying to hide so he could get to his personal heaven, with the other and marched them out into the hallway between rooms.

Jason stopped fighting when he took in the name plates on the doors.

"Sam? Tucker? Jazz?" Jason read out, confusion clear as he looked around.

"Surprise! Me and Sam transferred to Gotham U! We managed to convince-" Tucker started while Sam snorted.

"Bribe." She interjected.

"Our professors to let us take our exams early. So we got out early! Starting in the fall we'll be at Gotham U!" Tucker continued as if Sam hadn't spoken. Danny did jazz hands behind them, shooting off tiny ecto-blasts like fireworks.

"And Jazz just got a job at Arkham. She starts in two weeks and will be here next week to move in." Danny explained. Jason stared at them all, eyes wide, disbelieving.

"We're all going to be staying here." Danny assured him.

Home?/Family?/Together?/Home?/Real? Flooded from Jason in waves. Danny let his smile go gentle as he stepped towards Jason.

"We couldn't let you face Gotham alone. You two idiots would blow the city up." Sam teased.

"I wanted to be close to Wayne Industries! They have the best tech! And they commonly hire Gotham U students as interns!" Tucker had stars in his eyes as he talked. He coughed when Sam elbowed him roughly.

"But mostly because you two need a man in the chair if you're going to be hitting the streets as heroes again." Tucker added, his words too coated in sincerity to be anything less than the truth.

"You're all moving here? For... for me?" Jason asked, voice rough with emotions and eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Of course. You're our family Jay, we'd follow you to hell and back." Sam snorted as if it was obvious.

"We did in fact do that when Johnny dared Jason to fist fight a demon." Danny chimed in with a grin.

Jason snorted out a wet chuckle and Danny couldn't help himself. He collided with the other halfa, arms wrapping around him in a tight hug. Seconds later Sam and Tucker joined in until Jason was in the center of the group hug. Jason finally gave up fighting the tears and they rolled down his face.

"Thank you." Jason choked out.

"Anything for you Jaybird." Danny gripped him tighter.

Someone's balance went out and the four of them collapsed on the ground in a pile of limbs and surprised laughter.

"So who's up for a bit of harmless haunting?" Danny asked when the four of them had settled down, and Tucker removed his elbow from Danny's solar plexus.

"Can't believe I'm saying this, but that sounds tempting enough that I'll skip the library." Jason replied, shifting slightly. He was big enough that Danny, Sam and Tucker could all, mostly, fit on top of him. He was surprisingly comfortable too.

Hell. He knew Jason seeing Batman, Bruce Wayne, again wouldn't be easy. The one month vanishing act Jason did after he found out about his replacement Robin almost two years ago was enough of a warning. The path of destruction Jason had carved through, thankfully a rebelling Realm, had shown Danny how deep the knife of betrayal had cut.

Unsure/Scared/Upset/Angry/Hurt/TheyForgotMe/HeReplacedMe/NotEnough leaked from Jason in a harsh wave that crashed into Danny. Danny sucked in a sharp breath, he'd known returning to Gotham wouldn't be easy.

Time didn't heal every wound. And wounds to the heart were the slowest of all to heal. No matter how much love Jason had in his life, how many people he had who adored him. Nothing would ever take away the hurt of his dad, his hero, his idol, replacing him barely seven months after he died.

Danny was just thankful Jason's anger was solely directed at Batman, and not the little Robin who had taken up the mantle. Then again, Jason always had a soft spot for kids. And this Robin was tiny, small enough that Danny had thought he couldn't have been older than ten when he first became a vigilante.

Danny rather liked the little Robin, and would've hated for Jason to hold a grudge against him. However Jason had done the opposite, becoming strangely protective of the kid he'd never even met. Danny had barely talked him out of kidnapping the kid years ago, reminding him it might lead Batman right to them.

Actually. It'd been Jazz who talked them both out of it because Danny was as ready as Jason to snatch the newest Robin. To protect him from the rancid streets of Gotham that would gladly chew him up and spit him back out.

Dick was always a safe bet with Jason. And Danny knew he'd want to see his older brother again.

"How about we see what Nightwing is up to tonight? We have a few hours before the vigilantes come out to play, you can spend that time in the library." Danny spoke up, pushing a wave of Comfort/You'reSafe/Protected/Loved/Wanted/Cherished/Important/Irreplaceable at Jason that had the other halfa melting under him.

"There's one other thing I want-have to do before we give Big Bird a heart attack." Jason's voice was suspiciously rough as he spoke, but he was speaking, and that meant he wasn't drowning under a sea of pain.

"And what's that?" Danny lifted his head, meeting Jason's eyes. They crinkled around the edges, a weak smirk on his lips at some unknown joke.

👻🖤🩶💚🖤🩶💚🖤🩶💚👻

"I think it's time for a field trip to a florist."

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The King and his Red Knight

DPxDC crossover fic

Part 1

Really sorry to everyone who suffered through the fact that I didn't know about the existence of readmore. I can't fix the thread now but the individual posts are better? Sorry I have like a very rough idea of how this site works 😭

Check the: The King and his Red Knight tag to find all the parts

"Go here, Danny. Go then, Danny. Go to a random cemetery in the middle of the night for no reason, Danny." A voice grumbled, accompanied by the sound of sneakers rhythmically tapping stone.

Danny Fenton, currently Phantom, sat on a gravestone, his white hair a beacon in the dark night. There were no stars in the sky for him to gaze upon, their light hidden behind swaths of smog and neon lights playing off the gray clouds.

Clockwork had dumped him here, with no explanation for why. Not that he ever really explained much when he sent Danny off on his tasks. He supposed he should be grateful, at least he was in the same when rather than being transported a thousand years into the past.

"Wait here King Phantom. You will understand in time." Danny mimicked his mentor's voice as he let himself float off the grave he'd been dumped on after Clockwork shoved him out of a portal. His body floated higher until he could flip around, his legs crossing. He sat upside down, his chin in his palm as he glared petulantly at the assembled gravestones surrounding him, his toxic green eyes glowing.

"So far all I've seen is a concerning amount of ecotplasm for a city without a ghost portal and some blob ghosts! How long am I supposed to wait here?" Danny asked the air, and the aforementioned blob ghosts who were hanging off his body, soaking in the ambient ecotoplasm he radiated at all times now.

Neither provided him with an answer to his question and Danny let out a frustrated groan as he lowered his still flipped body to look once more on the gravestone he'd been tasked with waiting on.

Jason Todd, the name read. The dates, too close together, made something in Danny squeeze painfully. He'd been young, barely older than Danny when he stepped into the portal. Only for this teenager there had been no ectoplasm to bind to his dying body and repair the damage of death and force him back into a semblance of life.

"Who were you and why did Clockwork send me to you?" Danny asked the gravestone, one clawed finger tracing the words before he pulled back with a sigh when the gravestone gave him no explanation. The dead didn't always speak, not even to their king.

Turning his body Danny looked over the rest of the cemetery. It was empty, as most usually were this time of night, of the living. There were a few shades wandering around, circling closer to him, drawn by his presence. No full ghosts though, but oddly enough there rarely were in cemeteries. This was where the dead came to rest. To remember, if they wanted to. Cemeteries were sacred spaces to the dead, much as a temple or a church would be for the living who were religious. Ghosts who still clung to life, to their obsessions, did not frequent cemeteries, did not dare trespass and disturb those who had already found their peace.

Danny himself was an oddity. He had never shied from cemeteries, enjoying the peace he found in them, the guarantee of safety offered. And perhaps, he mourned that he himself would never have a gravestone for the living to place their flowers and their tears at. Who would make a grave for someone who was both alive and dead? There would never be a body to bury for him. His human half would continue to live on so long as his ghost core remained and could fuel it.

Maybe that was why he found peace in cemeteries, for all his whining that Clockwork had dumped him here. Cemeteries were for the living and the dead, one of the only places both existed in harmony naturally. For someone who was as much dead as he was alive such a place held a certain degree of belonging for him.

Danny straightened out in the air, letting his body lie above the grave as he folded his arms behind his head and looked up at the covered sky. He complained and whined about this task, but he was secretly glad that Clockwork had given him something to do. Even if it was just 'hang out in a random cemetary'.

Ever since he'd graduated high-school, revealed himself to his parents and discovered how deep prejudice and hate could run, and he'd run away to the Infinite Realms for sanctuary while his friends moved forward with their lives, he'd felt unmoored. A ghost with no haunt. Bored was too light a word for the gaping emptiness he felt in his chest, for the loneliness clawing at him. Clockwork, Wulf, Pandora they could help chip at the ache inside of him but not banish it. Not now that his family, his friends, were spread so far apart and so distant from him.

Not that he resented their choices, their distance, in fact he'd fought for them to do just that, to get out of Amity Park, to go to college, to become more than overworked teen superheroes. Still he missed them, even if he could visit them whenever he wanted. It was becoming clear as time moved forward that the world they belonged to and the one he did were two different things.

Danny Fenton couldn't go to college when his parents had declared him dead. Danny Fenton didn't exist as far as the government was concerned. Danny Phantom couldn't return to Amity when those same parents were waiting to capture him and tear him apart 'molecule by molecule'. Danny Phantom couldn't go back when the GIW were crawling over the town like ants.

So neither Danny Fenton or Danny Phantom returned to Amity after that day. And he made sure they couldnt follow him when he ensured the portal that took his life to function never opened again. He didn't need the portal any longer to get in and out of the Infinite Realms, and it was safer for the ghosts, his subjects, if the temptation of the Fenton portal was gone.

The world of the living was not yet ready to accept that the dead didn't always stay dead. And Danny would keep his people safe until they were.

Danny jolted from his lazing state of reverie when a pulse of emotion rocked through him, the strength of it stealing his breath if he had any to take.

Fear/Trapped/Dark/Fear/Help/HELP pounded into him and Danny frantically flipped around, head swiveling, poisonous green eyes wide as he triedf to locate the source. The emotions, the plea for help, burned his core, his Obsession screamed at him.

Help/SomeonePlease/Dark/Trapped/CANTBREATHE/HELP another wave of messages, of emotions pushed themselves at Danny and this time underneath the onslaught he could hear a rhythmic thudding. Danny looked down, horror filling him when he realized the thudding was coming from under the ground. From the grave he'd been hovering over for an hour now.

Danny flew down, sending back a wave of I'mHere/HelpIsComing/I'mComing to the boy trapped in his own coffin, feeling the intense wave of relief and hope sent back before he dived into the earth as if it wasn't there. Danny paused for a moment when he passed the thick wooden coffin, seeing a boy in the dark with wide, panicked blue eyes and fingers tipped with shredded nails and fresh blood.

"Hey, I'm going to get you out of here, okay?" Danny told the boy, keeping his voice gentle, soft. The boy jolted, fixating on the only source of light, Danny's growing green eyes. Danny hoped his smile came off as calming instead of 'freaky AF' as Tucker liked to call it. He grabbed the boy, Jason, as carefully as he could and then let his intangibility wash over the terrified teen as he lifted them both out of the coffin.

When they emerged from the coffin and the ground Danny set the teen down, leaning him against the gravestone, his own gravestone, and pulled back a bit. The boy was gasping in air as if the fetid, polluted air was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.

Danny tilted his head as he watched the boy ground himself. Now that the emotions were leveling out and his Obsession was purring in contentment rather than growling in a frenzy, Danny could feel something off about the boy.

Disregarding the fact that he'd just come back from the dead, of course. But that wasn't the oddest thing Danny had seen in his afterlife. No the boy felt... not like a normal, living human. Not even like an Amity Park resident, who all felt more than slightly liminal. No this boy, this Jason Todd, felt closer to liminal than even Jazz, Tucker or Sam, who were three of the most liminal humans Danny had ever been around.

Jason felt almost...like a ghost. But not. Danny could feel the tickle in his throat that proceeded his ghost sense but the tell-tale mist never emerged. It was as if Jason was...like him. But Danny couldn't sense a core either. Even halfas had cores.

"Who are you?" Jason spoke, breaking Danny from his thoughts and examination. Jason was looking at him with a mix of gratitude and suspicion. Which, fair. Danny had just pulled him from his own coffin and there were so many questions that could stem from all of this, disregarding all the weirdness that was just Danny himself.

"I'm Danny, Danny Phantom. Or just Phantom. I go by either. And you're Jason, right?" Danny asked, smiling at the teen and oops, yeah that was definitely his scary smile based on the slight flinch there. It wasn't his fault his teeth were too sharp now and his lips split a bit too wide.

"How did you know that?" Jason asked, blue eyes narrowing. Danny nodded at the gravestone the boy was leaning against with a raised brow. Jason turned and almost toppled over from the movement. Danny frowned as the boy caught himself on his gravestone. His skin was still pale, too pale, and as Danny watched Jason swayed again.

"Shit. You're fading. You didn't form a core and your body isn't stabilizing." Danny cursed, moving towards the boy who scrambled back, only to be stopped by his grave.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jason asked, hands fisting as he tried to rise only to fall back to the ground when his legs refused to hold his weight.

"Saving your life. The dead aren't supposed to come back. There's always a price to pay, a balance that is struck. Currently, as you are, if I don't get enough ectoplasm in you to form your core, you'll fade and turn into a brain-dead husk." Danny told Jason, tone stern and no nonsense as he grabbed him. Jason made an effort to break free, but it was weak, and even at full strength, he wouldn’t have been able to break Danny's hold. Few in this realm could.

If they had the time, Danny would've approached this situation in a far different manner, but this close he could hear Jason's heartbeat, a weak flutter in his chest, skipping beats as it tried to fuel a body that was past saving. Jason didn't have the time for Danny to approach this gently and kindly, to coax trust out of the teen like he would a feral cat.

Jason had minutes left before his ectoplasm starved body consumed itself trying to make a core and failed because while wherever they were had more ambient ectoplasm than most places, it was far from enough to sustain the birth of a halfa. Maybe if Jason had stayed dead for another year, he'd have naturally formed a core and risen as a proper ghost. But that wasn't what happened, somehow he'd gathered enough to fix his body of whatever wounds or illness had put him in that coffin to begin with and come back to 'life' but without a core to sustain his body he'd be dead, again, in minutes. And Danny was not about to watch while a teenager, another teenager, died.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Jason hissed as Danny pushed his arms down and laid his clawed hands on Jason's chest.

"You don't. But you don't have another choice." Danny said with a shrug. "Now are you going to let me save your life or not?" Danny asked, not moving his hands. He'd save Jason either way but this would be easier if Jason worked with him.

"Fine." Jason spat and Danny smirked as his hands began to glow a toxic green that matched his eyes.

