#Perceived Concessions

[thetrainingnetwork]

Neither does he

"Trumpian" is rooted in Anchoring Bias—where the initial offer shapes the negotiation. Start high, alter perceived value, and manufacture concessions. It’s the ‘art of the deal’—transactional politics, seen as pragmatic by some.

‘Trumpian’… a new word for your lexicon. If you took my advice and have read The Donald’s book, Art of the Deal, you’ll know immediately what it means.  It boils down to Anchoring Bias; the first number put on the table (the ‘anchor’) heavily influences the rest of the negotiation. If you start high, it shifts the perceived value in your favour, making any concession seem like a reasonable…

[un-lawliet]

— A drabble about falling asleep on Gojo, and making him realise something he never even considered.

You’re asleep before you even realise it, your head softly bouncing as your body slumps sideways.

Right onto Gojo’s shoulder.

Well, nearly.

The blindfolded man turns his head at the slight bump on his infinity, pausing briefly as he sees you sound asleep, a small crease in your brow as your body attempts to readjust into a more comfortable position.

That mission must have taken a lot more out of you than he had thought.

For such a well rounded sorcerer as yourself to fall asleep on the train ride home…Gojo finds himself frowning at his lack of perception.

He could have handled it for you, had you have asked him to, should you have voiced your exhaustion to him, he would have finished the mission quickly and walked you right to your bed.

You hadn’t been sleeping well recently, he had noticed that.

Being too caught up in trying to teach your students whilst also contributing to your part in the eradication of curses, left you a yawning mess, trailing your feet ever so slightly behind you as you walked.

You lack your usual air of charm, your eyes duller, and voice quiet, and Gojo finds himself, missing you a lot more than he believed he should.

When the pair of you return to Jujutsu Tech, Gojo makes a reminder in his head to take over the rest of your missions until you can promise him of your rest.

If you won’t take care of yourself, then he will.

For now though, the traces of a small smile can be seen on his lips, as your head finally hits the warmth of his shoulder, his technique forgotten for just a moment.

Allowing himself the feeling of your hair tickling his neck, and the weight of your sleep, he traces your eyebrow with his thumb, smirking as you sigh contently at his touch.

There’s an old woman, across from the pair of you, sitting with her bags stacked high on her knees, who whispers under her breath to her husband about the joy of young love, and how gentle it can make a man.

And Gojo finds himself growing fond at the thought, humming sweetly as he looks at your sleeping face, and how calm you look when against his frame.

The trains goes through a tunnel, darkness permeating the car for a brief moment.

You shuffle in your seat as the darkness becomes light once more, waking slightly at the sudden change in brightness.

Your head is resting on something…warm?

You blink slowly, taking in your surroundings before gazing up, alarm juxtaposing your peace.

You spring off his shoulder, eyes wide with concession.

“Oh my God!” You splutter out, your face burning with chagrin, your hands raising as if pleading for mercy.

Your relationship with Gojo is complicated already, you hate to make things more confusing than they need to be.

“I’m sorry!” You say, “I didn’t realise I-”

He cuts you off with a small shake of his head, a large hand reaching over to gently push your head back onto his shoulder, a chuckle leaving him as he does so.

“Relax.��� He grins, and it’s the softest you’ve ever heard him speak, “If you’re tired, sleep. I’ll not stop you.”

And you breathe out and in, Gojo can feel it on his neck, trying not to shiver at the closeness of your breath.

“You don’t mind?” You whisper out, at last, unable to peer back up at him.

The hand that pushed you back to him trails down to rest on your waist, curling in to trace patterns on your skin. It makes you feel warm, and you bury your face deeper into his shoulder.

“Nah.” He replies simply, his voice sounding contemplative, as if coming to a realisation he had not yet realised he had to perceive.

And when he leaves a soft kiss on the top of your head, you feel yourself melt, feelings of confusion and any thought of hesitancy dissipating in the feeling of his delicate kiss.

“Not at all.”

Masterlist <3

feel free to leave a request !

A/N: i miss my baby :(

sorry for being gone for FIVE MONTHS omfg ?????? that’s crazy, i’ve been going insane i think but i’m back and i’m here and i love everyone here and thank you so so so much for reading <3 this was just something small i wrote in half an hour just to bring myself back into the whole writing thing :) so please don’t take it too seriously !!!! i hope you are all doing well

[txttletale]

i am confused by some self described maoists opposing gun regulations and saying the proletariat must be armed, and i remember you once said most of this comes from misinterpreting one thing marx said about an already-armed proletariat, could you expand on that?

because my thinking is, 1) people are materially, demonstratively safer in places with less guns and less excuses for cops to shoot them and 2) ... it's not like places like the US seem any closer to a revolution unless I'm missing something, right? All of this to me sounds exactly like when some extremely online "communists" oppose a labour reform that will make material improvements for the working class because they perceive worse conditions as more conductive to a revolution, which is something that, if nothing else, is horrible optics for any communist to say since it sounds like they _want_ things to get worse, which rightfully would make any working person want to punch them

SRA and similar types drastically take the quote “Under no pretext should arms and ammunition be surrendered; any attempt to disarm the workers must be frustrated, by force if necessary” out of context in a very silly way, interpreting it as 'basically the 2nd amendment', as marx just saying that the working class should all own their own gun as individuals--when in fact marx said this in a very specific context, discussing an organized working class in the midst of a popular democratic revolution against feudalism (such as the february revolution in russia or the xinhai revolution in china) in which the proletariat and bourgeoisie were united against aristocratic and royalist elements, and the need of organized proletarian militias to maintain their weapons even after the success of such a revolution to guard against betrayal by the bourgeoisie of the sort marx wrote of extensively in the case of the french revolutions. here's the quote in its full context:

During and after the struggle the workers must at every opportunity put forward their own demands against those of the bourgeois democrats. They must demand guarantees for the workers as soon as the democratic bourgeoisie sets about taking over the government. They must achieve these guarantees by force if necessary, and generally make sure that the new rulers commit themselves to all possible concessions and promises – the surest means of compromising them. They must check in every way and as far as is possible the victory euphoria and enthusiasm for the new situation which follow every successful street battle, with a cool and cold-blooded analysis of the situation and with undisguised mistrust of the new government. Alongside the new official governments they must simultaneously establish their own revolutionary workers’ governments, either in the form of local executive committees and councils or through workers’ clubs or committees, so that the bourgeois-democratic governments not only immediately lost the support of the workers but find themselves from the very beginning supervised and threatened by authorities behind which stand the whole mass of the workers. In a word, from the very moment of victory the workers’ suspicion must be directed no longer against the defeated reactionary party but against their former ally, against the party which intends to exploit the common victory for itself. To be able to forcefully and threateningly to oppose this party, whose betrayal of the workers will begin with the very first hour of victory, the workers must be armed and organized. The whole proletariat must be armed at once with muskets, rifles, cannon and ammunition, and the revival of the old-style citizens’ militia, directed against the workers, must be opposed. Where the formation of this militia cannot be prevented, the workers must try to organize themselves independently as a proletarian guard, with elected leaders and with their own elected general staff; they must try to place themselves not under the orders of the state authority but of the revolutionary local councils set up by the workers. Where the workers are employed by the state, they must arm and organize themselves into special corps with elected leaders, or as a part of the proletarian guard. Under no pretext should arms and ammunition be surrendered; any attempt to disarm the workers must be frustrated, by force if necessary.

—Karl Marx, Address of the Central Committee to the Communist League (emphasis mine)

it's a total and deeply unserious misinterpretation of what marx actually said, and imo it is indicative less of anything specific to maoism but of the usamerican individualist mindset, who cannot conceive of 'the proletariat' as conceiving of anything other than scattered individuals making personal purchasing and lifestyle decisions. to paraphrase the least annoying mcelroy brother, if you buy a glock you're not arming the proletariat, you're arming the justin. you and your SRA buddies owning guns is not an 'armed proletariat', it's an 'armed just some guys'.

& of course these people will make much hay about the black panthers' use of firearms while once again completely failing to understand what the black panthers actually were (an organization founded on marxist principles) and what they used those guns for (to patrol, in groups, around their neighbourhoods to prevent police from acting with impunity). not for personal 'self defence' but for organized, community self-defense. which kind of gets to the heart of it, a gun is not actually useful for 'self-defense', owning a gun doesn't make you safer, but because of this individualism the specter of the random street hate crime which you can epically john wick your way out of plays an oversized role in the political imagination of these people who, again, cannot envision what self-defense looks like on a community or class basis.

another argument that will be made is that "well, personal gun ownership isn't revolutionary action now, but if there's a revolution how do you expect the revolutionary party to become armed if not through preexisting individual gun ownership?" needless to say i think this is very silly. no revolutionary or guerilla movement in history has ever relied upon the personal gun ownership of its members, because that's a fucking stupid way to operate a serious fighting force.

now that doesn't mean i actually think that gun control legislation in the usa is prima facie a good idea -- i think if the last few years have hammered any point home it's that the cops don't need excuses to shoot people, and that any theoretical program of firearm confiscation would be accompanied by disproportional leniency for right-wing white gun owners and disproportional violence and brutality against latino and black gun owners. i don't think guns are ontologically evil, i think if you want to own a gun that's whatever--but i do think that SRA types are for the most part wilfully deluding themselves that their particular type of consumerism and hobbyism is serious revolutionary activism in much the same way that people who make a big deal out of buying from their local small business queer owned coffee shop are.

