#the left needs to get past karl marx

[nochd]

#Aka accelerationism but make it ''woke''

Well, since you mention it,

Finding out that people fighting you on voting for Harris are Stein supporters who actually embrace the possibility of a trump victory shouldn't surprise me. But I thought that people couldn't actually be that stupid as to believe that trump winning will send anyone a message besides run.

There are people who don't know how bad things can get who naively think we can weather another Trump term, and that the left will somehow come out stronger.

Which is a fantasy.

What will really happen is a bunch more people will die, and the country will be permanently set back another twenty years.

It ain't great.

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Heroes of the Past - a Slooserole fic

While food shopping for a barbecue, Goose and Slider suggest names for theirs and Carole's baby.

~~~

For a prompt list, this was "A buying B their favourite snack"

Words: 888

"Karl?" Goose suggested, picking up a slightly green bunch of bananas.

"No, makes him sound like a communist."

"What's communism got to do with the name Karl?"

Ron stopped groping watermelons and turned to him. He picked up a stout one with brown on the ends and held it under his arm like he was trying to show off. That wasn't necessary, Goose could already see his muscles bulging in that a-bit-too small shirt.

"Karl Marx?" He said. "Wrote the communist manifesto?"

Goose shook his head, "You've lost me."

"You uncultured fuck,"

He turned around and carried on putting fruit in the shopping trolley. They were having a barbecue as a baby shower, Mav and Ice had gotten the time off, Carole's mum and sister were coming around. Apparently Ron had asked his family but his mum, being the matriarch she was, had said she didn't like the idea of their relationship, said something about sin, so she wasn’t coming, and neither of his sisters were too. He'd tried to hide it but both he and Carole knew he was heartbroken about it.

"Okay, Thomas?" Goose suggested. "Tommy for short?"

"Too formal."

"Your best friend is called Tom!"

Ron turned and threw a sack of potatoes at him. Goose just about caught them.

"And have you seen Ice? He's the most formal guy I know,"

Goose shrugged, "Fair point."

"Pete?"

"No."

"Why not? He's my best friend and it's not too formal?"

Ron rolled his eyes and placed an armful of salad stuff into the trolley, "I'm not having our kid named after that little pipsqueak."

"Pipsqueak?"

"You can't deny he's short,"

Goose tried to argue but knew he couldn’t. Maverick was short for a pilot.

They carried on around the shop, deciding what snacks they needed and stuff for Bradley's lunches. Goose stopped next to the sweets and scanned for something specific. Carole was having a major craving for chewy, gummy fish lately and could go through multiple bags in a day if left unattended. 

"There they are!" He said, spotting them and grabbing a few bags.

"What are?"

"The fish, the ones Carole likes,"

Ron stared at him for a second then said, "We're going to need more than that," before throwing a few more in the trolley.

They carried on. Because she was pregnant, Carole was nesting and had cleaned the entire house multiple times. She’d almost vacuumed Bradley as he came into the house once. So they’d run out of most of their cleaning products.

As Nick reached for the bleach, "How about Daniel?"

No reply. Ron's shoulders began to tense. 

"Aaron?"

He wasn't even turning around now. No jokes or making fun of him. Something was up.

"Michael? Joseph? Joshua?"

"What's with all the biblical names?" Ron finally spat out. 

His tone was different. The way his hand clenched the box of washing powder told him something was wrong. He approached him like he was a tetchy animal, he didn't know if he was going to blow or burst into tears.

"Can't we just stop with the names for a second?" He said. 

"Sure, but we were only having fun-" Goose placed the bleach in the trolley. "-is it not fun anymore?"

"I already have a name picked out! Okay?"

Goose stepped back, shocked. He hadn't told him nor Carole about this. They'd been good with communication so far into their relationship, why the sudden change?

"What name?" He settled on.

"Wilhelm, Will for short," he spat out then added for context. "My Opa was called Wilhelm."

All the pieces fell into place. Ron was a private man when it came to his past, a trait he'd inherited from his grandmother, from what he'd learnt.

"He's the only guy I've ever had to look up to. I mean, getting killed by Nazis to save your family because you were hiding Jews, pretty much the most heroic thing a guy can do, right?"

Goose stroked his face as his strong mask faltered. Ron tried to resist but eventually lent into his touch. Slider tried to appear tough but in reality was just a big puppy.

"Why didn't you tell us? D'ya think we'd be mad?"

"I-I'm just not used to being vulnerable, you know that,"

"Hey, you're learning," Goose assured. "And I'm sure he'd be proud of everything you've done, I know we are."

He smiled, that golden sunshine smile that was one of the reasons he and Carole fell in love with him in the first place. Trying to find things out about Ron had been tricky at first, he was a safe inside another safe, but after a few years, and a pregnancy, they were getting somewhere.

"How about we get these back to Carole?" Goose gestured to the sweets.

Ron nodded. They were past the point of him falling into puddles of tears whenever he got vulnerable but it was still a big moment for him.

As they moved towards the tills he had an idea come into his head, "Hey, we can call him Willy!"

"No we will not!"

"We could, little Willy Bradshaw-Kerner? Sounds good to me."

"You are not desecrating my grandfather's name by calling our kid Willy,"

And that’s when things fell back into place, just as they continued to bicker, all the way to the car.

German Slider! German Slider! German Slider! If you can't guess I hc Slider's of german descent. His grandma (Oma in german) came to the US after fleeing the Nazis, her and her husband, Wilhelm (Ron's Opa or grandad) died. They were helping Jews hide but got found out so fled. Ron's family learnt not to talk about the pain because it was too much which led to some communication issues, and very conservative religious views on his mum's part.

Thanks for reading!

[heartshyuck]

Pairing: Jisung x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst,slow burn, strangers to lovers au, first love, early 1900s au.

Synopsis: Lavenders symbolise purity, silence, devotion, serenity and grace. All endearing characteristics of the gorgeous boy, you met in the fields of purple.

Placed in the late 1930s , just before World War two starts, you flee from your family who are forcing you into a marriage. You lie low in a small village where you meet Jisung in a field of lavenders.

Word count: 23k lmao

Warnings: female reader, misogyny and very backwards ways of thinking, forced marriages, world war two + historical inaccuracy for progression of the plot, drinking

a/n: this is the longest fic i have ever written and honestly it was a mission, it took about a month to write and I am genuinely so proud of it and really happy with it. Please don't be scared by the length but when I say slow burn, I really mean it!

Your legs seem to be moving on their own, feet hitting the ground at a steady and fast pace, you don’t look back and can’t seem to see what lies ahead but still you run until your lungs burn, run until the bitter metallic taste is at the back of your throat where bile threatens to rise. You run until finally your legs collapse, knees hitting the ground, grazing them and it’s the slight sting of the sediment seeping into the cuts that stop you from passing out. You’re not sure how far you’ve ran or how long you’ve been running, you don’t know where you're running to but you have to escape. 

Escape the life they’ve laid out for you, the one they’ve planned without your input, you can’t live a life where everything is set out, where ’everything is expected and perfect. A life where you’d get married at 18 to a stranger who was of a worthy social class, attend formal lunches with the wives of your husband’s work colleagues and host dinner parties and occasionally large balls in a manor that always felt empty no matter how many paintings you bought to hang on the never ending amount of walls, no matter how many more bookshelves you tried to fit into one room, a place that you’ll always hate. Then to have children by 20, as many boys as possible of course to then not have any say in their upbringing and watch nurses tend to them, your husband educate them and then watch them get married, meet your grandchildren and when you’ve reached a respectable age, death will meet you in your sleep and you’ll be mourned and then forgotten. A life filled with regret, a constant numbness, no fulfilment and no meaning.

You saw your mum live that life, a smile that never quite reached her eyes, always plastered on at any given moment as she walked around the large hall with a glass of nothing but champagne in hand greeting the hundreds of guests that you were never able to comprehend how she managed to remember them all. She never spoke unless spoken to, never put in any input and always obeyed your father even when you could see the frustration bubble up inside her as her eyes glinted and her jaws tightened with the urge to say something.

She would buy gifts upon gifts and shower you in expensive luxuries, spoil you in riches as a form of love and yet it always held another meaning behind it. There was a slight sadness in her eyes as she passed a gift every birthday,christmas and any other reason she found, almost as if she was saying sorry for the life you were going to live and how she’d use these moments as blackmail for when that time came. You’d overhear her quiet sobs when you would sneak around the house late at night, read letters she received from someone you didn’t know and how they wished for her life to get better and for her to find happiness in a world where happiness didn’t exist. You saw your mother cry when your father died, eyes bloodshot red in fear rather than grief. Her life was now uncertain and that's when you decided that you couldn't live an empty life, regretting choices and wishing for death to come to you first.

Your father had always made sure that you would receive a proper education, one where you'd read hours upon hours of the finest English literature, works of science and learned of the past and present politics. He always said "a lady should know about the world around her but should never venture off on her own" you hated that phrase but it was better than what you overheard your friend's father saying to her when she asked for him to explain the concept of communism, "a women does not need to busy herself with politics, for your brain could not even begin to comprehend it" he announced with his nose high up in the air as if he had just said the most inquisitive statement known to man. It baffled you how one could even think that, let alone truly believe it enough to announce it so stupidly in the open, it was obvious that women were capable of understanding concepts like politics, maths and science for you were living proof.

You did better than your brother at grasping algebra, better at them with understanding Versalius's "De humani corporis fabrica" and it didn't take your friend long to understand Karl Marx's theory on communism once you explained it to her. It angered you that this was dismissed especially when your brother soon went off to universities for they had outgrown your father's enormous library and knowledge, there was no more he could teach them but there was still much to learn and you yearned to do the same but as you approached a suitable age for marriage, your everyday classes on Shakespearean English, Tudor monarchy, Greek mythology and Italian art had now been replaced with sewing, crochet, dining etiquette and the differences between napkins, white laced ones for formal lunches, gold embroidery for important dinners and regular silk for everyday use, you'd recite to your mother and the many maids who were on standby.

You've left that world now, left the bustling streets of industrialised London where a black smog always hung around the air and the smell of burnt rubber that stung your nose, you always hated both. Though you grew up in a large estate where there seemed to be a never ending amount of land on the outskirts of London, you never were allowed out to explore. Only allowed out with your mother to pick out fabrics in the markets, surrounded by military men that guarded the general's wife and daughter but now you were alone, no guards, no mother and no black smog to block your view of what lies ahead, only the sun and the ocean sky, clear of clouds as you breathe in fresh air that cleanses your lungs from the toxins that hang in the city air, surrounded by vibrant lavenders that arrive with a strong, sweet smell of pollen which you welcome to replace the bitter rubber your sense of smell only seems to know.

You close your eyes and bask in the warmth of late August , the sun gleaming down on you, rays striking against your skin with the wind between the strands of your hair, blowing the lavenders and they slightly tickle your arms. You’re not sure how long you were in your euphoric trance but you weren't ready to leave yet when the dark shadow was casted over you.

Your eyes lazily open and beauty lies ahead, the sun gleaming behind him, lights him on flames and he burns with a presence so strong you can see it as his aura swirls around you, engulfing you. His features,strong and yet his eyes are soft and even as he's turned away from the sun they sparkle infinitely as they hold the brightest stars, his stare pierces through you and it makes your gut clench as you feel small under his gaze but you don't turn away, daring him to continue staring down on you, well that's what you tell yourself as you can't help but get lost in the beauty of his eyes. His face wears a worried expression, his hand out forwards for you to take and place in his and it takes you a while to realise he's trying to help you up, even longer to comprehend the words that leave his mouth, as you just watch his cherry red lips move. You're dazed and for the first time you're not thinking straight, your legs won't move to carry you back up onto your feet but your hand instinctively moves towards him and your own mouth gapes open as it does, and again he repeats himself emphasising the words as his eyes widen further “are you feeling well?” you stare blankly at him, no response until you feel the burning sensation of his hand in yours. A heat that sends shocks through every nerve, it runs through your bloodstream lighting you on fire and as if you were burnt you pull back, shaking off the dizzy spell you rise to your feet, your body finally responding to your screaming brain. A sense of relief washes over you as the fear of losing your mind slowly seeps out as the haze in your mind clears, until your eyes meet his again. “Really y/n, not for a boy” you cry out in your head as your mind seems to be lost in awe looking at him.

You shuffle uncomfortably and it’s just now you realise how much of a mess you look as the embodiment of beauty’s eyes fall down. Your expensive dress torn up, what was once a full sangria and silver ball gown was now rags that wrapped around you with the bottom half missing as it stopped just above your knees, an uneven hem due to the rough ripping which took all of your strength, the white net underneath was visibly stained a brownish yellow, the cuts on your knee not being the only thing the dirt seeped into  but his eyes don’t even seem to stop there, they didn't even seem to notice, only meeting a piece of paper that lied on the floor. He reaches down for it, his eyebrows perk up slightly before handing it back to you.“You dropped this” he avoids eye contact, continuing to stare down, his hand abruptly extends out in front of him and he clears his throat, adding to the excruciating awkwardness between you and you wince at the sudden sound.

“Oh thank you..” you can hear your voice waver and crack and for the first time in your life, your voice isn’t confident, seems like a day full of firsts, your mother would’ve been proud if she saw you acting like this, like a lady she would have put it. Quiet, reserved but really it was just a suffocating stiffness that lingered in the air.

“Jisung” he completes your sentence, a small, shy smile appears on his face as his eyes look at everything but you, the letter still in his grasp he shakes his hand at you slightly urging you to take it. Your fingers brush past his ever so slightly as you take the letter back into your possession, a spark is sent through you and your fingers twitch, as if wanting more but you stop them from moving any further, your eyes slightly widen as you catch yourself falling so easily and if Jisung catches the weird expressions on your face, he chooses to ignore them not saying anything. “You are not from around here, are you?” His voice is light and airy as he speaks softly, as if you were made of glass and any harsh tone could break you, you can’t tell if it’s because of the immense awkwardness or because of the pity he must feel seeing you in such a state. You hope it’s the former and decide that’s what it is, when he starts playing with the edges of his white shirt.

“No I live in London” the words die as soon as they leave your mouth, you used to live in London, you don’t anymore. This only adds to Jisung’s awkwardness and it reminds you no matter how beautiful he is, he’s only just a boy who’s probably around your age. So you smile at him, letting out a small breathy laugh in hopes of lightening the mood, it works as he visibly unstiffens. “Used to” Jisung doesn’t press on the matter any further, doesn’t ask anymore questions, just nods. The unsettling atmosphere sets in once again and your incapability of standing in silence for more than a second, you clear your throat "do you know where this address is?" your tone light and airy, you sound almost clueless and it’s now you realise the true meaning behind every etiquette class, the role of the women is the domestic war, the war on power. For one to rise they must make powerful allies and that’s what this voice is for, to obtain the power of a man and trick them into helping you; so you're glad when Jisung takes the letter back into his grasp and examines the writing at the front, it’s worked.

“I’ll show you the way” and you nod with a slight smile as a thank you, Jisung leads the way and you follow soon behind, with his face no longer in my sight you can finally observe the rest of him. Judging by his height and build, seems like he comes from a well off family. Though there wasn’t a day you felt hungry, you weren’t blind to the outside world no matter how hard your parents tried to shelter you from it. The world is living off rations but the wealthy still have access to more, Jisung must have some sought of status or most likely works for a household with high status considering it seemed like he was running errands, why else would he be in a field full of lavenders and it’s only reinforced by the fine silk that flows as wind rushes past you. Somewhat similar to the material that makes up your gown, or what’s left of it, it’s an expensive material imported from colonies in the empire. He walks with no flaw and so you guess he didn’t serve in the war, meaning he has to be around your age; this new life is exciting and scary, you’re not sure what you want yet but you certainly wouldn’t mind if the boy in the lavender field stuck around for a while.

Jisung’s steps slowed and soon came to a stop outside a large estate, it was nowhere near as big as your parent's manor but comparing it to the small petite houses in the village you could just about see; it definitely was the biggest house in the village. You turned to thank Jisung, mouth slightly opened as the words were prepared to leave until you saw him pull out a key and a heat rose up your neck onto your face, in both slight embarrassment and excitement as you realised that Jisung must live here and your mouth couldn’t help but confirm your thoughts, “do you live here?” you blurted quickly with a slight lift in your tone, which you hope wasn’t too obvious in exposing your excitement.

His eyebrows rise, a small smile appears but he doesn’t answer your question, continuing to unlock the doors and allows you to step in first, a women who barely makes it past Jisung’s shoulders calls out to him, embracing him as she tightly wraps her arms around his waist, Jisung leans back slightly as a way of hoping to loosen her grip as his face scrunches up in pain as the struggle to breath sets in but there’s a constant smile on his face right until he peels her off. It’s then she punches him in the stomach, making him crouch down below her, holding onto his stomach.

“How many breaths must I waste in having to tell you to make sure you fulfill all your duties before you head to the fields'' she nags him and a smile is brought to your face at the violent display of affection, you guess he must be a part of the service team that works for the master of this house, which was exceptionally beautiful in the inside; much bigger than what it lets off from the outside, your eyes can’t help but linger elsewhere and observe the hidden beauty in all the small intricate designs. “Young master” the lady continues to punish him for his action and you head whips around at her words, she hasn’t even noticed you but Jisung’s eyes are constantly on you watching your expressions change as more as more information is being released to you, a smile appears on his face and at first it seems like a smirk but soon you notice the constant pink dust across his cheeks and you realise he’s embarrassed. There’s a strange feeling in your chest, a warmth that spreads and has you clutching your fists as you think at how adorable he is, your eyebrows furrow and you shake both the thoughts and the smile off.

Finally after what seems like hours of you staring at Jisung but in reality was no longer than a few seconds, the petite woman turns to you and acknowledges your presence,  her eyes widen in surprise and she rushes to your side. “Oh lord, my dear child are you okay?” she grabs your hands and ushers you down the hall into a secluded room that takes up a big portion of the ground floor of the house.

The kitchen, filled with plenty of workers,busy hands and food; she shouts at a maid to move a few things around and to make some space for you around the small table that holds vegetables and freshly cut meat. There’s the smell of spices that are definitely too exotic to be from these lands, parcels with German writing and several people cooking dishes you don’t recognise.

You're pushed down onto a small wooden chair that slightly rocks and it is by far the most uncomfortable place you’ve ever sat but you don’t dare complain even after the minutes pass and your legs begin to ache. The maids ran around you and even as you left that world behind, you still somehow ended up in the same position and then you realise it’s the fine silk you wear that sets you apart, the rows and rows of pearls around your neck and rings on your fingers. They don’t ask any questions, just wiping away at the dirt on your legs; the same women at the door pouring a type of alcohol over your cuts and it stings drawing out a hiss from you, “sorry” she whispers and blows slightly on the irritated skin. The kitchen quiets down and the other maids exit, leaving you and the same women who scolded Jisung, she didn’t bother to ask him any questions and quickly sent him away to carry on with the work he didn’t finish, she doesn’t ask you any questions either for it’s not her place to ask. 

She wraps bandages around your knees and your eyes wander around, landing on a picture of her with three little boys, you recognise the smallest to be Jisung, she catches your eyes and smiles “the masters, when they were little devils” she remarks making you and her both let out small laughs, “though they aren't much better now” she smiles fondly as she continues to wrap the bandages, you see love in her eyes and can tell that she raised them.

“The smallest is Jisung, am I correct?” you ask just to confirm your assumption, she nods and smiles, “i can tell by his awkwardness, it’s radiant even in pictures” you scoff and she laughs. "Who are the other two?" Your curiosity seemingly has no end.

"The tallest is master Jeno and the one in the middle is master Jaemin" she says as she cuts the bandage. You take note of their names and match it to their appearances though you assume they've probably changed quite a bit. The tallest, Jeno has crescent moons for eyes as his smile pushes them up, it's adorable. The middle, Jaemin also has a bright smile, probably the prettiest you’ve ever seen but Jisung still stands out the most to you, maybe it’s because you’ve seen how he looks now; the change is definitely visible, he’s grown much taller and into his sharp features. He's definitely handsome, epitome of beauty but by the way he timidly walks you’re not quite sure he knows it.

“Will these do, ma’am?” her hands hold onto a set of clean clothes and you only nod at her as you take the clothes from her hands, calloused and rough from years of labour. "Please just call me y/n" you tell her trying to remove your status and she only nods in return. "And what may I call you" you ask her.

"Daphne" she replies and you notice that she smiles at you, a full smile nothing quite like you've seen before and you'd like to think this what a smile should look like. Genuine. Instead of all the small smiles you recieved, the ones with hidden agendas and meanings, the ones because of who your father was, the one because of your status, name, title, money and a persuasion for your hand in marriage. So many smiles yet none truly considered one. God you hated that life.

"Now y/n let me show you to a room" she leads you out the room and you follow her upstairs, all the maids rushing back into the kitchen after you have left. She turns left and right and you find that the upstairs is far more complicated to navigate, with many different rooms. When she finally reaches a long corridor, she stops to point at the room that awaits at the end. "That will be your room ma'am" and before she even could finish her sentence properly, "y/n" you correct her and she only nods, giving you a soft smile as an apology."Please call for me if anything isn't to your liking" she says and just as she's about to step away, ready to leave you to get comfortable.