Ectoplasm pooled out of his hands and rushed into Jason, filling him until the boy glowed bright enough to rival the neon lights of the city around them. The green light flared around him like an aura, slowly shrinking but getting impossibly brighter as the glow centralized around his chest until a small glowing ball of green, like a trapped star, blazed from his chest.

Jason gasped, back arching as Danny pulled his hands away and the light vanished under Jason's skin. For a moment Jason's blue eyes burned green and his hair flashed snow white before returning to black, with one single lock of unearthly white left above his forehead. Jason collapsed back against his grave, chest heaving. Danny watched, eyes full of a sad understanding.

"What the fuck was that?" Jason panted out.

"Welcome to the world of the half alive, half dead." Danny said with a smile. "Want to get a burger and talk about it?" He asked, standing up and dusting off his hands.

"Make it a chili dog and you've got a deal."

~~~~~

Fixed some typos added some lines

Maybe I'll continue this AU. Maybe not. This scene was in my head for days and I wanted to share

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A circle of overlapping semi-circular bright pink pickles arranged on a plate, viewed from a low angle. End ID]

مخلل اللفت / Mukhallal al-lifit (Pickled turnips)

The word "مُخَلَّل" ("mukhallal") is derived from the verb "خَلَّلَ"‎ ("khallala"), meaning "to preserve in vinegar." "Lifit" (with diacritics, Levantine pronunciation: "لِفِتْ"), "turnip," comes from the root "ل ف ت‎", which produces words relating to being crooked, turning aside, and twisting (such as "لَفَتَ" "lafata," "to twist, to wring"). This root was being used to produce a word meaning "turnip" ("لِفْتْ" "lift") by the 1000s AD, perhaps because turnips must be twisted or wrung out of the ground.

Pickling as a method of preserving produce so that it can be eaten out of season is of ancient origin. In the modern-day Levant, pickles (called "طَرَاشِيّ‎" "ṭarāshiyy"; singular "طُرْشِيّ" "ṭurshiyy") make up an important culinary category: peppers, carrot, olives, eggplant, cucumber, cabbage, cauliflower, and lemons are preserved with vinegar or brine for later consumption.

Pickled turnips are perhaps the most commonly consumed pickles in the Levant. They are traditionally prepared during the turnip harvest in the winter; in the early spring, once they have finished their slow fermentation, they may be added to appetizer spreads, served as a side with breakfast, lunch, or dinner, eaten on their own as a snack, or used to add pungency to salads, sandwiches, and wraps (such as shawarma or falafel). Tarashiyy are especially popular among Muslim Palestinians during the holy month of رَمَضَان (Ramaḍān), when they are considered a must-have on the إِفْطَار ("ʔifṭār"; fast-breaking meal) table. Pickle vendors and factories will often hire additional workers in the time leading up to Ramadan in order to keep up with increased demand.

In its simplest instantiation, mukhallal al-lifit combines turnips, beetroot (for color), water, salt, and time: a process of anaerobic lacto-fermentation produces a deep transformation in flavor and a sour, earthy, tender-crisp pickle. Some recipes instead pickle the turnips in vinegar, which produces a sharp, acidic taste. A pink dye (صِبْغَة مُخَلَّل زَهْرِي‎; "ṣibgha mukhallal zahri") may be added to improve the color. Palestinian recipes in particular sometimes call for garlic and green chili peppers. This recipe is for a "slow pickle" made with brine: thick slices of turnip are fermented at room temperature for about three weeks to produce a tangy, slightly bitter pickle with astringency and zest reminiscent of horseradish.

Turnips are a widely cultivated crop in Palestine, but, though they make a very popular pickle, they are seldom consumed fresh. One Palestinian dish, mostly prepared in Hebron, that does not call for their fermentation is مُحَشّي لِفِتْ ("muḥashshi lifit")—turnips that are cored, fried, and stuffed with a filling made from ground meat, rice, tomato, and sumac or tamarind. In Nablus, tahina and lemon juice may be added to the meat and rice. A similar dish exists in Jordan.

Turnips produced in the West Bank are typically planted in open fields (as opposed to in or under structures such as plastic tunnels) in November and harvested in February, making them a fall/winter crop. Because most of them are irrigated (rather than rain-fed), their yield is severely limited by the Israeli military's siphoning off of water from Palestine's natural aquifers to settlers and their farms.

Israeli military order 92, issued on August 15th, 1967 (just two months after the order by which Israel had claimed full military, legislative, executive, and judicial control of the West Bank on June 7th), placed all authority over water resources in the hands of an Israeli official. Military order 158, issued on November 19th of the same year, declared that no one could establish, own, or administer any water extraction or processing construction (such as wells, water purification plants, or rainwater collecting cisterns) without a new permit. Water infrastructure could be searched for, confiscated, or destroyed at will of the Israeli military. This order de facto forbid Palestinians from owning or constructing any new water infrastructure, since anyone could be denied a permit without reason; to date, no West Bank Palestinian has ever been granted a permit to construct a well to collect water from an aquifer.

Nearly 30 years later, the Interim Agreement on the West Bank and the Gaza Strip (also called the Oslo II Accord or the Taba Agreement), signed by Israel and the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) in 1995, officially granted Israel the full control over water resources in occupied Palestine that it had earlier claimed. The Argreement divided the West Bank into regions of three types—A, B, and C—with Israel given control of Area C, and the Palestinian Authority (PA) supposedly having full administrative power over Area A (about 3% of the West Bank at the time).

In fact, per article 40 of Annex 3, the PA was only allowed to administer water distribution in Area A, so long as their water usage did not exceed what had been allocated to them in the 1993 Oslo Accord, a mere 15% of the total water supply: they had no administrative control over water resources, all of which were owned and administered by Israel. This interim agreement was to be returned to in permanent status negotiations which never occurred.

The cumulative effect of these resolutions is that Palestinians have no independent access to water: they are forbidden to collect water from underground aquifers, the Jordan River, freshwater springs, or rainfall. They are, by law and by design, fully reliant on Israel's grid, which distributes water very unevenly; a 2023 report estimated that Israeli settlers (in "Israel" and in the occupied West Bank) used 3 times as much water as Palestinians. Oslo II estimations of Palestinians' water needs were set at a static number of million cubic meters (mcm), rather than an amount of water per person, and this number has been adhered to despite subsequent growth in the Palestinian population.

Palestinians who are connected to the Israeli grid may open their taps only to find them dry (for as long as a month at a time, in بَيْت لَحْم "bayt laḥm"; Bethlehem, and الخَلِيل "al-khalīl"; Hebron). Families rush to complete chores that require water the moment they discover the taps are running. Those in rural areas rely on cisterns and wells that they are forbidden to deepen; new wells and reservoirs that they build are demolished in the hundreds by the Israeli military. Water deficits must be made up by paying steep prices for additional tankards of water, both through clandestine networks and from Israel itself. As climate change makes summers hotter and longer, the crisis worsens.

By contrast, Israeli settlers use water at will. Israel, as the sole authority over water resources, has the power to transfer water between aquifers; in practice, it uses this authority to divert water from the Jordan River basin, subterranean aquifers, and بُحَيْرَة طَبَرِيَّا ("buḥayrat ṭabariyyā"; Lake Tiberias) into its national water carrier (built in 1964), and from there to other regions, including the Negev Desert (south of the West Bank) and settlements within the West Bank.

Whenever Israel annexes new land, settlers there are rapidly given access to water; the PA, however, is forbidden to transport water from one area of the West Bank to another. Israel's control over water resources is an important part of the settler colonial project, as access to water greatly influences the desirability of land and the expected profit to be gained through its agricultural exports.

The result of the diversion of water is to increase the salinity of the Eastern Aquifer (in the West Bank, on the east bank of the Jordan River) and the remainder of the Jordan that flows into the West Bank, reducing the water's suitability for drinking and irrigation; in addition, natural springs and wells in Palestine have run dry. In this environment, water for drinking and watering crops and livestock is given priority, and many Palestinians struggle to access enough water to shower or wash clothing regularly. In extreme circumstances, crops may be left for dead, as Palestinian farmers instead seek out jobs tending Israeli fields.

Some areas in Palestine are worse off in this regard than others. Though water can be produced more easily in the قَلْقِيلية (Qalqilya), طُولْكَرْم (Tulkarm) and أَرِيحَا ("ʔarīḥā"; Jericho) Districts than in others, the PA is not permitted to transfer water from these areas to areas where water is scarcer, such as the Bethlehem and Al-Khalil Districts. In Al-Khalil, where almost a third of Palestinian acreage devoted to turnips is located [1], and where farming families such as the Jabars cultivate them for market, water usage averaged just 51 liters per person per day in 2020—compare this to the West Bank Palestinian average of 82.4 liters, the WHO recommended daily minimum of 100 liters, and the Israeli average of 247 liters per person per day.

As Israeli settlement גִּבְעַת חַרְסִינָה (Givat Harsina) encroached on Al-Khalil in 2001, with a subdivision being built over the bulldozed Jabar orchard, the Jabars reported settlers breaking their windows, destroying their garden, throwing rocks, and holding rallies on the road leading to their house. In 2010, with the growth of the קִרְיַת־אַרְבַּע (Kiryat Arba) settlement (officially the parent settlement of Givat Harsina), the Jabars' entire irrigation system was repeatedly torn out, with the justification that they were stealing water from the Israeli water authority; the destruction continued into 2014. Efforts at connecting and expanding Israeli settlements in the Bethlehem area continue to this day.

Thus we can see that water deprivation is one tool among many used to drive Palestinians from their land; and that it is connected to a strategy of rendering agriculture impossible or unprofitable for them, forcing them into a state of dependence on the Israeli economy.

Turnips, as well as cabbage and chili peppers, are also grown in the village of وَادِي فُوقِين (Wadi Fuqin), west of Bethlehem. In 2014, Israel annexed about 1,250 acres of land in Wadi Fuqin, or a third of the village's land, "effectively [ruling] out development of the village and its use of this land for agriculture." Most of this land lies immediately to the west of a group of settlements Israel calls גּוּשׁ עֶצְיוֹן ("Gush Etzion"; Etzion Bloc). Building here would link several non-contiguous Israeli settlements with each other and with القدس (Al-Quds; "Jerusalem"), hemming Palestinians of the region in on all sides (many main roads through Israeli settlements cannot be used by anyone with a Palestinian ID). [2] PLO executive committee member Hanan Ashrawi said that the annexation, which was carried out "[u]nder the cover of [Israel's] latest campaign of aggression in Gaza," "represent[ed] Israel’s deliberate intent to wipe out any Palestinian presence on the land".

This, of course, was not the beginning of this strategy: untreated sewage from Gush Etzion settlements had been contaminating crops, springs, and groundwater in Wadi Fuqin since 2006, which also saw nearly 100 acres of Palestinian land annexed to allow for expansion of the Etzion Bloc.

All of this has obviously had an effect on Palestinian agriculture. A 1945–6 British survey of vegetable production in Palestine found that 992 dunums were devoted to Arab turnip production (954 irrigated and 38 rain-fed; no turnip production was attributed to Jewish settlers). A March 1948 UN report claimed that "[i]n most districts the markets are well-supplied with all the common winter vegetables—cabbages, cauliflowers, lettuce and spinach; carrots, turnips and and beets; beans and peas; green onions, eggplants, marrows and tomatoes." By 2009, however, the area given to turnips in Palestine had fallen to 918 dunums. Of these, 864 dunums were irrigated and 54 rain-fed. This represents an increase in unirrigated turnips (5.8%, up from 3.9%) that is perhaps related to difficulty in obtaining sufficient water.

Meanwhile, Israel profits from its restriction of Palestinian agriculture; it is the largest exporter of turnips in West Asia (I found no data for turnip exports from Palestine after 1922, suggesting that the produce is all for local consumption).

The pattern that Ashrawi called out in 2014 continued in 2023, as Israel's genocide in Gaza occurs alongside the continued and escalating killing and expulsion of West Bank Palestinians. The 2014 annexations, which represented the largest land grab for over 30 years and which appeared to institute a new era of state policy, have been followed up in subsequent years with more land claims and settlement-building.

Israeli military and settler raids and massacres in the West Bank, which had already killed 248 in 2023 before the حَمَاس (Hamas) October 7 offensive had taken place, accelerated after the attack, with forced expulsions of Palestinians (including Bedouin Arabs), and harassment, raids, kidnappings, and torture of Palestinians by a military armed with rifles, tanks, and drones. This violence has been opposed by armed resistance groups, who defend refugee camps from military raids with strategies including the use of improvised explosives.

Support Palestinian resistance by buying an e-sim for distribution in Gaza; donating to help two Gazans receive medical care; or donating to help a family leave Gaza.

[1] 918 dunums were devoted to turnips according to the Palestinian Central Bureau of Statistics (PCBS) report for 2009; the 2008 PCBS report attributes 253 dunums of turnip cultivation to Al-Khalil ("Hebron") for 2006–7.

[2] Today, Gush Etzion is connected to Al-Quds by an underground road that runs beneath the Palestinian Christian town of بَيتْ جَالَا (Bayt Jala).

Ingredients:

Makes 2 1-liter mason jars.

500g (4 medium) turnips

1 beetroot

1 medium green chili pepper (فلفل حار خضرة), halved

2 small cloves garlic, peeled

1 liter (4 cups) distilled or filtered water

25g coarse sea salt (or substitute an equivalent weight of any salt without iodine)

Some brining recipes for lifit call for the addition of a spoonful of sugar. This will increase the activity of lactic-acid-producing bacteria at the beginning of the fermentation, producing a quicker fermentation and a different, sourer flavor profile.

Instructions:

1. Clean two large mason jars thoroughly in hot water (there is no need to sterilize them).

2. Scrub vegetables thoroughly. Cut the top (root) and bottom off of each turnip. Cut each turnip in half (from root end to bottom), and then in 1 cm (1/2") slices (perpendicular to the last cut). Prepare the beetroot the same way.

If you need your pickles to be finished sooner, cut the turnips into thinner slices, or into thick (1/2") baton shapes; these will need to be fermented for about a week.

3. Arrange turnip and beet slices so that they lie flat in your jars. Add garlic and peppers.

4. Whisk salt into water until dissolved and pour over the turnips until they are fully submerged. Seal with the jar's lid and leave in a cool place, or the refrigerator, for 20–24 days.

The amount of brine that you will need to cover the top of the vegetables will depend on the shape of your jar. If you add more water, make sure that you add more salt in the same ratio.

[journalsofsarila]

geto suguru × reader fanfic

also posted on ao3 here : https://archiveofourown.org/works/56263207

word count : 5229

status : finished

summary : ten years after your breakup you meet you ex Suguru.

let me love you again?

You pulled your coat closer to protect yourself from the sharp air of the evening, the wind blew from time to time filling your senses with the smell of late autumn. The sky was downcasted in warm orange as the sun made its way down west.

The restaurant they chose for the reunion was big and expensive, the interior was decorated in traditional Japanese style. As you entered the venue a worker came and took your coat from you. The heater was on, allowing you to take comfort in the warmth of the place. The waiter led you to a private room.

“Y/N! Here! ” Shoko patted on the seat beside her upon seeing your confused state.

You looked to your right and saw your brown haired friend calling for you. The bags and dark circles around her eyes made you frown, she clearly wasn't sleeping well.

“Shoko” you smiled and went to sit beside her. It has been over a decade since you last saw her. Due to both of your busy schedules you two couldn't meet, now that one of your other classmates arranged a reunion for your batch you finally got the chance to meet her. It was refreshing seeing an old face which made you nostalgic of your high-school days. In school you two had been very close, she was one of the only real friends you were able to make. She found you at the right time, when you had been backstabbed by a group of friends. Though you don't hold that over them anymore, it was easier to forget them thinking that they were only a bunch of teenagers back then.

You two catched up over some drinks while other classmates came in, soon filling the whole venue. Almost everyone came, which was quite shocking as most of you were busy now.