[saywhat-politics]

WASHINGTON (AP) — A federal judge on Friday permanently blocked a White House executive order targeting an elite law firm, dealing a setback to President Donald Trump’s campaign of retribution against the legal profession.

U.S. District Beryl Howell said the executive order against the firm of Perkins Coie amounted to “unconstitutional retaliation” as she ordered that it be nullified and that the Trump administration halt any enforcement of it.

“No American President,” Howell wrote in her 102-page order, “has ever before issued executive orders like the one at issue in this lawsuit targeting a prominent law firm with adverse actions to be executed by all Executive branch agencies but, in purpose and effect, this action draws from a playbook as old as Shakespeare, who penned the phrase: ‘The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.’”

The ruling was most definitive rejection to date of Trump’s spate of similarly worded executive orders against some of the country’s most elite law firms, part of a broader effort by the president to reshape American civil society by targeting perceived adversaries in hopes of extracting concessions from them and bending them to his will. Several of the firms singled out for sanction have either done legal work that Trump has opposed, or currently have or previously had associations with prosecutors who at one point investigated the president.

[leviathan-supersystem]

i've noticed democrats want to be perceived both as moderate centrists, *and*, at the same time, perceived as the farthest left the overton window can go, with no one further to the left of them.

these goals are incompatible. if they successfully frame themselves as moderate centrists, there's going to be people to the left of them who don't vote for them.

if these people on the left (such as myself) *were* to vote for them and support them, they would be perceived as a left-wing, even far-left party.

this is true even if they, somehow, managed to get us to vote for their party without making any concessions to the far left whatsoever, even if every one of us truly was convinced by "well the other guy's worse" style arguments and the policy remained exactly the same. just fundamentally there is no way for them to get every far left radical to vote for and endorse their party without being perceived as the kind of party that left-wing radicals would vote for.

despite what they'll claim this wouldn't be an obstacle to winning at all, they could absolutely make the case that radical leftism is exactly what is needed in this time (since that's true) and like, obama was widely (incorrectly, but widely) perceived as being on the far left and won two terms. but since democrats would rather die (and/or lose perpetually) than even pretend to cede any ground to the left, here we are ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[mortalfaerie]

here's some more snowbaird capitol power couple notes:

corio's descent into tyranny is slow. while he's become hardened by the end of tbosas, he's not yet autocratic and still has a long uphill battle to fight in order to reach his goal of the presidency

i think this scenario works best if he was never found out for cheating, and plays up the angle of lucy gray as a glamorous victor and a tool for capitol propoganda, maybe even bringing her on the first victory tour

he recognizes the way she dazzles on the tour and has a natural charm she adapts to situations and sees in her - in addition to the physical attraction he feels for her already - the makings of a shrewd politician's wife

on the tour he suggests marriage to her and they hash out the "terms" of it. lucy is a survivor and won't enter into it blindly, she wants her demands in writing (the covey to be allowed to travel again between districts once his political star rises, a stipend for them back in district 12, her own protection and freedom to do as she pleases in private). after they come to an agreement, they publicly stage their engagement on their victorious return to the capitol. they public eats it up - the darling victor who nobody expected to win and the capitol boy who believed in her.

with the plinth prize money, the snows again live in luxury in the restored penthouse. while the wedding is prepared for, lucy stays with the plinths for propriety's sake - since image is everything for a patrician family like the snows

they marry and it's the event of the season, covered on the capitol news and everything. while coriolanus attends university, lucy crafts her image as a kind, soft-hearted girl from humble origins, engaging in philanthropic efforts in the city and performing at events

behind closed doors, their marriage isn't just one of convenience, though. love is fickle for someone like coriolanus but he undoubtedly admires lucy gray and prizes her like a jewel. she's the only person he can truly confide in and the physical attraction he feels for her is undeniable. their marriage is definateky a passionate one in those early years.

the fulfillment of legacy is everything to coriolanus, and he's eager to start a family with her. lucy sets her own timeline on this, and they plan to have their first child five years into their marriage after coriolanus graduates from university and had successfully found a place in the capitol legislature - maybe not as an elected official yet (he's only 22-23) but definately as a rising star often covered in the news.

when their first child is born (patrician first name and a color middle name in concession to lucy's covey origins), his image is one of a young, new voice in government, favored by the younger generation for his perceived liberalism that flatters their posturing while never truly breaking the status quo (speaking of charitable efforts in the districts, scholarships for capitol citizens affected by the war, environmentalism, etc.), and lucy provides a glowing, humanizing element to him as his unlikely wife and mother of their child, the fairytale ending to their star-crossed lovers narrative.

lucy's existence as his wife and darling also helps to build the mythology of the games as a "tournament of honor," whereby the victor is "redeemed" and transcends their district origins. moreover, it places coriolanus as part of that mythology.

despite his cunning and sometimes cruel political tactics, coriolanus's patrician origins and social class would probably mean he views marriage and family - the cult of domesticity - as a symbolic and aspirational institution. for that reason, divorce is off the table and lucy is to be venerated and respected in public as his wife and the mother of his children - a part of the snow family and legacy. moreover, his own mother's gruesome death probably means that lucy's role as the mother of his children has an almost deity-like quality. in the first 10-15 years of their marriage, he'll probably indulge her every whim because she's given him children.

speaking of children, i think they have a lot of them. not so many that it's gauche in capitol terms, but enough that is projects his image as a "family man" and satisfies his own desire for a reborn snow family dynasty. i think lucy would be in favor of this for her own reasons, one being that she always grew up with cousins and a large family in the covey, and another being that each child endears her more to him and gives her leverage in their relationship.

and i think coriolanus would be a surprisingly involved father. his children are an extension of him, but his own childhood loneliness probably makes him a more indulgent father than her would have otherwise been. toys, games, clothes are always the best and he'll come home from the legislature as shift from cool, cunning politician to father of several small children reading to them before bed or laying on the ground building block towers with them.

as they grow older his expectations of them become more strict so that they live up to his standards, but they never doubt that their father cares for them and takes pride in them, in his own way.

lucy is a very involved mother. she likely doesn't have a formal career - she performs occasionally and still has a reputation as a beautiful singer - but she values her personal freedom to do whatever she wants more than that. she's often in the capitol taking their children to museums or parks or zoos, vacationing in some of the wealthier districts (since we know there's a tourism industry) and taking them to meet their cousins and extended family when the covey band is in town (and she gets to perform with them, too). their children see her as their clever, fun/loving mother who'd always slip them a sweet or pull a face to make them laugh when others weren't looking. and being seen publicly with their children builds coriolanus's family man appearance.

when coriolanus wins the presidency, they play up the angle of lucy gray as first lady of panem - she's like their jackie kennedy in a way.

when corio becomes president (young but not too young, probably in his early to mid 30s) this is probably when the cracks begin to appear in their relationship. he wants lucy gray to take an active role in the hunger games, perpetuating the glorious victor narrative and probably "crowning" the victor ceremoniously after the arena. while she fulfills this role publicly, she rages about it in private and begins to internally resent him for it.

even as their relationship deteriorates from a strategic but passionate match of comfort and admiration to one of public unity and love and private coldness and businesslike interactions, coriolanus won't discard her. while he'll kill political adversaries and is cruel and calculating in his governance, to kill lucy or divorce her is unthinkable because it would stain the snow legacy both publicly and privately. and even if he could make her death look like an accident, he would be tormented by having done it, remembering the way his father callously treated his mother and how she bled out in front of him. so she's safe, but in a gilded cage.

and while lucy gray might grow to resent him and even hate him at times, they have a codependent loyalty due to their "us against the world" relationship from the games to now. they are eachother's closest companions and confidantes, and more importantly, allies in the protection and assured success of their children. they are too deeply intwined in each other by then to be parted.

[coldblooded-angel]

My thoughts during the Churro™ scene as a professionally licensed Yapper:

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT:

While they’re in the canteen, there’s a moment where Art looks at Patrick and you can clearly see the relief in his eyes that he has his friend there with him. (Or does he??)

I don’t think Art was lying about not keeping in touch with Patrick. In between his tennis career and his relationship, Patrick has neglected Art (which I think is because he’s so used to him being there that he just never fathomed him not being there which makes him complacent in their friendship).

But when Art realizes that once again Patrick has been taken away by just the mere image of Tashi, he’s hurt. I think in that moment Art wanted to feed that hurt, lash out and make Patrick feel the pain he feels for being left out.

Art jokes about Patrick not being there to visit him because he misses him. He misses his friend, his constant and yes, it’s in a joking manner but Patrick sees thru him (as he always does).