You call her back, "Daphne, can you please tell me who this is" you lift up the small blue letter that leads you here to this address, to finally put a name to the mysterious woman who only seemed to want the best for you and your mother. She takes the small letter from your grasp, examining the small font that's slowly fading due to the number of years it's collected dust. Her eyes widen as she reads the letter, her head snapping up to look at you, her lips parting slightly as if her jaw threatened to drop.

"My god" she says as she continues to read, shock written all over her face, "this is from the master's mother, dear" she tells you and you join her in shock as your jaw hangs a lot more obviously in shock. "She worked for your family when she was young" she continues to tell you and the ripples of shock continue to pulse through your body. Your mother and her are good friends from what you've gathered, reading all the letters you found. Yet your mother never even allowed you to mix classes, always telling you to stick with your own people, people who can pay for your time, literally. Yet here she was being friends with a woman considered below her, even considering sending you away to her. The hypocrisy is what shocked you the most, for you didn't think your mother could build relationships if it weren't for a social advantage.

"Can I meet her?" you ask, excited until you see sadness seep into her eyes, she looks down and she shuffles slightly. Her eyes glossy with tears threatening to fall and your own shoulders droop down and a frown is formed on your lips. "I'm sorry" you apologise but she shakes her head and wipes her eyes slightly.

"Don't be silly, you didn't know and it's better you found out through me anyways." She tells you and you're glad that you found out through her too, you don't think you would've been able to handle it coming from Jisung. "If you do not mind me, but when did she pass" you ask carefully as to not break her.

"Last May" she tells you and you hear sadness in her voice , as it slightly cracks and you release a deep sigh as to rid your body from the contagious mood. With that she hands the letter back into your hand and leaves you to wash up, "Dinner will be ready soon, please wash up" she urges you to go into the room.

You walk down the corridor, steps heavy as your heart grieves for Jisung and as you're reminded of your own father's death, though he planned on marrying you to a stranger you didn't love and never truly wanting you to live happily. You loved and still love him with every ounce of your being, all making grief an impossibly hard process. For your heart hurt and your mind could not comprehend why.  Your eyes stung with tears and your hands trembling with pain and still the mind was questioning why you felt sad. Then the guilt blooms, hovering above you, for this man raised you and cared for you and yet you question your grief as you sit by his deathbed. Yet you remind yourself that questioning your grief is better than not feeling any at all, you remember looking over towards your mother who wore black and instead of grieving her husband's death, she felt grief for her widow status that crushed her social status, for who was she without her husband.

So as you remove the many pearls and diamonds around your neck, gifted to you by your mother, you’re reminded why you left that life behind. You won’t be defined by your husband but by what you have achieved and for who you are. Yet you leave on the thin golden chain with a single pendant on your neck, as a reminder for where to come from and how far you’ve travelled. It was a gift from both your mother and father, the one gift you like to think wasn’t used as a symbol of your wealth to attract men in asking for your hand in marriage, the simplicity of this necklace led you to believe that this was a genuine gift of their love.

Changing out of your ball gown or the remainders of it, you feel anew. Stripping out of your old skin and into much comfortable and humble ones, you feel as if your new life is finally starting and though it’s far from what anyone would have wanted for your life to be like, it’s what you want. You’ve been here for just under an hour and instantly you're on cloud nine, floating to where only the sun is. The rays dancing on your skin and euphoria runs within your veins, this is life.  

You’re not sure how long you’ve been in a daze but soft knocks on the door is what awakens you and you're quick to open the door, not wanting to leave the person on the other side waiting but you’re met with a fist, that seems as if it malfunctions as it goes down by the side of the same person who seems to waking you out of all your dazes recently. Jisung stands there awkwardly, legs crossed and hands behind his back, he stutters as he says “dinner is...um.. It is awaiting” and with that he cuts himself off, rushing the words out of his mouth and quickly turns around, rushing downstairs.

You can only smile at him, how was someone allowed to be that cute. Following soon after him you enter into the dinning room, the smile on your face completely wiped off by the shock of two other men sitting around the table. Your back straightens as your body stiffens, by habit, you’ve been taught to look most confident when caught off guard.

“Sit here y/n” Daphne takes out the seat opposite of Jisung and next to a man you don’t know until he smiles your way, you recognise that smile and it’s still as pretty as it looks in the picture hanging in the kitchen. You smile back at him as you make your way by his side and take your seat.

“Hello, I’m Jaemin” he turns to you, dropping his fork and it clatters as it hits the plate, a beautiful smile across his face and you finding it comforting to think it hasn’t changed at all. He then lifts your hand to his lips, placing them softly on your knuckles all whilst keeping that damn smile held across his lips and staring straight into your soul, heat rises up your body slightly thrown back and he can see the shock in your eyes . Your well crafted facade cracking. His eyes are still boring into yours and you can’t move, stuck looking into his eyes, hands stuck to his until a kick. Coming from across the table, a force hits Jaemin’s shin causing him to yelp, instantly turning away from you and dropping your hand, you notice a small smile on Jisung’s face as he tries to conceal his laughter. You turn to look at where such a force came from, fierce strong features and an intimidating stare yet when he turns to you crescent moons appear, his aura changing immediately and the child in the portrait comes to life. “I’m Jeno” his voice is soft yet clear and all you can do is smile back before replying simply your name “Y/N” you tell him and he nods your way. 

Thinking that silence would now set in was foolish of you, for you should’ve guessed Jaemin isn’t the type to let there be silence and looking back now you could definitely tell he was itching to ask you so many questions. “I guess you have already met Jisung” he turns to you again and you only nod, looking up at the tall boy in front of you but he only stares at the soup in front of him but you know he senses your gaze as he twitches slightly in his seat, holding himself back from looking up and directly into your eyes. “He is not usually this quiet, he will warm up to you soon” Jaemin apologises on behalf of Jisung yet he grimaces at the words that leave Jaemin’s mouth but you smile at Jaemin ignoring Jisung’s expression.

The rest of dinner is filled with small talk between you and Jaemin, him asking you your favourite colour and trivial things like that, you discussed different authors and scriptors to which Jeno also chimed in on the conversation, both very impressed on your knowledge though you aren’t sure if they were impressed because you were a woman or genuinely impressed by the vast knowledge you had accumulated over the years spent in your father’s library however you brushed that thought aside, carrying on with the conversation, eyes drifting to Jisung at times who just sat there playing around with spoon, twisting it between his fingers instead of daring to look at you let alone to add to the conversation. Finally as Daphne takes away the plates, Jeno stands up dismissing himself from the table, “It was a pleasure to meet you Y/N, I hope you stay a while it was fun having you” he tells you with those same moons for eyes and you thank him for his hospitality “It was a great pleasure to meet you too, thank you for allowing me to stay” you say them at Jeno and Jaemin but they’re mainly directed to Jisung who brought you here.

“If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to tell me” Jaemin smiles, a hand on your shoulder as he stands next to where you sit and you only nod at him, he then comes to your ear, lips so close you feel them brush against the shell “Jisung will come around, I’m sorry if he’s making you feel uncomfortable” he apologises on his behalf for the second time that night and you wave him off with a smile. You could already tell that Jisung is shy and awkward but it’s not confused for hate or resentment, he simply doesn’t know how to act around a female and it’s clear the way he trips over his words and his very own legs but to be fair they are very long.

After everyone left the table and made their ways to their own rooms, you too made your way to bed. Laying there you think back to how far you’ve come, a few months ago this all would have been nothing but a dream and now it’s a reality and the euphoric feeling you imagine is everything and more. Freedom is worth anything is what you’ve learnt, the freedom to live your life the way you want. To be in control of all your decisions, living with the consequences but not a single shred of regret because you chose it and therefore it must have been for a reason. It’s new and exciting but so scary as the colony of butterflies bloom in your stomach, all the possibilities panning out in your head and for some reason as you drift off to sleep that night, you see Jisung in this future of yours.

The sun shined in through the sheer curtains of your room, sunlight dancing on your skin and the warmth made you feel alive as it tingled. The house was quiet and as you look out the window you realise that even the Sun has still yet to wake fully, still sleepy rising out of the horizon. The birds chirp and the lavender fields roar as the wind dances but there in the middle of it all is a figure. Jisung. Your eyes light up and your legs are quick to move, still in your nightgown, hair in a mess you rush to meet him there. The stairs creak as you step down them slowly, as if a child trying not to get caught, you try your best not to wake a soul.

Once out the door you run out towards the purple sea, the cold morning air refreshing to the midday humidity that sticks your clothes to your skin, instead the wind blows through you and you feel free as all boundaries and confinements are washed away but then it hits you, causing your legs to halt. Jisung barely knows you, how weird it would be for you to run up to him at the break of dawn? Very weird you decide as you slowly make your way back to the house, hoping to not make any noise that might draw his attention your way.

Stepping back inside, your back against the heavy wooden door you let out a deep sigh as your eyes fall closed in relief. Thank god he didn't see you, you think to yourself as you just stepped into the living room and your heart dropped down to your stomach, lungs stopping as you see him there. Jisung flicking through a book, his eyes come up to meet yours which are blown out in shock as you stare between him and looking back at the door, his lips fold into a line and you practically see the questions forming in his mind as he scratches the top of his head.

“Good Morning” you say with a smile but the embarrassment isn’t covered well, eyes everywhere but his. He softly replies with a mumble you’re unsure if he actually said anything back or if you just made it up but as your eyes land on the book in his hand and all thoughts are banished. You rush round the table, Jisung’s eyes wide now as it’s his turn to be shocked as you sit down beside him, taking the book out of his hand to have a look at the title. “Ah a classic” you say as your fingers run over the title and Jisung only nods at your words. “Is it your favorite Shakespearean play?” you ask in hopes of starting up conversation, all you get in return is nod of the head but that does nothing but urge you to talk again to fill the silence. “I like Hamlet but i think Macbeth is my favourite. The best character being Lady Macbeth, a strong ambitious women” you state and Jisung only laughs at this causing you to turn back to him.

“She had lost her mind” he laughs again and you smile

“Yes but as a woman she exerts power and it’s not really seen much in female characters in stories and real life” you tell him, explaining how a woman like her is admirable for her strong spirit.

“Yes but doesn’t Shakespear describe her to have a masculine soul that within a femine body, he is saying the ambition and power are masculine and therefore is she really a good embodiment for strong powerful females?” he argues back, questioning you and you can’t help but smile.

“But he uses her and the witches to plant the idea of murder in Macbeth’s head, he shows that they are powerful and can achieve what they want through manipulation which he explains to be a women’s method, they are in control of the men and it shows that if it weren’t for social confinments that they would pursue their ambitions for themselves, is Macbeth really the one in control?” you question him back and he smiles

“You win” he laughs and pride is struck through you, there’s no feeling quite similar to winning a debate but there's sadness at the bottom of your gut as you remember and miss your brothers who you would debate with until frustrations would burst out of you all and it leads to punches being thrown around.

“Let me guess, you hate Romeo and Juliet” he expects you to say yes and you know it’s because he probably thinks their love for each other is shallow but you can’t say you do.

“I don’t actually, aside from the whole love at first sight, I somewhat relate to it” you tell him eyes staring at him but unfocused as you think back to how your own life was in comparison to Juliet’s, “the being forced into something you don’t want and dying for your freedom, in this case her freedom was Romeo but i don’t think he was the only reason she chose to flee, I’d like to think ran away for herself and to allow herself her own choices in life” and then silence as Jisung took in your words, a perspective he had never really thought about, the story was always solely based on romance but then again he had never been put in the position of being forced into something so life changing such as marriage. Jisung couldn’t begin to comprehend how it felt to be used so obviously for social gain and being stripped and deprived of anything else that would hinder that.

 Sensing stiffness in the air, you had to do something about it, you finally got Jisung to actually have a conversation with you. “Still Macbeth is the best” and again you manage to get a laugh out of him. The sound is so sweet that angels come down to listen to it, the heavens split open at the first bubble of laughter that leaves his mouth and your eyes light up as your body tingles with pride for causing it, you’re addicted to it and you're itching to hear it again. You need to hear it again.

The moment is cut off though with the entrance of Jaemin and Jisung’s eyes avert to his brother greeting him a good morning as quietly as he did to you and Jaemin sleepy replies in a yawn, rubbing his eye  before sitting down opposite you. “Morning y/n” he greets you and you smile before greeting him back, turning back to Jisung to hopefully start up the conversation again. “So what else are you reading?” you ask and your eyes light up as you scan over the many books on the table before you.

“Oh y/n, you know how to read!” Jaemin jumps up, it wasn’t expected for someone to be literate to the extent they could read Shakespeare or any higher educational scriptures, unless of a high class, let alone a women but your father taught you all he could and then you leached off your brothers who were lucky enough to be sent to school but Jaemin had already been aware of this “Yes my father taught me” you tell him and he nods rapidly.

“Yes I know, I just thought you’d like to know that there’s a library upstairs if you ever get bored and want to read something” he tells you and excitement bubbles up inside you and the instinct to run up there and have a look at their book collection is something far harder to conceal then it should be and Jaemin laughs at your eagerness. “Jisung could use someone like you, he’s always trying to get away from his studies” and you hear Jisung let out a nervous laugh as you turn towards him, completely offended.

“You have the privilege of being able to study and you want to run away from it” you gasp and it causes Jaemin to laugh again but this wasn’t a laughing matter, you were completely serious. You would die to be in his position and something about the way Jisung holds an apologetic look makes you think he knows you would.

“I guess you’ll just have to be with him to help him study” Jaemin offers a solution and your eyes light up at this, the excitement running through your veins. You all know exactly what that means, yes it’s babysitting Jisung to make sure he gets all his work done but it also means you get to study whatever he’s learning and expand your knowledge as far as you can. Jisung seemed hesitant at first but after seeing how you visibly lit up at the suggestion he couldn’t help but agree to take you along with him when he had to study.

After breakfast Jisung led you up to the library, it was a large room filled from ceiling to floor with books, the sight alone made you dizzy with excitement, as you stepped in the beloved smell of old books filled your senses and your hands instantly rushed to run along the spines of every book. Your eyes sparkled as you looked over each one and Jisung watched as fascination completely engulfed you, he couldn’t stop watching as you pick out a book, couldn’t take his eyes off you as your eyes skimmed the blurb, he was mesmerized by what he wasn’t too sure of. His eyes didn’t seem to be able to move on from your figure until you turned to face him, time stood still as he watched more and more of the bright smile that was held across your face be revealed to him, you were beautiful. Once met with yours, his eyes scrambled away as they always do and he was quick to turn around and seat himself at the desk that sat in the centre of the room.

You too situated yourself on one of the more comfortable chairs, opposite to Jisung, you watched him begin to write, his head slanted and both arms splayed out on the table, he was the height of beauty and grace, the gods carved him from marble, so ethereal Aphrodite herself was jealous of his perfection, Apollo envied his grace. Though you were here to study, read as many books time allowed you, your eyes were distracted and little did you know they were distracting Jisung as well. Your gaze causes his breath to halt, his hands to sweat and pink dust to decorate his skin. You were dazed, stuck in a trace of his beauty and had to do something to get out of it, you clenched your hand; nails digging into your palms, pressing hard to wake you. You forced your head to the side, eyes looking at the bookshelf once again but your actions caused Jisung to look up, you can feel his stare on you and a shiver is sent through your spine, too scared to look back at him, afraid you’ll be pulled back into his trance.

“You have a lot of German books” you say, hoping your nervousness isn’t obvious and just to be sure you get up and head towards the books. You feel him staring at every step you take and you just pray you're the only one that can hear the loud thumping of your heart against your ribcage as a colony of butterflies bloom in your stomach. Fingers tracing over the German writing on the spine of each book, you try to distract yourself from him and try to compose yourself once again but then his voice echoes through the room, deep and smooth it sends shivers rippling through you.

“My father was stationed in Germany” he tells you as his eyes finally move away from your figure, a sense of relief washes over you as he continues to write once again. Yet you're still too nervous to turn around, too nervous to look at him, he who is the epitome of beauty.

“Still?” you ask, filling in the silence as you pull out another book, examining the words on the front cover but you instantly regret it as Jisung’s eyes fall back onto you.

“After the war he was assigned a higher position in the Rhineland and then after they were dismissed he was asked to stay along the French borders'' he tells you and once again your curiosity gets the best of you and you ask him another question. If you remember correctly, it’s been 10 years since the dismissal of the troops in the Rhineland.

“So when was the last time you saw him?” and instantly you regret the words that leave your mouth, your curse yourself a million times over. Jisung’s silence is all too overwhelming and your chest grows tighter as guilt takes over your body and just as you’re about to apologise, he answers

“He visited last year” Jisung simply states but you can hear the strain in his voice, the pain he’s tried his best to cover yet it seeps through and your glad you can’t see him right now because you couldn’t bare to see the sparkle in his eyes fade slightly as you remember the passing of his mother, that most probably led to his father returning back home. Silence settles again and your frozen by the shelves, the air so heavy it feels as if weights were holding you down, your mind hazy as you space out and as the common pattern goes, Jisung wakes you out of the depths of your mind with a voice as smooth as honey, it provides a comfort that sends shivers down your spine.  “He’ll be back soon though, he’s officially been discharged for retirement” he tells you as if he can feel your stiffness and out of the corner of your eye you see he’s giving you a small comforting smile, just to make the air seem a little lighter.

Time seems to fly past as you both sit there, Jisung’s hands busy writing away as he refers back to scriptures and your eyes busy as you read up on German politics and the structure of the Weimar constitution, that revolutionised democracy, the sun was now high in the sky as noon approached. You didn’t even notice until Jisung let out a loud yawn, arms above his head as he stretched and let out mumbles of how you should stop for today or at least take a break. You only nodded in response as you stretched your own limbs out, you had ended up curled up in the chair with your legs tucked away as you leaned into what you were reading. Jisung couldn't help but smile as he looked up occasionally to see your eyebrows furrowed as you read and he can't help the soft laugh from escaping his lips now as he watches you stretch. "And what is it that you find so funny?" You question him, eyes narrowed but your lips are clearly fighting back a smile and the sight of it flusters Jisung, stammering over his words ``N-Nothing" he answers and you let out a small smile to let him know you were only kidding.

As you both leave the room, you can't help but follow Jisung "and what is it you do after you are done studying?" Your question startled him as he visibly flinched at the sound of your voice and he mentally tells himself to get used to your unquenchable curiosity. "Except for picking lavenders" you tease. He lets out a soft laugh, the same sound you've been itching to hear since this morning.

"Nothing much" he tells as he makes his way down the stairs. Following him down, he makes his way towards the drawing room, sitting himself down in an old velvet chair, you place yourself beside him in a matching one. Your eyes peering over towards his hands that pull at needle and thread and you’re astounded by the sight in front of you, a male who knows how to sew is as rare as diamonds, as impressive as gold. Jisung continuously stuns you, his nimble fingers work diligently as they pull the thread to make patterns across the once plain cloth.

He can feel the burn of your stare on his hands, his chest tightens and his nerves are lit on fire, he is hyper aware of every wander of your eyes. His mind clouded by the mere thought of you watching him, his mind so fixated on impressing you, for a reason he’s not sure of, he doesn’t pay much attention to the needle any longer; a mistake he realises once the sharp point collides with the soft skin of his index, drawing blood. He flinches back away from the sharp contact as you leap forward to cup his hand in both of yours. Pressing your thumb against his finger, applying pressure in hopes of stopping the seeping blood, you slightly blow upon it to relieve it of any pain but Jisung can’t feel any pain not when your overwhelming heat rolls of you and radiates on to his skin, with every touch sparks fly on top of his skin fizzling underneath and seeping into his bloodstream. A fluttering blooms in his stomach and Jisung has no idea what this feeling is, it’s new and exciting. He craves it as his eyes drift to your worried face and once your eyes meet his, the emotion is buried by the overwhelming nervousness he feels engulfing him, his cheeks flush and his breath is caught in his throat. He pulls away from you and quickly stands “I’ll” he pauses thinking what to say next “I’ll get a bandage” he spits the words out as soon as his mind comes up with the excuse.

“I’ll get it, sit down” you stand up and ready to head towards any one of the maids that could help you but your steps are interrupted by Jisung’s voice once again.

“No it’s fine, I’ll get it” he blurts out, hand stopping you as he places in front of you, your head moving back on reflex, and with that Jisung runs out the room; feet moving fast as his left hand tightly wraps around his right index.

You sit there for what felt like forever waiting for Jisung’s return but in reality it was no more than 10 minutes, you were never one to hold patience. So you rose to your feet, eager to find the tall boy that let awkwardness roll off of him. Heading to the direction you saw Jisung turn, you make your way to the familiar kitchen, many busy bodies work their way around preparing for dinner as the clock is nearing sun fall. Your eyes wander the familiar walls with the same pictures you stared at upon the first day of your arrival, until they stopped on the figure they seeked. There he stood by the wooden table that just about reached his waist. He poured flour into a bowl, followed by two eggs and your eyes watched his every moment again and as if he could sense you, his rose to meet you once again. You smile because it just comes so naturally when with him and he smiles back, how could he not?