Then a white haired man came in, his tall stature and bright looks instantly catching everyone's interest. Being a star athlete, playing for one of the most famous basketball teams in the world will give you that attention. Even so you were looking around Gojo, hoping to see a darker shade of hair beside him. Another player. Geto Suguru. If Gojo was in the country, then he must also be. You didn't mean to look for him, or hope for it when you came in, you promised yourself that you wouldn't. But as your lungs needed air you ached for him. It had been shameful, kind of; to find yourself looking for that man even after all these years. You slumped in your seat at no sight of him.

“I'll go meet him. Do you want to come?” your friend asked you. Shoko and Gojo had been friends since elementary school, long before you even met her. She and the other two boys were a popular trio in your school, always the root of problems and chaos. They were the reason your school life had been somewhat lively. Though she was close with Gojo you never found yourself being the best of friends with him. You were close but not much. Part of the reason why was because you were too anxious to get close with them, yes you knew Shoko would never judge you for it. Rather she would have encouraged it, you being a part of the group but your shy nature refrained you from doing so. You didn't want to enter an already well established group, and also because you were comfortable with the position you were in. Maybe because he was there too but you didn't know now, at least not after the messy breakup you and Suguru had.

“Uh I'm fine. I think I'm gonna go and get some fresh air.” you replied while getting up from your seat. Your legs were cramped from sitting on the floor for too long.

As you strolled around the balcony you reminisced about your ex boyfriend. You two must have been 16 back then, when you first started dating him. It was out of nowhere, you thought to yourself. Shoko had just introduced you to Geto and Gojo. They played basketball for your school, and they were really fucking good at it. So much so that their nickname had been ‘the unbreakable duo’. It was after school, they were practising in the school gym when you first saw him.

Geto Suguru moved so effortlessly, so powerfully and your eyes followed every movement of his. The way he jumped, the way he synced with his friend, the way he blocked the other players, how he screamed of joy when he landed the ball through the hoop. Everything about him was intoxicating. And god was he attractive, his hair was tied in a manbun, giving you a clear view of his face. The boy was well built and tall in his own right. It was obvious that you were attracted to him, and then he saw you gawking at him so he winked at you and poof your hormones went crazy.

Over the next few weeks you got to know him when Shoko used to drag you to his practice matches, saying ‘I'll link you two up’. Apparently she had catched up on you checking out her friend and decided to take matters into her own hands. He was friendly enough, and he made you laugh. He made you laugh so much that there were instances where you had to clasp his mouth so that he couldn't speak anymore. Suguru was usually talkative, filling in the silence when you didn't speak, or sometimes you both chose to sit together without talking. It was new and it was exciting.

Both of you exchanged numbers, and he started calling you whenever he could. After his practice, after your study lessons in the library, on school nights, on weekends. It was obvious that there was something blooming between you two. Something much more passionate and vulnerable than friendship.

It was right after they had won in the nationals, when he had asked you out. You weren't that shocked to be honest, getting slight hints from both Gojo and Shoko that they were hiding something from and you had guessed it. Geto was so happy, he picked you up right in front of the crowd and spinned you.

“Let me be your boyfriend.” he said while putting you down, his hands firmly holding your waist.

“Okay.” you pressed a soft peck on his jaw and smiled against it.

2 years later you broke up with him in front of the same basketball stadium. He had told you that basketball was his everything and you supported his passion for it. You had asked him, if he seriously wanted a career out of basketball but he had said no, he lied. Suguru told you that he would get a normal office job and you believed him. You thought you knew him. What you didn't know was that he had gotten the offer to move to the States to play for their team and that he said yes.

You remember being furious, how could he tell you about such a big decision only a month before his flight? To say that you were angry would be an understatement, you were livid.

“Fuck, how can you lie to me?” you screamed at him.

“I didn't want to, I only lied because I wasn't sure back then but now it's confirmed. I'm going next month and t-” he tried to explain to you.

“No Suguru, why couldn't you tell me the truth about what you wanted? You lied to me. And now you're leaving for another country? What about me?”

“I know, but I-ill make it work. Maybe you can move-” he was starting to get nervous.

“I am not leaving Japan! I never wanted to! You know what my goals are, unlike you I wasn't lying about my plans.”

“Try to understand Y/n. I didn't tell you before because I wasn't sure. My father would never allow it, but now I've got a scholarship and a plane ticket in my hand. I lied because I genuinely believed I couldn't have a career as a player."He held you by your arms. “This is my dream.”

“And what about mine?” you asked him, tears and snot smearing your pretty face. He hated seeing you like this, he never intended to hurt you.

His family hadn't been the most supportive about his obsession with basketball, and didn't see a future with it. Consequently he also thought that it was a meaningless dream. But after he had won the nationals his coach informed him about the requirement requests he was getting. He was over the moon when he saw the man, dressed in an expensive suit telling him and Gojo about getting drafted. Right then and there he made the decision, he was going to fulfil his dreams.

As he saw your broken state in front of him he understood that his decision was selfish, you were his girlfriend and deserved to know.

“We can do long distance.” he suggested.

“I can't do it Suguru…..” you said.

“Why can't you? We can make it work if we want to..I promise I'll call you anytime I can. And I'll visit you from time to time.” Suguru was starting to get frustrated now.

“This isn't what I want and you know it. You know about my family and I just don't trust that life…..I can't do it. It's too unpredictable. I am sorry..” you were having hiccups from crying too much and your head hurt. Your older sister was in a long distance relationship and was madly in love with her husband. Then one day she found out that he was cheating on her, not being able to digest the betrayal she had turned to alcohol. It had torn you apart to see your kind and smart sister ruin herself for a man that wasn't loyal to her. This was the reason you hated liars so much, you despised them. And the fact that he had lied to you about such an important thing made you scared. What if he lied to you again?

“Are you thinking that I might cheat on you?” Suguru took offence to the implication that he might.

You looked up at him, a strange anger in your eyes “ You lied to me once.”

He had loved you dearly and couldn't believe that you would suspect his loyal for you. He thought he couldn't be with someone who didn't trust him.

Suguru swallowed hard “Okay then.” He let your arms go.

“We're over.” You said and turned your back to him. That was the last thing you ever told him.

The strong smell of cigarettes hit your nose, pulling you out of your thoughts. You looked back expecting to see Shoko but instead you were met with the man of your past.

Geto Suguru was standing in front of you, standing all in his glory. Just like always his stance was as though he owned the place, puffed chest and one hand in his pocket. Without registering anything your eyes roamed around his body, he looked more buff than he was in high-school and his hair was longer. You noticed as they were let down, framing his perfect face. And wait did he get taller?

Fuck I'm staring.

You pulled yourself together but then you saw his eyes, and it was obvious that he was doing the same to you. Taking in all the details, all the changes that may have occurred since the last time he saw you.

But there was something more to his eyes, some longing, some anger and a lot of hurt. You could say the same for yourself as with each second passing by you felt the lump in your throat get tighter. He was right there in front of you, physically, not inside the pictures you kept to yourself, not inside the stories Shoko told you over the phone.

He was right fucking there but you couldn't do anything about it, you couldn't go up to him and pull him into a hug, you couldn't kiss him, or run your fingers through his silky hair, you couldn't love him the way you wanted. The only reason is because you broke up with him.

“Smoking doesn't look good on an athlete.” you managed to say.

“Not much of an athlete anymore.” he replied, flicking the cigarette on the floor and stepping on it.

Oh. During one of his last games he had a collision with a player of the opposite team, leading him to fall in an awkward position. He was quickly pulled out of the game. His agency said it was a minor leg strain, that he would be able to join in the next games very soon. Then that season ended, and now another one has started but there has been no sign of his comeback. There has been a rumour going around that the injury is much more than a minor setback and that his basketball career has come to an end. His fans went feral over it, calling it baseless going as far as doxxing the person who posted it. It was national news, every eye was set on him. Just two weeks before he had made a statement that he'll be back next month but people were sceptical about it.

His reply just now made you wonder if the rumour was actually true. That possibility made someone ache in you, an unknown hurt which pulsed through your body. You didn't want his career to end, basketball has been everything and more to him. So much that it ruled every decision around him, which was more or less the reason you guys chose to seperate.

“I am sorry, I didn't mean to-” you nervously tried to lighten the atmosphere.

He chuckled and the sound was so familiar, like the lullaby your mom used to sing to you when you were young. It made you feel safe, made the pace of your heartbeat faster. He stepped closer to you. If you reached your hand out you could touch him, pull him in. If you did.

“I am not complaining, lost too many things because of being one.”

“Are you okay though? You're not hurt?” You couldn't have not asked him, you needed to know if he was alright.

“Completely fine.” He spins and gives you a full body check.

You smiled at his silly tactics “Really you are?”

“Of course I am.” He answered and looked at you with a reassuring face.

There isn't a word from you for a while, he leaves you speechless as always. A sudden shiver went down your spine, it was starting to get windier. You shuddered in your place, looking around. You didn't know what to say, what to do.

“I-i should go,it's getting late. But it was nice seeing you. Really. M-”

He lowers his gaze from you and it burns through you. You swallow hard, try not to let him affect you. Then he tilts his head to the side and he looks so beautiful. It takes everything in you not to run your fingers through his hair.

“Let me take you home?” he asks. Half pleading and half hoping.

The first instinct for you is to say no, but then in the push and pull between your brain and heart, the latter wins. You say yes. You think that it can't hurt to take a favour from an old friend, or an ex. Maybe it would be okay to spend some more time in his presence, maybe you can pretend that his name doesn't make your heart drop to your stomach.

So now you're in his car, you didn't know the car brand but you understood that it was expensive. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, fiddling with your hands unsure of what to do. The amount of times you made eye contact with him in the rear view mirror is embarrassing. You let out a cough as it happened for the 5th time. He turned on the radio, probably to ease the tension between you two. The radio played boring games so you chose to change channels when suddenly it started to play an old tune.

“Hey isn't it that one song? White lies? What's the band name again?”

“Tameless.” You both say at the same time.

He lets out a laugh, “ Apparently they disbanded last year.”

“What? No way.” you said.

“Yes way.”

“Damn, I can't believe they disbanded. It makes me feel like I'm getting old.”

“You know I met them.” he smirks and it makes your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, at their last concert in New York, met them backstage and all.” he states with a snarky smile.

“Fuck you I'm so jealous.” you leaned back “How was the States?” You said trying to make a conversation.

“Amazing food. Interesting tourist places. Better basketball courts. A lot of faces though, too many of them. Too loud at times. You can get lost, you know. But I made some good friends. So I guess it compensates.”

“Hmm” it itched to ask him if he found another woman but the rational part of you refrained from doing so. It was none of your business.

“And how was Tokyo University? Miss. Scholarship Student?” it was him teasing you, the good kind of teasing.

“Hah it was awesome. Very fucking stressful at times but very cool. Met so many cool people-”

“Any cool boyfriends?” he asked. A part of you sighed in relief at the hint that he might still care, another part sighs in frustration at the same hint.

“No.” It's true, you didn't date anyone in your university days. Or after that. Maybe it was because you just didn't find someone captivating or someone you actually cared for. Maybe it was because from time to time you still thought about an ex from high-school.

“You?” you asked.

“Nah.” he went quiet for a while and then asked “Hookups?”

“A few…you?”

“Same.”

You don't know why he asked that, and you don't know why you answered. Was it normal for people to ask their exes about their dating game? You didn't know. The only dating experience you had was from him.

There were many articles about the ‘dating life’ of star athlete, Geto Suguru. All sources say one thing, that he hasn't been in any long term relationship and every time he's asked about his girlfriends he avoids the question. Till now you thought he was just trying to keep his relationships private, which did make you a bit bitter honestly. But maybe there were no secret relationships to be bitter about in the first place.

“Turn left on the next corner.” you inform him. The rest of the car ride only old country music from the radio can be heard.

Soon you're in front of your apartment complex. How should you say goodbye? Can you hug him? No, that'd be weird. Handshake? No, that's too formal. High fiv-

“Finally got yourself an apartment here huh?” he asked you while opening the car door for you.

He remembered that? You always planned on getting an apartment here, on the west side of central Tokyo. You were not fond of the buzzling city life, but for the sake of your studies and work you had to stay here. So from earlier on you had chosen this place, it was located around the outskirts of the city, allowing you to be away from the busy skyscrapers and bright lights of the city. The building was nice and clean, looked after and most importantly, close to Mt.Mitake.

The surface of your cheeks turned a shade of pink hue, he remembered that. It doesn't seem like much but to you it was. Because it was him.

“Yes, the rent is good. Place is clean. And you can see the mountain from here.”

“You're still obsessed with mountains?” he asked as his face cracked wide into a smile.

“How can I not? They're so pretty.” His smile made you feel shy, it did back then. It still does. You don't know what that means but you're glad that they still affect you. You leaned on his car on your side. There was part of you who didn't want to say goodbye to him. There was also a part telling you that it would have been silly to ask him to come upstairs.

Suguru's smile rested on his face, he didn't say anything. He just stared at you, taking everything in. He was equal parts anxious and stressed, that if you left now he won't see you anymore. That there will be another ten years that he'll only have your memories, that he won't be able to touch you, take in your sweet vanilla perfume, won't be able to breathe near you. It terrified him.

You noticed the look in his face, and you could tell he didn't want to let go. This fact put a sense of relief in you. Even after years of not seeing him, you could tell if he was upset. You didn't lose him completely, in the nooks and crannies he left behind, he was still your boy.

“Wanna check it out?” You asked, curious to see his reaction.

His face lit up with your question, “Sure.” His answer satisfied you.

“Let's go then.” You chuckled.

The apartment you had to yourself was too big for you. There were two bedrooms, a large kitchen and a living room. Definitely one meant to be shared, though you didn't mind having all that space to yourself. The extra room you had was made into a working space by your labour, and sometimes when you had friends over you pulled an air mattress and used the place as a guest room.

“Sorry if it's messy, I have been so busy so I couldn't properly clean the place.” You said as you unlocked the main door.

“Excuse me, '' Suguru said while entering the house. That sight did a weird flip back to your heart, the reason you didn't know. But it was an odd and new feeling. Both of you went inside the living room, as you flipped on the switch you immediately started to tidy the room. It wasn't dirty or anything, just a few pillows on the sofa rearranged and an empty glass of water on the coffee table. Strangely, for some reason the thought of him thinking that you were messy embarrassed you to infinity and beyond.