(The fucking head tilt took me out because it screams fond like ‘aw baby u really did miss me ure so cute when ure jealous but wont admit it’)

The entire scene (for me) turns into reassurances and doubts. Their friendship was being tested to see if it could withstand having to share their love and space with a third. Having to make concessions and space around their new desire and jealousy.

When Art tries to downplay his thoughts, trying to twist Tashi’s words to manipulate he was clearly being petty but I also think there’s some truth to his statement of not wanting Patrick to get hurt. He is his friend first but he also knows him (the same intrinsic way that Patrick knows Art) and how his friend will be able to bounce back from any relationship because Art truly doesn’t think these two are that serious (blinded by Patrick’s history and his own feelings). So Patrick sees the manipulation for what it is.

(The fond look in his eye when Art isn’t looking. That man is in love your honor!!!!!)

Patrick knows Art was trying to manipulate him. He knows it and he likes it, encourages it even. He looks at him like he’s proud of Art. The fact that it mattered more to him that Art was actually being vocal about his own wants instead of repressing as he always did, even if it was through breaking him and his girlfriend up. He didn’t even see it as a threat because it never occurs to him that he could lose Tashi to Art (or vice versa) because at this point, he’s secure in his place within the triangle. But also reveals how insecure Art feels within that same triangle because of his perceived isolation.

[sunderwight]

Not to theorize on Arcane with only three episodes left to go or anything, but I do think that there's a reason why the scenes we get of Viktor where he's actually acting like his old self, with Sky also acting reasonably human, are in some kind of theater of the mind/magical space/etc, rather than just Viktor in-person talking to Hallucination Sky in his shimmer dome or something.

Like, think about it. The first few scenes we have of Viktor post-cocoon, he sees Sky as a hallucination in physical reality, and it's disjointed and an obvious sign that something has gone Wrong. It's creepy, and weird. He's got one foot in physical reality and one somewhere else (and it's styled very differently from Jinx's hallucinations, too, which handily indicates that this is not the same sort of thing).

But then, after Jayce returns and we see that Viktor has established his cult, his personality seems to be entirely contained within this otherworldly space. He can perceive reality, but it's no longer overlapping. He has become somewhat quarantined from himself, with Sky there as well, acting way more like "herself" than she did as a hallucination before but also essentially chaperoning Viktor's consciousness. Like a golden retriever put in with a zoo cheetah to keep it calm.

What's interesting is that, internal Viktor is pretty much the usual Viktor he's been since S1, more or less. Like, that's definitely Viktor, who worries about Jayce and focuses on complex problems and wants to help people. But in-person Viktor is weirder. He's not a completely different guy by any means, but he doesn't emote the way that the internal Viktor does, and he says more weird shit in weird tones. Based on the decisions he ultimately makes, I think the internal Viktor is still calling the shots -- but I also think that he's increasingly on his way out.

He's been disconnected from his own physical reality by several degrees, observing it more than interacting with it. And though he sees that there's another influence on Jayce, there are heavy hints (such as Sky appearing right when he says that) that he's in the same boat. But because the process is happening gradually, and is happening within him, he can't recognize it. Every time he tries to, he is presented with a new distraction, or discussion, or there is a reassuring concession that seems to validate that he's still in control. Plus it's probably just difficult to perceive because it does seem to be basing a lot of its outlook on things off of his own. How do you discern the "wrongness" in something when it's the same flavor of wrong that you yourself tend to be?

It's difficult from the outside to definitively say whether this is just Viktor undergoing some funky character development, or if Viktor's another victim of something else. Maybe Viktor's just sequestering his own humanity a bit? Maybe it's all just intended to depict how he navigates through magical energy?

But I think another big indication that it's not just Viktor, is Salo. When Jayce comes back and asks if Salo's still in there after Viktor talks through him, Salo just calmly reasserts himself, and acts as if the idea that he's being forcefully subjugated is absurd. He's not being attacked or imprisoned, he's just engaged in a willing partnership with a benevolent power. If we didn't know what he was like before, or if the old Salo had been a very calm and altruistic individual to being with, it might even be convincing. But the disconnect is way more obvious here because the character we met in past episodes is way further removed from the serene cultist we see Jayce smash with his big hammer. We know that even a grateful Salo is not the kind of person who is going to put on a beige tunic, forgo his many vices and fancy parties, and join a commune just to thank his benefactor. No matter how happy he was to have his legs back, it would only be because it got him his life back -- he wouldn't want to regain his mobility just to up and abandon that life.

Outwardly it would seem that the thing that has subverted Salo's will is Viktor. But if Viktor is also being gradually quarantined, if the same thing is happening to him, then that further implies that another will is at play. One that is disguising itself as Viktor, or if you will as an evolution of Viktor.

Okay and now to actually theorized I guess -- I think that this might be where Singed's assertions about Warwick/Vander being a necessary component of Viktor's evolution will come into play. Because Viktor himself is not going to sacrifice a man to achieve that, but whatever else is part of Viktor does want to evolve. And then it just so happens that Jayce comes out of nowhere, ostensibly being controlled or influenced by something else, and shoots Viktor dead. At which point it seems like the human part of Viktor goes out, and the Machine Evolution guy fully supplants him.

Yeah, I kind of think that Jayce did do a bad thing, but that the twist will be that when he touched the arcane, "Viktor" showed him a vision or gave him some kind of time travel-y experience that convinced him he had to go back and destroy him, so that Jayce would unwittingly kill the only thing holding it back before Viktor finished helping Vander, probably ran out of juice and died in the process, and quietly took this thing out with him. It would, unfortunately, be very on-brand for Jayce to take a decisive and violent action to try and prevent catastrophe, only to unintentionally make it worse. This show on the whole has stuck to the idea that shooting your big flashy magic weapon at a thing is a great way to make a complicated problem much much worse.

I'm not sure they'd break the pattern for this one.

[tide-locked]

ok, you know what, fuck it, fic recs post. historically i try not to rec works in progress or things i haven't commented on and i'm throwing that fully out the window for this because honestly, fucking whatever.

if you're on this list and i haven't been fully unhinged at you in the comments, please know that it's because (1) i'm the worst and (2) i'm trying desperately to calibrate so i hit 'enthusiastic' and not 'kind of frightening, actually'. i swear that i have written at least several sentences of a comment for every fic on this list, it's just that i'm genuinely impossibly slow, sometimes. it's me, not you.

my previous rec post is here, in case you missed that. as a bonus, special for this rec list and as a concession to the horrors, i am attempting to guess how much any given fic will fuck up the average person. obviously this is a ymmv kind of situation, but i'm trying, at least?

everything else under a cut because i am longwinded.

and found by @dangerouscommiesubversive, explicit, every possible combination of di feisheng/fang duobing/li lianhua | li xiangyi; bless, but i am not typing all that out. starting off with a wip where i haven't left a comment in like four fuckin' chapters, breaking those rules real good. this fic is a fucking ride. i will admit that i wasn't entirely convinced by the premise when i saw the blurb, but i am nothing if not willing to admit when i was wrong, and i was—once again—totally wrong. this is the fic where i was like 'ok but…is anyone really, like, desperate for gen z li xiangyi?' and then i read it and i was like 'ohhhhhh fuck yeah, ok, i get it, i was actually fully desperate for gen z li xiangyi.' he is. such a little prick. i love him. there has been something unexpected and delightful in every single chapter of this so far, plus a number of impressively memorable one-liners. this fic is fun and distracting and at least as of chapter seven, i'm gonna say it's not even gonna fuck you up. (please note that this is only through chapter seven!)

and the days are bright red by @junemermaid, explicit, di feisheng/fang duobing/li lianhua. rip to my beloved tumblr mutual @junemermaid, because they're getting called out twice in this list, but: tough. this fic is so delightful. featuring: memories of slut era li lianhua, the mortifying ordeal of being known, an entire box of historically accurate sex toys, fang duobing and di feisheng communicating (sometimes silently) in a way that unsettles li lianhua (back from his months-long sojourn), some very hot sex that is both very much about sex and also about trust and being perceived, casual intimacy, and fledgling tenderness. there are Emotions in this, and they get moderately intense, but it's a very kind and surprisingly gentle feel-good fic.

a drink under a clear window by @momosandlemonsoda, explicit, di feisheng/fang duobing and fang duobing/qiao wanmian. a fic that tackles the dreaded v-shaped polycule and makes it work. it seems like perhaps it shouldn't: fang duobing as the hinge, with di feisheng and qiao wanmian on either side, but actually it works perfectly, and is a lovely little glimpse at who they could become and the relationships they could have. i love the thought of qiao wanmian having come into her own as a leader in her own right, as more than just the representative of the ghost of li xiangyi, and this does a wonderful job of letting her be her own person. also, yes, ok, passing fang duobing back and forth like a party favour. this is a post-canon fic in which li lianhua is dead, but the fic itself a straightforward delight that is not at all fucky uppy.