Inviting yourself in, you step closer towards Jisung, “A cook too” you say, you’re impressed and it’s evident in your voice.

“It’s a basic necessity” he says yet there’s a pink coating that dusts his cheeks, you know he’s flattered by your words despite his own.

“Basic necessity?” you question as you sit down, legs crossed, on an empty wooden chair just by where he stands “I guess I should learn” you state nonchalantly, not expecting the reaction it would provoke from Jisung. His head snaps to turn to you, his eyes searching your face for any indication that you were only pulling his leg, that this was only a joke but those indications never showed because this wasn't a joke, you were serious.

“What? Does a girl have to know how to cook?” you question him in a scoff, an eyebrow raised as you question his thoughts that control his expressions.

“No they don’t but I can be surprised, I know you are surprised I can” he rebuttals, calling out your hypocrisy but to this you only smile, you were glad Jisung could stand his own ground, it wouldn’t be fun otherwise.

“More impressed than surprised” you state, earning a smile from Jisung once again, you pat yourself on the back each time you manage to pull out that sweet, healing smile that seems to wash all worries away.

“Who’s to say I’m not impressed” he questions you once again and continues to mix the batter, adding more ingredients, again you smile at his words and Jisung feels his heart flutter at every stretch of your lips. He craves to see it more.

“Can you teach me?” your question catches him off guard and his eyebrows leap up into the soft brown hair that covers his forehead, “what I’m not totally hopeless, I’ve read a book on it before” you pout. Laughter rings through the air as Jisung has doubled over, unable to hold in the snorts and his breathing unsteadies as your words register in his head and this only makes your pout more prominent and your eyebrows knit together.

“I’m sorry” Jisung laughs out as his eyes fall onto your expression but he can’t hold it in, a few bubbles of laughter spilling out as he tries to calm his breaths, his eyes glossy as tears threaten to fall and you try to fight back your own laughter as the corners of your lips slightly perk up. “Did you say you read a book on cooking” he can’t even get through the sentence without laughing but he’s quick to reign it back in to allow you to answer.

“Yes” you say proudly, head still held high and Jisung bites down on his lips as the splutters of laughter threaten to escape again. “It’s obviously not the same thing but I’ve read basic methods” you state in defence.

“You make it sound like science” he scoffs at your words and you roll your eyes at his.

“Is it not, the mixing of substances to achieve a product. It sounds like alchemy to me” you explain your thought process and Jisung nods in agreement. Though you can tell he has something to say.

“Alright then, let us say cooking is science” he begins and you raise your eyebrow in questioning as to where this is leading “reading a method for an experiment is not the same as doing the experiment, there are things that are not accounted for, practical errors, measuring errors. The method tells you what to do but not how to do it” and before he can even finish his sentence properly you jump up, startling him slightly as he flinches back.

“And that is where you come in to teach me, guide me through the experiment” you plead but it sounds like he doesn’t really have an option, you’re practically telling him. He sighs but he has to give, how could he not when you're giving him your sweetest smile and when your eyes are practically begging him.

“I’m surprised you want to learn” he questions you “I thought you’d avoid anything that would have been forced upon you” he explains as he hands you an apron.

Your smile extends ear to ear as you take the apron from his hands, tying in behind your back you explain your sudden want to learn “Yes but I’m choosing to learn, this isn’t about adding another quality of a wife to my resume. This about extending my knowledge and as you said it is a basic necessity.”

Jisung only nods at your answer as he hands you another bowl, some ingredients already placed inside “follow after me” he says as he cracks an egg and pours it’s insides into the bowl and then turning to you he see you struggle, knocking the egg against the table softly you try and mimic his actions “Did the book not mention eggs?” he laughs and so does Daphne who observes close by as you send him glares that wish him death.

“Like this” he says as he places his hands over yours, guiding you but your eyes aren’t focused on the egg in your hold, you’re focused on Jisung who’s so close, too close. You feel his breath on the side of your neck and goosebumps arise on the surface of your skin as shivers are sent down your spine. The scent of cotton, jasmine and of course lavenders invade your senses and blur your mind. You can’t help but stare at Jisung, perfection personified as he concentrates on explaining how to assure no shell falls into the batter. Yet the words enter one ear and exit the other as you watch his lips move, your eyes stuck and it’s only when his eyes move up to meet yours does he also realise the little space between the two of you. His hands still holding onto yours, his eyes move down. Slowly they trace the features of your face, the bridge of your nose, the dip of your cupid’s bow and then they stop at your lips. His breathing halts, his heart skips beats as it dances in his chest and when he feels unbearable heat take over him he forces himself away from you. Quickly flinching back, his warmth leaves you, he clears his throat and turns from your gaze that still stares, he continues showing you what to do and no more words are exchanged as the heaviness in the air sets in.

Many weeks go by where you and Jisung spend all your mornings in the library, which had now become your favourite spot in the house, you look forward to picking up a new book every morning, look forward to watching Jisung so focused on his work, telling him all about what you’ve learnt and occasionally sparking up a debate but you also find yourself staring out the window wishing for the sun to only raise itself higher and higher as you wish for midday to arrive, to run away with Jisung down into the kitchen where he continues to teach you how to cook, some days he would take you into town to pick out fresh ingredients or some days into the drawing room where he attempts to teach you how to sow. After a few failed attempts, your patience wearing thin and much blood being drawn from your fingers, you give up on sewing however cooking is a much greater achievement and the outcome was worth every bit of it. The smile on Jisung’s face every time he’d taste something he’d liked, every time you remember a part of a recipe and every time he would sit down at the dinner table and Jeno or Jaemin would compliment your cooking. He felt immense pride in you and it fostered a love for cooking within you.

Other days when the weather prohibited it, Jisung would take you out into the lavender field. You’d sit in between the rows and rows of purple, picking at the prettiest ones.The sun high in the sky, august warmth embracing you as the wind blew over the roaring fields, dancing between your hair. “Look I learnt this from a book” you sit beside Jisung, his head snaps up and his attention is on your fingers now as they twirl the thin stems in and around each other to form a knot. “Purity, silence, devotion and grace are what a lavender symbolise” you begin to tell him “and you Jisung” you place the intertwined lavenders behind his ear, he’s visibly flustered as his cheeks turn hues of pink and it only urges you on “are exactly that” you whisper to him as if the lavenders had ears and could hear your confession, for these words are for Jisung’s only.

Jisung’s eyes widened as each word that was revealed to him, his heart thumping in his chest and his mind set on fire as chaos engulfed him. His thoughts scrambled and instantly his mind went to countless different possibilities as to what those words meant but looking up at you his mind cleared for he only saw beauty. The beauty your eyes held, as they sparkled infinitely each time they skimmed over the countless words on a book, the beauty your smile held when someone complimented your new found cooking skills, the beauty in your voice each time you called on him as the new found nickname “sungie” which caused his heart to melt, the beauty you held in the way you carried yourself never letting anyone put you down. Jisung adored you in every way, embers in his chest that grew into a flame, which spreads through his entirety burning all. A blissful pain sits at the core of him, aching, he longs for you but do you long for him? Is he but a fool to fall in love with a stranger, the stranger in the lavender fields. Is he a fool for falling in love with you? Is this even love? His eyes fixated on your lips, he examines the curve of them, the colour, their beauty. As if they were magnets he’s drawn to them, slowly inching himself forward, so close he could feel the warm air that made it past them.

So close and yet so far is he to you, the sweet smell of lavenders is dizzying, the sunlight burns your skin but against Jisung’s it only illuminates his, he glows. The urge to place your lips on top of his, eats away at your skin, the want crawls under and down your spine, shivers resonate throughout your body as he nears. The world falls away, the slight buzzing of bees fade, the tickles of the grass dissipate and you only feel Jisung. His presence, the brush of his knee against yours and the warmth that radiates off him. Your heart stops, you stop breathing, anticipating what’s about to happen next until suddenly Jisung’s head snaps to the right and reality comes flooding in as you hear both your names ringing and ripping through the air. “Jisung! Y/N!” Daphne shouts and Jisung jumps up answering for both of you “We’re coming!” Left completely stunned you sit there, mind in chaos as your embarrassment engulfs you. Your eyebrows furrowed, you think to yourself how you could allow for yourself to fall into his spell. What were you thinking? That’s the problem, around Jisung you can’t think, everything happens on pure instinct and desire. Then as if you had rewinded time, a shadow is casted over you, a hand is placed in front of you to take and as he did on that first day, he snaps you out of your daze. “Are you feeling well?” he asks in that same soft voice. Your hand twitches to move towards him and it takes everything in your power to stop it from falling into his grasp once again.

“Fine” it comes out much colder than you expected it to as you rise up to your feet on your own, his hand is left hanging awkwardly to which he slowly closes before placing it behind his head as he bites his bottom lip and your eyes can’t help but fall on them again, they which were so close and yet so far. “Let’s go” and this time you lead him out of the lavender field.

The walk back to the house is silent, the same awkwardness that hadn’t made an appearance in so long settles in the air, it’s thick and heavy and you can feel it weigh you down. Upon arriving back to the house, a carriage awaits outside, a military emblem on the back and your heart drops, eyes widen and your steps stop. “It couldn’t be” you let out at barely a whisper.

But the slightest sound from you is enough to have Jisung’s head snap up towards you, for he’s been waiting for you to make a sound, any sound to rid this atmosphere. "What is it?" He asks also hushed, his eyes follow yours and there it leads to the carriage, a smile rips through his face and he runs ahead.  Confused you rush your steps but the anxiety building up in your chest stays, the lump in your throat is still hard to swallow.

“Y/N!” Jaemin calls you whilst waving his hand eagerly, calling you to come quickly and as you step closer the constraining feeling in your chest dissipates as the figure that steps out of the carriage is an unknown one to you. You stand by Jaemin’s side, who radiates excitement off him and you can’t help but smile as the little boy in the picture is standing right before you, the same eager stance and pretty smile that even the sun envies. The man exists and immediately pulls Jeno into an embrace so tight and you swear you see Jeno’s eyes sparkle as tears threaten to fall. Jisung is much less subtle at concealing his tears, he sobs into the man’s shoulder and it’s only then you presume this is their father. Jisung’s eyes are red and he sniffles as his father let’s go of him and your heart clenches at his adorableness. Jaemin is as happy as ever, hugging his father as tight as ever, eyes closed in pure bliss. You’re smiling like a fool as the heartwarming scene unfolds in front of you, so busy looking at the happy smiles and the stray few tears that are still running down Jisung’s cheeks you don’t notice the new acquaintance step in front of you until he clears his throat and you jump to meet his gaze.

“You must be Y/N” he smiles extending his hand and you place yours in it, shaking it. “I’ve heard a lot about you in all my son’s letters” your eyes widen and your turn to the three boy, Jaemin with that damn smirk on his face, Jisung avoiding your eyes and as always finding his shoes much more interesting, thank god for Jeno who offers a comforting smile assuring it’s all good things. “Sir you’ve raised three fine men, who have all welcomed me” you bow your head in thanks and he smiles once again.

“I couldn’t possible take any credit for it, it’s all thanks to their mother and Daphne of course” he turns from you to her and she pulls him into an embrace “Thank you for looking after them” he says barely audible but Daphne catches it and just as softly replies “but of course”. As everyone heads inside you wait until Jisung is by your side to start heading in as well, “Crybaby” you whisper with a teasing smile you nudge him with your elbow, he scoffs as he’s wiping his tear stained cheeks but he can’t help smile back at you.

Seated around the dining table, as always by Jaemin’s side and opposite Jisung, their father sits at the head of the table and more food than ever is being served tonight in celebration. You’re much more quiet tonight despite Jaemin continuously making sure you feel involved in the conversation, you’re eternally grateful for him. “So Y/N, why did you leave home?” their father asks so casually it almost goes unnoticed by the boys but Jisung almost chokes on his water, Jeno’s eyes widen and Jaemin almost immediately tries to shut down the conversation “Father” he gives him a pointed look, jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowed as he shakes his head.

“Jaemin, it's okay" you smile towards him, "freedom i suppose sir" you answer the question and Jisung's father squints his eyes, as he lets out a hum in acknowledgement of your answer. "Even after all your family has done for you?" He continues to question "you come from the family my late wife used to work under, am I correct?" And you simply nod "yes I do".

"The late General's daughter" he states "I wonder if he's turning in his grave at this moment" Jisung's grip on his silverware tightens and you notice his knuckles turn white and once again Jaemin's stare is begging his father to stop as Jeno looks over to see how affected you are by his cruel words. You don't falter though, you know what you've done can seem selfish but it was necessary "I'm sure he is" you laugh out "but he's always known I'm never one to listen" you continue to pick away at the food on your plate and you can feel all there gazes falls onto you, as you look up Jisung’s eye bore into yours as he mouths a soft “sorry” to you and you smile back at him shaking your head.

“I assume you’ve run from marriage” Jisung’s father starts up conversation again and you only nod as an answer “Are you against marriage?” he asks and it’s if he wants tears to fall from your eyes as he keeps pushing where he knows it’ll hurt. “Of course not but I would like to pursue a higher education or experience the world first” you explain, still keeping your calm.

“You think a woman is capable of doing such things?” he asks again and it’s this question that really makes your skin crawl and your jaw tighten. Questioning your methods of gaining freedom is one thing but looking down on all women and claiming them unable is one you can’t stand for. “I think we are very capable, I think the suffragettes have made that very clear and sir didn’t you work with the Weimar Government, they were the first government to allow women to vote I would think their initiative would have rubbed off on you” and he only smiles at your answer.

“I was stationed in Germany and worked under the Weimar Government up until their collapse, you’re correct” he begins to tell you “I have to tell you that I agree with your view, I’ve seen much that women are capable of doing” he says and your eyes widen at his words “I think what you did was brave and admirable, my three boys could learn from you, I hope you can lend Jisung some of your courage” he smiles at you and your jaw still hangs as does everyone else's around the table and as you look up to find pink hues invading Jisung’s cheeks once again, if you didn’t know any better you would have thought it were always like that regardless. You nod at their father before answering back “I think I’m the one who’s learning a lot form Jisung sir” and the shades of pink darken

The atmosphere had lightened again somewhat although the topic on war was not a light one at all, as their father expressed his worry about sending his three sons off to war and how in ruins the country would be again, worry sat in your chest. Jeno and Jaemin are strong all physically, emotionally and mentally but Jisung is the sweet boy who wouldn’t hurt a bee. “What do you think of the current situation of our country Y/N'' Jeno taking you out of your thoughts, you head snaps up to him “I think the war is unavoidable despite our economic stance, Germany has already invaded Czechoslovakia and it’s only time before they invade Poland meaning our involvement in the war is definite whether we want it or not'' the table falls silent as they process your words and it’s not until Jisung’s father begins to nod and expand on your thoughts but you zone out as you watch Jisung fiddle with the knotted lavenders you had gifted him and your lips can’t help but curve.

The next morning a book awaited you on your vanity, a scarlet red cover with gold print, you ran your fingers along. “Sonnets'' it read and as you flicked open to the first page, familiar handwriting appeared “A collection of my favourite - Jisung” a smile spread across your face as it usually did when your thoughts ran to Jisung. You sat down flicking to the first poem “Sonnet 18” a giggle escaped your mouth and like a schoolgirl already aware of the beauty Shakespear's arguably most famous sonnet holds, the giddy feeling of butterflies blooming caused your heartbeat to quicken and a heat to rise.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:

Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And too often is his gold complexion dimm’d:

Annotations surround the poem as Jisung highlights and picks out certain lines. The second line is underlined and next to it he writes “Though you are lovely, temperate is definitely up for debate” he teases and you scoff at his words. You read on and lines four and five are underlined and his annotation reads “The eye of heaven is you who shines gloriously throughout the day and yet too often you allow yourself to dim. Don’t.”

And every fair from fair sometimes declines,

By chance or natures changing course untrimm’d;

By thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

“You are my eternal summer, your beauty is one that isn’t possible to vanish, it’s infinite unlike summer which collapses in winter” you read on as lines nine and ten are underlined.

Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

The the final annotation as the last three lines are highlighted, Jisung says “Your beauty shall remain eternal so long as my heart beats, so long as i live and breathe, so long as my eyes can see your beauty, I only seem to think of you now as i read this poem and in this poem the memory of you shall live on” you heart beats erratically in your chest, you’re breathless as his words halt your breathing. Forgetting such simple acts as thinking and even breathing seem to be a regular side effect in the presence of Jisung, just the mere thought of him. Your palms grow sweaty, your heart clenches reading over the words again and again, you pinch yourself. For this moment, seems like nothing but a dream, your heads in the cloud, you're living in the heavens. The feeling is suffocating, your own throat is closing in on you, the pain in your chest spreads like wildfire, your whole body aches with admiration for him. Yet the constant question looms over your head, what does he really mean by this? Is his feeling the same as yours? Or is he portraying the beautiful friendship you both have built over the weeks? One thing is sure and it’s that you can’t ruin that, can’t let the heavy air seep in once again and weigh you down.

The days folded out as normal, Jisung’s presence still as overwhelming as ever but you couldn’t help but find serenity in it, he was soft spoken yet his silence speaks the loudest for him, his grace and beauty as  were one to be envied by all but you were nothing more than grateful for being able to witness it day after day, it were as if he had walked out of your dreams. The stolen glances, lingering stares as he smiled or laughed, he stole your heart and he wasn’t even aware it was his anyways. Sitting opposite him, you stare not caring if he or anyone catches you for your far past the point of holding any shame and allowing your eyes to do as they please.

"I have something to announce" Jeno suddenly speaks up, breaking the silence, all eyes turn to him and he audibly gulps. You’ve never seen him so nervous, fiddling with his silverware you almost mistook him for Jisung. He clears his voice before speaking, taking in a deep breath he prepares himself for the words that are about to leave him, “I am to marry” he says quickly waiting for a response, an outroar, a gasp and maybe a few tears but none of them come.

“About time don’t you think” Jaemin laughs out causing the rest of the table to release small giggles at Jeno’s expense, “You have been all giddy and heart eyes at that girl in the village since we were all but five- OW" Jaemin's face twists in pain, hands rushing to his shin as he's cut off by a harsh kick. Jisung and you burst into laughter not being able to hold it in any longer.

"And what are you two laughing at" Jeno punches at Jisung’s shoulder, immediately causing him to halt his laughter as he rubs his shoulder “Well brother, it’s not like it is a secret. Even Y/N knows” and you giggle again as Jisung enlightens Jeno on his obvious swooning.

“What?” Jeno’s eyes widen as he turns to you and you can’t help but laugh even more. “We visited the village and your eyes were stuck, Jeno you walked straight into Jisung” you burst out laughing as you recall the memory. Once the laughter, the teasing, the amount of huffs that leave Jeno quiet down your left with comfort, a bliss that you’ve never felt before, a smile that just won’t leave your face. It’s a beautiful feeling and you wish to memorise it for if numbness overtakes your body, you can relive this exact moment of the solace you found in those around this table.

“Is that three out of the four of us in love?” Jaemin smirks as he lifts his glass to his lips, looking around the table, Jeno scoffs at his words but confusion is written all over you and Jisung. Did Jaemin know that your heart only seems to beat for Jisung? How did he know? Who was the other person? Was it Jaemin or Jisung? If Jisung, who did he love? The questions ran through your mind in circles and it only spewed more questions to follow, your head was spinning stuck in the spiral of curiosity, but curiosity always killed the cat.

But cats have 8 other lives right? That is what you had decided later that night, sat beside Jisung on the stone wall, letting curiosity take over you - slightly. Your legs dangled, swinging them back and forth, whilst Jisung’s gaze was set on the crashing waves of purple as the moon pulled them back and forth; yours were stuck on him. The moonlight illuminated, captured his beauty in a way the sun couldn’t, it seemed the goddess of the moon saw greater beauty in Jisung than Apollo could ever begin to understand.

“I could not fail to realise that sonnet 23 was not amongst your favourite” your eyes darting out towards the fields as his turn to you, “It’s one of my favourites” you tell him.

“I’m sorry to disappoint but do you not think it’s a bit cliche” he laughs and your eyebrows shoot up in slight disbelief “and sonnet 18 is not” you scoff, finally meeting his eyes.

“Sonnet 18 is beautiful” he argues and he swings into you, nudging you slightly, rolling your eyes you nudge him back “Sonnet 23 is just as or dare I say more” and he smiles slightly, eyes turning back to the night sky, the clouds running over the moon and Jisung is left amongst the stars. “How so?” he dares to question.

“It is, for one, far more romantic” you begin “the thought of one loving you with so much passion, so unconditionally that it can not even be professed by words yet the love they feel is so strong they need an escape, to tell that person what they can not truly express fully, to let them show you how much they love you. To hear with eyes as Shakespear so beautifully put it” you nudge him again and he looks down at you, a smile as radiant as the sun,moon and stars combined graces you and again Jisung has stolen your heart in complete silence

“Yet what I love about Sonnet 18 is that it is not too romantic, that the love that Shakespear professes can be for a lover or a friend, he speaks of all the imperfections of summer yet still he loves it, he describes the person he loves as someone who defies all the imperfections for in his eyes they are perfect imperfections when it comes to them” he nudges you back with a slight giggle but you can’t return his happiness for you have been stung as his words seep into your mind.