He chuckled from behind “Stop pretending like I am a VIP guest, Y/n.”

“You are tho.” you replied. Indeed he was a big deal, and right now you had Geto fucking Suguru inside your apartment.

“Not to you.” His response makes you halt in your position. You look back and he was staring at you with a sad smile on his face. You smiled back, “Not to me.”

Feeling a light brush against your legs you looked and giggled immediately.

“Hah, there you are my pretty princess ~~” you picked your cat up to your arms.

“Oh she's so cute. When did you get her?” Geto cooed as he watched a bundle of white fluffiness cuddle into your arms.

“Hmm it's been 3 years I guess? Adopted her from my cousin.”

“Riko?” he scratched your pet on the head.

“Yeah..wanna hold her?” you said while sitting down on the sofa and patted down on the empty space next to you. “Make yourselves comfortable”

He sits down beside you, closer than how a ‘friend’ would have sat. But you two weren't really friends, right?

“She won't bite?” he asked as he took your cat from you.

“Kuna is a cuddly baby actually.” you replied. “See?” you let out a laugh as your cat settled herself onto your ex-boyfriend's lap.

“Fuck she's so cute.” Suguru stated.

“Tea or coffee?” you stood up. He was technically a guest after all and you needed to treat him properly.

“You're really asking me that?” he looked up from petting Kuna.

“Tea it is.”

Over tea you and Suguru shared stories from the past years. He told you all about his adventures from the States and the countries he visited, the apparent ‘celebrity’ life and you told him about your university life and much gossip from that time. In between stories, when both of you got tired you two chose to appreciate each other in silence. It was nostalgic and made you remember your high school days. The time spent with him made you realise how much of him you had missed, how many special moments had slipped from the gaps of your fingers while you two were miles away from each other.

It was not long after your breakup you realised that you shouldn't have ended things with him. Yes he had lied to you, but you understood why. A part of you wished you had forgave him back then and instead of leaving him, you should have congratulated him. Maybe you could have done long distance, maybe you wouldn't have suffered the same fate as your sister.

Geto thought the same. He regretted leaving you from the moment you had turned your back to him and now when you were in front of him, 10 years older and 10 years far from him he held a bitter grudge over the past. He thought to himself that he should have tried harder, persuaded you more. But in the end both of you gave up on difficult decisions.

The sun had started to rise when both of you noticed the time.

“Oh god, we talked for like hours.” you said as faint rays sunlight started to peer in from the window. You got up, opened the curtains and you could see the sun was starting to rise. Turning back you gestured to him to come join you by the windows. Suguru came and stood beside you, brushing your shoulders with his upper arm.

“I missed these.” His voice was soft and gentle. You could feel his eyes on you. Both of you were sentimental, finding joy in the simplest of things. One of the activities you two loved to do together was to watch sunsets. You remember, how many times you both had sneaked out of your houses just to watch the sun go up.

“Me too.” you responded. Suguru and you were staring at each other and you could see his face get softer as each second passed by. You had to admit, you still loved the guy. There were years of pretending that you had moved on, that you didn't care anymore, that he was just some guy you used to date but all of those were a lie, a facade of some sort.

Truth was, he still ruled every living thought of you, you still care, you still were so hopelessly in love with him. Before tonight, that fact terrified you. But just some hours spent with him gave you a faint hint of hope, a chance at saying that maybe, just maybe you both could find your way back.

He sighed heavily, not breaking eye contact with you, “I shouldn't have let you go.” he said and you felt the world stop.

“Suguru….”

“It's the truth. I still love you. I still care. These years I've been saying to myself that I would be fine, maybe I'll forget about you but I simply can't. Morning, noon, night I think about it. I wonder all day if you ate properly, if you're having a hard time, if some other guy is making you laugh and it kills me. It kills me that I can't hold you at night, it kills me that I am not yours anymore.”

You didn't realise when you had started crying, “You're mine Suguru…and I'm still yours. I-i am sorry I shouldn't have broken up. I was just so scared that you were leaving and I was mad at you for lying. Your situation was justified and I was supposed to be sympathetic. Sorry. You were also having a hard time and I was being selfish.” You quickly responded, your chest heavy. You felt like if you didn't speak now you would lose him again.

“No it's my fault too. My ego was getting to my head. I shouldn't have lied. You had deserved the truth but I didn't give you that. Shouldn't have let you go in the first place; I should have waited there until you stopped being mad at me.” He cupped your cheeks, and an old feeling rushed through your body. You were relieved.

“Gosh- I was so stupid. When you told me about the states, all the worst possibilities came to mind, and I got scared. Fuck, I missed you so much.” You put your arms around him, and he instantly hugged you back. “I didn't know what to do without you.” Your face was pressed against his muscular chest, and you could hear the loud beats of his heart.

“It's okay now. You'll be fine.” Suguru rested his chin on top of your head.

For some time, you two stayed in that position, both somewhat exhausted and high on adrenaline. The dark-haired male realised just how much he needed you back. This time, he was going to make sure he worked it out.

“Let me love you again. Y/n? Please?” He pleaded, and that hurt you. Still, seeing him upset made your stomach churn.

“What about—what about basketball?” You questioned him.

“I still want to do it. But I want to do it with you. Every fucking possibility that I can even face, I want to face with you. All the good days and the bad ones, I want you by my side.” With every word that rolled out of his mouth, you felt yourself falling for him even more. You never thought anyone could fathom having you as a life partner, but there Geto Suguru was, with tear stains on his face and messy hair, showing you his raw heart. He was a miracle in your life—an epiphany, a constant.

You thought about it for a minute. There was an unknown future waiting. A future where anything and everything could happen. You thought maybe two years from now you would be in the worst position of your life. Or you could be in a very blessed situation. But in both instances, you thought that if he wouldn't be there, then you didn't want that future. You didn't want that life; you had lived it once, and you hated it.

He asked you once again, “Can I be yours again?”

“Yes, yes, you can.” A simple answer. An honest one. But as soon as you said you felt the weight of the shoulders lift from your chest,.

He let out an airy laugh, and the sound of it made you feel light on your heels. You were delighted to have your lover back. Suddenly, Suguru picked you up and spun you around.

Deja vu.

When he let you down, you put a gentle kiss on his jaw, and he smiled brightly like the sun.

"Welcome back home."

[pizzaronipasta]

READ THIS BEFORE INTERACTING

Alright, I know I said I wasn't going to touch this topic again, but my inbox is filling up with asks from people who clearly didn't read everything I said, so I'm making a pinned post to explain my stance on AI in full, but especially in the context of disability. Read this post in its entirety before interacting with me on this topic, lest you make a fool of yourself.

AI Doesn't Steal

Before I address people's misinterpretations of what I've said, there is something I need to preface with. The overwhelming majority of AI discourse on social media is argued based on a faulty premise: that generative AI models "steal" from artists. There are several problems with this premise. The first and most important one is that this simply isn't how AI works. Contrary to popular misinformation, generative AI does not simply take pieces of existing works and paste them together to produce its output. Not a single byte of pre-existing material is stored anywhere in an AI's system. What's really going on is honestly a lot more sinister.

How It Actually Works

In reality, AI models are made by initializing and then training something called a neural network. Initializing the network simply consists of setting up a multitude of nodes arranged in "layers," with each node in each layer being connected to every node in the next layer. When prompted with input, a neural network will propagate the input data through itself, layer by layer, transforming it along the way until the final layer yields the network's output. This is directly based on the way organic nervous systems work, hence the name "neural network." The process of training a network consists of giving it an example prompt, comparing the resulting output with an expected correct answer, and tweaking the strengths of the network's connections so that its output is closer to what is expected. This is repeated until the network can adequately provide output for all prompts. This is exactly how your brain learns; upon detecting stimuli, neurons will propagate signals from one to the next in order to enact a response, and the connections between those neurons will be adjusted based on how close the outcome was to whatever was anticipated. In the case of both organic and artificial neural networks, you'll notice that no part of the process involves directly storing anything that was shown to it. It is possible, especially in the case of organic brains, for a neural network to be configured such that it can produce a decently close approximation of something it was trained on; however, it is crucial to note that this behavior is extremely undesirable in generative AI, since that would just be using a wasteful amount of computational resources for a very simple task. It's called "overfitting" in this context, and it's avoided like the plague.

The sinister part lies in where the training data comes from. Companies which make generative AI models are held to a very low standard of accountability when it comes to sourcing and handling training data, and it shows. These companies usually just scrape data from the internet indiscriminately, which inevitably results in the collection of people's personal information. This sensitive data is not kept very secure once it's been scraped and placed in easy-to-parse centralized databases. Fortunately, these issues could be solved with the most basic of regulations. The only reason we haven't already solved them is because people are demonizing the products rather than the companies behind them. Getting up in arms over a type of computer program does nothing, and this diversion is being taken advantage of by bad actors, who could be rendered impotent with basic accountability. Other issues surrounding AI are exactly the same way. For example, attempts to replace artists in their jobs are the result of under-regulated businesses and weak worker's rights protections, and we're already seeing very promising efforts to combat this just by holding the bad actors accountable. Generative AI is a tool, not an agent, and the sooner people realize this, the sooner and more effectively they can combat its abuse.

Y'all Are Being Snobs

Now I've debunked the idea that generative AI just pastes together pieces of existing works. But what if that were how it worked? Putting together pieces of existing works... hmm, why does that sound familiar? Ah, yes, because it is, verbatim, the definition of collage. For over a century, collage has been recognized as a perfectly valid art form, and not plagiarism. Furthermore, in collage, crediting sources is not viewed as a requirement, only a courtesy. Therefore, if generative AI worked how most people think it works, it would simply be a form of collage. Not theft.

Some might not be satisfied with that reasoning. Some may claim that AI cannot be artistic because the AI has no intent, no creative vision, and nothing to express. There is a metaphysical argument to be made against this, but I won't bother making it. I don't need to, because the AI is not the artist. Maybe someday an artificial general intelligence could have the autonomy and ostensible sentience to make art on its own, but such things are mere science fiction in the present day. Currently, generative AI completely lacks autonomy—it is only capable of making whatever it is told to, as accurate to the prompt as it can manage. Generative AI is a tool. A sculpture made by 3D printing a digital model is no less a sculpture just because an automatic machine gave it physical form. An artist designed the sculpture, and used a tool to make it real. Likewise, a digital artist is completely valid in having an AI realize the image they designed.

Some may claim that AI isn't artistic because it doesn't require effort. By that logic, photography isn't art, since all you do is point a camera at something that already looks nice, fiddle with some dials, and press a button. This argument has never been anything more than snobbish gatekeeping, and I won't entertain it any further. All art is art. Besides, getting an AI to make something that looks how you want can be quite the ordeal, involving a great amount of trial and error. I don't speak from experience on that, but you've probably seen what AI image generators' first drafts tend to look like.

AI art is art.

Disability and Accessibility

Now that that's out of the way, I can finally move on to clarifying what people keep misinterpreting.

I Never Said That

First of all, despite what people keep claiming, I have never said that disabled people need AI in order to make art. In fact, I specifically said the opposite several times. What I have said is that AI can better enable some people to make the art they want to in the way they want to. Second of all, also despite what people keep claiming, I never said that AI is anyone's only option. Again, I specifically said the opposite multiple times. I am well aware that there are myriad tools available to aid the physically disabled in all manner of artistic pursuits. What I have argued is that AI is just as valid a tool as those other, longer-established ones.

In case anyone doubts me, here are all the posts I made in the discussion in question: Reblog chain 1 Reblog chain 2 Reblog chain 3 Reblog chain 4 Potentially relevant ask

I acknowledge that some of my earlier responses in that conversation were poorly worded and could potentially lead to a little confusion. However, I ended up clarifying everything so many times that the only good faith explanation I can think of for these wild misinterpretations is that people were seeing my arguments largely out of context. Now, though, I don't want to see any more straw men around here. You have no excuse, there's a convenient list of links to everything I said. As of posting this, I will ridicule anyone who ignores it and sends more hate mail. You have no one to blame but yourself for your poor reading comprehension.

What Prompted Me to Start Arguing in the First Place

There is one more thing that people kept misinterpreting, and it saddens me far more than anything else in this situation. It was sort of a culmination of both the things I already mentioned. Several people, notably including the one I was arguing with, have insisted that I'm trying to talk over physically disabled people.

Read the posts again. Notice how the original post was speaking for "everyone" in saying that AI isn't helpful. It doesn't take clairvoyance to realize that someone will find it helpful. That someone was being spoken over, before I ever said a word.

So I stepped in, and tried to oppose the OP on their universal claim. Lo and behold, they ended up saying that I'm the one talking over people.

Along the way, people started posting straight-up inspiration porn.

I hope you can understand where my uncharacteristic hostility came from in that argument.

[stealanity]

“ ONLY FOR PRACTICE. ” ft. lee hyunjae

genre & warnings : actress ! reader x model ! hyunjae, kinda co-workers to kind of lovers, fluff, a lot of kissing, soft touches, hyunjae's kind of super hot

summary : being the most popular actress of the moment is no easy task, especially when you have to play the fake girlfriend of the new jewel in the modeling crown.

word count : 1,273

« do we really have to do this? » you asked, sighing as if the world were crumbling around you. hyunjae rolled his eyes at your question, arranging his hair in front of the mirror under your visibly annoyed gaze. « our managers advised us to do this, and believe me, i'm no happier about it than you are. »

raising your eyes to the sky with a cry of frustration, you let yourself fall backwards onto the mattress. being the most popular actress of the moment wasn't easy — especially when you're forced to play the fake girlfriend of a model whose career is just taking off. « i'm an actress, i don't need to practice my kissing skills. » you affirmed, staring at the ceiling and letting a grimace disturb the tranquility of your face. a sigh left the boy's lips, which drew your attention. watching him from afar, you suddenly saw him approach the bed, settling on its edge and stretching his neck muscles. you had to admit that the idea of kissing hyunjae didn't really repel you — but rather die than admit it to him.

he was good looking, funny and kind, heart on his sleeve and extremely hot. but he was so self-confident and full of himself that you didn't want to give him the opportunity to know that it didn't bother you. « but we've never kissed, we need to train together to make it believable in front of the medias. » he explained, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, giving your eyes a glimpse of the perfectly defined veins on his forearms. looking away a half-second later, before he could catch your gaze on him, a pout played on your lips, « why should we kiss in public in the first place? »