the floating clouds, no resting place, again by @junemermaid (not sorry), technically gen and no ship, but functionally pre-di feisheng/fang duobing/li lianhua. the hair-washing fic. ohhhhhh. i started jotting notes for this post the day that i finished this fic, and i really thought that they were in any way comprehensive, but instead, what i typed and left as a note to myself was this:

and honestly. you're right, hypothetical reader, that doesn't totally make sense, but i stand by it regardless, because i apparently had that thought in [checks date i last saved the file] fucking august, and i'm still nodding along with myself. that is that this is like. this fic is very beautiful and will make you ache and will leave you slightly better at the end of it than you were at the beginning. it may also make you cry; this seems to me a fair enough trade.

the floating lotus by @anndramarama, not rated, di feisheng/li xiangyi. pre-canon stuff doesn't always work super well for me, but i really enjoyed this one, featuring di feisheng and li xiangyi when they're both so young and arrogant and full of themselves—and stupid and naïve and young and almost hopeful in a way that they're often not, in fic, for all that they were barely but children at the point of the donghai fight. they just seem…vulnerable, i guess, in this, in a way that i find touching. seasonal bonus: a ghost story, of a sort. given that this is set pre-canon, i think it's hard to come in any softer than bittersweet, which this very much is.

from here one's hand could pluck the stars by @howlingmoonrise, explicit, di feisheng/fang duobing. sex pollen fic! also featuring, a little surprisingly, given the premise, incredibly explicit and enthusiastic consent. look, this does what it says on the tin. di feisheng gets sex pollened. fang duobing is left to stay with him. the obvious ensues. unfortunately, it is also devastatingly charming? fang duobing is earnest and sweet; di feisheng is suffering beautifully terribly and trying so hard not to impose on fang duobing. they're both trying so hard to be respectful of what the other person needs, but they're also still bratty and argumentative and exasperated/exasperating, and it's very entertaining. this will fuck you up none percent, and may even make you laugh.

my war is done by @orchisailsa, explicit, di feisheng/fang duobing/li lianhua. another wip, with the first of three chapters posted, but please understand that this chapter is nearly 15k and so fucking good and compelling. li lianhua lives! and returns to find that things have changed in his absence, and perhaps that he has also changed in his absence, and now wants things that he had told himself he didn't mind not even having to lose. bonus: road trip and—delight!—only one room at the inn. also some other stuff that i'm not spoiling, but that made me absolutely gleeful. this is definitely a work in progress, and while i don't think there's anything particularly upsetting in the chapter, it does end on something of a cliffhanger. i personally do not feel that this is an upsetting cliffhanger, given the information about the fic that's presented in the tags, but it is technically a cliffhanger.

awkward paragraph break, but it's also important, i think, to mention the absolutely stunning (and not at all safe for work) companion piece to my war is done, you'd be there calling my name, by saki the cup bearer, who i don't think is on tumblr. it's fucking incredible; i am very decidedly not an artist but i cannot begin to imagine how much effort went into this. just. holy shit.

not unlike him in shape and form by @philologicalbat, explicit, fang duobing/li lianhua. ok look. i fucking love when things are deeply emotionally messy, and this is so emotionally messy. li lianhua who's been attracted to fang duobing and not doing anything about it, then discovering that fang duobing is shan gudao's son and is very much going to do something about it. he wants in this, and he's cunty and manipulative and mean about it, and sometimes also almost sweet, almost tender, and i love that, because i feel like li lianhua is very often an object of desire and very rarely gets to desire. i love how human he gets to be in this fic. this is not a sweet or gentle fic, but it does end in a moderately tender place that is tentatively hopeful, i think.

unbecoming heir by @bettercostume, explicit, di feisheng/princess zhaoling. i am taking your hand in mine and begging you to trust me. i know what this fic looks like. it's noncon and a weird pairing and you might look at it and expect it to go in the obvious direction and: it does not. this fic is so good that it makes me angry. it makes me miserable and everyone in this fic is trying so miserably, miserably hard, and it's fucking devastating. i spent literally thirty minutes earlier today yelling at my wife about it. i cannot rec this fic strongly enough. this is not a happy fic, but it is a good fic. it will absolutely fuck you up. this is very complimentary but also you will be fucked up.

until you are its primary evidence by @ilgaksu, mature, di feisheng/fang duobing/li lianhua. the single most effective use of what is effectively a prologue that i've ever seen in fic, are you kidding me. this fic is nothing at all like what i expected it to be, and is something far better than what i could have imagined. it's fang duobing's point of view, which is a rarity already, and it's so well done, and it allows him so much humanity and so much anger and grace alike. there are so many tricky things about this fic—the prologue, the fact that it's set in the amnesia arc, fang duobing's pov, the fact that it actually addresses canonical disabilities and illnesses without being fucking weird about it, the tension between the three of them—and it's all balanced so well. this has some emotionally heavier moments but ends tentatively happily; tentative only because it's set during the amnesia arc, and, well. we know what comes next.

as a final note: if you wrote one of these fics and feel that i've wildly misinterpreted the emotional tenor of the ending, please message me in whatever way you prefer and i will correct it. i would not normally presume to guess how things are likely hit people, as i am in many ways not anyone's ideal reader, but today it seemed like it was kinder to at least try.

[nerdydaydreamer]

Chapter 21: Of Dreams and Deliverance

MASTERLIST

Summary: Plucked from her mundane life and thrust into a glass prison alongside the captured King of Dreams, Nora becomes an unlikely confidante and defiant voice in his silent torment. As a century blurs into freedom, she discovers her own impossible existence is inextricably linked to Morpheus himself, compelling them to face future challenges and rebuild his shattered realm, together.

Previous Chapter

~Where Angels Fall~

The chill of Hell was immediate, a pervasive cold that seeped into Nora's bones despite the layers of clothing. It was a grey, desolate landscape, stretching endlessly under a bruised, perpetual twilight. Brittle, bare trees clawed at the sky like skeletal fingers, and the air hung heavy with the cloying scent of death and brimstone. Nora shivered, letting out a breath that plumed in front of her like a small, white ghost.

Matthew, who had landed on the desolate ground, hopped several times between Morpheus and Nora, his small avian body agitated. "Holy shit," he chirped, his voice high with disbelief. "I didn't think Hell was going to be so cold! I mean, it's Hell, for crying out loud. Wouldn't it be like, you know, hot?"

Nora shook her head, a low hum of agreement escaping her lips. "Yeah, it is a bit brisk." She then turned to Morpheus, her gaze scanning the bleak horizon. "Which way do we go?"

"I suggest we follow the damned," Morpheus replied, his voice a low, resonant hum.

A faint, rhythmic chanting reached them, a near-constant, booming sound that vibrated through the desolate landscape. As they followed the hypnotic rhythm, the chanting grew louder, leading them to a hulking, stone archway. A thin, metal gate, clearly off-kilter and barely clinging to its hinges, sagged in the middle of the arch.

Matthew semi-whispered to Morpheus, his head cocked to the side. "So, we're not sneaking in then?" His tone held a hint of surprise, perhaps even disappointment.

"A king may not enter another monarch's realm uninvited," Morpheus responded, his gaze fixed on the gate. He paused, turning his head slightly to look back at Nora and Matthew. "There are rules. Protocols. Which must be followed."

Matthew let out a single, exasperated caw in response. Morpheus turned to Nora, his expression grave, and his voice, now sharp with warning, cut through the oppressive air. "Nora, you are mortal here. No matter what befalls us, you must not leave my side. The denizens of this realm… they will seek to exploit any weakness they perceive. They will try to take advantage."

Nora met his gaze, her jaw firm, and gave a single, resolute nod.

Just before Morpheus turned back towards the gate, he paused again, a subtle flicker of realization crossing his face. He looked at Nora once more, his ancient eyes locking with hers. "And be mindful of your words." The spoken warning was polite, a veiled caution, but the thought he projected directly into her mind was laced with exasperation and urgency: We do not need a dispute with Hell, Nora, so please, for the love of the Dreaming, watch your language and do not piss anyone off.

The full weight of his mental addendum hit Nora. Her eyes widened, and her lips pressed into a thin, affronted line. Oh, come on, really? she thought, a spark of indignation flaring. But then, she gave it another moment of thought, the logical part of her mind asserting itself. He had a point. This was Hell, after all, and she had a bit of a… mouth. She raised her eyebrows slightly, tilting her head in concession, and then gave a small, rueful nod. Yeah, okay. You got me. Morpheus nodded once, then turned back and took the last few steps towards the gate, the others following close behind him.

The banging gong sound continued its ceaseless rhythm in the background, growing louder with each passing second. Then, heavy, deliberate footsteps crunched on the gravel, approaching the gate.

"There's one at the door. At the gate of damnation. Is it thief, thug or whore?" a deep, gravelly voice chanted on repeat, slowly, deliberately. He said it once, then again, closer this time, and Nora frowned, trying to decipher the slurred words. As the figure approached the gate and spoke the line once more, very clear and distinct, Nora's eyes widened in dawning horror. Not only had she understood the words, but she realized what he had just called them.