“Oh for a friend” you whisper, he hears your words but not the sadness behind them as he continues with that bright smile “and that is why it was so perfect to give to you” his words are daggers to the heart, piercing through, it shatters and the fine pieces scatter throughout you and the sadness seeps through every fibre, cell and atom of your body.

“Are you feeling well?”he asks and worry sweeps the smile off his face as he finds the glossiness of your eyes, the slight redness as well as the unusual silence from you. “Fine” you answer jumping off the stone wall, “Just tired” you say looking out to the goddess of the moon one last time, unable to turn and look at the art she admired most. “Goodnight Jisung” you say as you turn back to the house, not sparing him a glance for he stole your heart and then broke it. 

Though that night your tears mixed with moonlight until Morpheus took you to dream and then the next morning tears mixed with sunlight as Apollo pulled his golden chariot, with swollen eyes and a throbbing head you promised this wouldn’t affect the beautiful friendship that had bloomed. Jisung may not love you the way you would like but he still loved you, as a friend. The mere thought of the word stung, another aching rippled through you and your bones quacked.

Many dusks and dawns had passed and since,you’ve managed to create some distance between you and Jisung but as once said distance makes the heart grow fonder and you curse whoever uttered such truth. For every stolen glance and accidental touch seemed to make your dormant heart beat with every intent of being heard as it rose to your throat, suffocating you.

Jeno’s upcoming wedding being the greatest of all excuses to run away from the burning presence of Jisung, for you would flee to the village with Daphne and pick out materials, help Jeno’s fiance pick flowers, handwrite invitations with Jeno and accompany Jaemin on whatever errands he had been sent to do. No one questioned how you decided to spend your time, other than of course Jaemin who couldn’t help but let his curiosity lead the words that spewed out of him, to which you told him he’d regret someday.

“Just tell me Y/N” he groans as he carries the large basket of apples “Why spend your time with me instead of Jisung” he continues to pursue the answers you deny him of.

“Maybe because, and I dare to say, I like your company more” you pinch his cheek and laugh at the pout that forms on his face “What answer are you looking for Jaems, what would you have me say?”

“I want you to say you are helplessly in love with my brother who is just as in love with you however both of you are too busy quoting literature that is up for interpretation rather than professing your feelings because you lack the courage to do so” you freeze at his words and he also comes to a halt, turning towards you his eyes, sympathetic “you both are as obvious as Jeno” he lets out a small laugh.

“He does not love me Jaemin” your voice stern as you try to convince one who believes in fairytales, your steps quicken and he chases after you “and how exactly do you know?” he questions, curiosity endless.

“He said so, he said he gifted me Sonnet 18 as a friend.” You scoff at the absurd word that causes so much pain and you say it with spite everytime.

“Like I said he lacks courage and as my father said you, Y/N, can help him gain it” he tells you, eyes wide with hope and you admire Jaemin for being a hopeless romantic and you only hope he meets someone who completely fulfills his ideology of love.

“I don’t think I possess such courage anymore” you break it to him for Jisung has broken your heart once, how can you have the courage to allow him the chance to do it again.

Jeno’s wedding arrived much sooner than expected, as the weeks rushed past in much haste as the many busy bodies prepared for the beautiful evening and as hard as you tried to separate yourself from Jisung, the universe liked to disrupt those plans. To the place it all started, so close yet so far apart, you stood rows away from Jisung picking only the prettiest lavenders as per Jeno’s request. The air was thick and heavy despite the August breeze that ran through the fields, an unfamiliar heaviness sat between you two for even as strangers you were far more comfortable. Maybe it’s due to the curiosity you held back then, for the boy in the lavender field, beauty that wasn’t done justice by the word but now that you know him, adore him and are in love with him and now that your heart belongs to him but his not to yours. There’s a void left for the seeping awkwardness to fill, an uneasiness sat in your gut and every moment was excruciating to bare as your heart pains at every beat that belongs to him who does not seem to care.

“Lavenders wouldn’t be my first pick for a wedding” he speaks up first, the silence with you was something he wasn’t used to, you always made sure to replace it with continuous talking and contagious laughter and now that you weren’t, it didn’t feel right to him but you only nod in response not entertaining his thoughts any further. Jisung preferred silence, his thoughts more coherent, his emotions understandable, the silence was comfortable and not overwhelming but with you he couldn’t stand it, mind always wondering what you were thinking, what you were feeling, he needed to know. 

So he carries on speaking, “If it were up to me, Irises and carnations” he expects an interrogation, your endless curiosity asking why that would be his pick but it never comes. So he continues speaking, giving you the answer you didn’t ask for “Irises mean faith, fitting for a lifelong vow” he laughs as he looks over to you stoic expression, cutting off his soft laughter he again begins to speak “and carnation, white ones that symbolise-”

“Eternal love” you cut him off, turning to him, finally speaking yet your tone is monotonous and there is no emotion evident on your face. There’s slight fear in him and it rises, a lump forming in his throat that he can’t quite seem to swallow “Exactly” he choked out, voice strained.

You let out a breath that seemed to be weighing you down, you couldn’t let him continue talking about the meaning behind the flowers, your heart couldn’t take it for aching stops momentarily and instead it flutters and swoons across your chest but then reality hit and it shatters all over again, the pain shooting through your bloodstream.

“Are you feeling well?” he asks as he always does and you answer “Fine” as you always do, even though you both know it’s a lie but he doesn’t push any further as always. The longing feeling for you to look at him and spill all your worries and feelings to him is so great but he doesn’t want to push you to nor does he expect you to trust him with that vulnerability when he himself does not have the courage to do the same back to you.

“I’m going to leave after Jeno’s wedding” you announce working up the little courage you have left, if you say it out loud then you’ll have to follow through. “Thank you for everything” you brace yourself to meet his eyes once more as you turn. “What? Why?” concern so evident in the way his voice wavers, eye glossed over as tears threaten to fall.

“I left to seek my own happiness in life, to make a mark on this Earth yet instead I ran from relying on my family to relying on you and yours” again your voice is completely void of emotions, yet every part of your body was screaming. Longing for the warmth, solace and peace you had found here and it’s at this point you curse yourself for memorising that bliss for all you will do is miss it.

“Did you not feel happiness here?” he screams out, harsher than he expected as he voice comes out rough and broken and you stand there eyes wide for this was the first time the pure,silent and serene boy that stands in the lavender fields has allowed so much emotion to course through his body and you can tell by the way he shakes, the way he struggles to breath and the shock that immediately washed over him upon hearing his own voice raised “I’m sorry” he mumbles in a heavy exhale.

“Thank you for everything Jisung” you offer him a smile as you leave, avoiding his question, leaving him standing alone in the lavender fields.

Leaving the basket of lavenders with Jeno, you rush up the stairs and only when behind the safety of your door do you allow the tears to come streaming down your face, sobs escaping and you hold your mouth to conceal them as you take deep shaky breaths to steady your breathing. Your whole body aches and shakes as it mours the end of your stay, the tears cloud your vision and as you lay down to ease the heartbeat in your head, you cry yourself into a slumber. Even as the dreams swirl around you, pulling you into the unconscious, reality never truly slips away, it haunts you as even in the world you build you can’t stray away from it. The ability to dream of anything further isn’t a possibility, he doesn’t love you and that’s the reality. Why bother dreaming of something that isn’t meant to be. Yet you can’t help but dream of him. His eyes, his smile, his warmth, the pink dust that always decorates his cheeks, his laugh and his existence.

In your days you are held hostage by the daydreams, the what ifs. It felt like you had loved him in every lifetime, you wonder if any had got it right? Had any been loved by him? Your body lies stiff, falling in and out of consciousness but your mind never leaves him. Days go by but time becomes nothing but a construct, eating only becomes a chore.

“Y/N?” a soft voice calls as the door narrows open, a steady stream of gold shining in. You don't move, your head feeling like it's weighed down but you can easily identify the soft voice that speaks. "I brought you something to eat" the footsteps near you, the heavy thuds vibrating through your head. Your eyes peek open to meet Jaemin who crouches down beside you. He moves the few stray strands of hair behind your ear, noticing the wet glimmer of your cheeks he wipes away the tears that stain them.

"What's wrong?" He whispers as if any harsher tone would break you, as if you weren't already broken. You shake your head as your only reply, voice too weak and broken to speak up. You would love to talk to Jaemin, to spill all your worries and heartache but this is a pain too painful to speak of. His hands hold onto your cheeks wiping away any of the stray tears that still fall. His warmth is comforting but it only makes you yearn for Jisung’s more.

Jaemin doesn't leave you that day, he sits by your side in silence. He holds your hand and wipes away your tears, he doesn't attempt to mend your heart, he just sits beside you as it cries out the pain. "It will heal, it will mend itself" he whispers to you as you drift off into the unconscious once again.

It’s the constant knocking at your door that drags you out of the depths of your slumber, pulling you back, the light that streams in as the sun is about to set and you wonder how long you have slept, what time it was and what day it is. Then another knock calls your attention from the window and Daphne steps in “Y/N” she says and her voice is high in surprise as she examines the puffy redness around your eyes. “I was expecting you to be already awake, it is almost time to head to the wedding” she chooses to ignore the wet stains on your silk pillow, choosing to bite her tongue. You choose not to answer her back afraid your voice was raspy and would break, you crawl towards the edge of the bed and swing your legs over as you make your way to the chair that neatly holds your gown for the night, the night that has finally arrived,your last night.

You can see her face change, each one expressing the internal turmoil within her as she questions whether or not to say something. “Just say it Daphne '' you sigh out in a weak smile as you change into the many layers that need to be placed under the gown.

“Ah well” she begins nervously as she fiddles with her loose strings of her apron, she stutters and stumbles over her words but you’ve been taught patience by Jisung as he’d do the same.You smile at the memory of him stuttering, blush across his cheeks as he got nervous causing him to stumble over his words more. You loved seeing him so flustered, loved seeing him progressively become so comfortable around you he never stuttered, became so confident and articulate it was as if he became another person but the same dust of pink never faded but the more you think of him the more it pains and your heart swells as it aches. “You see y/n” she finally spits out as if she had been wrestling the words “If this is your last night, would you not want to leave with a loving memory?” she asks nervously. 

“So it seems word has travelled” you let out a small laugh as you turn to her to pull the strings of your gown and as her hands move to tie knots she laughs as well “Nothing gets past me” and her nervousness visibly dissipates. No more words are exchanged as she helps you ready for tonight, no more words are needed as she sees you slip into the depths of your mind, thinking of what your next act is.

As she places the same pearl necklace you wore the day you came here around your neck, clasping it, she finally turns to leave and through the mirror you see her hesitate but she turns back around a smile across her face “It was a pleasure to meet you ma’am” she says with teary eyes “Y/N” you correct her as you rise quickly, wrapping your arms tightly around her and from the corner of your eye you see Jisung standing at the end of the hallway, witnessing the goodbye he run back down stairs. You saw the glossiness of his eyes and though you would love to leave as a happy memory, would he allow it?

You nervously make your way to the drawing room, there he sits in a black suit, his hair neatly styled yet it looks not much different to everyday. He should not look this good but he does because he is the epitome of beauty. He is beauty personified. You let out a deep breath before you step into his line of view, preparing yourself for whatever is to come next. “Jisung” you call softly but he refuses to look up at you, you can hear him sniffle and his breathing is heavy and you almost could trick yourself into believing he loved you the way you loved him. You sit beside him and take his hand in yours, rubbing small soothing circles by the knuckle of his thumb you attempt to speak, “I am leaving” you choke out,the words are stuck in your throat and he rips his hands away from yours, turning completely with his back towards you. You sigh once again, “Let’s me leave with good memory” you beg, voice small and shaky. This was not the y/n Jisung first met, not the y/n he knows now and definitely not the y/n he fell in love with for you were never one to speak so quietly, yet here you are broken. So he puts away his own selfishness to feel sadness, anger or whatever pulsing emotion that runs course throughout his body.

He turns back to you, eyes glossy and a pout on his lips as he raises a long string of black silk. “I cannot tie it” his voice breaks slightly and you can’t help but smile at his cuteness. You take the silk from his hand and wrap it against his neck, slowly weaving it in and out of itself, you form a knot. “Learn this from a book?” he teases and you can’t help but scoff and roll your eyes. Falling back to where you were with Jisung was never hard, falling in love with him all over again was never hard. “my father taught me” you say as you pull the silk slightly causing his head to jolt forward. A smile perks at his lips as he lets out air from his nose as a form of laughter and you don't realise the lack of space between you two until you feel it brush against your skin and you near closer, eyes drawn to his lips. Your breathing stops and your heart sporadically jumps around in your chest, beating louder than ever.

Jisung’s eyes are closed as he waits for your lips to be placed upon his but they never come and his eyes jump open at the sound of Jaemin’s voice, your warmth escaping him. So close and yet so far, his eyes land on you who’s now moved as far as possible from him. “Y/N, do you know how to tie a tie?” he walks in looking down at the balck silk he holds around his neck but he cuts himself off as his eyes rise to find you and Jisung awkwardly sitting beside each other. “Oh am I interrupting?” he asks in a chuckle as he raises an eyebrow and you shoot up onto your feet, making your way towards him “No not at all” you wave your arms as if it would convince Jaemin. You grab onto both ends of the silk strand, repeating the same movements as earlier and looking down at the silk you can practically feel Jaemin’s smile that beams from above. You weave the string in and out of itself and pull tight around his neck causing Jaemin’s head to pull back “OW '' he huffs out in a pout, you pat down his tie and with a smile as gleaming as his was a mere moments ago, you apologise. 

“Oh y/n you know how to tie a tie, thank god” Jeno rushes in with his father soon after him both holding the same black silk around their neck “Does nobody in this house know how to tie a tie” you laugh in disbelief. “Our mother used to do them,” Jeno whispers as your hands make their way up to form the same knot you’ve made twice already. He thanks you silently with a sweet smile, those crescent moons you adore showing up.You move on to their father, tying his tie neatly and much more carefully than the rest. “Thank you for everything, y/n” he bows his head to you and you whisper “It’s nothing” shyly. “It’s been a pleasure having you become a part of our family” he continues and his words are like a stake to your heart, the same aching reappearing as nothing fails to remind you of your departure.

“Thank you for welcoming me bu-t'' you're cut off instantly 

“no buts y/n, you are family” Jeno interrupts and if it was anyone else you don’t think those words would have held such meaning for Jeno is a silent lover, showing his affection through sweet smiles, concerned looks and kind gestures; he was never one for words of affirmation. So you smile, ignoring the tears that prick at your eyes, ignoring the deep breaths that leave Jisung and the solemn sadness on Jaemin’s face.

“We need to go” Jaemin looks down at his pocket watch, as always sensing the tension in the room and ready to dissipate it, he urges everyone out the door and as you’re about to step out, a warmth engulfs you as Jisung catches your hand in his. Turning back you are met with a smile but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes that hold a sense of sadness as they glimmer in the setting sun.

Hours after the sun had sunk into the horizon, the moon well into its reign, music rang through the center of town as everyone gathered to celebrate the new chapter of Jeno’s life. A ceremony so beautiful, you were sure you witnessed true love when Jeno’s eyes set on his bride that walked the altar.

After all the tears, it was finally time for the bubbling of champagne to intoxicate your bloodstream and to allow the music to take control of every swayed movement of your body. Standing under the yellow dimmed lights, Jisung glew a gold you didn’t know existed but easily was the prettiest you had ever seen. His cheekbones high and lips painted pink, golden flute in hand and silk tie loosened you could easily say he was the prettiest here, outshining all. For Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty lived through him, simple acts such as greeting guests left you stunned. Eyes chasing every movement of his, from the way his hands moved as he spoke, to the way he smiled once seeing an old friend, the way he laughed softly in conversation and when his eyes travelled back to you when he thought you weren't looking.

And to pull you out of that trance was none other than Jaemin, “Would you and Jisung stop exchanging lover eyes and dance already” he whispers as he places himself beside you, you scoff at his words and slightly nudge him with your elbow.

“Are you so bored that your eyes follow mine?” you question and his simple and instant “Yes” make your eyes roll as far as possible but you can’t help but smile. “When will you find your own love story? This is one hopeless”

“So when were you planning to tell me you were leaving after tonight” his words don’t come as a surprise, nothing goes past Jaemin but it still doesn’t fail to make your every movement halt as guilt overtakes you, turning to him you begin to explain “I was going to tell you as soon as the night was over, it was unexpected I promise” you say softly.

“I don’t suppose i can change your mind in any way?” he asks hopefully, still with the knowledge he wouldn’t be able to. You shake your head slowly, unable to say the words that will so obviously ruin the both of you but Jaemin is never one to sit in sadness, always being his priority to make you feel better. 

“Would you allow me this first dance?” he bows down asking for your hand and with that you place yours in his, placing a soft kiss to the knuckles he pulls you into the center of the floor. Legs moving to the beat, Jaemin’s hand on your waist he guides you through the waltz, breaths heaving and smiles plastered on your face he bends down once more to place a kiss on your knuckles as the music dies down declaring the end of the dance, a sad smile spreads across his face and he whispers “Goodbye” against your skin, looking up to meet your eyes who hold nothing but despair. Yet the hardest is to come when you turn and automatically your eyes find Jisungs, who just happened to be looking your way.

You offer him a smile before heading towards him “And why are you not dancing, I’m sure plenty of girls are just about dying to be your first dance” you tease him and he laughs along with you, hands rising they scratch the back of his neck as he prepares to confess to you “I actually do not know how to dance” he spits out fast hoping you don't catch his words but you do. Eyes widening and mouth agape, you let out a gasp 

“Jisung you do not know how to-” you're cut off by his hand on your mouth as he looks around to see if anyone has heard the sentence about to leave you. 

“Quietly, I think the whole of London can hear you” he says in a whisper still looking around. Removing his hand, you roll your eyes at his antics.

“Let me teach you” you whisper back and he turns to you, eyebrow raised as he assesses how good of a dancer you could be.

“I am not entirely sure, who did you learn from? A book?” he teases, still completely in character until you shove him and his laughter comes spilling out “You used the joke once already” you roll your eyes 

“I was taught by trainers actually, do you forget I was to be wed” you scoff at his assumption and rise to your feet, hand extended for Jisung to take. He stares at you, watches the way the light bounces off your skin causing you to glow, your eyes glimmer, smile bright and the confidence and charm you carry in inexplicably attractive as you stand under the moon, offering to be Jisung’s first dance and it’s here he decides you’ll be his last.

The moment his hand is in yours, you drag him straight to the crowd, the music is quick to start and you waste no time in giving out instructions. “Place your hand on my waist” you order

“Your what?” Jisung’s eyes are wide as he cluelessly asks

“My waist” you repeat again, emphasizing each word and you drag his hand up and place it on your waist for yourself. Then putting your own hand on his shoulder, you pull him a little closer. “Just follow my lead” you reassure him as you witness the petrified look on his face.

“Left foot forward” you say to him as you move yours back, “Right foot forward, feet together” you continue to guide him through the dance as you spin around the room, ‘Now left foot back, right foot back, now feet together” you repeat the sequined dance around the room, music thumping through your body and you convince yourself it’s that you feel and not the heavy beats of your heart as the space between you and Jisung seems to close more and more. As he leans in so close you can feel the air that leaves him, fanning over you. You look up and his eyes are set on you, only adoration is held in them and Jisung thinks it’s now or never as he tries to fully close the gap between you two, to place his lips on yours but then you let go, head turning to the right “Now we switch you” you say as you land into another man's arms, repeating the same steps you did with Jisung moments ago with another. So close and yet so far is all Jisung can think whilst his eyes watch you twirl about the room.

Once finally back in his arms, the music seizes and he’s forced to remove himself from you. You can’t help but smile at him as he looks down at you, breathing heavily with a flush of pink to his cheeks yet he seems to be gleaming in the buzzing sensation of a waltz. The air is heavy with sweat and alcohol, the room is filled with chatter and loud laughs but that all falls away once you look at Jisung. So you dance to every song as if you were the only two people to exist, for this was your last night and this was your last dance.

Endless glasses of champagne later your dancing feet carry you outside, the cool summer nights air washes over you, clearing your mind of the foggy mist of alcohol yet the coolness of the moonlight is overwhelmed by the warmth of Jisung’s presence as he stumbles next to you, tripping over his own legs he lands in your arms. “I think you drank a little too much” you laugh down at him.

“No I am perfectly fine” He quickly stabilizes himself, straightening out his clothes and you can only smile as he shakes off your support. “If you say so” you turn to the night sky, looking up to the moon who you haven't had the courage to face since. The wind rushing past you, crickets croaking and the stars blazing across the sky, your legs about to give way as the alcohol circulates your body, you find purchase on a stone bridge, Jisung following soon after you. The water trickles down under you, the calming sound washes over you and the solace you so missed seems to make an appearance once again as you allow yourself to surrender to Jisung’s presence. Silence sits between the two of you but it’s not the one you wish to fill, insead you choose to let it engulf you not wanting words to taint this moment. Your last moment.