a fatally bored sigh escaped hyunjae's lips as he swiveled to face you, his chocolate pupils locked in yours. and without him uttering a single word, you understood what he wanted to tell you so silently — « uh, fine! » you boredly declared, straightening up on all fours on the bed before sitting down right next to him.

the fact that you were sitting on your knees made you look a little taller than him — so, when seen from above, his round eyes seemed much softer than anything else. not knowing what to focus on, your eyes darted between each of his, while your hands, camouflaged in your sleeves, clung to his shoulders to keep your balance. you saw him look away from your eyes for a second, deviating towards your lips lightly made up with red lipstick, and you could swear that the atmosphere around you both had suddenly changed. with bated breath, you leaned forward slightly so that your face was now closer to his than before. before the fateful moment, you took advantage of having his face so close to yours to observe every detail of it : no wonder why everyone was so crazy about him, his skin was flawless, his features perfect, his smile dazzling and his eyes... his eyes were electrifying, bewitching, the prettiest brown eyes you've ever seen. the honey-colored light from his pupils, thanks to the sun's rays, made you want to drown in them.

« it's only for practice, right? » you asked, in a whisper that grazed his half-open lips, forcing him to look away from your mouth and back into your eyes. it was an unreal situation, because it wasn't as if hyunjae was one of the people you wanted to kiss or anything in the first place. you weren't even friends, simply a work colleague with a contract to boost each other's popularity. not like you have time for a relationship anyway — between filming, interviews and previews here and there, your schedule was far too overloaded to allow for any whimsical extravagance on the side.

suddenly, you were jolted out of your thoughts when hands invaded your waist, completely cutting off your breathing at the same time. the friction of his thumb reassuringly caressing your hip caused your heart to beat faster, as he closed the distance between your faces the next second, his warm lips now against yours.

no need to mention the panic in your heart at this very moment, nor to mention the way your stomach lurched at his touch. finally closing your eyes as you feel the pressure against your mouth become delicately firmer, you allowed yourself to melt under the sensation of his lips harmonizing with yours, your hands leaving hyunjae's broad shoulders to settle on his cheeks. he made it so easy — his lips moved against yours in the most natural of ways, his hands gripping your hips to keep you from slipping away, the delicate pressure of his pianist fingers on your lower back to draw you closer to him. maybe you lost your nerve the longer the kiss went on, especially when he pulled away for just a fraction of a second to kiss you a second time, more enthusiastically.

in the madness of the moment, hyunjae drew your body against his, delicately, before grabbing your thigh and pulling you onto his lap, your legs on either side of him. slightly surprised by his gesture — though not displeased — you unclasped your lips from his, giving you a glimpse of the sweet mess your lipstick had created on his damn pretty face. his fingers left your back to place themselves innocently, hesitantly, on the side of your thighs, his fingers grazing your skin, which tingled under his touch. then you wrapped your arms around his neck, mingling your lips with his once again for the sole purpose of training you to be convincing. it was a hot kiss, almost feverish and hurried because of both of your jerky breathing, letting a few sighs escape here and there.

after long minutes of kissing, with a few wandering hands, eager to explore the details of each other's skin, you pulled away slightly to catch your breath. but even after your exchange of saliva was over, hyunjae didn't seem determined to move away from you, his eyes planted on your face like an idiot in love. letting a smile tug at your lips, you watched him tenderly before speaking, « so verdict? is your favorite actress a good kisser? »

it's something he confided in you the day you first met — even if you don't know if he said it to flatter you or if he really meant it. but the fact that he said he was interested in you even before he met you, appealed to you in a way. the boy pretended to think, your lipstick smeared over his mouth and a little around it, and once again you took the opportunity to admire him, your fingers delicately caressing the skin of his cheeks without realizing it. « mhh.. not bad. not the best, but not the worst. » he said teasingly, a smirk forming on his lips.

wrinkling your nose at his answer, which was totally wrong for you, you pinched his cheek gently. « you're a terrible liar, » you whispered softly as he approached you once more, cutting off your next sentence by capturing your lips with his again. decidedly, you had to practice kissing for a long time so that everyone could really believe that there was something going on between you. and with the way hyunjae takes hold of your lips, kiss after kiss, with a little more passion each time, you wouldn't understand if someone didn't believe in your acting..

taglist ( even if i don't think i still have one.. here's the google form ! ) : @quaissants @kimsohn @kyusqult

[neotrances]

You can really tell when someone hasn’t had contact with the average hand-to-mouth, gig-to-gig sex worker. “A sex worker’s client is half the fucking job” mhm and most sex workers do not like johns and wish they didn’t have to rely on them for money to live. Low contact, video only sex work is not the common denominator in this industry. A fraction of a percent of sex workers are wealthy enough to live well and not have to perform. And those tend to be the most popular ones who feed on and feed into sexual trends, which trickle down to effect struggling sex workers who have less agency. Because, again, 99% of sex workers aren’t Mia Khalifa and Belle Delphine. They are young, poor, and without any ability to dictate trends or their job outcome. Class consciousness means we must be conscious of how class stratification affects all forms of labor. The most visible, influential, and unaffected will continue to lead their respective industries until they are questioned. Despite this other side of this argument (from what I’ve seen) claiming communism there seems to be a strange Democracy of the Dollar undercurrent to this argument. That this arrangement and its machinations are just because there is a buyer continuing to supply demand, and if we criticize the “buyers” we are harming “suppliers”. In our current circumstances, sex work is stigmatized because it is seen as a criminal act that both the john and worker partake in. It is individualized as a social evil effecting only those who are involved. Pulling back the scope to show how this exchange is socially informed and how that can ultimately harm workers across multiple exchanges does not create the same stigma. It can, surprisingly, lead to beneficial changes for both parties. While I wish sex workers would not need to perform under coercion, I believe in harm reduction over prohibition and that doesn’t mean “no holds barred” on what can be considered ok and not. It means everyone has to change their mindset for the betterment of those who can’t choose, even if it means it’s a little harder for you to get your rocks off however and whenever you want.

[fatehbaz]

Today's environments of racialized confinement built on yesterday's colonial plantation.

Excerpt:

---

[I]t was not simply the enclosing of Malaya's landscape that led to the conditions, framework, and systems of power [...]. [While] enclosure [...] functioned [...] to map and codify the landscape but also to dispossess [...], confinement worked to separate those groups into narrowly prescribed spatial categories that were [...] policed by the state. In the case of Malaya, this separation was governed through race. [...] British administrators [...] weaponized [this policy] [...] with the resettlement of hundreds of thousands [...] into so-called new villages during the emergency period [in the 1950s] [...]. [T]hough British actions during the emergency certainly accelerated forms of confinement [...], the policies and ideas that shaped the creation of these spaces emerged and evolved over the course of the [earlier] colonial period in Malaya. The spatiality of [confinement] [...], in other words, did not simply emerge out of new Cold War military strategies, but was rather built over a geography of confinement established long before the 1940s and 1950s. [...]

The rubber industry, which barely existed at the turn of the twentieth century, quickly became Malaya's primary export commodity by the end of World War One [...]. By 1922, Malaya had over 2,200,000 acres of rubber planted [...]. [F]oreign owned [plantation] estates recruited large numbers of migrant workers from South Asia. Initially brought to Malaya under repressive indentured labor policies [...] [b]etween 1860 and 1957, an estimated four million South Asians traveled to Malaya [...]. [M]obility was a defining characteristic of the plantation labor regime [...]. [T]he infrastructure, living arrangements, and social amenities within the plantation were minutely planned exercises in social control and stratification [...] prescribed along racial and caste lines [...]. The Malayan emergency began in 1948. Following [popular outrage against British plantation managers] [...], the colonial government in Malaya declared a state of emergency across the colony [...] that would last for over a decade. [...] [T]he British colonial state accelerated forms of territorialization and land parcelization in Malaya during the emergency period [as Britain mobilized to crack down on leftist and anticolonial sympathizers].

These efforts [...] involved the complete reimagining and remapping of Malaya's landscape and social geography [...].

---

The British undertook this spatial reordering in a number of different ways. One involved the creation of 'White' and 'Black' areas throughout the country. In 'Black' areas, which in early days of the emergency denoted all territory in the colony, people were subject to curfews, food restrictions, and travel bans, including in urban spaces such as Kuala Lumpur and Penang. [...] [B]ut the chief way that the British colonial state manipulated the region's natural and social environment was through its policy of resettlement. Resettlement, which emerged beginning in 1949, was primarily - though not exclusively - directed towards Malaya's large population of Chinese ‘squatters’ [...]. By 1945, [...] an estimated 400,000 Chinese squatters lived in the colony. [...] [T]he British government [...] began the process of forcibly resettling the country's rural Chinese population [...] closer to existing colonial infrastructures such as railways, roads, and rubber estates - where they could be more easily watched and controlled. These new spaces [...] became the centerpiece of Britain's [...] efforts in Malaya [...]. [M]ost new villages were built utilizing a particular planning style that maximized the security of sites and ensured the constant surveillance and policing of its inhabitants. Villages had a perimeter lined with double barbed wire fencing and lighting, guarded entrances, [...] and a police station [...]. Inhabitants of new villages were subject to strict curfews and regular bodily inspections [...].

[These 'White'/'Black' and 'new village' spaces] were not the only methods [of] resettlement or spatial confinement deployed by British forces in the 1950s. In addition to the estimated nearly 450 new villages that British forces established in Malaya, there were also hundreds of so-called 'regrouping areas' created in the colony [...]. These regrouping areas, which included 'labor regrouping areas' as well as 'regrouped Malay kampongs', involved the resettling of Malaya's non-Chinese rural dwellers - especially those within the Indian and Malay communities - into newly constructed spaces. [...] [S]ome of these sites were simply efforts to resettle a commercial firms' working population - for example, moving workers living off-site [...] to 'company housing' on company property [...]. Despite this, the scale of regrouping efforts was noteworthy. In 1954, [...] in addition to the 68 new villages established by Johore by that time, there existed 87 'regrouped Malay kampongs' in the state. In neighboring Pahang, the numbers were even higher. In addition to eighteen 'labour regroupments', there were another 75 'regrouped Malay kampongs' [...] as well as 64 new villages. [...]

---

[S]imilar to how spaces like Malay reservations and rubber estates operated in the early colonial period, British agents designed emergency spatial typologies to resettle, confine, and separate the population along racial lines. While Malaya's large Chinese population was primarily resettled in new villages, for instance, spaces such as regrouped Malay kampongs were expressly devoted to the resettlement of the region's Malay communities, while residents of South Asian descent, many of whom worked in the rubber industry, were largely resesttled within or near their places of work in labor regroupment areas. [...]

[A] most striking feature of this new spatial environment [...] [is that] [s]paces such as new villages and regrouping areas [...] were built along familiar pathways and corridors of foreign occupation in the colony, closely mirroring the same [...] geographies that emerged in the early colonial period. [...] [E]mergency spaces such as new villages and regrouping areas were built alongside or on top of the region's large-scale rubber estates, which had emerged in the region [during British colonization] prior to World War Two and that, on a broad scale, had introduced foreign structures of power into areas under 'indirect' colonial rule. This mapping on of sites of confinement and enclosure is significant. While foreign commercial enterprises utilized the introduction of new land laws to occupy Malay's interior [prior to formal colonial annexation] and to install repressive sites of commodity extraction and labor exploitation in the early twentieth century, these same locations became the spatial foundation for later emergency efforts to resettle Malaya's population [...]. In other words, at the same time that British officials during the emergency were accelerating notions of social engineering and policies of confinement adopted from the plantation economy, they were also using the geography of the rubber industry to reimagine and reorganize the spatiality of Malaya on a country-wide scale. [...]

The emergence and expansion of enclosure spaces - whereby the land was surveyed, mapped, and set aside for certain purposes [plantation labor, industrial extraction, and colonial administrative rule] - and confinement spaces - whereby the region's population was separated into particular spatial environments based on race and ethnicity - meant that, over time, Malaya's social and economic geography became one defined by partition and separation [...].

Colonial-era land policies and spatial typologies have continued to impact life in the contemporary world [...].

---

End quote.

Text above by: David Baillargeon. "Spaces of occupation: Colonial enclosure and confinement in British Malaya". Journal of Historical Geography 73, pages 24-35. July 2021. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Text within brackets added by me for clarity. Italicized first sentence/heading in this post added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[himbeereule]

Hello! I just read the demo. I loved it!! I'm excited to read the remaining parts of this prologue. By the way, I'm surprised at the trouble you took with the reactions to MC's attractiveness. Depending on our appearance will there be an important impact on history?

Anyway, thanks for the demo! I loved everything ❤️❤️❤️

Ehmm I have quite a few questions: 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

1 - Why is MC so popular? What is the reputation of the siblings among the people?

2 -Is there any reason why the empress is so absent in the lives of her children?

3 - Who besides the emperor and brother knows about Lebedev's incident with f! MC?

4- Will there be a funeral for the royal family?

5- I just love Lavrentiy. It seems like he was jealous (?), although he equally loved MC

6 - What were the last thoughts of MC's family before being executed? Will we see more of them in the future?

7 -How did other monarchies react to this "revolution"?

8- How rich/relevant is Nevtskiya in the world? And it has great military power? Besides agriculture, is there any other important sector for the economy? Can we promote the development of the country?

9 - What is the standard of living of the general population?

10 -Will there be much difference in the story of a male or female MC?

11 - What religion does the country have?

12 - Were there many other popular protests in the past?

PS we are lucky that the rebels didn't leave MC's body hanging or decapitated in some public place haha

Hey~

About the attractiveness: there will be scenes like the ones with Sabilov where it'll play a role, but it won't have a really important impact on the story overall.

1- MC is popular because the newspapers pushed them as a celebrity. As for why they did that... you'll have to find out eventually. As for the siblings: Artemiy is revered as the Crown Prince, but he's a pretty distant figure, so it's more formal than personal popularity. Lavrentiy is very controversial due to his escapades (you'll learn more about that). Sasha/Tasha is very private and mostly unknown among the public.

2- This'll be expanded upon in the scenes with your siblings I'm planning to add to the Prologue - basically, she realized the person she married (arranged marriage, but initially she was very happy with it) was an absolute asshole. So she ended up getting the kind of depression where you isolate yourself from everyone and everything.