A half-choked sound of indignation escaped her lips, and she took an aborted step forward, ready to let her thoughts be voiced. Morpheus held out a pale hand towards her, looking over his shoulder, a silent query in his eyes: What did I just say? Nora looked back at him, a silent "Crap" crossing her features. She bit her lip slightly, then shrugged her shoulders, taking a step back. Nora looked down for a second, and in that brief moment, Morpheus's eyes heated, a low, intense warmth radiating from their depths. He then slowly lowered the hand he had raised to stop her, and once it was back at his side, his fingers curled into a fleeting, tight fist before relaxing. Morpheus then turned back towards the guard.

"Greetings, Squatterbloat," Morpheus said, his voice level, echoing with ancient authority. "I seek an audience with your sovereign."

The giant guard, who stood easily eight feet tall and was twice as wide as the largest man Nora had ever seen, chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to shake the very ground. "And who might you be?"

"I am the King of Dreams. Ruler of the Nightmare Realms," Morpheus responded, his voice unwavering.

The guard's massive head tilted back, and he let out a booming laugh. "Mmm. Yes, my clown."

Excuse me, what the hell did he just call my Sandy? Nora's thoughts screamed in her head, a torrent of indignant rage. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Guard your tongue, demon," Morpheus's voice cut through the air, sharp and unyielding, laced with a cold, ancient fury. The Nightmare King side of him, long dormant, surfaced slightly. "The ruler of Hell will not be kind to one who insults an honored guest. And I am a guest in this realm, as I am monarch of my own."

The guard's laughter died, replaced by a sullen glare. "So, where's your Ruby?" he grunted, his eyes narrowing.

Morpheus's gaze sharpened, a challenge in his starlit eyes. "Shall I use it to haunt your dreams and your waking hours too? Or will you open the gates of Hell and let us through?"

The demon grunted again, a low, guttural sound of reluctant assent. He slowly reached for a massive ring of keys hanging from his belt, the metal clanking with each movement. He fumbled for a moment, then selected a key and thrust it into the rusty lock. With a loud, grinding screech, the gate groaned open. He stepped back a few paces, a scowl on his brutish face.

Morpheus, Nora, and Matthew walked through the gate, the chill of Hell seeping deeper into their bones. "Now, take us to the palace," Morpheus commanded, his voice firm.

Squatterbloat merely mumbled under his breath, "There's one at the door, there's one at the door, there's one at the door," a nonsensical, repetitive drone.

Nora's mind, meanwhile, was a swirling maelstrom of curses. That rude, obnoxious, grotesque piece of overgrown muscle! The nerve of him, calling people whores! And insulting Morpheus! Oh, I swear to God, if I ever get my hands on a crowbar again, he's going to regret every single word that spewed from his foul mouth. 'My clown'? I'll show him a clown. A clown with a crowbar. Her silent tirade continued, punctuated by mental images of Squatterbloat experiencing every one of her more creative curses. The sheer audacity of the demon was almost enough to make her forget the grim reality of their destination.

Morpheus, sensing the furious, unvoiced torrent within her, was like mentally shaking his head, a wave of exasperated amusement rippling through their connection. At least she was keeping her colorful opinions internal, for now. It promised to be a source of rather personal entertainment for the foreseeable future.

~

They walked for a little while, the crunch of gravel beneath their feet the only sound besides the distant, rhythmic gonging. Squatterbloat, a hulking shadow, lumbered several paces ahead of them. The oppressive quiet, broken only by their footsteps, seemed to press in on them, amplifying the sense of desolation.

"Any idea where we are, Boss?" Matthew chirped, his voice a little strained, his head swiveling nervously.

"The landscape is subject to the whims of the Morningstar," Morpheus replied, his voice a low, even hum, his gaze sweeping across the bleak expanse.

Matthew gave a little hop, his feathers ruffling. "The morning star? We have to spend the night in this literal godforsaken—"

"I believe Morpheus meant Lucifer Morningstar, Matthew," Nora gently cut him off, her voice soft but firm. She looked back up at Morpheus, her eyebrows raised in a silent question, Right?

"As in, The Devil?" Matthew added, his head cocked, questioning Morpheus directly, a note of genuine disbelief in his tone.

"The ruler of Hell is no mere devil," Morpheus stated, his voice carrying a subtle weight, a distinction lost on most mortals.

"So, you two know each other?" Matthew asked, a hint of something akin to awe, and perhaps a touch of trepidation, in his voice.

"We have known each other for a very long time," Morpheus responded, his gaze distant, lost in the eons of shared history. After a moment's pause, he continued, "When we first met, Lucifer was the angel Samael."

"I forgot the Devil used to be an angel," Matthew commented, a trace of wonder in his tone, a memory from a forgotten mortal life resurfacing.

"Not just any angel," Morpheus stated, a subtle weight in his voice, his eyes seeming to hold the light of distant stars. "The most beautiful, wisest, and most powerful of all the angels. Saving only the Creator, Lucifer is perhaps the most powerful being there is. By far. Especially now."

"Why now?" Matthew pressed, hopping closer, drawn in by the gravity of Morpheus's words.

"The last time I was here, I was an honored guest, an envoy for my own kingdom," Morpheus replied, a faint shadow of past pride in his tone. He paused, the memory settling around him, a stark contrast to their current situation. "This time, I have invited myself, and I lack my symbols of office."

"But you're still Dream of the Endless, right, Boss? You've got your sand." Matthew's words trailed off, replaced by a sudden, unnerving silence. The near-constant gonging that had been a grim soundtrack to their journey was gone. The abrupt absence of the sound left a hollow space, a disquieting void.

"Wait a second," Nora said, looking around, her head tilting. The silence was almost louder than the gonging had been. "Squatterbloat," Morpheus murmured, his eyes scanning the bleak landscape, a grim realization dawning. "He's gone."

"Alright, don't panic," Matthew announced, puffing out his chest, trying to project an air of competence. "I'm just going to fly up and see where we are." He flapped his wings twice, launching himself into the air, a picture of avian determination. He immediately spun back around, landing heavily on the ground, his feathers ruffled and his small body trembling. "Nope! Nope, not doing that."

Nora and Morpheus looked up, their gazes following Matthew's terrified stare. Nora immediately grimaced, a wave of revulsion washing over her. Interwoven into the skeletal trees above them were decaying, grey corpses, their forms grotesque against the twilight sky. Their leathery skin clung to bone, and empty eye sockets stared down at them. Groaning sounds, like wind whistling through hollow reeds, drifted down from the branches, mingling with the creaking of the skeletal trees as they swayed in the unseen currents of Hell's air.

"Does this seem like the way to the palace to you, Boss?" Matthew asked quietly, his voice barely a chirp, his tiny eyes wide with primal fear.

"A demon has a hundred motives for anything he does," Morpheus replied, his voice low, addressed to both Matthew and Nora, a cold certainty in his tone. "All of them malevolent."

As they continued to look around, the oppressive silence was broken by a quiet, feminine voice calling out from behind them, soft but clear in the desolate air. "Kai'ckul?"

The trio turned, their gazes drawn to the source of the voice. They saw a structure that was more prison than home, a grim, organic architecture seemingly grown from the very rock of Hell. It was a low-slung, almost squat hut, but its walls appeared to be a twisted, petrified wood, interwoven with sharp, gnarled branches that emerged like spikes, creating a menacing, skeletal facade. Heavy, rusted iron bars covered the single, small window, making it clear that this was a cage, not a dwelling. The scent of despair seemed to emanate from it, mingling with the ever-present brimstone.

A female form approached the barred window. Her deep chocolate skin appeared drawn and pale in the dim light, framed by a slightly compressed afro that sat close to her head. She grasped two of the cold, iron bars, her knuckles white, her face almost touching the rusted metal. "Kai'ckul?" she whispered again, her voice raw with a desperate hope. Then she breathed out heavily, a visible plume of cold air. "Dream Lord?" A gasp escaped her lips, and then, a breathy, choked whisper: "It is you."

At this, Morpheus took a very small, almost imperceptible step towards her. "I greet you, Nada."

Nora, who had harbored a small, gnawing suspicion of the woman's identity given their environment and Morpheus's prior confession in the glass cage, remained utterly quiet in the background. The confirmation from Morpheus solidified her fears, a heavy weight in her chest. As he spoke Nada’s name, she slowly lowered her arm towards the ground, extending it to Matthew in a silent gesture for him to hop on. Once he had settled, a light, familiar weight on her forearm, she took a few silent steps backward, maintaining a proximity close enough for safety, as she had promised she would stay near Morpheus earlier, yet still far enough away to afford them a semblance of privacy. She wasn’t sure if Morpheus was truly ready for this interaction, or how he would navigate the treacherous currents of this ancient pain. But she was ready for whatever he decided to do, a silent vow of unwavering support echoing in her mind.

"How I have prayed for this day," Nada breathed, her voice a fragile whisper, yet filled with an almost unbearable hope. She looked at Morpheus, her eyes, even in the dimness, radiating love and a desperate yearning. "I knew you would come."