Jisung however doesn’t think he can hold it in anymore, the liquid courage is just about enough for him to declare his roaring love for you, a flame that won’t go out no matter how far he pushes the idea of you away. He wasn’t sure if this was love but the ache in his chest all these days proved it could be nothing but love. The longing to be by your side as you found happiness, found your own way into this world and to watch you become who you want, is unbearably strong. This is his only chance before the goddess of the moon takes you away with her, for when the sun rises, you'll set into nothing but a memory. So here Jisung turns to you, staring at your beautifully carved features, moonlight highlighting every perfection; deep breaths he calms his nerves. Adrenaline rushing through every nerve, he finally builds the courage and out the words he never knew would feel so good to pronounce “Y/N I love you” it comes out in a whisper but by the way your eyes widen, breathing halts, Jisung knows you’ve heard.

“Jisung you are drunk” you laugh off

“Drunk lies are sober truths” he says in all seriousness, his eyes are begging for yours to turn to him and so you give in to their silent cry. “I’ve loved you from the moment I met you, for I thought soulmates were nothing but a fairytale until mine spoke to me upon laying eyes on you. I denied my feelings towards you, for I didn’t know if it was love I felt for you or not but I do. Love, adoration, affection and warmth. The moon only looks beautiful with you under it, the sun only shines with you beside me.” he professes and the sincerity in his voice strucks you, for every fiber of your being longs for these exact words but can you believe him?

He inches closer, his scent and warmth trapping you in a trance and you can’t find it in yourself to back away as he moves towards your lips, his breath mixing with your own, the flush off his cheeks that are illuminated by the moonlight. Everything is perfect except he’s drunk. Though your heart screams for you to close the gap, place your lips on his and kiss him until he’s breathless, your head scream the opposite, move back, wait till the morning when his head is in the right place, don’t allow him to make a mistake that’ll hurt you and when were you ever one to not listen to your mind. “You are drunk”  you whisper to him, so close he can almost feel your lips move against his, flinching back, ignoring the cry of your heart that desires nothing more than to feel Jisung’s confession. Jisung’s eyes open to find you pulled away, for once again he was so close yet so far.

“We should return” you jump up, step fastening back to the crowds of people who were still dancing and laughing. Jisung’s hurried footsteps rush beside you, his hand holding onto your wrist, he pulls you into him. Arms wrapping around you so tight, he’s afraid you’ll pull away and that he’ll lose you. You already pulled away from him once, you’re not sure you have the power in you to do it a second; so you let him hold you. His face hidden into the crook of your neck, he speaks into your skin 

“Love for you fades the exhausting hours till Kingdom come, for even then my soul only speaks of you, my heart only beats for you. Let me love and let me give, for both are infinite” he confesses once again.

Your arms instantly wrap around his figure, you allow your love to course through your body to his, you hope he can feel your heartbeat, the steady pace that keeps you alive for his existence, and him only. For without him what was the purpose of living? You stand there under the moonlight, red strings wrapped around you, Eros’s arrow shot through you, and hold onto each other.

Walking back, hand in hand, smiling like fools. The air smells sweeter, the world seems brighter as your heart skips a beat every now and then “In all honesty” Jisung breaks the blissful silence, his voice deep and smooth and it sends shivers down and through you just as it did the first day. Once your eyes are on him, giving him your undivided attention he continues “I lacked the courage to gift you Sonnet 23 but I wanted to” he tells you “Promise” he makes sure you believe his words and you can’t help but smile.

“You still lack courage, this is the alcohol’s courage” you tease him, swinging your arms back and forth as you walk on. He giggles at your comment because he knows it’s true, if it wasn’t for the liquid courage he doesn’t think he would have been able to confess to you but he’s glad he has because if he hadn’t, would he ever get the chance to?

“So will you stay?” he asks, voice hopeful and eyes pleading as he pouts, in hope it would convince you but you didn’t need anymore convincing, for if you want to follow happiness and happiness just so happens to follow Jisung, who were you to seek for more elsewhere. “Perhaps” a smirk makes it way up your lips as you give him vague answers. “I will take that as a yes” he laughs out, holding onto your hand a little bit tighter, to ensure you really weren’t going anywhere.

Love is a complex feeling, one that causes an unbearable amount of pain; as if your chest had been slit open, heart pulled out and crushed. An aching pain resonates throughout your whole body, endless tears and you don’t think you can live to see another sunrise yet it’s euphoric in every way. From the tingling sensation at just the sight of your love, the shivers, the heat that takes over, the trance you left in as their words hypnotise you, the warmth of their presence and sweet scent. In Jisung you found peace,solace,serenity and love.

“Jaemin” Jisung calls out as he can just about make him out in the distance “Y/N said she has decided to stay” he shouts out like a child, excited he’s jumping up and down and you find yourself smiling and laughing again, for with Jisung it’s the only thing you seem to be able to do. Yet as you draw closer to Jaemin and the guests he happens to be wishing a farewell too, your smile and heart both drop.

“Y/N” one of the two men calls out as your figure becomes more apparent to them, disbelief held in their voice as they call out to you. Jisung and Jaemin eyebrows shot up in shock, eyes widening as they wonder how you are acquainted.

“How do you know our y/n?” Jaemin asks, always being the first one to dissolve the awkward silences, the men are taken aback clearly by the way their jaws hang slightly.

“She is our sister” the taller stutters out, your blood rushes cold as the words leave his lips, what would happen now? Would they allow you to just roam free? You thought for a second before you mentally scolded yourself, they would never allow that. They will force you back. “I am not returning” you spit out, not beating around the bush, you get straight to the point.

“But you must, mother is left worried" he tries to grab onto your wrist but you move back not allowing him to get a hold on you.

"Worried for me? Or that the season is almost finished?" You question him and guilt is evident in his eyes as your question takes him aback.

"Don't be silly" your younger brother tries to calm you, "we just want you home" he tries to convince you.

"I am perfectly fine on my own" you stand your ground even though you see the frustration in your older brother, creep closer and closer to the surface "I have no intention of returning" you continue to press forward.

"Do you not feel shame, what would father have to say?" He dares ask. Shame? The word linger in your head for you to wonder if your brother truly knows the definition of the word or were all those years at Oxford a waste. For how had this brought shame upon you or your father, how does a want for purpose,happiness and freedom lead to shame?

"For if father was alive, this problem wouldn't have occurred. He would have listened" you hissed, jaw tight as you teeth clenched and the words slipped out through the small cracks.

"How naive of you to think'' he laughs and finally latches onto your wrist, holding tightly he's prepared to drag you to the carriage until another holds you back. Jisung’s hand holds onto your arm, pulling you back, looking back you don’t think you have never seen such fierce eyes. A red you never thought you’d see engulf Jisung, he’s not prepared to let you go. "Let go" your brother's voice is stern as he clenches his jaw yet Jisung doesn't budge.

"Jisung this isn't our place" Jaemin whispers, defeat in his voice and he is right. What say do they have in this? If you don’t even have a choice, who are they to decide but then again you are certain a man’s opinion will most definitely be heard by your brother over your own anyday. “Let go of her,” Jisung threatened.

Your brother couldn’t help but scoff at his words “She belongs to me, I am her blood and she holds mine and my father’s name” his grip tightening around your wrist as he pulls you towards him once more, your eyebrows furrow and you wince in slight pain, Jaemin instinctively flinches forward before stopping himself, getting involved will just make it worse he reminds himself. You smile at him weakly in hopes it can put him at ease but as both your arms are being held hostage, both cuffs tightening as the seconds go by not one daring to back down.

“She doesn’t belong to anyone” Jisung spits back “She is free to do as she pleases and she chooses to stay here” he continuously argues in hope of changing his mind , yet what can he possibly do? Now that they have found you, what is left for you to do? They will not let you live on how you wish, they will not leave without you and even if they didn’t take you tonight, they will come back for you. It’ll only cause chaos, you will again become a burden on someone else. “You do not own her” he repeats.

The words you so despise form on your tongue and as you open your mouth to say them, Jisung’s eye beg you not to. He knows what's to come and even as every ounce of your being screams and cries as the words are spoken, you let them leave you regardless. “Let go Jisung” voice weak, shaking.

“But you said you would stay” his voice shaky, encased in sadness, his grip weakens but his hold stays, unable to let you go once he’s finally got you but you were always a dream to him, one that never seemed quite real and though you mixed with reality, almost coming true, he was but a fool to believe you could be his.

“I said maybe” your voice quiet, breaking a promise you didn’t make, breaking his heart and breaking yours that was just put back together.

“She said for you to let go” Your brother interrupts, a smirk on his face that Jaemin has a dying need to punch off but he retains himself. Jisung lets go of you hesitantly, his hand still lingering onto the skin of your forearm and you take in his touch one last time. He watches you leave, tears falling from his eyes for you were so close yet so far.

The tears from that night, months ago, have yet still to dry for every living and breathing moment is lived in agony, longing turning into nothing but numbness as it engulfed your being and became you. Days and nights merged, smiles are a forgotten act for it felt awkward even attempting. The large manor is silent, it perfectly resembles the void in your chest. You live as a ghost, sleepless nights and empty days your mind always occupied with the thought of Jisung.

His eyes that held the universe, his warmth the sun envied, his smile were solace was found, his laughter that was contagious, voice that was soothing, beauty unmatched, the gods were both proud and envious of their greatest creation. The years went by and yet the image of his is as clear as ever, preserved in your memories, you live on in your dreams that can’t escape reality. So close and yet so far from each other.

You sit in the empty rooms, walls bare for the art never compared to Jisung’s beauty, you never found art that could express the definition of art as well as Jisung did. Each time looking at Jisung you found a new feature to adore, hidden beauties that appeared when the moonlight hit his skin, features highlighted by the golden rays of the sun. No art seemed to do that, no art seemed worthy of showcasing.

Your library remains empty, clearing it out of all books, you couldn't bear to look at one again. For everyone of them taunted you with the memory of him. The way he used to sit in the center of the room, arms sprawled out on the desk, his head so close to the paper as he would write. Your eyes would follow every one of his movements, so distracted you would forget about the heavy book in your hand. Yet now with a book in hand, your eyes search for distraction. Yearning to find him, to make the pink blush, that you so missed, appear as he couldn't take your stare any longer. The adrenaline of when his eyes suddenly come up to meet yours, the scrambling of his when you catched his stare. You missed it all.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day” the performer begins, as you sit around the large table for dinner. Your every movement halts as the words leave his mouth, your mind runs back to the lavender fields, into the small room at the back of the house, finding the scarlet red book. “Thou art more lovely and more temperate” he continues on but no you are not temperate. Your heart aches, your eyes sting and a wave of nausea over takes you. Your fist smash into the table, legs standing up, you push the heavy velvet chair back

“Stop!” you shout, voice hoarse and broken, you can’t help the tears that roll down your cheek. You can’t help the way your whole body shakes upon hearing those words, you can’t help but miss him. The whole room stares at you, a heavy silence settles, the only sounds are your whimpers as you sob in your palms, falling to your knees. Their eyes lingered, terrified. No one dared to speak to you first, let alone the events of the night. Afraid they would cause you to break down once more but they failed to see it was they, who stole happiness away from you, stole freedom and ripped your heart out of your chest. You wandered aimlessly through the many halls, staring out of windows you wanted the sun rise and fall, watched the goddess of the moon shine down on the earth yet neither held the beauty they did when Jisung was by your side.

Summer has come to find you once again, those who say time heals have never been broken. Time doesn’t heal. Time forgets, the world may move on but you do not, you cannot share the same ecstasy the birds sing, the happiness in summer flowers, For now you hate flowers, you hate how their beauty and meaning are only reminders of your longing.

“How about lavenders for the drawing room ma’am, I’m told they are your favourite” the maid asks, her mission to make you smile, to rid you of the constant tear stained cheeks; nothing but a failure is awaiting her. Just the mere thought of lavenders causes your skin to crawl, for nothing symbolises him more than the vibrant violet. Yet you turn to her, a weak smile and you nod because maybe the scent will help ease your heart and just maybe you’ll find serenity in them once more.

Though days were long, summer left in a hurry for now autumn was here once more. The leaves had already begun to brown and the vase filled with lavenders, which sat upon the grand piano, had wilted now - their scent and comfort decaying with them.

And soon followed the day, the world knew would soon be coming, had arrived upon us, September 1st 1939:

“we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.” you read Winston Churchill’s words in the papers, war has arrived. The heavy ring sits on your finger as you stare out the window reminiscing the day you were watching the carriage be prepared and though it is your two brothers and the Earl’s son leaving you can’t help but let your mind imagine Jeno,Jaemin and Jisung, For the war will take them further away from you, to barren land filled with death, guns pointed at them, bombs dropping at anytime. Though the war has imprisoned many,taken from others, you thank it’s timing for it has liberated you momentarily. The Earl’s son waved goodbye to you and though you raise your hand to send him off to a war you’re not sure he’ll return from, you have no intention of calling him your fiance whilst he is gone and if he returns you have no intention of calling him your husband. You pity him in that memory.

“Ma’am” a voice calls out to you, you don’t recognise who it is for every voice sounds the same but regardless it pulls you back to the world of the present for the war was already well into its sixth year. Though your body is here, your heart and soul never left Jisung for he had stolen that long ago. You turn to find a small envelope, blue like the ones that found you happiness. “To y/n'' the handwriting is familiar but to you all letters were painted the way Jisung’s hand did, for your eyes can simply not forget but it is what the letter contained that brought a soul into your lifeless shell.

As an unperfect actor on the stage

Who with his fear is put beside his part,

Sonnet 23 with annotations is what your eyes fall upon, the second line underlined it reads: “With great courage I put aside this fear to confess to you such words that I cannot express on my own.” Your hand runs over the lines, the smell of gunpowder but there is a scent that you so long for. The scent of lavender still lingers onto the parchment which ripples under your clutch. .

Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,

Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart;

The next lines highlighted “For this feeling was just as strong as rage yet it was where I found peace, my heart weakened at the sight of you and from that moment onwards it belonged to you.” A smile naturally took over you, the flutter in your chest an ecstatic feeling you forgot.

So I for fear of trust forget to say

The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,

And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,

O’ercharged with burden of mine own love’s might.

O, let my books be then the eloquence

And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,

Who plead for love and look for recompense

More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.

O, learn to read what silent love hath writ.

To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.

“Know that I cannot express the words my soul speaks, for we are worlds apart so allow the empty words of the English language, attempt to convey my love. Look not at my words only but at the way the fool I make in your presence for my mind is clouded with you, heart beats for you and soul yearns for you. For you are my sonnet 18 as a friend and sonnet 23 as a lover.” Tears fall unnoticed, for you hear his voice so clear in your head, for six years you waited for a single word from him and here he has gifted you a sonnet between lovers, so how could you possibly love someone else.

“Yours forever Jisung, the boy who waits in the lavender field”. You sob as you read those words, a fresh new wave of tears staining the parchment as the longing to be in his warmth and comfort is washed upon you as if it were that day you were forced away from him. Opening a wound that never could fully heal.

Waiting is a virtue of love, it proves your love, for it feels equivalent to death and yet you still wait but there is a point in time where you can wait no longer, where you must stop waiting and strive for love now. At this exact moment, it is time. For you are ready to give up the world to run to Jisung, to find the beauty in the moon once more, to find solace in the sweet smell of lavenders once more, to find the warmth of the sun once more, to find happiness once more. For happiness was the only reason worth living.

You're not sure how long you’ve been running, legs moving on their own, you don’t look back you’ve learnt never to look back, never return. As the metallic taste at the back of your throat rises, oxygen running thin and your legs almost collapse from exhaustion. It’s as if you jumped out of the past, gown torn at the train station, you’re left in rags but it’s different this time. For before you ran to find your happiness and now you run to where happiness lies. In a field of lavenders.

Every fiber of your being pulses with the need to see him, hear him, touch him. To feel his warmth once more, to have his voice send serenity through you, to see his eyes again and to smell the sweet scent that lingers around him. You’re not sure what souls are made of but whatever it is yours and his are the same. For your heart yearns for him, desperate, it aches every living second of everyday without him. For a life without love, is a life unlived.

The rows and rows of purple are in sight and there in the middle of it all stands him, waiting. Jisung doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is, he can tell by your footsteps, your breath, your scent and the sudden ease he feels. You are there. Yet he does anyways for the memory of you has haunted him for the past 6 years, on the battlefield, in the barracks, he would only see you, only hear you but he couldn’t touch you; for you were merely a dream mixing with reality.

But here you are standing in front of him, Your expensive dress torn up, now rags that wrapped around you with the bottom half missing. He smiles as nostalgia washes over him, was this real or were you just a fragmented memory. Was he simply remembering happier times, a time where you were in his grasp. “Jisung” you call out, voice soft and unsure, a hand reaching out for his own, to make sure what you saw in front of you wasn’t a hallucination, a cruel trick your mind played on you. Slowly a warmth overtook your hand, sparks sent through your skin and into your bloodstream and the beating of your heart returned. Tears formed but never fell because one of you needs to be strong, Jisung sobbed as he fell into your embrace, gripping onto you. “Never leave again” he chokes out, breathing heavy and uneven. “Promise me” he whispers into your hair.

Pulling him back to face you, his eyes are red and puffy yet they burn with passion, his cheeks stained with tears but the pink dust is always still there, you smile at him closing the gap and finally placing your lips on his. The taste of salty tears invade your mouth and your lips move against his and he kisses you back, placing his hand on your cheek he pulls you closer, thumb brushing over the top of your cheekbone. Your knees weaken and you grip at his shirt, desperately clinging to him as your knuckles turn white, as he kisses you with passion overflowing with each soft movement, sincere and full of the love he can't express through words. The scent of lavender is overwhelming and intoxicating, you press yourself against him. Your lungs burn as he kisses you breathless, sparks flying into your bloodstream and unbearable heat takes over whilst your lips move as one. Pulling away, chests heaving as you pull in as you regain all the oxygen you exchange, Jisung places his forehead on yours, his cheeks pink and in between breaths you whisper against his lips “I promise” and again he pulls you in, lips crashing on yours.

This is your first love, it may not be your last but it will be the one you remember most, for it taught you how to love, it taught you the struggles of love and it taught you to feel loved. In search of fulfillment and meaning, you weren't looking for love but it found you and soon after fulfillment and meaning came in the form of a boy in a lavender field.

© (jisungiest) 2021. All Rights Reserved.

[quasi-normalcy]

Star Trek Apoliticality Hall of Fame

1967 - “A Taste of Armageddon”: Captain Kirk introduces the technocratic elites of rival worlds to the full horrors of warfare. Totally apolitical.

1968 - “A Private Little War”: Superpowers fight a destructive proxy war on a jungle planet; aired during the Tet Offensive. No politics here.

1969 - “Let This Be Your Last Battlefield”: White-and-black guys oppress black-and-white guys until their planet is destroyed in a race war. Aired 9 months after Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. Politics-free.

1986 - “Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home”: In this apolitical adventure, the crew of the Enterprise travels back in time to the 20th century to rescue humpbacked whales from extinction at the hands of industrial over-fishing.

1987 - 1994 - “Star Trek: The Next Generation”: Set in a post-scarcity communist utopia in which profit motive is looked upon as barbarous. Debuted during the Reagan Administration. Just a mindless adventure series.

1991 - “Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country”: Two superpowers negotiate an end to their decades-long Cold War over the objections of reactionary factions in both countries. Aired 4 months after the attempted coup against Gorbachev and two weeks before the dissolution of the USSR. No politics here.

1992 - “The Outcast”: The Enterprise visits a planet with only one biological sex, where a character who nevertheless identifies as a woman is forced to undergo conversion therapy. Released at the height of the AIDS epidemic. Mercifully free of politics.

1993 - 1999 - “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine”: This politics-devoid series, which coincidentally aired during the Balkan Wars, follows a group of Federation observers who are assigned to guide the recovery of a war-torn planet.

1995 - “Past Tense, Parts 1 and 2″: Sisko, Bashir, and Dax take an apolitical trip back in time to an austerity- and inequality-ravaged early-twenty-first-century America on the cusp of revolutionary class violence, where despairing poor people are locked in ghettos whilst they “look for work”.

1996 - “Bar Association”: The employees of Quark’s Bar strike against exploitation by their employer; Rom literally quotes Karl Marx to his brother (in a wholly apolitical fashion).

2000 - “Critical Care”: The Doctor is abducted and forced to work in a horrifying, dystopian hospital where quality care and competent medics are reserved for the rich and well-to-do whilst the poor are left to bleed in an over-crowded, septic, dingy little room. Any resemblance to the American healthcare system is purely coincidental.

2001 - “Repentence”: Voyager finds itself needing to escort a bunch of alien deathrow prisoners to their execution, but finds that there is an entirely apolitical racial bias in who gets sentences in this fashion, and also that many of the murderers are not beyond reform.

2001: “Broken Bow”: Airing three weeks after 9/11, this apolitical episode finds Starfleet in conflict with a cabal of terrorists known as the Taliban Suliban.

2004: “The Forge”, “Awakening”, and “Kir’Shara”: A corrupt Vulcan government cracks down on pacifist dissidents and tries to instigate a war against with Andoria through bogus accusations that they are developing weapons of mass destruction. Aired in that lovely, politics-free aftermath of the US invasion of Iraq.