3- Nobody, though at least one person is guaranteed to find out. Towards the end of the story, though.

4- No. You'll see why later...

5- I said it before, but I'm super happy people liked Lavrentiy. I hope his additional scenes will cement his image of "would actually be lovely if he stopped being so mean"

6- Can't answer, spoilers ^^"

7- There won't be intervention armies, but they see it as a prime opportunity to expand their influence. Whether you'll let them sponsor you or your enemies at the cost of getting dependent and owing favours will be a major decision later on.

8- Nevetskiya is huge, and old, but that's pretty much it. It's a regional power, too far behind in economy, society and technology to really contend with any of the great powers - but it is still counted among them. Industrialization is already beginning to happen, hence the revolution, and its development will be a factor in the story and especially the gameplay.

9- For the nobility - extremely high. For the clergy and the emerging traders and industrialists - pretty high. For the accountants, bureaucrats and landowners - okay. For the peasants and workers (which is almost the entire population) - abysmal.

10- There will be some exclusive story arcs for all genders.

11- I haven't really touched on religion yet, as of now it's just a vague polytheistic copy of the Orthodox Church. I'll develop its lore more once it comes up in the story.

12- Yes, there were peasant revolts every one or two years, but they were quickly and brutally suppressed.

[dailyanarchistposts]

I.3.7 What about people who do not want to join a syndicate?

In this case, they are free to work alone, by their own labour. Anarchists have no desire to force people to join a syndicate. Emma Goldman spoke for all anarchists when she stated that ”[w]e believe in every person living his own life in his own way and not in coercing others to follow any one’s dictation.” [A Documentary History of the American Years, vol. 2, p. 324]

Therefore, the decision to join a syndicate will be a free one, with the potential for living outside it guaranteed for non-exploitative and non-oppressive individuals and groups. Malatesta stressed this when he argued that in an anarchist revolution “what has to be destroyed at once … is capitalistic property, that is, the fact that a few control the natural wealth and the instruments of production and can thus oblige others to work for them” but one must have a “right and the possibility to live in a different regime, collectivist, mutualist, individualist — as one wishes, always on the condition that there is no oppression or exploitation of others.” [Errico Malatesta: Life and Ideas, p. 102] In other words, different forms of social life will be experimented with, depending on what people desire.

Of course some people ask how anarchists can reconcile individual freedom with expropriation of capital. All we can say is that these critics subscribe to the idea that one should not interfere with the “individual freedom” of those in positions of authority to oppress others, and that this premise turns the concept of individual freedom on its head, making oppression a “right” and the denial of freedom a form of it!

However, it is a valid question to ask if anarchism would result in self-employed people being forced into syndicates as the result of a popular movement. The answer is no. This is because the destruction of title deeds would not harm the independent worker, whose real title is possession and the work done. What anarchists want to eliminate is not possession but capitalist property. Thus such workers “may prefer to work alone in his own small shop” rather than join an association or a federation. [James Guillaume, “On Building the New Social Order”, pp. 356–79, Bakunin on Anarchism, p. 362]

This means that independent producers will still exist within an anarchist society, and some workplaces — perhaps whole areas — will not be part of a confederation. This is natural in a free society, for different people have different ideas and ideals. Nor does such independent producers imply a contradiction with libertarian socialism, for ”[w]hat we concerned with is the destruction of the titles of proprietors who exploit the labour of others and, above all, of expropriating them in fact in order to put … all the means of production at the disposal of those who do the work.” [Malatesta, Op. Cit., p. 103] Such freedom to work independently or associate as desired does not imply any support for private property (as discussed in section I.6.2). Thus any individual in a libertarian socialist economy “always has the liberty to isolate himself and work alone, without being considered a bad citizen or a suspect.” [Proudhon, quoted by K. Steven Vincent, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon and the Rise of French Republican Socialism, p. 145]

In summary, in a free society people need not join syndicates nor does a co-operative need to confederate with others. Given we have discussed the issue of freedom of economic arrangements at length in section G.2.1 we will leave this discussion here.

[herarcadewasteland]

Curious, Darling?

A/: Many many hugs and boops to the lovely @kookslastbutton for their page title and giving me the go-ahead to write a Taehyung fic inspired by it and dedicated to it! ♥

-office!au, enemies to lovers (ish...)

-Slightly Yandere!Kim Taehyung x Reader

It's decidley a little messy and fast but its 2am and my brain was working too fast.

JK Ver. Yoongi Ver.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stalking through the halls, you seethed. His carefree laughter echoed through your head as you turned corners with the result of Taehyung's latest prank cradled in your trembling arms. You had been going back and forth with Taehyung since highschool, the pranks gaining him popularity and causing you to lose friends. It had taken a large turn when you had both graduated college and got accepted into one of the biggest companies with him standing at your side, smug smirk in place as it always was when he regarded you. The pranks you exchanged slowly ramped up until you dyed and cut his hair when he was out cold after a night of drinking. He had gone way too far this time though, the prank exceeding the worst you had pulled on him, which was the hair thing although he managed to make it look sexy just as he did everything else. 

Walking into your office this morning, you were sipping your favourite drink and wearing your best shirt for the presentation when your eyes landed on the colour-coded pile of that same presentation in rips all around the room, the spray painted ‘V’ on your office window causing you to drop your cup in shock. The two of you had done many many things to each other in the form of pranks, but ruining work projects that had taken a year to perfect and create… it was the last prank you would accept. So here you were, storming past concerned co-workers with your project in your arms as you set out for the man himself. 

His laugh guided you straight to him as you shouldered through the meeting room door,

“KIM TAEHYUNG.”

Conversation stopped as did his laughter as your anger cut through it all, heads turning to observe your red face and furrowed brows as you glared at Taehyung with the heat of hell in your eyes. You made eye contact with everyone but him, each person taking the hint and shuffling out of the conference room until you were left with the culprit. An angry huff left you as you dropped your armful of your ripped project on the table in front of him as he sat with his ankle resting on his knee, hand rubbing his lips as he watched you carefully. 

“What the fuck is this?! This was for today! You knew it was for today and so did everyone else! So pray tell, why the fuck is my project in shreds with your fucking penname sprayed on my windows! There is no one, and I mean no-one else that would’ve done this.”

His huffed laugh broke you from your angry arrangement of the pieces sitting before you, your head snapped up to face him as he leaned back further into his wheeled chair. Was he infuriatingly hot and causing conflicting emotions as he stared you down through hooded eyes? Abso-fucking-lutely. That didn’t stop you from rounding the table in anger, his chair turning with you as you approached. 

“Something wrong?”

You scowled as you took the last steps towards him, his head tilting up slightly to watch your face for emotion as he licked his lips slowly. Your anger won over any arousal you were feeling because of him and his stupidly perfect face, your hands pushing roughly into his solid chest. The scrape of the chair wheels making you smirk as he rolled back into the wall from the force of your shove. His eyebrows raised in surprise as you approached him again, his hands resting on the arms as he pushed himself from the chair. He was taller than you, that was for sure, but being stronger than people gave you credit for allowing you the element of surprise. So you took that last step, staring into his hypnotizing chocolate eyes as you shoved him back a step.

“Say you did it.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”, he smirks. 

He fucking smirked at you when his penname was in orange paint on your windows. Your face heated with rage as he tilted his head at you, his fluffy hair gently framing his darkened eyes as you landed a hard punch to his chest. Taehyung huffed as the air left him, your eyes widening as he barely reacted before a hand grasped your own. You gasped as he tugged you around him and into the chair he was previously occupying, your hands finding the armrests as he leaned over you, his large hands caging your own on the chairs arms. 

“You know exactly what you did, Kim Taehyung. You’ve gone too far.”

“Oh no, have I gone too far? Let me rectify my wrongs against poor little you immediately.”

His tone was clear and enraged you further. He had the gall to mock you when you no longer had a presentation for a promotion you had been waiting for for years now. You wrestled your hand from under his, a sharp clap echoing around you as Taehyung's head snapped to the side. The shock he showed allowed you a window to push him away and escape the room with your precious shards of presentation. He would get it now. You just had to figure out how you would go about it.

—-------

Taehyung's misdeed was over a week ago now. He had gotten the promotion because you had no presentation. Now, he had power over you. A larger, secured office and even a secretary that rumours had started round saying he fucked her in the mens washroom one lunch break. Now it was much harder for you to enact your plan. Distracting Elizabeth was easy enough, all you had to do was tell her that Park was waiting for her in conference room 38 and off she went. Taehyung was supposed to be in a big meeting so all you had to do was look for a spare key and then lock the door behind you to cover your tracks. Easy enough. The key was in an unlocked drawer in Elizabeth’s desk, hidden away under the schedule folder you had gathered your copy of Taehyung’s from. Opening the door to his office with a relieved sigh, you shut the heavy door as quietly as you could, your eyes scanning the office as soon as the door was locked behind you. 

Files scattered over his desk, his laptop open and running, his windows curtained and opened slightly to let in the breeze you could only get on the 77th floor. Rushing over to his clearly organized mess, you leafed through the many documents, your eyes darting from the papers to the door as your hands trembled. All you needed was his budget request. Then you could fuck him over like he fucked you over. It was simple. Find the page, search his laptop for the unfilled form and replace his numbers with lower ones. While it could jeopardize your job, he would be at fault for submitting low numbers for his request. 

“Yes! Finally!”, you pulled the sheet from its spot frantically.

Stepping over to his laptop, you searched the systems for the sheet when you had an even better idea. Turning back to the files, you failed to hear the door opening and closing, his light steps approaching you as you made a mess of his desk. He sat and watched you search through the papers with a smirk as he leaned against the wall across from you, your gaze laser focused on the things in-front of you. Finding the new page, you smirked, unknowing of the danger you had put yourself in. 

“Curious, darling?”, his deep voice made your heart stop as his hand ghosted over your shoulder. He had managed to make it across the entire office to stand behind you and you hadn’t even noticed. That was a kind of embarrassing you never thought you’d feel. But here you were, feeling it and Taehyung’s hand as it crawled across your collarbone smoothly to wrap around your neck. 

“Taehyu-”, you gasped before his hand tightened around your neck, cutting off your words. 

“We’ve been at this for years. Years, Y/N. Isn’t it about time to accept that you’ll never best me at our pranks?”

You shook your head, hand wrapping around his as you turned in your spot to face him. His fluffy brown hair fell into his sharp eyes as he watched you take in the position. Your back against his desk, his hand around your neck, basically holding your own hand at the same time. He corralled you further into his desk, his free hand drawing distracting circles on your side as you watched him carefully.

“I’ll beat you this time. You won’t win.”

His laugh washed across your face, mint greeting your sense as he chewed on nothing with a confident smirk. You were sure you would beat him. You had to. It was one of your last motivations to not hand in your resignation and join Jeon Industries instead of staying under Min Corporations. 

“You’ve already lost. So when will you notice how much I love you, darling?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, his hand leaving your neck to trace your cheekbone and run lightly over your parted lips. 

“Wha-”, you cleared your throat of the shock blocking it, “What do you mean, Taehyung? You don’t love me. You’ve shown me so many times you hate me. You ripped up my presentation!”

He nodded casually, hand playing with a stray bundle of hair that had fallen from your messy ponytail during your search for revenge. 

“I did. But we’ve been doing this for years. Do you not remember the times I would leave you notes in your locker in high school, telling you how I felt?”

“Those were anonymous, how was I supposed to know that was you?! I thought that was Hoseok! Or maybe even Seokjin… I- why?”

“What do you mean why? You’re perfect for me. I’m perfect for you. I read your diary when I was in your office that week. I know what you think of me.”, his breath tickled your ear as he leaned in to whisper his last secret to you.

“Why would you… That's supposed to be private!”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, Y/N. I won’t tell anyone how much my voice turns you on… or how much you daydream about fucking me seven days a week and telling me you love me.”

Your face heated with a blush as he chuckled in your ear, his voice deepened further as he pushed his body against yours further. His hands guided you into comfort as he whispered random compliments into your ear, your eyes closing as you thought about it all. 

“At least let me take you on a date. Just one for now, if you like it, leave your number on my desk the day after. If not, just tell me to fuck off and I’ll leave you alone until you accept your feelings towards me. Sounds fair?”

You nodded slowly, his hands circling you in a gentle hug as he hummed in content. It couldn’t be the worst thing in the world, a little harrowing at times you were sure, but overall it could be worth losing your revenge. So you melted into the hug with a sigh as he laughed about something in his head.

You’d see in the week after the incident that it really wasn’t that bad as he fed you sushi from his plate while you traded for pieces you liked and he didn’t. Sipping on boba while the sun set on the horizon over the clear blue waters of the beach afterwards. Maybe you didn’t get the promotion that would change your life, but marrying Kim Taehyung in the following years was definitely more than enough to make up for it all.

[vital-information]

“William J. Mann has argued that, contrary to the widespread impression of Hollywood as a place in which the closet was rigorously enforced by the studio system, the movie industry was often more accommodating to its homosexual workers at all levels. One of Mann’s interviewees said to him, in answer to an obvious question, ‘Who didn’t have to lie? Who didn’t have to pretend? We had a whole community, for God’s sake. We had—dare I say it?—power. Where else in America did gays have such a thing?’ The passionate tone offers its own evidence. Mann correctly points out what his interviewee seems not to have known, that there were other such protective communities and subcultures across the States at the time; but the point is well made, all the same. From the start, there were more than enough homosexual men and women in Hollywood for the operation of informal supportive systems. The disappointment is in the failure of that power to translate into a corresponding visibility in the cultural product: the movies.

Mann found that his interviewees did not use such expressions as ‘in’ and ‘out’ (of the closet). Instead, they independently kept coming back to the words ‘overt’ and ‘circumspect,’ and to degrees of both. Individuals, couples and groups tended to locate themselves where they felt most comfortable across a spectrum of degrees of openness. There was no general pressure to work towards a point at which it would become possible to come out; but, perhaps more surprisingly, there was no general imperative not to come out. The determining factors were many. There was a class difference, as elsewhere. ‘The most overt gays tended to come from working-class backgrounds, while those from the middle classes invariably were more circumspect.’ In certain professional areas, such as costume design and set design, it was possible to exploit the popular connection of male effeteness with aesthetic sophistication; yet that connection does not appear to have been applicable in relation to men who sought to direct movies. On the other hand, the few women who made it in major behind-camera creative roles had to shake off the stigma of whimsical femininity and demonstrate a willingness to get their hands dirty, metaphorically or not. One of Mann’s interviewees summed up his own experience of being gay in Hollywood’s early days as follows: ‘My being gay and knowing all these people—the doors were always open. It was all this “understood” business. They knew I knew, I knew they knew. It was kind of a brotherhood.’