"It pains me to see you like this," Morpheus responded, his voice a low, somber murmur.

Nada pleaded, her voice rising slightly, infused with a raw, desperate need. "Then free me, Lord! Only your forgiveness can free me." After a weighty pause, her voice dropped, hushed and vulnerable. "Do you not still love me?"

Morpheus took a moment, a long, agonizing beat, to collect his thoughts. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken history. "It has been ten thousand years, Nada." His voice was soft, laced with an ancient weariness. "Yes, I still love you. But…" He paused, turning his head just slightly in Nora’s direction, not quite looking at her, but acknowledging her presence. He thought for a moment, a brief, internal reflection, recalling Nora’s poignant observation from the glass prison: Her fear of that life... it was not a rejection of you, but of what it would mean for a mortal. The truth of it, the simple, devastating truth of his own blind pride, settled deeper within him. The raw, recently endured pain of his own imprisonment, of being judged and confined for what he was, echoed Nada's ancient plight, granting him a profound, bitter empathy.

He turned his head back towards Nada, his gaze filled with that understanding of deep pain, but also softened by the wisdom of his own suffering. He took a hesitant step closer to the bars, his pale hand rising slightly as if to reach out, then faltering. "Nada," he began, his voice a low rumble, searching for the right words, a visible struggle in his features. "Your choice, born of fear for a life you could not embrace… It was my anger… my hurt… that compelled my actions. My judgment was… " He paused again, a deep furrow forming in his brow, wrestling with the unfamiliar exposure of his own vulnerabilities. "It was... unwarranted. Wrong of me to punish you for such mortal fears." He took a second, collecting his thoughts, his eyes fixed on hers. "After all this time, I do… I forgive you for those fears. And I hope, in time, you can forgive me for the unjust punishment I inflicted upon you."

Nada gasped, a sharp, choked sound of pure shock and surprise. Tears, shimmering streaks on her dark cheeks, began to pour from her eyes. Her mouth fell agape, trembling, yet it was subtly upturning at the corners, a nascent, fragile curve of joy amidst her sorrow. "Forgive… me?" she whispered, the words barely audible, as if the concept were too immense to comprehend. "Oh, Kai'ckul… my Dream Lord..." She reached out instinctively, her hand pushing through the bars, desperate to touch him.

Morpheus took a swift, subtle step back, a clear, unspoken boundary. His gaze remained sorrowful, but unwavering, a silent testament to his decision. He nodded to himself, a definitive movement. He looked Nada in the eye once more. "I will speak to Lucifer," he stated, then paused, his voice softening almost imperceptibly, "regarding your imprisonment."

Nada slowly pulled her arm back in through the bars, her hand falling to grasp the cold iron once more. She nodded, tears still streaming from her eyes, her gaze fixed on Morpheus. She seemed to want to say more, her lips parting slightly, but no sound emerged. She simply held his gaze, a quiet, earnest acceptance in her eyes.

Nora, from her position, felt a quiet awe settling over her. A couple of tears escaped her own eyes, tracing warm paths down her cheeks. She had felt the intense struggle Morpheus had undergone, the sheer effort of exposing himself, of articulating such deep, personal vulnerability. A powerful warmth spread through her chest, an overwhelming pride and happiness that he had made this choice, that he had extended such forgiveness and understanding to Nada.

Morpheus took several steps back, creating a small distance between them. Nora, still carrying Matthew, made her way over towards him. Just as they reached his side, before either of them could utter a word, the demon guard, Squatterbloat, suddenly materialized beside them, his massive form appearing from the desolate landscape with a low grumble.

"Follow me," Squatterbloat grumbled, his voice like grinding stones, and the trio began to move, the demon's massive, heavy footsteps crunching loudly on the desolate ground several paces ahead of them. They walked for what felt like an eternity, the grey, barren landscape stretching endlessly under the bruised, perpetual twilight of Hell. The oppressive quiet, broken only by their footsteps and the distant, unseen groans of the damned, seemed to press in on them, amplifying the acute sense of desolation and isolation. The air remained frigid, biting at exposed skin, heavy with the cloying scent of death and brimstone.

After several minutes, as the monotonous trek began to wear on them, Matthew finally piped up, his voice breaking the heavy silence. "So, that woman back there. Anything you want to share with your best friend Matthew?" His tone was carefully casual, almost conspiratorial, despite the inherent danger of their surroundings.

After a moment, Morpheus turned his head, his gaze distant, lost in eons of memory, though he continued to walk forward, his tall frame cutting a silent silhouette against the dim horizon. "Her name is Nada. She was the ruler of a tribe that called themselves the First People. We were in love." His words were soft, almost a whisper, laden with an ancient sorrow.

Matthew paused for a second, then hopped agitatedly on Nora’s arm. His tiny head swiveled directly to Nora, then back to Morpheus, then quickly back to Nora, and then back to Morpheus. "So what did she do? How did she end up here?" He seemed almost afraid to ask, yet his curiosity outweighed his fear.

"She defied me," Morpheus replied, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, yet the weight of the statement hung heavy in the cold air.

Matthew's feathers ruffled, his small body tensing. "Wait, you put her here?" The accusation, raw and incredulous, hung between them.

Before Morpheus could explain further, the demon guard in front of them stopped abruptly, his immense bulk suddenly still. Squatterbloat then stepped with surprising agility to the side, his massive, gnarled hand gesturing forward with an almost impatient motion, revealing what lay beyond.

"Why are we stopping?" Matthew asked both Nora and Morpheus, his voice a bewildered, slightly panicked chirp, his tiny head craning.

Nora looked ahead, past the hulking, shadowed form of the guard, and her eyes widened, a slow gasp escaping her lips. "I think we're here."

-

Thank you so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback are appreciated! 🩷

Next Chapter

[mylight-png]

"Ceasefire Now" is War

The idea of "ceasefire now" seems so appealing because the reality it would cause is directly the opposite of the actual call to action, and most only see the words at the surface level. Not the consequences.

When people say "ceasefire now" they imagine just that. A ceasing of fire. Of war. They imagine peace.

And this would work if the war was between two rational actors who abide by such agreements.

But what people do not understand is that Hamas is not a rational actor, and they do not respect ceasefires.

We had a ceasefire until October 7th, when Hamas broke it.

Do not forget this fact: aside from being an absolute monstrous and disgusting massacre, October 7th was the breaking of a ceasefire agreement.

Also do not forget that the leader of Hamas has verbally promised to repeat the October 7th massacre until Hamas, G-d forbid, wins.

And finally, do not forget that Hamas has already broken at least 15 ceasefire agreements with Israel.

So, with all of that in mind, what would a "ceasefire now" world look like?

At best, we get two or three years of peace. Then, Hamas will do what it always has done: attack Israel with the aim of fulfilling their foundational goal, the eradication of Jews.

That's at best. At worst, we would see no ceasing of fire from Hamas. At worst, we would see a continuation of Hamas (and their allies) firing at and attacking Israel, while Israel is pressured by the international community to hold their side of the ceasefire (even though it would already be broken when Hamas would attack) and, even worse, the international community may pressure some sort of concession from Israel in order to pacify Hamas.

Except those concessions have never worked in the past either.

The second situation is unlikely, not because Hamas wouldn't immediately break the ceasefire, but because Israel would not allow itself to be pressured into defenselessness. Even so, it is a terrifying thought.

In short: a ceasefire is not peace in any scenario. A ceasefire is a prolongation of this war that would allow Hamas to recuperate and kill more Jews/Israelis and endanger more Gazans.

What would lead to peace?

There are two answers:

1. A complete dismantlement of Hamas (what Israel is trying to do right now)

2. A complete surrender of Hamas (unfortunately unlikely, even though it would be the only option that would put an immediate end to the bloodshed of civilians on both sides)

There is a reason that the Jewish community has been continually praying for peace, while vehemently opposing a call for "ceasefire now" and that's because we know that a ceasefire is counterproductive towards peace.

I also want to address the fact that basically every "ceasefire now" post I've seen has either had Palestinian flag imagery (as in solidarity, not addressing Palestine) or #freepalestine tagged onto it, or both.

This, to me, implies one of two things.

The first thing this may imply is that people are simply ignorant, and this is what I try my best to believe. They do not know that Hamas is still firing at and attacking Israel, so they believe that only one side would benefit from a functional ceasefire agreement. ("Functional" meaning that it would work, because the people posting this erroneously think a ceasefire would work.) Thus, to them it is logical that a call for ceasefire would equal aligning themselves with the side they perceive to be on the receiving end of unreciprocated attacks.

However, that's not what reality is like, and it is disturbing that in a time when information is just a few taps away, people still can be this ignorant.

In reality, Gaza is running out of everything except for rockets (because Hamas takes basically all aid and uses it to continue attacking Israel, leaving nothing for civilians). Hamas continues to bombard Israel daily. The bombardment is going both ways, although Israel is the only side trying to avoid civilians.