...Anyways, I could go on, but I think I’ve made my point: Star trek was always completely apolitical until Alex Kurtzman ruined it. If only they could return to the mindless, action-packed romp that Gene Roddenberry had always intended.

[nochd]

But there's another and deeper reason why the Left fails at electoral politics, and maybe it's a good thing nobody reads my blog because this is going to be uncomfortable for leftists to hear.

I'm going to put the conclusion up front, something I've been saying in tags a few times lately:

The Left needs to get past Karl Marx.

In my 20s I was involved in student politics a lot, both as a student myself and working for a students' association. I worked alongside several staunch Marxists whom I still consider friends.

Now my friends would never go around telling people to waste their votes. But they would come out, every election time, with weird mixed messages like "Hey, everyone! 😊 Get out and vote! ✔️ Labour and the Greens are the best choices this time around! 😃 Remember both sides are actually the same though! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯"

And every time I would try to reason with them, they would say things like "I would never tell people not to vote for the least bad option! It's just important to know that both sides are the same and voting won't change that!"

And it's true, they weren't telling people not to vote. They were just undermining any sensible reason why it would be worth voting.

The intended effect is summed up in the slogan "One Solution: Revolution!"

Yeah.

The actual effect I think can be seen in Aotearoa's youth voting statistics of the time, which were as abysmal as the rest of the Western world. Not that this was the sole reason but I'm certain it contributed.

Lately, on this website, the phrase "The Revolution is the Rapture for leftists" has become a recognised refrain, because it's true. This idea that the world must get worse and worse until it reaches a cataclysmic turning point, after which all evils will be purged and we will have paradise for ever and ever, is one of many uncomfortable parallels between revolutionary socialism and Evangelical Christianity.

What's not so well-recognised is that this catastrophism goes right back to the roots of leftism, to Karl Marx and the Hegelian philosophy which inspired him.

Marx was, in today's terms, an accelerationist; he voted for free trade on the basis that it would hurt the working class and thus bring the Revolution closer.

And he really didn't have much of a plan for how to build a functioning society after the Revolution. His mate Engels openly argued that you didn't need a plan because once the Revolution was done the perfect communist society would build itself.

That claim, at least, has been put to the experimental test many times.

These beliefs of Marx's were not random brain-farts. They come from the philosophy of Hegel and his concept of dialectic.

Now to give credit where it's due, Hegel's idea was at least a step forward from older Western philosophy, which was founded in essentialism -- the idea that everything has a fixed, unchangeable essence, and nothing can change its true nature. By extension, society and culture can never truly change or improve. We are stuck with existing social forms.

Hegel rejected this idea. If you imagine the essentialistic view of the world as a set of rigid objects fixed immovably to an unchanging substrate, then the Hegelian view is of a set of rigid objects which move about, crash into each other, smash each other to pieces, and then re-form new rigid objects out of the pieces.

According to this view change can happen, but only in catastrophically destructive events -- like the French Revolution, which seems to have been one of Hegel's inspirations. There is no change without violence. The system cannot be improved, only destroyed.

Hegel's ideas were frankly dodgy right down to their foundations, but there isn't room to go into that here; Bertrand Russell has a lot to say about it.

There is an alternative possibility, of course: that there were never any fixed, unchangeable essences to begin with; that the world is not rigid but fluid; that anything can change at any time; that small movements add up to large ones -- as my Scottish grandmother used to say, mony a mickle maks a muckle.

Philosophically that's more radical than Hegel. Politically it argues for moderation, at least compared to catastrophic Marxism. Any step in the right direction, no matter how small, is a good thing. Enough small steps and one day we will look back and find the Revolution has already happened.

In the meantime we need to keep working; we need to keep voting; we need to support everyone who's pulling in the right direction. If proposed improvements are weaksauce we need to "yes-and" them, not reject them.

We need to get past Karl Marx.

Here's the thing, though.

If someone breaks into a night shelter to try and hurt someone there, yes, it is the fault of the person who broke in.

But the shelter also needs to have a very earnest talk with their security staff about alternative career paths.

The fact that some other person committed the actual crime does not let the security staff off the hook.

And if you are the security staff, if it was your job to stop this happening and you didn't stop it happening, what you should be asking now is not "Why is everybody being so mean to us?"

It's "What do we need to stop doing, immediately and forever?"

Especially if you appointed yourself to the task of guarding the shelter. Especially if your whole personality is built around opposing the concept of people breaking in.

[omegas-spaghettios]

Ranking MCU Captain America figures

Before I begin, I want to clarify this is about my enjoyment of these characters and NOT who i think are the best morality or power wise. I specify because I think my first two entries will upset some people and I want to say, this list is NOT in order of how much I agree with these characters' values. I have a heavy favoritism towards theme and character interaction and that is where a lot of my enjoyment from media comes from. So, let's begin.

6. Captain America: CW, IW, and Endgame

I'm separating Steve into two because around CW he starts making decisions that really frustrate me.

Now I do think there is a lot to like still! His conviction to his morals during the Accords and continuing arc about government distrust is great, his stand against Thanos in IW is amazing, he is a lot of fun to watch during the New York part of the time heist, and lifting Mjolnir was legit my best theater moment ever and i will NEVER forget it.

However, in CW he starts making some awful decisions. In CW, he kisses Sharon like, days after Peggy's funeral. While on it's own it's already kinda creepy, Endgame retroactively makes this even worse. It goes on to also have grave consequence because he and Sam asked Sharon to break the law for them and never followed through to help her, which was pretty awful of them. At least Sam tries to make it right in TFATWS, but since Steve left that wrong on Sharon never gets reconciled from him.

I also think that his decision to keep Bucky and Howard's history a secret from Tony was really, really stupid. While I side with him during the fight, the fact that Steve "doesn't like when his teammates withhold information" Rogers didn't tell Tony this then walked into a Winter Soldier facility with Bucky and Tony during the most strained time of their relationship was just begging for that conflict.

He is barely in IW and while his stand against Thanos is a great moment, his decision to not let Vision kill himself is very frustrating. "We don't trade lives" then he goes to Wakanda to let thousands of soldiers die while they try and get the stone out, really dude?

I don't think going back in time in Endgame was inherently a bad ending but things he does to make it happen really frustrates me. He shows no signs of mourning Bucky or Sam at all. And then for the sake of surprise for the audience, he never tells Sam what he's doing and that is so awful. Sam dedicates 4 years of his life helping Steve with a good portion of it being on the run. Sam was with Steve more during the present than ANYONE else. Then Steve just leaves without telling him and shows back up to drop a ton of responsibility on Sam that he didn't ask for. Now Sam is an amazing Cap but it's frustrating to see that a lot of TFATWS is fallout of Steve's bad decisions in these three movies.

5. Captain America: John Walker

Now hold on, I hate this man. I think he does some awful things, so why is he above anyone else? Just because he isn't frustrating to me, he fits thematically and has good interactions with others in TFATWS.

His character really adds to the themes and discussions of white privilege, Supremacy, as well as how the US military treats their soldiers like shit, and I think he is an interesting character to watch as he starts out edging the line of evil and by the end of episode 4 crosses it. While I think Bucky was overall a bit too chummy with him in 6, I think it was all mostly in character for them. Sam and Bucky were up against 6 super soldiers and Batroc in a highly crowded city with lots of important people, it makes sense to me that they take his help in this scenario. They also never leave him alone which indicates distrust.

I also really like the moment where he drops the shield to help the truck. He is a shitty person but he is shown as a person who at least wants to do good, even though any challenge to that he goes off the rails. It is such a black and white scenario, help the truck of innocents, and I like that he does it. It also adds to the hatred of him as a person because it shows he clearly knows better but chooses to ignore it, which makes him even more despicable.

I think it is very important that a man like him bore the title of Captain America because it reminds us all that yes, it is very easy that a man like him represents America as it is and that we need to do better than him.

I like watching him and that's why he's above CW on Steve because he isn't making aggravatingly out of character decisions all of the time and he works very well within the themes of the show.

With me loving him in the context of TFATWS, in later appearances he does have a lot of potential to drop to last pretty easily, but as of now when he just is in that show, I appreciate his character a lot.

4. Red Guardian

I kinda like this character and idk how to feel about it

He doesn't fit Black Widow very much so he is kinda low but I mean, he's just kinda fun. His story about Captain America and the USSR is pretty non-related to the others and rather undeveloped which is frustrating, and he does very little plot significant things. He leads Nat and Yelena to Melina and that's about it. He distracts Taskmaster for a while but he kinda is just getting tossed around until Melina shows up. He isn't very important.

But I do like what I see and do hope we see more of him. They never pretend he's a great person and I do appreciate that he gets called on it constantly. His knuckles having Karl Marx on them kills me and overall he's pretty humorous and fun to watch. He also has a few great moments thematically that I love. When he comforts Yelena after the dinner scene and sings her favorite song as a kid? So heartwarming. When he took Taskmaster's shield when fleeing the Red Room I laughed at his ridiculousness but it lead to a pretty great moment, when he throws the shield through the windshield without hesitation to save Melina. It's a great moment to show how he's letting go of his past and obsessions to be there for his family.

I hope we see more of him, his overall lack of importance and stereotypical behavior kinda holds him back but I see so much potential in him.

3. Agent Carter

As of today she has been in exactly one 30 minute episode, but what I see I really like. Her laughter of surprise when she takes the tesseract is really endearing, her sword and muscles and height make my wlw heart patter, and I do like the difference in her relationship with Steve in this universe, where they both are of incredible capabilities but neither are given any respect for how they were born. We get that in TFA too but I really like that it is a constant theme in this iteration while in TFA it gets dropped a bit after Steve receives the serum.

There is very little of her so I can't really put her higher yet, but given more time she very well may rise up on this list but she had an excellent first showing.

2. Pre-CW Captain America: Steve Rogers

This man is a joy.

He is such an endearing scrappy little guy in the beginning of TFA and I love his commitment to doing the right thing. He still very much acts like a guy who just gained 120 pounds of muscle during that movie and it's endearing. The way he grows into his own skin in TWS is amazing as we see him really step in to what he can accomplish physically as well as his authority and leadership.

His Whedonisms in the first two Avengers films kinda bug me, they treat him like an old man when he isn't. Biologically he's like, early 30's at most here. He grew up as a fighter in Brooklyn then served in the military, he wouldn't care if his teammates swear, but overall it's tolerable.

I LOVE this man's commitment to transparency. He struggles when allies are not transparent and he shows nothing but transparency and I love that that is a constant for him (which is why I separate him from CW on)

Everyone loves this guy and over 90% of criticisms I see for him come after AoU, and that's for good reason, this guy is so loveable.

1. Captain America: Sam Wilson

He's so good, guys

I want to talk about Sam before the suit because he is amazing before it. He runs counseling for veterans, a profession very becoming of a superhero and it speaks to his incredible empathy and compassion that is on full display. I also think the fact that he dedicated 2 years to finding Bucky is not appreciated enough. Sure he was following Steve but he still spent 2 years trying to find Bucky, a person who tried to murder him. Yet he understands it isn't Bucky's fault and tries to help him anyway. I also really like that he is the first to speak out against the Accords. He doesn't wait for Steve or anyone else, he sees red flags and he is out and I really, really love that about him.

Then I love how long it takes for him to choose to become Cap and how much he contemplates it. He has to contemplate the legacy of Steve, if he wants to wear the symbol of this country, the pressures of being a black man as Cap, the legacy that John added to it, the pressures from Bucky and the pressures from Isaiah, and also his own legacy he carved for himself as the Falcon. It's a huge decision with a lot of weight and so many people pressuring him but he takes his time and chooses what is right for him, and I really love that about him. These other characters are all Caps from near the start but he transitions into one after years of knowing him as the Falcon and I love that he doesn't take this decision lightly.

Also as Cap he's just really cool. His decisions to not take the serum as well as try like hell to get Karli to step down speak to his humility and compassion. And while many describe his speech as bland it's still uniquely him. Yes the speech doesn't solve any problems but that isn't what he's doing, he's asking America and the world to get to actually solving them and that is an aspect of him we don't see much since Steve's propaganda days, his direct relation to the public.

Also his suit and wings are just awesome, I argue his action is the most fun to watch out of any of these characters.

Anyway yeah that's the list, I know people won't agree with me so let's try and keep discussion civil, alright?

[prydeofthexmen23]

Candlelight

A Dwayne From The Lost Boys One Shot

Okay, so this is my first Lost Boys Imagine with Dwayne. It’s with one of my OCs and it’s inspired by a convo I had with @80s-whore-university. I apologize in advance for my grammar and spelling errors. Enjoy!

~*~

Laura huffed against the window, allowing her breath to fuse with the glass. She'd often done this as a child when she was bored at her grandparents house and her cousins were too busy watching Scooby Doo re-runs to notice she'd moved to another room. Her fingers traced the little white spot until it became a transparent heart. Laura smiled, then immediately frowned. “I've officially lost it.”

She wiped the heart away with her sleeve and made her way to the door, unbolting it again and peeking out. She tried to avoid the rain, but it dripped from the gutters and dotted her bangs. I don't even know why I bother, she thought, locking the door again with an exasperated sigh. If it's raining, there's no reason for him to come. They'll keep him since the Boardwalk's closed. She nodded her head. She knew their habits well. Dwayne wasn't coming - not in this weather.

"I need tea," she said to her pup. Bandit's ears perked up at the word. Tea meant cookies. Cookies meant crumbs. And crumbs meant he'd surely get a snack. In her laziness, Laura grabbed a mug from the cabinet – the little one with constellations on the side Dwayne had given her for her birthday. She smiled at the memory, then quickly filled the cup with water, and shoved it into the microwave. Pushing the buttons, Laura felt herself relax as she watched the little stars rotate under the fluorescent light.

At first, she didn't even notice his arms wrap around her torso. She'd grown accustomed to the sensation – the feeling of his arms drawing her closer, the weight of his chin on her shoulder.

"I thought you weren't coming," she whispered, relaxing into the embrace. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Bandit let me in."

"Bandit doesn't have opposable thumbs." He didn't answer, but Laura could feel him smile as he kissed her neck. "I'm surprised David let you leave."

"Oh, he didn't."

"Ah, so you betrayed your leader."

"Betrayed is a strong word," he replied, releasing her as the microwave beeped. He removed the mug, quickly moving to the cabinets above the sink. "I just left without asking.” He extracted a packet of Chamomile. After ripping the packet with teeth, a habit Laura never quite understood, but respected, Dwayne placed the tea in the mug and motioned her toward the couch.

"I'd say that's a betrayal. I mean he probably expected you to spend the day with Laddie."

"Nah, Paul and Marko have it covered. When I left, they were making a Tik Tok to Savage."

"Real classy."

"I think you mean Bougie and ratchet." Dwayne laughed as Laura's eyes widened.

"Please," she began, rubbing her eyes. "Please, never use those words again. Or you'll turn into Paul."

"Ah, and we can't have that." Dwayne grabbed some throw pillows from the couch and placed gently on the floor before taking a seat on the ground. "Come on, sweets." Laura obliged, settling herself between his legs as she sipped her tea. Dwayne flipped on the television and made his way to Netflix. He might have struggled with the concept at first, but now he couldn't get enough. The platform really did have everything he could ever dream of watching.

"Really, again?" Laura whined as he hovered over The Crown.

"You don't want to see Diana pass the Balmoral test?"

Laura looked up at him with a smirk. "Okay, the fact that you know what that is and I don't proves that you've been watching this for too long. No.” Dwayne placed a kiss on her forehead. Shit, well played. "Fine, let's watch Camilla and Charles fuck up a perfectly normal teenage girl."

"Thank you."

"You know for someone who idolizes Karl Marx, I don't think your obsession with the English monarchy is healthy."

"Shhhh.” He kissed her gently on the lips. "Let people enjoy things," he whispered as Laura laughed.

~*~

Laura felt herself begin to doze off. What is it about Chamomile that makes you sleepy? she wondered as she leaned against Dwayne. At first, he didn't seem to notice her drowsiness – too engrossed in the world of royals. For the last two hours, Laura and Dwayne had watched Diana and Charles tie the knot, have a child, travel to Australia, and, as usual, fight over his relationship with Camilla. Laura's eyes closed as Diana demanded that Charles leave Camilla...for the umtempth time. Silently, she tried to sync her breathing with Dwayne's as he lowered the volume for the newest screaming match.

"What the hell?" Dwayne cried.

Laura's eyes fluttered open. The entire room was dark, pitch black. If she wasn't sitting against Dwayne, Laura would have been more panicked.

“No! Diana was about to confront Camilla at the birthday party!"

"We must have blown a fuse,” Laura replied through her giggles. She wished she could see Dwayne’s face. Laura was certain it read frustrated fangirl.

Dwayne let out an exasperated sigh before flinging the remote onto the couch. "You okay, babe?"

"I'm good. You can see right?" She felt Dwayne nod against her before picking her up. He wrapped his arms underneath her knees as he moved to the fuse box. Using her phone, Laura tried each switch twice, flipping the little dials back and forth.

"The rain must have caused an outage."

"You got candles?"

"Kitchen," Laura replied as she snuggled into his chest. Dwayne carried her into the kitchen and helped her onto the counter, where she pulled a menorah from the cabinet.

"Got it?" he asked, stretching out his arms.

Yup," she replied, jumping back into his arms. She didn't bother to ask where he was. He was always where she needed him. Catching her again, Dwayne carried her back into the living room, where Laura struck a match. The tiny flame guided her toward the blue and white candles.

"Really?" Dwayne laughed as Laura placed the candles into their waxed slots. Gradually, the blue menorah began to glow, painting the room in a pale yellow light.

"It's all I had!" Laura protested. "Besides, my grandmother used to light hers when the power went out. It's tradition." Dwayne threw her a lopsided grin. "What? I'm serious...Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Nothing," Dwayne said. "I didn't say anything."

"Oh shut up." She pushed him as he stood up. Taking off his leather jacket, he laid down on the couch and kicked up off his converse. In the soft candlelight, Laura took in the sight of his bare chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, shifting to get comfortable as Laura fiddled with her candles. For some reason, she was finding it difficult to concentrate.

"Enjoying the view," Dwayne teased.

"Mmmm...maybe."

"Then come join me," he said, open his arms to her. Laura obeyed, setting the final candle in place. The rain continued to beat against the sides of her home, but Laura paid it little mind. Instead, she buried her nose in the crook of Dwayne’s neck, inhaling his scent. Something about it put her at ease – even in the middle of a black out. Dwayne drew a blanket over them, rubbing gentle circles on the small of her back.

"Dwayne," Laura began. He hummed in reply, closing his eyes. "Can I ask you something?"

"What is it, baby?"

"Where'd you get this scar?” she asked, tracing over the mark on his shoulder.

"Long story," he said, placing a kiss on her lips. He was trying to change the subject and she knew it.

"We got time," she sighed through his embrace. "I don't think you're gonna be watching The Crown again anytime soon and I'm genuinely curious."

Dwayne leaned his forehead against hers. “You really wanna know, kid?” She nodded. “Alright, well...” He paused, closing his eyes again. His lips formed a thin line. Uh oh, I know that look. Laura kissed his neck.

“There’s no pressure. You don’t have to tell me.”

“I don’t mind. To be honest, I’m surprised it didn’t go away when David changed me.”

“Yeah, I thought his blood would have smoothed everything out. Made you look all shiny like Edward Cullen.”

Dwayne rolled his eyes. “Yeah I’m sure that’s what David expected too, but I guess it stuck.” He paused again, taking a deep breath.

“Take your time.”

“I got it when I was thirteen,” he continued. “When I was with some friends...Did I ever tell you my family lived on a Rez?”

“Rez?”

“Reservation. Back in the 30’s.”

“No, you didn’t,” Laura replied, trailing her fingers across his chest. Then again, she thought, you haven’t really told me anything about your past. She thought of saying so, but bit her tongue. She wanted to hear what he had to say.

“In Arizona. There’s not much to do there. It’s hot and unless you really like red rocks the view can get pretty boring.”

Laura gulped. He was talking more than usual. She wondered how long it would last.

“My friends and I always tried to invent stuff to do. Ya know, to pass the time. We’d go down to the railroads and try to find work laying tracks. But that got pretty boring after awhile. Sometimes, my friend Adam would sneak cigarettes out of his mom’s bedroom drawer and we’d smoke those.”

“Sounds like you were a handful.”

“Every thirteen year old boy is.”

“Okay, true. I’m sorry, continue.”

“Well one day, we got bored smoking and my best friend Pete got this dumb idea. Pete was a year older than me but for some reason he liked having me around. He always called me his little brother, which was funny considering he already had five little brothers to spare. I don’t even remember how Pete and I met, but he was the best.”

Dwayne rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Looking down at Laura he smiled.

“What’s that look?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t know you were such a good storyteller.”

“Oh bullshit.”

“Keep going!” Laura exclaimed, lightly smacking his cheek. “I’m invested.” He kissed her again, deeper this time. Laura sighed softly as he pulled away. “Tease,” she whispered.

“Proud of it. Anyway, Pete, Adam and I were down by the tracks. It was almost midnight and we’d snuck out like always. We were just goofing around and waiting for the sun to come up when we heard a whistle.”