Referring to Hollywood in the 1920s, Hart Crane said: ‘O André Gide! No Paris ever yielded such as this!’ In the heyday of what Kenneth Anger would call ‘Hollywood Babylon,’ one might argue that an artistic ethos combined with a pleasant climate to produce an attitude of sexual celebration, within limits that would soon be tightened up. The extent to which the ethos of the mode of production ever influenced the product—the movies themselves—has been a matter for much debate. In this context, William Mann asks a series of pertinent, rhetorical questions:

is it possible to see the gay influence in The Wizard of Oz, for example, because [the costume designer] Adrian created the Munchkins and Jack Moore the Yellow Brick Road? Can we reflect upon the gayness of the narrative of Cat People, written by DeWitt Bodeen? Might we consider the queerness of the very look of Casablanca, whose fantastic sets were designed by George James Hopkins? Or detect the gay soul of Meet Me in St. Louis, because its direction was staged by Vincent Minnelli, its score orchestrated by Conrad Salinger, and its production arranged by Roger Edens? Might we consider the entire body of work of such directors as George Cukor or Dorothy Arzner or Edmund Goulding or James Whale, seeing their films as the creations of artists who were gay?

The answer is probably affirmative in every case, if more convincingly so in some than in others; and acknowledging ‘the creations of artists who were gay’ is, of course, a long way from finding specifically ‘gay art,’ especially since all of the named figures were working in collaboration with other artists who were not gay. However, Mann’s list of questions gives a vivid sense of the creative possibilities of a specifically gay spectatorship.

Although the atmosphere in the film industry itself was quite relaxed, outside observers of that industry came to be less so. Ever since the late 1920s, varying degrees of pressure exerted from outside have had an effect on the atmosphere within the studios themselves and on the extent to which professionals in the industry—especially actors—have been able to reconcile their sexual orientations and their working lives.”

Gregory Woods, Homintern: How Gay Culture Linerated the Modern World

[coworkingspaceinpune]

The Economic Impact of Coworking Spaces in Pune: A Closer Look

The importance of coworking spaces in fostering creativity and economic growth cannot be emphasized, especially as Pune develops into a thriving hub for startups, independent contractors, and remote workers. In this piece, we examine the financial effects of coworking space in Pune, looking at how they solve common issues and support the vibrant business community in the area.

Resolving the Pain Points: The high setup and maintenance costs associated with traditional office space represent one of the biggest obstacles that firms, particularly those in the technology industry, must overcome. This can be a significant barrier to entry for new and small enterprises with little funds. Pune’s coworking spaces provide an economical alternative by renting out fully furnished workstations with facilities, meeting rooms, and high-speed internet at reasonable prices. For instance, The Mesh Cowork in Pune provides freelancers and startups with affordable access to first-rate office space through customizable membership levels that are catered to their needs.

Additionally, Pune’s coworking spaces help freelancers and distant workers overcome their common loneliness and lack of networking chances. Coworking spaces promote collaboration, knowledge exchange, and networking by uniting professionals from many industries under one roof. This leads to more relationships and business opportunities in addition to increased productivity and innovation. Examples from the real world, like The Daftar Coworking Space in Pune, show how members have grown their networks and scaled their businesses by utilizing the community and resources offered by coworking spaces.

Moreover, coworking spaces in Pune are essential to the growth of business and the gig economy. increasingly professionals are looking for flexible work arrangements that let them follow their hobbies and maintain a work-life balance as freelance and remote work become increasingly popular. Coworking spaces offer a supportive and infrastructural environment that fosters growth and creativity for independent contractors and solopreneurs. Testimonials from Spaces Coworking members in Pune demonstrate how its amenities and working atmosphere have enabled them to follow their entrepreneurial aspirations and create prosperous firms.

Conclusion: To sum up, co working space in Pune are more than just places to work; they are hubs for invention, cooperation, and economic progress. Coworking spaces enable professionals and enterprises to prosper in the current competitive market by resolving typical issues including excessive overhead costs, isolation, and a lack of networking possibilities. Pune’s coworking spaces will become more crucial in determining the city’s economic landscape and promoting sustainable growth as it develops into a premier business destination.

[balshumetsbaragouin]

Lore Post: The Deity of Love and Hope

Considering the story being updated the most right now, it seems ridiculous that I haven't shared anything about this Divine. The theme(s) of Passion and Plasmatic Plague, and all of its future sequels, have to do with this particular being. I have a story involving one of their Relics, and the sequel of Passion involves a curse derived from material beings interactions with this Divine.

So, let's get to know the Deity that rules the Ideal of Love and Hope below!

Ceris-Óengus is a dual aspect Deity of Love and Hope, changing forms and genders by all who behold them to the form most pleasing and attractive. The ruler of all sorts of love, not just the sexual or romantic, they are considered to play an important role matchmaking, holding together a family, or binding lasting friendships.

They are especially called upon after bleak circumstances, in recognition that love and your loved ones give you hope for tomorrow. Although Ceris-Óengus rules love of every type, most people pray for their matchmaking guidance. And because many ghost desire a mate, as do many in the Living World, Ceris-Óengus is considered moderately powerful, able to influence the hearts and minds of those in the Zone and out of it to fall in love.

Possessing many acolytes and temple attendants, but much fewer servants than most deities, Ceris' shrines are on the larger and more elaborate side, stuffed to the brim with offerings of gold, incense/perfume, flowers, sweets, and silks, anything that could potentially win the eye of a lover is placed upon altars in their temple. Their altars also see used to celebrate certain family occasions, like the birth of a child, and dates/festivals that celebrate members of the family.

The expense and rarity of many of the offerings to the Deity make their temples a potential target for robbery. As a result, their temples are the most well-guarded in the Zone. Despite the fact they will not punish a parishioner for a stolen offering, most believe their gifts will not remain effective if removed from the altar before it is formally acknowledged. (There is some truth to this for certain specific rituals.) Formal acknowledgement is completed by either the Deity, or one of their Incarnations directly—which is unusual—or by the Head Acolyte of a temple. One might imagine a simple solution is to deal with the offerings quickly, however, offerings come in daily, at a pace that far exceeds the ability of their temple workers to attend to them quickly, so strict security is used instead.

The lavishness of some of the gifts and the gifting culture surrounding the temples mean Ceris’ temples in Lenaindros and Kingdom Drazi are especially well-appointed. That being said, the Deity experiences the highest level of popularity in small villages and towns throughout the Local Zone. This is because, despite their opulence, many of the temple goers in more established areas marry or become involved for reasons outside of pure love. Political, and other arranged, marriage fall far more closely under the purview of Coitreb with the offerings in more established areas tending towards family obligation and festival days. Worship of the Deity is also more popular among Afterlifers than Neverborn in general, as a history of worship on Love God(desses), romantic ideals, and newer habits of love marriages have always been more present among the Living than in the Spiritual Realm.

Though Ceris has few Servants, and even fewer Incarnations, those that exist possess a number of unique signs. These include unusual or rare hair and eye colors for their species, an especially appealing voice, or an oddly charismatic appeal that convinces others to do their bidding. When the Deity does work among the living, though this is always indirect, they are credited with being the source of epic tales of love and devotion(both filial and romantic). These tales often take on a life of their own through the ages, but there is always a grain of truth…

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Because Finns predominated on the far left of the labour movement, their shared cultural and political ties could mitigate the antagonisms between rival organizations and leaders. The relationship between the OBU [One Big Union] and the IWW [Industrial Workers of the World] was not always antagonistic largely because the Finns predominated in both organizations. The IWW’s General Executive Board (GEB) kept track of the spread of organizations referring to themselves as the “One Big Union” throughout the world and reported their success in the various Wobbly papers. Space was also set aside in the IWW organ, the One Big Union Monthly, to list “the most important resolutions [of the meetings in Calgary], as a matter of record, and to allow of comparison with our own movement and similar movements in other countries.” It was suggested that the resolutions, in their entirety, would meet with a good response in the United States and provide an example of the success that industrial unionism could have.

Still, the GEB also advanced some criticisms of the OBU. The program of the Canadian One Big Union, it argued, was “sufficiently like the IWW program to make us forget the small differences.” A core principle of the IWW remained its resistance to political action. The Canadian (and Australian) adoption of political activism was seen as a characteristic of their newborn status. The GEB believed that over time this political focus would be abandoned, as it had been in the United States, “to save [their] life as an industrial organization.” Until that day, the OBU in Canada and Australia, having “both declared for industrial unions by means of which to take over the means of production and distribution,” could be regarded as allies.

Wobblies viewed Bolshevism as a great popular uprising against the upper class of the Old World. They looked to the continuing fight in Russia, as well as events in Germany and Eastern Europe, as inspirations for the fight in North America. They argued, however, that the Bolshevik revolution was still a political revolution and the culmination of political socialism. The method by which power had been obtained in Russia – the capture of the government and the replacement of tsarist officials with socialists – still fell within “the institutions we call ‘the state.’” The GEB argued that although the Bolsheviks and the IWW used the same expressions – “the abolition of classes,” “the abolition of capitalism,” “the socialization of the means of production,” “the establishment of the socialist republic” – they did not actually use them to mean the same things.

Even the Soviets, the central pillars of the new system in Russia, were viewed as “hasty” and, as a result, unable to properly take over the means of production. The growing tendency of the ruling party to resort to cooperative movements and direct state control was, the IWW argued, the root of the problems in Russia. “In short,” the GEB argued, “the Bolshevik revolution in Russia has not resulted in Industrial Democracy, but in a makeshift or temporary arrangement without stability, without any pretense of a final solution.”

The Bolshevik revolution did serve as an opportunity for the IWW to argue that

economic reconstruction of society cannot be accomplished by a government trying to order things with a high hand through laws and regulations, but has to be an organic outgrowth from the bottom, through the industrial organization of the workers at the place of work.

“Bolshevism,” it contended, “is the fire that clears off the old vegetation, ‘the brush.’ To plow, sow, reap among the charred stumps will be the immense task they will bequeath to us, the industrial organizers, the builders of the One Big Union.” Understandably, supporters of the Bolsheviks in the United States viewed the IWW as essentially revolutionary, yet “starting at the wrong end.” Their position was that the “revolutionary proletariat must first seize the power of the state.” The IWW countered by arguing that it would rather see “a gradual transition than a ‘revolutionary’ shock.” The IWW evidently believed that “as industrial evolution progresses the parliamentary state will become more and more inadequate for handling the problems of society.” The apparatus established by the IWW would assume control of these functions. Other left organizations in the United States, oriented more to the achievement of the dictatorship of the proletariat, advanced very different analyses.

Contradicting its prewar policy, most postwar intellectuals of the IWW viewed the “shocks of revolution” as

undesirable, because they cause bloodshed and suffering. On the other hand, we do not consider it advisable to destroy social organs, before we have the new organ ready which is to take its place. We think it is about time that men disabuse their minds of the idea that violence is absolutely necessary or desirable for social change.

Public consent, these Wobblies argued, would be the necessary precondition of radical change – and not vanguard-orchestrated mass action “à la Bolshevik.” Socialists and workers, it was argued, need only look to Canada and Australia and to the fifteen unions the IWW had organized “over the last 12 years” to see success. In addition, where were the revolutionists to come from? Did any plans exist concerning how the revolution would progress and what the next step would be for power to be obtained? “Social changes are not made,” the GEB argued, “in the wink of an eye, like changing your shirt.”"

- Michel S. Beaulieu, Labour at the Lakehead: Ethnicity, Socialism, and Politics, 1900-35. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2011. p. 77-78.

[justforbooks]

The dapper and sagacious Ahmad Jamal may have looked more like a UN delegate than a jazz musician, but he was recognised as a truly great jazz artist by some of the music’s most notable pioneers. Jamal, who has died aged 92, was hailed in the 1940s and 50s by Art Tatum and Miles Davis, and more recently by McCoy Tyner and Keith Jarrett. In the 90s, when a jazz piano-trio renaissance was being led by gifted newcomers such as Brad Mehldau, Jason Moran, Geri Allen and Esbjörn Svensson, Jamal did not retire to the sidelines but played better than ever. The former Wynton Marsalis pianist and composer Eric Reed has said that Jamal is to the piano trio “what Thomas Edison was to electricity”.

He was a fascinating philosopher of contemporary music and a lifelong critic of the entertainment business, which he accused of fleecing African-American artists. Although he recognised the structural and technical distinctions of jazz and European classical music, he was adamant that there was no superiority of one over the other in what he called “the emotional dimensions”. “You have to know what the hell you’re doing,” he told me in 1996, “whether you’re playing the body of work from Europe or the body of work from Louis Armstrong.”

Jamal was born Frederick Jones in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and regarded the eclectic musical culture of his birthplace as crucial to his development. His father was an open-hearth worker in the steel mills, but his uncle Lawrence played the piano and at only three years old Jamal was copying his playing by ear. He took lessons from seven, and would recall “studying Mozart along with Art Tatum”, unaware of white society’s widespread prejudice that European music was supposed to be superior to that of African-Americans. Significant influences in his early years were the music teacher Mary Cardwell Dawson (founder of the National Negro Opera Company), and his aunt Louise, who showered him with sheet music for the popular songs of the day. Pianists Tatum, Nat King Cole and Erroll Garner were among the young “Fritz” Jones’s principal jazz influences, and he also studied piano with James Miller at Westinghouse high school.

At 17 he toured with the former Westinghouse student George Hudson’s Count Basie-influenced orchestra, worked in a song-and-dance team, and wrote one of his most enduring themes, Ahmad’s Blues, at 18. Two years later he adopted Islam, and the name Ahmad Jamal. He also joined a group called the Four Strings, which became the Three Strings with the departure of its violinist, and caught the ear of the talent-spotting producer John Hammond, who signed the trio to Columbia’s Okeh label.