The alternative implication is that these people want a one-sided ceasefire, and this is far more disturbing than the previous option.

This implication has stronger likelihood when paired with the "from the river to the sea" slogan. (A slogan calling for the genocide of Jews and anyone else living in Israel.)

These people want the scenario I presented earlier, where Hamas is free to attack Israel, while Israel's hands are held behind its back by the international community.

These people want Israel to burn with its hands tied, just as Hamas bound the hands and burned the bodies of Israeli civilians. They want October 7th on a national scale. They want genocide.

A one-sided ceasefire would mean the success of Hamas.

Hamas has the goal of genociding Jews written in their founding document. I know I've said it before, and I will continue to say it until people remember this fact.

Israel's goal is not the genocide of Palestinians. If it was, they could've achieved this long ago without losing a single soldier through bombardment alone. The very fact that they are putting people into Gaza shows they are trying to go for a more specific target: Hamas.

So remember: "ceasefire now" is a call for the prolongation of war at best, genocide at worst.

[bleue-flora]

I was reading your post and the replies to your post, and I really wanted to say something to the replies

It's NOT a ableist to acknowledge that people's brains work differently and to adapt a different way of speaking as to make it easier for them to understand.

To not account and adapt to someones disability is ableist.

To use an example but switch out to a visible disabled example, wheelchair users. Wheelchair users are as much a person as an able body ones. But the mindset of "they can do anything an able body person can! so we should assume they don't need any aid or else we risk making them feel less" leads to someone building a school only for able body people, which means no ramps for wheelchairs or entryways too small for wheelchairs to fit in. Because the building was not built to help out their disabilities they have to find different and longer paths to get from point A to point B, which means more time and effort spent than an able body schoolmate.

In the effort to not make them feel less, by not accounting for their disability in mind, you actually make their life harder.

To bring it back to autism, to account for their difficulties in understanding is that ramp. To NOT build that ramp and question why they can't go from point A to point B as it is, and then going around saying they must be difficult on purpose... just seems like ableist, right?

"So baby them?" It's not babying someone to find different ways to speak or ways to make them understand. To say there's only one way to make someone understand, and trying different methods means you're babying them, is ableist.

Taking another route to talk doesn't equal talking down to them.

Also Autistic people can be built differently. Just because Autistic Person A understand, doesn't equal Autistic Person B would too. Just because they are under the same disability doesn't mean the effects of that disability is the same. Like how two people can both be Bi, but one is more same-sex leading than the other. Or two People are Italian, but one's Italian American.

Please DO acknowledge and make concessions to other people's needs, because to not aid them and expect them to react normally is the thing that makes lifes more difficult.

[referenced post]

Well said. I saw people saying similar things on Twitter too so I’m glad you took the time to address it in such a well thought out manner. I love your wheelchair example. <3

Yeah, just to reiterate making accommodations or considerations for people with any disability is leveling the playing field, allowing things to be on the same footing. To add a further example to the discussion, in school because of my vision disability (I know not my adhd or autism? lol… yup that diagnosis actually came later but anyways) I got extended time on exams. Some might perceive this as unfair, but it actually just allowed me the needed time to read and comprehend the questions since it just takes me longer to do so. That doesn’t make me any less intelligent or that I need to be babied, I was in the honor society and top of most of my classes in school and up until college I didn’t receive any accommodation for my vision issues as it wasn’t discovered till senior year of high school. When I took the ACT (my 3rd or maybe 4th?) with accommodations for the first time my score when up 10 points, which is huge in a scale where 36 is the ma btw. And it wasn’t that I was any more smart or able to cheat with accommodations therefore made a higher score, no I just was able to actually finish the test like everyone else.

In summary, it’s not about babying someone with disabilities but being considerate to a fellow human being and leveling the playing field so you are on more equal footing. It’s pretty screwed up to punish or scrutinize someone in a wheelchair for being late to class when they had to go around the whole building because there was no ramp at the front. Autism consideration is no different. It’s not ableist to put out some ramps for disabled people it’s just treating them with the respect, kindness, grace and benefit of the doubt they deserve as a fellow human being.

Anyways, I hope that this post will stand, not as an accusation or bashing of anyone but more so educational, because I think the sentiment in general of not wanting to treat people with disabilities in a condescending, demeaning, infantizing, or babying manner is good at heart. That intention is good, it’s just not based in reality. And hopefully, this has helped to provide some insight and perspective to keep in mind in the future.

[hells-okayest-dad]

47 & 15

Ask game

These are longer, I think, than they're supposed to be (the second, In particular really got away from me) so enjoy the content I guess, though I simply must put some of this under a cut so as to not be obnoxious.

47: crave

Jean was staring. He knew he shouldn't, but he was doing it anyway. His eyes followed a bead of water as it trailed down Jeremy's back, twisting and turning as it followed the contours of his muscles. Letting himself look was a compromise, a concession in the active battle he was fighting to suppress his desire.

There must have been other people in the room, but Jean only noticed Jeremy. That is, until Cody sat down beside him. "He's not typically my type, but even I have to admit he is pretty dreamy." The sudden voice nearly made Jean jump out of his skin. He'd been caught. But something in his brain registered the voice as Cody, and before that, as Not A Threat.

Jean glanced over at them, not threatened but still embarrassed to be perceived. "Shut up," he grumbled, though there was no real malice to it.

"You love me," Cody laughed, nudging Jean with their elbow.

"Debatable," he grumbled back and it wasn't a complete denial.

"I get it, you know. It sucks, wanting something you think you can't have."

Jean followed their gaze over to Pat and Ananya in the corner and scoffed. It was not the same. "You can have them," he said.

"Can't you?" They replied. "I've seen the way he looks at you."

So had Jean. And he was sure Jeremy had seen the way Jean looked at him. The mutual attraction was hardly a secret at this point, the question was just what was allowed. Had the rules truly changed? Was it just as simple as going for it? "Maybe," Jean replied, bringing his eyes back to Jeremy.

15: trembling hands

Jeremy's hands were shaking as he fiddled with the lighter in his hands. He was usually so good at this but tonight he just couldn't seem to get it to light. He was about to throw the lighter off the balcony in frustration when he heard a voice from beside him.

"Does Laila know you are smoking on her patio?" Jeremy hadn't even noticed Jean coming, but he turned to face him now.

"Technically, it's your patio," Jeremy countered. "The FBI gave the apartment to you. And I'm not smoking, I'll have you know, because I can't get the stupid thing to-oh!" As he tried to demonstrate the way that the lighter was bullying him by refusing to cooperate, he somehow managed to get it to go. He reached for his cigarette, but Jean's words stopped him.

"What if I don't want you smoking on my patio?"

Jeremy flipped the lighter shut and looked up at Jean. "I guess that's your right." Jean had his plants out here after all, and he probably didn't want Jeremy stinking up the apartment when he came back inside. Would the FBI pay the building's cleaning fee, he wondered. "I can go for a walk if you really want me to."

"I wish you would not do it at all," Jean said, and his expression was unreadable. Was he angry or concerned or annoyed?

"Yeah, well that's not really a choice you get to make, is it?" It was harsher than he meant for it to be, he could tell by the way Jean's eyebrows shot up, but he was on edge and he really just needed a smoke. He'd be better after. "Look I'm sorry, I didn't mean, I mean I do mean it's just—" he cut himself off, taking a breath. "It's not that big of a deal, okay?"

Jean looked at Jeremy for a moment, as if he were calculating something. Before Jeremy could ask what it was, he grabbed a loose cigarette off the railing and held it like he'd seen Jeremy hold it. "If it is not that big of a deal, maybe I should do it. I have certainly had enough stress to earn myself a vice, no?"

It wasn't at all what he was trying to accomplish, but the sight of Jean against a starry sky holding a cigarette was so striking it nearly had Jeremy on his knees. The bluff was so obvious that Jeremy almost called him on it, but for once he couldn't bring himself to light this handsome man's cigarette. When Jean raised an eyebrow at him in response to the pause, Jeremy just sighed.

"I don't want to see you do that to yourself, to risk your health and career." He knew this meant he lost the argument, but he shoved the lighter into his pocket. "You deserve to find a better way to cope."

Jean looked at him again, content to have won Jeremy and sure. "And what if I feel the same way about you that you feel about me?"

It couldn't have possibly been what he meant, but Jeremy swallowed hard at that implication. Jeremy was interested in Jean, he loved Jean. And while he'd seen flickers of Jean's own interest, he doubted it would ever lead anywhere, despite the way it felt like tensions between them had been growing. But even if that happened, he doubted it would be anything more than that. "You... Shouldn't say it like that. Someone might think you mean... Something else." He was sure his face was turning red, it felt like it was a thousand degrees.

Jean's face was certainly turning red. Maybe he really hadn't intended for Jeremy to take it like that. His eyebrow furrowed and he tilted his head. He stayed like that for a moment, like he was warring with himself. "There is only us out here," he said, and as he stepped closer, Jeremy had to tilt his head up higher to maintain eye contact. "What do you think I mean?"