“A train?”

“Yup. Trains passed by all the time at night. They went straight through reservation because they figured the natives wouldn’t mind the noise. It was always big freights carrying supplies and sometimes hobos.”

“Dwayne-“

“That was the term we used at the time. Don’t hold it against me. After we heard the whistle, Pete got this weird look on his face. And he jumped down and went straight to the tracks, standing on them and whistling back at the train. At first, I thought it was a joke. I thought he was playing chicken with the train.”

“Like in Footloose?”

“Yeah, like that. People did that all the time. They liked to test their odds and see if they could cheat death. Thing was Pete’s dad had recently left and his family didn’t have any money to pay their rent let alone eat. I knew he was having a rough time, but I didn’t know how bad things really were, ya know? As the train got closer, that look on his face started to freak me out. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like a joke. Pete wasn’t playing chicken. He wasn’t playing at all.”

Laura felt her body stiffen and Dwayne pulled her closer in response.

“Adam and I keep yelling at him to get off the tracks. The train just kept getting closer and I started to panic. I don’t know what came over me. As soon as I saw the train lights hit Pete’s face, adrenaline took over. The next thing I knew I was on the ground on top of Pete watching the train going by. At first, I didn’t feel any pain. Then I felt dizzy and Adam yelled that I was bleeding. It took me a minute to realize my shoulder had knocked the side of the train.”

“Oh god, babe.” Laura sat up, her eyes welling with tears. Dwayne sat up too, wiping her cheeks with his thumbs.

“Hey, hey, hey I was fine. A few stitches and I was cleaned up. No broken bones and thank god because my mom would have killed me. But it was Pete that had it the worst. He kept apologizing and came to see me to make sure I recovered.”

“I’m sure he felt horrible.”

“Yeah but it made him wake up. After that, he got a job and helped his family out. I think he even got married and had some kids after I left town. We weren’t as close after what happened, but that didn’t matter.”

“You saved his life.”

“Nah,” Dwayne replied, lowering his head.

Laura placed a finger under his chin, lifting it so he met her green eyes. “You did. And you should be proud.” Laura gazed at the jagged line on his shoulder. “I think I know why you got to keep this scar.”

“Oh yeah why?”

“To remind you that you’re still a good person. To help you remember that there was a time you saved someone’s life instead of ending it.”

“Maybe,” Dwayne sighed, kissing her again. “Since when did you get so philosophical?”

“Blame Kafka. We started reading him yesterday.” Dwayne laughed. It wasn’t his usual soft giggle, but a heartier one that seemed to echo from his chest. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” Laura added as she yawned.

“Thank you for listening. It was nice to talk about Pete again.” Laura leaned into his shoulder, kissing the scar for good measure. “You tired babe?”

“A little. Your voice...it’s very soothing.”

“Lay back down baby,” Dwayne whispered as Laura rested on his chest. “Let’s go to sleep.”

“But you can’t sleep,” Laura argued, closing her eyes. “Not at this hour.”

“It’s okay. You rest. I’ll wait for the lights to come back on.”

[jadelotusflower]

July 2021 Roundup

Discussed this month: The Once and Future King, The Good People, The Secret of Kells/Wolfwalkers/Song of the Sea (aka "Irish Folklore" Trilogy), The Matrix Trilogy, the John Wick Trilogy, Space Jam: A New Legacy

Reading

The Once and Future King (T.H. White) - I've actually read this before, but it was a long time ago and I remembered very little of it so it seemed time for a revisit. Written between 1936 and 1942, this is a surprisingly meta retelling of Arthur and Camelot, very obviously and heavily influenced by WWII, with much academic pondering on the concept of humanity and war and ongoing conflict against Might=Right - looking to the past to try and understand the present. Some familiarity with the legends is assumed, White occasionally making reference to Malory, and there is a strange anachronistic feel - Merlin lives time backwards and talks of Hitler and other 20th Century references, White frequently refers to Old England and the way things were "back then", but also calls Arthur's country Gramarye, the narrative taking place an a kind of alternate history/mythology where Uther was the Norman conqueror of 1066, and yet reference is also made to the Plantagenet kings.

Comprising five volumes (the first four published separately at the time, and the final posthumously), it struck me on this read how each of the first four are structured around the childhood of a major player -Arthur (The Sword in the Stone), Gawain and his brothers (The Witch in the Wood), Lancelot (The Ill-Made Knight), and Mordred (The Candle in the Wind), and how their upbringing played a part in the inevitable tragedy of Camelot. In the final volume, The Book of Merlyn, it comes full circle as Arthur on the eve of his death is taken to revisit the animals of his childhood for much philosophising (at one point Merlyn argues at length with a badger about Karl Marx and communism.)

The Sword in the Stone is the most engaging, with young Arthur (known as "the Wart") and his tutelage under Merlin, being turned into various animals like an ant, a goose, and a hawk to learn about each of their societies (political allegories), and meeting with Robin Wood (Hood) and Maid Marian to battle Morgan le Fay, and the climactic pulling of the sword from the stone. This was of course the source material for the Disney film, although missing the wizards duel with Madam Mim (appearing in the original publication, but removed for the revised version).

The Ill-Made Knight is the longest volume and was honestly a slog to get through, because honestly Lancelot is pretty dull/terrible, and the Lancelot/Guenever love affair less than compelling. Ultimately it's Lancelot's hubris that dooms them - he is warned that Mordred intends to catch him out in Guenever's room, but he goes anyway, and doesn't leave when he tells her to, because he is stupid.

It’s no surprise that the female characters are given the short shrift, but there’s an uncomfortable vein of misogyny running through the book. To wit:

Elaine had done the ungraceful thing as usual. Guenever, in similar circumstances, would have been sure to grow pale and interesting - but Elaine had only grown plump.

And then later:

Guenever had overdressed for the occasion. She had put on makeup which she did not need, and put it on badly. She was forty-two.

Morgause (the eponymous witch in the wood/queen of air and darkness) is a negligent mother whose sole motivation is revenge, Elaine rapes Lancelot by deception, Guenever is hypocritical and shrill (but achieves a sliver of nuance in Candle), Nimueh is a nonentity, and Morgan le Fey is a monstrous fairy. If only White had turned his academic pondering inward and in order to examine the role of women in his worldview other than as damsels or instigators.

But Arthur also gets the short shrift - after all the focus in his childhood, he becomes almost a peripheral figure in the rest of the story until the very end, and we're not actually given much to show why he is the once and future king, other than that he tries to institute a slightly less brutal system.

Ultimately, White is more interested in philosophy than character, and so Camelot's inevitable tragedy feels more clinical than visceral.

The Good People (Hannah Kent) - If the Irish Folklore Trilogy (discussed below) is the beauty and wonder of Irish myths and legends interacting with the human world, this book is the cold danger of superstition and the devastating affect of folklore used as an explanation for life's ills. Set in 1820's rural Ireland, Nora is widowed and left with the care of her young disabled grandson Michael, believed to be a changeling. The local wise woman Nance, who feels the touch of "the good people" sets about to drive out the fairy from the child, believing that the "real" Michael will return, much to the growing dread of Mary, the teenage girl Nora has hired to care for him.

Here fairies are seen as a malevolent force, "sweeping" away women and children, causing bad harvests, and bringing death to the village - to be respected and feared. And then there's Nance, bartering traditional cures for ailments and troubles - some work, some do not, and some pose great danger. On the other hand, this is a remote village where a doctor must be fetched from Killarney, and only one priest who is less than charitable. Neither provide any help or support to Nora.

SPOILERS It's an upsetting read dealing with dark subject matter - grief trauma, child abuse and accidental infanticide, a kind of slow burn horror. If it takes a village to to raise a child, it also takes one to kill a child, as mounting fear and superstition moves through the population like a contagion, heightening Nora's desperation for the "return" of her grandson, and Nance's to prove her knowledge. It's an impeccably researched novel (based in part on a true event) but very unsettling - poor Michael is never really given humanity, and I feel this book would be hugely triggering in its depiction of disability and neurodivergence.

Watching

The Secret of Kells/Song of the Sea/Wolfwalkers (dir. Tom Moore) - I've been meaning to watch these films for absolutely ages, and I finally got to them this month. I’m pleased to say that the many people who recommended them to me were absolutely correct, because they appear to have been made to specifically cater to my interests. Some mild spoilers ahead.

I watched these in internal chronological order as suggested by @ravenya003, starting with The Secret of Kells, set in 9th Century Ireland where the young monk Brendan helps illuminate the to-be famous manuscript and befriends a forest sprite Aisling, under the threat of a Viking raid. Next was Wolfwalkers, jumping forward to 1650 Kilkenny where the English girl Robyn, daughter of a hunter, is drawn into the world of the forest and Mebh, who turns into a wolf when she sleeps. And finally we go all the way to 1980's in Song of the Sea for the story of Ben, who must help his younger sister Saoirse (a selkie) find her voice and bring back the faeries who have been turned to stone by the owl witch Macha.

Although the stories are completely separate, they've been described as Moore's "Irish Folklore" trilogy, and it’s easy to read a through line from Kells to Wolfwalkers in particular - both deal with fae of the forest, and Aisling appears as a white wolf at the end of the film (having lost her ability to appear in human form). I like to think that Aisling is in some way the progenitor of the wolfwalkers - after all, Kells and Kilkenny are less than 200 kms apart.

Song of the Sea is distant from the other two in both time and subject matter, dealing with selkies, creatures of the water. In many ways, Kells and Wolfwalkers feels like a duology, with Song more its own thing. On the other hand, an argument could be made for common fae spirit/s in different forms across all three films - Aisling is a white sprite, Robyn takes the form of a white/grey wolf, and Saoirse a white seal.

The strength of these films other than the folklore is the visual style - I really love 2D animation, and while I appreciate the beauty of cg animation, I often find in the latter’s focus on hyper-realism the artistry can be left by the wayside. These films not just aesthetically beautiful, but the art is used to tell the story - from the sharp angles that represent the darker or harmful elements (Crom, Vikings, the Town), to the circles and rings that represent safety and harmony (the Abbey, the forest, Mebh and her mother/the wolves healing circle, the holy well). The exception is probably the home of Macha, the owl witch, where circles are also prominent and represent magic, and this is often the case in folklore (fairy rings, fairy forts, etc).

Kells is the most stylised, resembling tapestries or pages and triptychs from medieval manuscripts, playing with perspective. I actually saw pages from the real Book of Kells years ago in Dublin, and remember them being very beautiful. We only get glimpses of the Book and the stunning Chi Rho page at the very end of the film, but the style of art is present throughout the film and particularly in the forest where Brendan finds inspiration for his illumination, and on the flipside his encounter in the dark with Crom Cruach, represented as a chalk-drawn primordial serpent.

This style is also present in Wolfwalkers, particularly stark in the way the birds-eye grid of the town often looms over Robyn in the background and in her work at the castle. The depiction of the forest has more of a storybook quality however, as does Song, where almost every frame resembles a painting, particularly the sequences of Saoirse's selkie trip through the sea and Ben's fall through the holy well.

Rav points out in her review that there is the ebbing away of myth and magic in each successive film, contrasted with the rise of Christianity/modernity. But there's circles and rings again, because while the ultimate power of the faerie world is fading away, the interaction between our human protagonists and faerie actually increases with each film. In Kells, we have only Aisling and Crom, in Wolkwalkers, we have Mebh and her mother whose ranks grow to include Robyn and her father, and finally in Song we have Saoirse, Bronagh, Macha, the Na Daoine Sídhe, and the Great Seanachaí.

Watching in the order I did, it does give the impression of the mythological world opening up to the viewer, gaining a deeper understanding and exposure as time progressed. On the other hand, that is also because the human world is gradually encroaching on the world of Faerie, from isolated settlements like the Abbey of Kells, to growing town of Kilkenny and the logging of the surrounding forest, to a modern Ireland of motorways and power lines, and industrialised Dublin where the remaining fairies have moved underground. It makes the climax of Song, with the fairies restored but returning to the land of Tír na nÓg, rather bittersweet.

I also credit the strength of the voice acting - the adult roles are minor but with greats including the dulcet tones of Brendan Gleeson and Sean Bean, and the ethereal Maria Doyle Kennedy (who I wish had gotten to do more). But the child roles are all performed so well, particularly Honor Kneafsey as Robyn, whose growing desperation and distress is just heartbreakingly palpable.

The Matrix Trilogy (dir. The Wachowskis) - I usually don't post rewatches in the Roundup, but I really, really love these movies. I will never forget seeing The Matrix at the cinema as a young teen, knowing nothing other than the tease of the enigmatic trailers, and just being completely blown away by it, and then becoming completely obsessed a few years later in the leadup to Reloaded.

It wasn’t my first fandom, but it was probably the first time I took fandom seriously. I was very invested in Neo/Trinity in particular as well as all the mythological/literary references that fed directly into my interests. I haven’t however gone back and read the fic I wrote, for fear that it is very, very cringe. I know where is is though, so maybe one day before the ff.net is purged.

This is Keanu Reeves at his most handsome, and while he doesn't have the greatest range (as many actors don't, although they don't get as much grief for it), when he's in the zone there's no one else who could do it better. He just has a Presence, you know? A vibe, and it compels me.

This is particularly present in Neo, a character whose conflict is almost entirely internal, burdened by the weight of his responsibility and destiny, both before and after he learns it is a false prophesy. He’s not your typical quippy macho action hero, but much like my other fave Luke Skywalker, is a character who is ultimately driven by love and self-sacrifice. I definitely have a Type of male hero I adore, and Neo fits right in there.

I also really love the sequels, flaws and all, because you know what, the Wachowskis had Ideas and they weren't going to deliver Matrix 2: Electric Boogaloo. Each film goes in an unexpected direction, and not in a subverted expectations ha ha silly rabbits way, but one that does have an internal logic and pulls together a cohesive trilogy as a whole, and how often does that happen these days?

The sequels are so…earnest, with none of the cynical cool detachment perhaps some would have preferred - at its core a trilogy exploring philosophy and the nature of prophesy vs choice, determinism vs free will, and the power of love. Maybe it can be hokey, and some of the dialogue a bit overwritten, but I don't care, there's so much I still enjoy even having seen the trilogy many times over the years.

Not to mention the great female characters - while I'm not sure any of the three strictly passes the Bechdel Test, we have Trinity and Niobe in particular who I love with all my heart. It does kind of annoy me that the Trinity Syndrome is so named, because it only applies in the most reductive reading possible, and Trinity expresses agency (and badassery) every step of the way, saving Neo just as much as he saves her. I mean..."dodge this"/"in five minutes I'll tear that whole goddamn building down"/"believe it"? Niobe piloting the Hammer through the mechanical line in Revolutions? Iconic. There are criticisms that can be made, sure, but the trilogy ultimately loves, respects, and appreciates its female characters (and important to note that the avatars of The System, the Architect and the Agents, are all white men).

Then we have the Oracle, who ultimately holds the most power and is the victor of the human/machine war. There's so much going on with the Oracle I could talk about it all day. It's that fate vs free will question again (“if you already know, how can I make a choice?”), but with the wrinkle of manipulation (“would you still have broken it if I hadn’t said anything?”). Choice is the foundation the Matrix is built on, the unconscious choice for humans to accept the system or reject it - the Architect can't control that, he can only manage it, and the Oracle can't force Neo onto the path she has set out for him, only predict the choices he will make based on her study of the human psyche ("did you always know?"/"No...but I believed"). But she plays with the concept of fate in a complicated web of prophesies for outcome she wants and trusting the nature of Morpheus, Trinity, and Neo to bring it about.

And then there's the visual storytelling - there is so much meaning in almost every frame and line of dialogue. The mirroring and ring cycles not only in the constant presence of reflective surfaces and central metaphor of the Matrix as a simulacrum, but the androgyny of Neo and Trinity, bringing each other back from the dead in successive films (and ultimately both ultimately dying in the third), Neo and Morpheus’ first and last meetings, Smith who is ultimately Neo’s dark mirror, the Oracle/the Architect, just to name a few. I just…really really love these movies? Maybe I’ll do a full post rewatch sometime.

I am however reserving judgement on the Matrix 4 - already there are a few things making me uneasy. Lana is the sole director for this one (Lilly is not involved), and Laurence Fishburne apparently wasn't even asked back, even though Morpheus actually survives the trilogy (as opposed to Neo and Trinity). But I’m interested, and don’t want to go in with any expectations, but rather ready to be surprised again like I was when I watched the first film (and hope I can stay away from spoilers).

John Wick Trilogy (dir. Chad Stahelski) - It was a trilogy kind of month! This genre is generally not my thing, as I don’t have a high tolerance for graphic violence and pure action bores me after a while, but I was in a Keanu kind of mood and I'm always hearing people go on about John Wick so I wanted to know what (if anything) I was missing. While still a bit too violent for my tastes, if nothing else I could appreciate the dance-like fight choreography, even if the worldbuulding is absolutely ridiculous - I mean, literally thousands of assassins across the world chilling in sanctuary hotels, supported by a vast network of weapon suppliers, tailors, surgeons, spy networks, etc? It’s silly, but hey, I was happy to go along with it.

What I do appreciate about Keanu Reeves, and this seems to be a common thread, is that even when in action hero mode (Matrix, Point Break, John Wick, and to a lesser extent Speed), he consistently plays a man who is completely in love with his partner/wife - like, completely, unapologetically devoted to them, and I think that is a big part of the appeal - it's that Keanu energy that is often the antithesis of toxic masculinity, even when in roles that would ordinarily rely on those tropes.

Wick is in many ways the spiritual successor to Neo - insular, taciturn, and even as he's dispatching death with clinical precision. Much like Neo, Wick is a character who is somehow Soft (tm) despite all the violence. I once listened to a podcast where they amusingly discussed the Reeves oeuvre as simulations of Neo still trapped in the Matrix, and it’s very easy to make the case here and imagine John Wick as Neo plugged back in after Revolutions, mourning Trinity and set on mission after mission to keep his mind active (and it would certainly explain why the guy hasn’t dropped dead after being stabbed, beaten up, strangled, hit by a car, shot, and falling off a building). It’s a fun little theory.

Stahelski was Reeves' stunt double and a stunt coordinator on The Matrix and there's plenty of homages in the visual style and reuniting Reeves with costars Laurence Fishburne and Randall Duk Kim (who played the Keymaker).

I did also find it amusing that Wick is also often referred to as babayaga (equated in the film to the bogeyman). Well, Wick is in many ways a witch who lives in the woods, just wanting to be left alone with his dog, and there is a supernatural energy to the character, so...I guess?

Space Jam: A New Legacy (dir. Malcolm D Lee) - I took my niece to see this at the cinema and it was…pretty much what you would expect. I thought it was fine for what it was, even if a bit slow in parts (it takes a looong time for the looneys to show up) and I wonder if they have the same cultural pull they had in the nineties (the age of Tweety Bird supremacy). But the kids seemed into it (my niece liked porky pig) and that's what counts I guess.

This time, the toon battle royale takes place on the WB servers, where evil A.I. Don Cheadle (having the time of his life chewing the cg scenery) wants to capture Lebron James for...reasons, idk. James and Bugs have to find the rest of the looneys scattered across the server-verse, a chance for WB to desperately remind people that they too, have media properties and a multiverse including DC comics world, Harry Potter world, Matrix world, Mad Max world, Casablanca world etc. Some of it feels very dated - there is I kid you not an Austin Powers reference, although it did make me smile that Trinity was on James’ list of most wanted players (skill: agility).

Unfortunately, nothing it really done with this multiverse concept except “hey, remember this movie? Now with looneys” six times, and the crowd for the game populated by WB denizens including the Iron Giant, Pennywise, the monkeys from the Wizard of Oz, Scooby Doo and the gang, etc. But still, it's fun, and hardly the tarnishing of a legacy or whatever nonsense is driving youtube clicks these days.

Writing

The Lady of the Lake - 2335 words.

Against the Dying of the Light - 2927 words, Chapter 13 posted.

Total: 5272 this month, 38,488 this year.

[seewetter]

#liberals love to be like “we need to abolish the police and prisons and the military industrial complex and borders and tax the rich at 99%#liberals love to say shit like “no war but class war”#liberals are always saying to me “any progressive movement is doomed without a militant vanguard like the black panther party”#i mean i just can't get liberals to shut up about “we need universal free healthcare housing education and transportation NOW”#seriously someone stop liberals saying “if the world waged war against the usamerican empire it would be justified and a historic good”#i am seriously up to my ears in all these toothless liberal platitudes

Hm.

I think maybe the source of conflict here is differing definitions of the word liberal. There's the "Love me I'm a liberal" types -- who are effectively moderates and anti-progressives. But the word liberal can also encompass social democratic demands for universal free healthcare, housing, education and transportation. The word liberal can refer to progressive liberals that hate the American empire. It can refer to liberal populists that want to tax the rich at 99%. It doesn't have to refer to toothless centrist liberals.