The public liked Jamal’s distinctive treatments of popular songs, and so did Davis. Developing his new quintet in 1955, Davis sent his rhythm section to study Jamal’s then drummer-less group. Davis liked Jamal’s pacing and use of space (the prevailing bebop jazz style was usually hyperactive), and he noticed that Jamal’s guitarist, Ray Crawford, often tapped the body of his instrument on the fourth beat. Davis told his drummer, Philly Joe Jones, to copy the effect with a fourth-beat rimshot, which became a characteristic sound of that ultra-hip Davis ensemble. Davis began to feature Jamal’s originals and arrangements in his own output, including New Rhumba (on his 1957 Miles Ahead collaboration with Gil Evans), and Billy Boy (on 1958’s classic Milestones session).

The gifted young Chicago bassist Israel Crosby joined the trio in 1955, and the following year the percussionist Vernel Fournier – who fulfilled Jamal’s requirements for a subtle hand-drummer as well as orthodox sticks-player – replaced Crawford. The group became the house band at the Pershing Hotel in Chicago, and one night in January 1958 they recorded more than 40 tracks there. One was Poinciana, which had been a hit tune from the 1952 movie Dreamboat. Jamal modernised its Latin groove, maintained a catchy hook throughout the improvisation, and found himself with a pop hit that stayed in the charts for two years.

Eight songs from that night, including Poinciana, made up the million-selling album At the Pershing: But Not for Me. Jamal’s newfound wealth led him to branch out into club ownership by opening the Alhambra in Chicago, though the venture barely lasted a year. Crosby and Fournier left for the pianist George Shearing’s group in 1962, and Jamal recorded the Latin-influenced Macanudo album the next year, with a new trio and a full orchestra. He also explored his cultural and ancestral roots in Africa, then recorded Heat Wave in 1966 – with a new group (Jamil Nasser on bass and Frank Gant on drums) and a more contemporary feel, reflected in the funkier approach to his old piano hero Garner’s Misty.

Jamal’s knack of keeping audiences mesmerised with unexpected modulations, time changes and catchy riffs, while never losing the undercurrent of the tune, was still unmistakably intact. His trademark device of insinuating a song – through toying with its bassline or its characteristic groove, but endlessly delaying the appearance of the tune – was adopted by many later jazz pianists, including such contemporary masters as Mehldau.

In 1970 Jamal recorded Johnny Mandel’s M*A*S*H theme for the movie’s soundtrack, and with the albums Jamaica (in 1974, which included Marvin Gaye’s Trouble Man as well as M*A*S*H) and Intervals (1979, which included a Steely Dan cover), showed he was not averse to toying with pop forms and even electric pianos. But he soon returned to the jazz of his roots. In 1982 he made the live album American Classical Music (it was the term he always preferred to the word “jazz”), sustained a steady output through the decade, and with Chicago Revisited (1992) sounded as assured and inventive as ever.

Now in his 60s, Jamal began to develop a higher profile in Europe. Sessions for the Dreyfus label in France led to The Essence (issued in three parts in the 90s), and found him in full flight with the saxophonists George Coleman and Stanley Turrentine and the trumpeter Donald Byrd. In 1995 his version of Music, Music, Music and the original take of Poinciana were featured in the Clint Eastwood film The Bridges of Madison County. He made what he regarded as one of his best recordings with Live in Paris 1996 (featuring Coleman again), and returned to the city to celebrate his 70th birthday in 2000 with Coleman; he was in inspired form on what would be released as the album A l’Olympia (2001).

With the exciting James Cammack on bass and Idris Muhammad on drums, Jamal’s composing blossomed. Striking originals dominated his 2003 album In Search of Momentum, and he even made a faintly stagey but soulful foray into singing, amid a raft of virtuoso keyboard displays, on After Fajr (2005).

Jamal’s alertness to an irresistible riff, like his keyboard contemporary Herbie Hancock’s, made him a favourite with hip-hop artists, and De La Soul’s Stakes Is High and Nas’s The World Is Yours were among many unmistakable testaments to that. Mosaic Records’ nine-CD set of his game-changing work in the late 1950s and early 60s was released in 2011, his group made a spectacular live appearance in London in 2014, and his last album releases came in 2022 with Emerald City Nights: Live at the Penthouse, parts one and two, featuring live recordings made in Seattle during the 60s. A third in the series is due for release this year.

Jamal was married and divorced three times – to Virginia Wilkins, Sharifah Frazier and Laura Hess-Hay. He is survived by a daughter, Sumayah, from his second marriage, and two grandchildren.

🔔 Ahmad Jamal (Frederick Russell Jones), musician, born 2 July 1930; died 16 April 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[good-old-gossip]

Netanyahu’s endgame and the Israeli far-right’s regional ambitions

Despite what it says in public, the Netanyahu government knows that Hamas cannot be eliminated by force and that the attempt to do so will only radicalize far more people, both in Palestine and around the world against Israel. Those people will take action, be it violent or not, against Israel in the years to come. Only a fool doesn’t know that. And whatever else the Israeli leadership may be, they are not fools. So what is their endgame?

They have made it clear that they do not prioritize the release of the hostages being held in Gaza. If they did, they would long ago have found a path to a ceasefire to secure the hostages’ release, a path that has already been proven to be effective, while Israel’s assault has gotten dozens of hostages killed already. 

So if the stated goals are false — and they clearly are — it leaves one wondering what Israel’s endgame really is. Is there some goal in Israeli actions that is not being stated? The events of recent days suggest that we may be seeing that endgame take shape.

In a matter of a few days, Israel penetrated deep into Lebanon for a targeted assassination of a Hezbollah leader; confiscated a large piece of Palestinian land in the Jordan Valley; destroyed an Iranian consulate in Damascus, killing seven Iranian military advisers; and carried out a murderous, extended operation targeting World Central Kitchen vehicles, killing six international and one Palestinian aid workers. 

These may seem to be disparate events, connected only by having been perpetrated by an Israeli military that has gone completely off the rails, yet continues to enjoy support and impunity from the United States and Europe. But there may be more connecting them.

Israeli far-right seizes an opportunity

It is widely, and correctly, believed that Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin has a strong incentive to prolong the operations in Gaza. There is also great concern that Israel is trying to expand the conflict to Hezbollah, and possibly even Iran, an expansion of the fighting that could well push the United States in as well. 

The recent incidents would seem to indicate that Israel is accelerating its moves in that direction. And this is where we need to look at the Israeli right wing, rather than focus on Netanyahu’s narrow personal interests.

For decades, the Israeli far right has been resentful of the restraints it has to operate under due to Israel’s reliance on U.S. military and political support and the massive amount of trade it does with Europe. In more recent years, Israel under Netanyahu has worked to diversify its trading partners and even looked into increased arms deals and political arrangements with other countries. But it has been unable to replace the U.S. and Europe as Israel’s main patrons.

But now, the Israeli far-right is in a position of power it has never been close to before. It is at the height of its popularity in Israel, especially with the younger generation of Israelis. The Overton Window of Israeli politics has moved farther rightward than ever, so much so that a radical settler leader like Naftali Bennett was seen as occupying the political center, albeit somewhat to its right. 

Yet before October 7, the far-right was still not powerful enough within Israel to bring the country fully into its fascist camp. Its attempt to do so was met with a furious and unrelenting backlash throughout the country — the regular demonstrations that we all saw. 

But Hamas’s attack changed things dramatically. For the hardliners in the Likud, Jewish Power, and Religious Zionism parties, a golden opportunity had presented itself. 

The country was galvanized with anger, hate, and fear. The key leaders in the government had to do everything they could to deflect blame for the cataclysmic results of Hamas’s attack from their own incompetence, which bore a considerable amount of the responsibility for the bloody success the attackers had. They were going to act in whatever way they could to channel the country’s anger and bloodlust toward Gaza, lest more of it turn inward and see Israelis demand accountability for their leaders’ failures.

Netanyahu would obviously be all in on anything that could not only allow him to remain in office but would also give him the opportunity to re-establish his leadership of Israel (though he’s managed to blow that opportunity). But, for the larger group of far-right ideologues, they had an opportunity to finally put their preferred “solution” to Israel’s security issues — unrestrained, overwhelming violence — to the test.

This thinking is what has driven the Gaza assault. Making Gaza uninhabitable, wiping out Gaza’s civilian infrastructure, and killing tens of thousands of Palestinians in Gaza is not just an expression of violence or rage. It is the Israeli right’s attempt to “win” the 1948 war. It is an effort to “solve” the “Palestinian problem” by wiping out the Palestinian national movement. 

As far as Hamas may be from having majority support among Palestinians, it has come to represent the armed resistance to Israeli occupation, dispossession, and displacement of Palestinians. As always, it’s important to remind the world that an occupied people has the right to armed resistance, and whether Hamas or other groups have always acted within the boundaries of that right is a separate question. Gaza is where the stubbornest part of the Palestinian national movement resides, the area where, no matter what Israel has thrown at it over the decades, Palestinian steadfastness remains. 

By destroying Gaza and tightening its grip — and, later, escalating its violence — on the West Bank, the Israeli far-right intends to end the endless debates over a two-state solution by rendering the question moot. That is, of course, what settlement expansion and the various “security measures” have been slowly trying to achieve for years, but October 7 presented an opportunity to speed up that process, as the far-right has always desired. 

World powers looking elsewhere

Israel had an unusually free hand. There was an American president who was fully supporting the efforts in a way no president had ever done before. Russia is much too busy in Ukraine to be of any help to the Palestinians or even to their Syrian ally. Europe will follow the American lead for the most part and is also already experiencing divisions over its involvement with Ukraine. China does not involve itself so directly in foreign conflicts. This all combined to give Israel as good an opportunity as it was ever likely to have to pursue an endgame, with minimal interference from outside powers. 

Their ambition goes much farther than Gaza. In a little-reported move, Israel stole eight square kilometers of Palestinian land in the Jordan Valley in the West Bank two weeks ago. The move was carried out by Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich by declaring it “state land.” He carried out this theft on the very day that U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken arrived in Israel for talks with Netanyahu. 

The timing was not accidental. Smotrich wanted to see if the U.S. would respond. It didn’t. So much for Biden’s commitment to a “two-state solution,” as the annexed land is part of the area around the settlement of Ma’ale Adumim that bisects the West Bank, making a viable Palestinian state there even more impossible than it already was. While the two-state solution has been long dead in reality, Biden has kept it as a useful fantasy. Now, he has demonstrated once again how illusory it is. 

The land theft goes hand in hand with Israel’s escalating violence, regular raids, and the impunity it grants to settlers for their pogroms in Palestinian villages that have already caused many to be abandoned. Further escalation in the West Bank is very likely after Israel is done with Gaza.

Israeli regional opportunism

But the opportunistic right is not stopping with Palestine. Its incursions deep inside Lebanon have been a significant concern even in Washington, which fears a regional conflagration. Thus far, Hezbollah has been willing to avoid major escalation with Israel. But it has refused to redeploy north of the Litani River, as it is obliged to do by UN Security Council Resolution 1701 after the 2006 war, and it continues to fire rockets, mostly at military targets, in northern Israel, in solidarity with Gaza. As with all of this, it goes away as soon as Israel halts its genocidal campaign.

But as Israel kills more Hezbollah fighters and Lebanese civilians, Hezbollah may feel compelled to engage Israel in a more robust conflict. The Israeli incursions deep into Lebanon’s northeastern areas seem intended to provoke Hezbollah into just such an action. 

The ultimate goals of bringing Hezbollah more directly into battle with Israel are two-fold: first, to eliminate Hezbollah’s ability to confront Israel, and second, to finally draw Iran into a direct conflict. This was very likely the thinking behind striking the Iranian consulate in Damascus earlier this week. 

This notion does not seem to have escaped the White House. They were unusually quick to disavow any knowledge of or involvement in Israel’s attack in Damascus, yet were not so quick to try to cover for Israel in this matter. 

For Iran’s part, they are not willing to let the U.S. off the hook so easily. After all, Washington routinely blames them for the actions of their allies, whether or not Tehran had anything to do with it. Iran is similarly holding the U.S. responsible, and whenever they respond, it is possible they will hit U.S. forces in the region, Israeli citizens or sites abroad, or both. 

Israel had to know this would be the result of the attack on Damascus. Their excuse for attacking the consulate — that it was used for military purposes — was paper thin. Consulates routinely function as waypoints for military and intelligence figures to do business, hold meetings, and the like. No one thinks that makes them legitimate targets. 

No, this was a deliberate provocation, and one intended to draw an Iranian response and help push the United States into greater involvement in aggression against Iran. 

Some may consider it far-fetched that the Israeli far-right, which has not shown great competence in strategic thinking, or even professionalism in government, could come up with such schemes. 

October 7 gave the Israeli right the chance it has always lusted after — to use overwhelming, unrestrained force to settle the century-old conflict between Zionism and Palestinian nationalism once and for all. As that operation has proceeded, the opportunity to confront the regional nemesis, Iran, developed and is being seized as well.

That would be an accurate assessment. But Israel hasn’t come to this by design, but rather by capitalizing on opportunities when they presented themselves. October 7 was the key, giving the Israeli right the chance it has always lusted after — to use overwhelming, unrestrained force to settle the century-old conflict between Zionism and Palestinian nationalism once and for all. As that operation has proceeded, the opportunity to confront the regional nemesis, Iran, developed and is being seized as well, albeit more gradually since Israel doesn’t have the advantage of overwhelming force against a defenseless foe as it does in Gaza. 

While Joe Biden reacted strongly to the killing of the World Central Kitchen aid workers, it can be hoped that he, or those advising him, recognize the danger that Israel is posing with its other actions. The quickness of Washington’s denial of involvement in the Damascus attack might hint that someone in the White House sees what’s coming. Biden’s reported demand for a ceasefire in Gaza may, one can hope, also indicate that he is trying to counter Israel’s efforts to draw the United States into a regional war. 

This opportunistic attempt by Netanyahu to ignite a wider war in the hope of finally defeating both the Palestinians and Iran is a place where other Israeli leaders would be different. Benny Gantz, Yair Lapid, even a figure as far to the right on Palestine as Gideon Sa’ar are not the sort who would be willing to risk permanent and major damage to the U.S.-Israel relationship and a regional war that Israel is by no means sure of winning. 

But Biden has also seized a cynical opportunity, though for a potentially positive purpose, by using Europe’s and the American public’s disgust at Israel’s wanton murder of aid workers to finally level a real threat against Netanyahu. Already, this has forced Israel to agree to broaden the avenues through which humanitarian aid can enter Gaza (one wonders how Biden and Blinken square this agreement with their ludicrous claims that Israel was not violating international law by blocking aid). 

It remains to be seen if Biden is really willing to safeguard American national interests and avoid being drawn into the regional war that Israel’s current leadership wants. It is reasonable to hope that Washington is aware of this, which motivated the shift in the past weeks toward blaming Netanyahu and calling for Israelis to oust him — a call Benny Gantz has clearly heeded. 

Biden has made it clear that no amount of Palestinian suffering means a thing to him. But when white Europeans and Canadian-Americans are killed, he has no choice but to respond to that. Hopefully the same can be said about keeping the United States out of a regional war that cannot start if there is no hope of Israel drawing the U.S. into it. The only way to stop it, though, is to stop the genocide in Gaza.