Jeremy started to look away but Jean had his chin in his grasp now. He was utterly doomed, Jean was simply too hot to contend with. But it was a hard question to answer without revealing his own feelings, although there was the chance that that was the push they both needed to get the ball rolling on... Whatever this was. "That you want to be... More... Than friends."

It was like Jean was waiting for permission, because his lips were on Jeremy's in a second. Jeremy gripped onto the man's shirt and pulled himself in closer. All too soon, he pulled back looking at Jeremy with his pupils blown and his face red. "Does that answer your question?" All Jeremy could do was nod, though he wasn't sure it really did. "Good." He smiled and Jeremy was glad he was already holding on tight as his knees wobbled beneath him. They would have to actually talk about this at some point, but Jeremy was not going to ruin this moment.

"Oh," Jean added. "I will not kiss you if you have smoke on your breath."

Jeremy blinked. That meant he wanted to kiss Jeremy again right? Jeremy let go of Jean with one hand to throw his pack of cigarettes off the deck before bringing Jean in for a second kiss which both men eagerly participated in.

"I shouldn't have thrown that," Jeremy said as he pulled back. "I think kids live down there. I'm gonna go get it actually. But I'm gonna get rid of it. And maybe when I get back..." Jeremy wasn't sure what he was suggesting. Definitely kissing.

Jean laughed, and while it wasn't the first time Jeremy had heard it, is was just as beautiful of a sound this time. "I will be waiting," he said.

[dostoyevsky-official]

Over the past five years, Syrians had grown poorer, and the regime had done little to improve people’s lives, said Syrian economic expert Jihad Yazigi. Added to the rising taxes, land expropriation and a crumbling economy “is the regime’s corruption, which is embedded in every aspect of the state”. The Assad family’s perceived disregard for Syrians’ suffering and its own rapaciousness has helped spread discontent beyond the pocket of Assad opponents, and has metastasised across Syrian society, including among pockets of loyalists from Assad’s own Alawite minority community. “Many are furious that after years of loyalty, they are even worse off than before,” Yazigi said. Corruption and demoralisation now extends across many government institutions in Syria, as civil servants help oversee a state where very little functions. Although there were recent attempts to professionalise the army, “it was a case of too little, too late”, Yazigi said. Morale has remained low with forcible conscription and the removal of subsidies continuing to hit soldiers hard. In a rare instance of criticism of the regime from inside Assad’s most loyal community, one Syrian Alawite said: “We are prepared to protect our own villages and towns but I don’t know that Alawites will fight for Aleppo city . . . The regime has stopped giving us reasons to keep supporting it.” The sense of despair has been deepened by the regime’s apparent unwillingness to compromise with its opponents, even as its patron Russia has tried to push Assad towards engaging in a political process, analysts say. Yet efforts by Arab and some European states to re-engage with Assad had been revived after a devastating earthquake in February 2023 hit Turkey and northern Syria. They hoped to draw concessions from Assad on drug smuggling which has fomented regional instability and to create a safe environment to allow refugees to return. But Damascus has made negligible progress on either front. Turkey, the main backer of the Syrian opposition groups, similarly showed interest in normalising ties with Assad, an overture he rebuffed. Iraqi officials who helped broker talks between Damascus and Ankara this year said Assad’s government refused to give an inch on refugees, a flashpoint in Turkey’s domestic politics. Instead, Assad continued to pound rebel-held Idlib, pushing thousands more people towards the border of Turkey, which hosts about 3mn Syrian refugees and has troops deployed in northern Syria, where it backs the rebels. Analysts say Turkey may not have explicitly approved the HTS-led offensive, but they say the assault will serve its interests and potentially give Ankara more leverage in any negotiations. “Assad had a chance since the summer to sit down with [Recep Tayyip] Erdoğan and work out a plan where essentially Turkey would take a zone of influence in northern Syria,” said Malik al-Abdeh, a Syrian analyst. “He had a chance to negotiate this in a face-saving way politically, but he refused.” Assad has always regarded concessions as a sign of weakness, but the HTS offensive has underlined his dependence on Russia, Iran and Iranian-linked groups and the outsized role of foreign powers in Syria. Assad’s first public appearance since the crisis erupted came only when Iran’s Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi visited Damascus on Sunday night. Russia, Iran, and the United Arab Emirates have pledged to support the regime. But with Assad backed into a corner, a diplomatic solution might be his only way out, despite his refusal to engage in one for years. “Assad can survive . . . but in the long run, there’s no way he can avoid sharing power with the opposition, and that will be the end of the regime,” said Abdeh.

[lushrue]

ive really fallen in love with how you write the hockey au men. i need more, maybe of them watching reader skate a complicated choreography for the first time? (◞ ‸ ◟ㆀ)

yeah absolutely! thanks for the request, anon! sorry this has sat for so long, i wanted to do it justice!

there might end up being a scene like this later in the fic (haven’t gotten the whole storyline planned out yet), but for sure reader’s nervous. there’s a lot of complicated jumps in there and some skills that they haven’t quite mastered yet. they’d be practicing at the rink almost every day, probably getting a little hard on themselves when they’re still trying to iron out the kinks in their routine. they wouldn’t let the boys watch them practice, except for gaz. he’s the least intimidating of the bunch to them, more concerned about the artistry than the technical execution. but having the others watch would put too much pressure on them, so the first time they all see it as a group is when reader competes it.

they sit on the bench, waiting with bated breath as you skate onto the ice. you’d told them about it, of course. you had to when they saw how stressed you were and demanded to know what was mucking up that pretty head of yours. the shaking of your hands didn’t go unnoticed by them as you struck your starting pose. simon caught the puff of your exhale, your chest visibly deflating. when the music started, they all tensed up, their eyes locked on you.

price would fully be in captain mode, watching you like a hawk for any missteps. he would see the missteps and grimace, as much as he tried to keep his expression encouraging. he’d have a list of critiques in his head running as you skated. lift the leg a bit more and your turn will be more stable. speed up a little going into that jump and you’ll have the momentum for one more rotation. but he’d never tell you any of it, not unless you asked. it came from a place of love, a desire to see you reach your full potential.

simon would be stoic, just in case you looked at him. he didn’t want to throw off your game, so he tried his hardest to blend into the crowd, act like he wasn’t even there. he still wasn’t quite sure if the four of them watching you added to your nerves (it did, just a little) and he didn’t want to be the reason you didn’t land a jump and injured yourself. but make no mistake, he held his breath every time your skates left the ice.

soap would be the most encouraging of all of them to look at, a smile plastered on his face as he watched you twirl and leap. you’d think the man had never watched figure skating before with the way he whooped and hollered every time you stuck what he perceived to be a difficult skill. he clapped loudly for you, his bonnie little skater. everything you did impressed him, and it gave you an added layer of confidence going into some of the more difficult sections of the routine.

gaz is fully the mom from mean girls. he’s doing the choreography along with you on the bench, but, like, the seated version. he’s also the one videoing the routine on his phone. (price mostly got the head of the person in front of him last time, soap was so loud that you couldn’t hear the music you were skating to, and simon would get so caught up in watching you that he’d forget to follow you with the camera and not just his eyes.) he gives you quiet praise when you successfully execute a difficult skill, hoping that you’ll watch the video back and hear how much he loved your routine.

regardless of their expressions during your skate, they’re the first on their feet when you finish, clapping and cheering loudly. when you find them after, price has a bouquet of flowers for you, soap’s grabbed you a hot chocolate from the concession stand, gaz helps you unlace your skates, and simon is there with his big burly arms to give you all the comfort in the world.

please please PLEASE send me more stuff like this, i eat this shit up

[yandere-paramour]

Hello!

This is a question about Atalanta, how would she deal with a darling that gets very fight or flight whenever she tries to get close to them?

Like even if she speaks to them in a way they think is even more belittling as they feel more and more out of control about anything in their life after she takes them.

And any attempt at "punishment" they will kick at her, keep getting away and scream and yell until they can't anymore.

And even when they're finally tired out and semi civil, they constantly give her an absolutely manic death glare.

(I'm totally not asking because I'd be going insane if someone was watching and monitoring my every action because I can't function while being perceived and monitored in anything)

Atalanta is a master of the give and take. She starts out monitoring you because that's simply her first idea on how to start her life with you. Of course she wants to know everything you're doing at all times, she loves you. But if she notices that that's not working for you, she'll change her approach a bit.

You still have to have the bodyguards there for safety, but maybe she can ease up on having you visit her during the day and stop requiring hourly reports on your whereabouts and activities. She can cut the cameras, and she can change the way she speaks to you. She wants you to be happy and she wants you to be happy with her; if that involves making some concessions on her side, so be it. If she wants to know, she can ask when she gets home from work like a normal person. She'll even prove that she's not watching if you want, she really wants to make this work.

Also: You can only hold out so long when she's spoiling you, we can all be bought. She will wear you down and you'll be astonished at hor quickly your resolve wanes in the face of an unlimited credit card and a generous lover.