Now as for abolishing borders, police, prisons and MI-complex, those broad and ambitious projects are not just highly unlikely among centrist liberals, they also carry a strong sense of taboo in such circles and are often only under discussion among progressives / left-liberals. After all, even social democrats in Europe usually shy away from demanding police abolition (or even defunding) and the Overton window on prison abolition or border removal (especially where borders with the non-West are concerned) is definitely far enough to the right that liberals with those views are highly uncommon.

I don't know if this anon ask came out of nowhere with zero context? But I do think that Marxism is something utterly different from any of the positions listed here.

Marxism is an economic analysis that does not compel people to adopt a particular political stance. Meaning that there are right-wing Marxists like Peter Sloterdijk, for example. So the answer to "why are you as a Marxist talking like a liberal" might be "because Marxists can be liberals". Checkmate.

However, I do think that Marxism usually gets people to view things not in terms of superstructure, but in terms of economic base. We are not working to eliminate classism, we are working to eliminate poverty. And it comes with an awareness of how irreducible the profit motive is to the economic base of "capitalism" (the capitalistic mode of production). In other words, taxing the rich is like all social democratic reform a temporary measure that will disintegrate once the rich have found a way to disintegrate it. Basically a Marxist doesn't agree with "The Christmas Carol" where the happy ending involves the rich man discovering his conscience -- because Marxism perhaps somewhat cynically (I would argue: realistically) says that the Scrooges that discover their heart tend to go out of business because their heartless competitors don't hold back and not holding back pays. (Not all Scrooges go out of business, but as long as profit is rewarded, the overall effect is that "greed is good", in a kind of objective sense -- ruthlessness reaps rewards).

Generally I don't mind demands for free housing & transportation & healthcare & education (etc.) but these demands are moral demands. They are demands built on a desire for people to be better and act better. But Karl Marx's entire worldview is built on the assumption that such moral demands are not objectively how these realities assert themselves. That is to say: tugging on heartstrings or pointing out moral failings is like playing Ghost of Christmas Past. That is also to say: moral demands often open the door to immoral responses -- we say open your heart & some jackass writes and article saying that what must be done must be done & that is to close our hearts to do what is necessary. Karl Marx in his writings sort of forgoes that entire dynamic by arguing that the poor outnumber the rich and the poor are self-interested and if the poor get together the rich will lose and we all need to make our peace with that.

All this is to say that its wild to me how people like anon think liberalism and Marxism are incompatible but also how the "proof" of Marxist thought seems to be that we are more concerned with morality than fence-sitting centrist enablers of the status quo whom we dub "liberals" for convenience.

Now I agree that "we are the majority" doesn't always work, when our concern is universal human emancipation and the target is a minority -- although to be fair, most people are PoC, most people are women, most people will have disabilities and mental illnesses at some point in their lives and most people struggle with poverty. But I do think it's healthy to try and develop a kind of "realist" argumentation. I want to be able to -- at all times -- make libertarians and neoliberals realize they are hopelessly sentimental compared to the cold hard data and facts and the realistic assessments of the radical left. That seems like a worthwhile legacy of Marxism to preserve. We might (?) have a bigger heart than other people, but if we brag about that (or make it the thing that distinguishes Leftists or even Marxists from others) some folks on the outside will decide they can't compete and try having no heart on purpose. We become the touchy-feely people and they become the steeled realists who do what is necessary. Part of the beauty of Marx is that the tables are turned: the touchy-feely ones are the non-Marxist socialists who, in the words of Oscar Wilde (in his pro-Marxist essay The Soul of Man Under Socialism) "entertain" the poor with charity and education programs, and also the touchy-feely ideas come from sentimental conservatives, lost in their nostalgia for an imagined past, or in naivete about the free market etc. Marx can position his politics as cutthroat -- as without alternative -- and I think his position works especially well given how many aspects of Leftist politics arise out of necessity, arise because society is in bad need of solutions.

Obviously where the Left exactly starts and ends is contentious. But I do think that it's worth considering the path Marx charted for his pursuit of freedom and also worth developing a healthy skepticism towards big programmatic politics that frame themselves as compassionate, especially in a time when rainbow capitalism (and imperialism) have gotten so good at aping compassion.

Why do you, as a marxist, talk like a liberal

[zrtranscripts]

Home Front, Mission 30: Daddy Lessons

Necromancy

~

SAM YAO: Okay Five, you're outside Thurman's bunker. There's a... there's a lovely occult sigil of uh... a bleeding eye on the door. And we don't know what's inside, so warm up just in case. Stretch, jog on the spot, whatever you need. I want you ready for anything. [sighs] I wish I could say I'm not scared, but I know we're both scared. It doesn't feel like three days since you got out of the underground village, does it? It-it sort of like feels like-like a couple of hours and also about two years.

Okay, briefing Janine-style always seems to help me focus. I have carefully checked every single camera in Spectrum Mall, but there's been no sign of Thurman since he left you in the dumbwaiter. Zombies don't notice him, so maybe he went out into the horde? The point is this might be our only chance to find out more about him. Specifically, how he can be in two places at once. Oh, and oh yeah, the bunker's locked with a code. The tape you took from the longevity research lab says where it is. Give it another play.

DR. MCBRIDE: April 9th, 1991. Dr. McBride. I've heard keeping a diary can help one make sense of things, and I refuse to lose my mind. Seven months ago, Artemus Thurman fired me for excessive altruism. Weeks later, I watched on my sofa as he attempted the highest ski jump ever built. I was willing him to fail, but only so he'd embarrass himself. I still see his neck snap when I close my eyes. I saw his funeral on the BBC News. It felt like I’d killed him, somehow.

Except two weeks ago, Thurman turned up at my door in the middle of the night and forced me at gunpoint to come with him back to my old lab. It's deserted. He won't explain how he survived, only says, “Prepare the bunker for my son. He'll be here once the dust's cleared, and there are things inside that explain everything.” The gossip pages say his son hates him. He wasn't at the funeral. Maybe he knew it was fake, but I can't say that to Thurman. If I disagree with him on anything, it's like he doesn't even hear me. I'm too afraid to argue.

He's different now to how he was before, some sort of monomania, and he keeps talking about the occult, secret knowledge that will help the chosen to survive. He asked me more than once if I would participate in the ritual with him, and I'm too afraid to answer. There's something else I'm afraid of. Thurman left tins of food, but they're running low. If he doesn't bring some more soon, I'm opening the bunker myself. He told me often enough the code for the bunker is engraved on the frame of Brandon's portrait in the Thurmanville labs.

SAM YAO: Stop the tape, Five. It gets a bit grim once McBride realizes Thurman's locked her in the lab and all he's sending her is plastic fruit. Okay, I'm looking for a portrait. Mmm... Ah! Yeah, I can see it. Boy in a suit, but uh, the actual face has been cut out. That's creepy. Still, I've got the bunker code on cams. It's um, 1875. Oh, that didn't work. I'm missing something. Keep warming up, and I'll figure out how to get you in.

~

SAM YAO: Okay Five, I've worked it out. The bunker lock’s electronic and the power's down, but the door's hooked up to the generator, so you just need to crank it up with some bicep curls. So press your elbows into your sides, forearms down, palms facing forwards. Grab the bar with both hands. Now it looks heavy, about the weight of a couple of tin cans? Now bend your elbows to lift the crank to your shoulders, then lower it back down. Careful, don't hurt yourself. It should take a minute.

Janine's been looking into some occult stuff since McBride mentioned it. She says Thurman was probably using fear of the supernatural as a way to control and manipulate his employees. She also says 1875 is the year that occultist Aleister Crowley was born. The occult sigil on the door, I wonder if it was from one of Crowley's books. Apparently, Crowley wrote about being in two places at once via astral travel, but the occult isn't real. Janine says, "There will be a rational explanation, Mr. Yao," and she's right, obviously. But there's something seriously weird going on.

Okay, you've got the generator working, Five. Try the code again. 1875. Yes, the bunker's open, but you might want to crank the generator a little longer. Don't want the power going out while you're inside.

~

SAM YAO: All right, Five, time to enter Thurman's bunker.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Brandon! Here at last.

SAM YAO: That's a recording, Five. Brandon was Thurman's son. He obviously thought only Brandon would make it in here.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: I trust your journey to post-apocalyptic England wasn't too arduous. I'm serious. If it's still a nuclear wasteland, go to the decontamination suite for three weeks and reread my autobiography. You've got a lot to live up to. You can't just rely on your Thurman genes. They're diluted by your mother’s. Penelope raised you to be a sissy, mommy's boy.

You were almost six when I last saw you, and you didn't even know how to box. I hope that black eye taught you a lesson, and the wasteland has hardened you. Regardless, I've prepared tests so you can prove you're worthy of meeting me. If you fail, you'll die, and good riddance. I'd rather have a dead son than a weak one.

SAM YAO: Five, a dart just flew past your face! Another by your knees! Uh, quick, do some jumping jacks to avoid them. Uh, feet together, arms by your sides. Now jump, spreading your arms and legs in the air so you land in a star shape. That dart almost clipped your ear! Jump back to the starting position. Keep doing those and the darts will miss you.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Still alive, Brandon? These darts are tipped with poison, you know. Ever see The Running Man? Contestants fighting to the death on television, a marvelous idea! The weak are punished and their deaths set an example. Televised combat is just what this country needs. Gladiatorial battles for children, now that's an idea! Get rid of the weak early and stop them growing into giant wastes of resources.

SAM YAO: [sighs] It's over. What was wrong with Thurman? He's treating this like some kind of joke! I mean, it's one thing to prepare for the future, but this... ! [sighs] I hope wherever he is, Brandon never gives his dad a moment's thought. Head to the next chamber, Five. If any more darts fly at you, just keep jumping.

~

SAM YAO: There's an arcade cabinet in this chamber. Must be another test from Thurman for his son.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: With discipline, strength of mind, and secret knowledge, one can live forever. If you prove worthy, Brandon, I'll tell you about it.

SAM YAO: Oh, I hate to send you further into that... that bastard's lair, but we have to know what he knows, Five. He's too dangerous, and he's fixated on you. We've got to find out how to stop him.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Ever heard of The Grimoire of the Empyrean Oracle, Crowley's lost manuscript? Explains how to harness occult forces to make reality bend to your will. I bought it for millions, memorized it, then burned it. Couldn't have anyone else reading it. Sharing is for commies. Besides, they say the book is cursed. Everyone who owned it before me died horribly. Starving, thirsty, trapped and alone. You know why? Because they were unworthy!

You must prove you have the right values. Approach the arcade cabinets. Behold, a computer rendering of Karl Marx. Before you are two buttons, Hero and Parasite. Press the one you think describes Marx. Get it wrong, and the room fills with poison gas.

SAM YAO: [laughs] I'm pretty sure Thurman thinks Marx is a parasite, Five, but the buttons have corroded. The levers on the floor are all that's left. You can't stop looking at the screen, I need your head cam, so um... Okay, yep. Lunge and hit the lever with your knee instead. Stand with your feet together. Now step forward with your right leg and lower your back knee so that it almost touches the ground. And raise back up.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: That's right, Marx was a parasite, and you've exterminated him! Here's Ayn Rand.

SAM YAO: Ugh! Um, yeah, I think Rand wrote a book called The Virtue of Selfishness. Hit the hero button. Lunge with your left foot this time.

ARTEMUS THURMAN Keep going, Brandon! Here's Robin Hood.

SAM YAO: Looks like Thurman's alternating heroes and parasites, so keep lunging with alternate feet. Go!

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Ah, Henry Ford. Tore down 5,000 square miles of rainforest to build a private rubber production colony. Excellent man. Yes, Brandon, exterminate those parasites! Halfway there. Oh, Dickens. Reagan. If you become half the man he is, you'll almost be worth the time I've spent on you. You've done it, Brandon! If you'd made a single mistake, I'd have gassed you like a rodent.

SAM YAO: A door just opened, Five! If anyone else pops up on that screen, keep lunging. Otherwise, press on.

~

SAM YAO: Oh, there's an altar in this chamber, Five. I wonder what that's for.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: The Grimoire of the Empyrean Oracle explains how to harness animal spirits through ritual sacrifice.

SAM YAO: Of course. Yeah.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Your mother disapproved, Brandon. Called it torture. Well, now's your chance to prove you don't hold with the stupid ideas about animal rights. Release the hounds!

SAM YAO: Oh, well surely there aren’t live dogs here. Oh crap, Five, robotic dog heading right for you, glowing red eyes and razor blade teeth! Quick, punch it! Stand with your feet shoulder width apart, left foot back, fists up. Now punch with your right fist. Nice shot, Five! Keep hitting it with your right fist.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: "Save the whales!" Penelope used to say. Hogwash. What have the whales ever done for us? Ever wondered what happened to your gerbil? Rat poison. Taught you a lesson about wasting resources on useless creatures.

SAM YAO: You've taken down that robo-dog, Five, but there's another one! Right, switch stance so your right leg is behind and punch with your left fist. Go!

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Prove you have the stomach to continue Crowley's work. Show no mercy, Brandon!

SAM YAO: Five, I hope your knuckles are okay after that. Keep going, we've got to know what this grimoire actually did. And if you see any more robo-dogs, you know what to do.

~

SAM YAO: Right, I just searched for Brandon Thurman on ROFFLEnet, but nothing came up, not even gossip like McBride mentioned. It's like he never existed. Everything about this family is so... just twisted and wrong.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Getting my hands on that grimoire was no picnic, Brandon. Had to hold my nose and venture east of the Iron Curtain, spend a week in a basement in Bucharest getting a man who refused to eat or drink to tell me what he knew. There wasn't much I could threaten him with, but I found his weak spot in the end. [laughs] After he told me what he knew, I followed Crowley's trail to India. There are carvings under a temple in Hyderabad, tied all my research together.

Immortality is there for the taking, Brandon, you just have to work for it. You can exist in two places at once. Think about it, working twice as hard, making twice the money! I bulldozed the temple, of course. Full of stupid warnings. The grimoire states that to conquer death, you must overcome an attempt on your life, value strength over weakness, and sacrifice those less valuable than yourself. And at last, you have to be willing to kill.

You're nearly there, Brandon. I'm almost proud of you. I've been testing you all your life. Never sent your mother a penny. Wanted to see if you'd grow up self-reliant. And when I saw that article about you in the FT, “Teenager establishes paper route pyramid scheme,” I knew I'd been successful. There's only one thing left, Brandon.

The staircase ahead bears blood sigils. It is a shrine to the god Moloch. He demands the sacrifice of love, so as you ascend, you must renounce all that you love, as I have renounced you. Only then will you be granted power over death. Speak the words carved on the stairs as you ascend.

SAM YAO: “I vow to sacrifice to Moloch that which I love. To starve, kill and...” What the...? Don't say any of that stuff, Five. Don't even look at it. Just climb the stairs.

~

SAM YAO: Okay, you're outside the last chamber, Five. Almost there. And yeah, your way back is clear. You can get away if anything's... bad. There's a glass coffin inside.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Well, Brandon, you've found me. I'll be taken here after my death. Of course, since I followed the grimoire's instructions, I won't really be dead, just sleeping.

SAM YAO: The coffin’s bristling with tubes leading to the machines beside it. Dr. McBride worked in longevity research. Maybe this equipment has been keeping Thurman alive all this time. Yeah, maybe he's um... uh, you know, zombie immune because he died, or-or something. Take a closer look.

There's a desiccated body in the coffin. It's uh... Yeah, I'm not imagining it, am I, Five? It's Thurman, but dead. Really, really dead. Oh Five, look at the machine. Every switch has been flipped to off. And is that a note? “See you in hell, dad. B.” Did Brandon come here to turn his dad off? Not that I... [sighs] not that I blame him, really, but... ugh. For his sake, I wish he hadn't cared this much.

Nothing makes sense, Five! If Thurman's really dead, then who's been chasing you? What was that noise? The whole bunker’s shaking!

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Oh Brandon, I've installed monitoring systems. If my state deteriorates too far for me to be revived, I have a contingency plan. See you soon, boy.

~

[sleepypeaky]

ada x fem reader

Prompt: Ada's new neighbour is a single parent (gender up to you!) whose child makes it their number one goal to become best friends with Karl. Maybe the kids try to set their parents up with each other?

A/n: thank you for the request! hope you enjoy! also karl isnt a prick in this 

- this is short becasue it took me so long to get back to it i just had to get it out

Karl walked down the narrow school corridor with his head practically in the school map. It was his first day at this new school, so naturally he had to run into someone. No, like actually run into someone.

While he wasn’t looking he crashed into another boyish figure.

“Shit i’m sorry!” He said,

“Hi, I’m Karl Thorne.” He held out his hand to the other boy.

“Freddie (l/n).” He answered. “Your name sounds like a film star, much better than mine.”

Karl smiled, “Freddie’s a great name.”

He nodded in thanks, “Friedrich isn’t..... after Friedrich Engles.”

Karl’s eyes went wide.

Freddie rolled his eyes, “Yeah i know–”

“No, my name is Karl,,, with a K, after Karl Marx.”

“You’re joking.”

They both began to laugh.

-

Freddie and Karl became fast friends after that, i meant obviously fate was involved. They had come to the conclusion that their mother’s needed to meet, as their names had come from them.

The plan was to discreetly “accidentally” meet on the street while out with their mums.

-

You got back home from work at about half past 5. And Freddie peculiarly wanted to go out for a walk. You were still a bit preoccupied so you didn;t over think this.

When outside, you were looking at the brightly painted shop fronts to your left when Freddie’s voice snapped you out of your trance.

“Hello Karl!”

You turned to see a boy Freddie’s age and a very striking, familiar woman.

“Mum this is Karl and his mom,” Freddie said. “you have a lot in common actually.”

“Ada! Ada Shelby is that you?” You exclaimed.

“Yes yes it is oh my gosh (y/n)!” She hurried over and hugged you tight.

The boys, though this was their end goal, were rather taken aback.

“Wait you know each other?” Karl asked.

Ada broke out of the hug and turned back to her son.

“Yes! We met a long time ago at the communist party meetings back in ‘18!”

“Well that explains the names.” Freddie laughed, then seeing both your faces gestured between him and Karl. “You named us Friedrich and Karl.”

You looked over to ada and burst out laughing.

You lived happily ever after the end.

☾ ✧ ☾ ✩ ☾ ✧ ☾ ✩ ☾

☾ ✧ ☾ ✩ ☾

☾ ✧ ☾ ✩

☾ ✧ ☾

☾ ✧

☾

[nananarc]

What you are saying is just the tip of the iceberg of yet another tool being used by the rich to deepen their pockets. See what I did by phrasing it with the big RICH in the sentence? They are the Culprit, yet rarely does anyone ever talk about them. AI art - a tool - instead of aiding the public, it benefits the rich. In other words, artists are losing their livelihood not to AI, but to the exploitation of the capitalists.

Read my og post again. it's not the AI's fault, it's the corporation's fault. This is a long, far-sighted fight against systematic class division.

Capitalistic corporations always run at the highest profit margin, which means they will always exploit their employees' and customers' (both could be artists') well-being in order to achieve their goals. These earned profits won't be distributed to the public, the poorer, and the less fortunate, instead they will keep being funneled into the pockets of the 1% who keep getting ridiculously richer and don't even have the need for all that money. All of this surplus should have been shared with the public to ensure that everyone has their basic needs met.

People should not have to work for money to PAY for a LIVING. The very idea of the "Cost of Living" is absurd, inhumane, and frankly depressing. Artists should not have to worry about not having enough food to eat, they should be allowed to create with ease of mind. With ease of mind, people can use AI as a tool for themselves. To quote a wise user of Tumblr:

[Image ID: A screen caption of a post by Tumblr user kneedeepincynade, saying "Under socialism science serves the people, under capitalism science serves the elites."/.End ID]

When people are uneasy about their livelihood, they get defensive, usually towards the most immediate thing in front of them, in this case, towards AI Art, even though AI and other scientific development can serve them. This, in turn, suppresses the development of science that can serve the people. So basically the victim and the tool are fighting and wearing each other out, while the CULTPRIT - the rich - is leisurely exploiting both. Remember the endless cycle I talked about in my og post?

I know all that I am saying is very idealistic but this is just the theory of socialism that has existed for centuries, and some societies in the past have been argued to have reached this level of societal development. If we don't educate ourselves about the big picture, and the downsides of capitalism, we will forever be trapped in a state of discontentment and exploitation.

"oh shit this sounds fucked up. what should we do to fight against capitalism then?"

boy, that is the question of the century, no?

I'm just a broke artist from a tiny developing country, but i will do my best to answer. Let's do that on a Me - You - They basis. 'Me' is you, yourself, and your individuality. 'You' is your ally. 'They' is your enemy.

First of all, Me - Me : Self-education. Read books, watch Youtube videos and listen to podcasts about Karl Marx and Socialism. Isn't it neat that we have these things for free? That's what socialism wants to give you but imagine with virtually everything else as well. (yeah Marx's books are open public domain, you can download them online, just google it). Then learn more about the ideas mentioned in the topics as well.

Second of all, Me - You: Support local businesses, small businesses, and independent creators, as much as you can. There is no perfectly moral consumption in a capitalistic world, but we should try our best.

Third of all, 2nd Me - You: Support your goodwill left-wing progressive socialist grassroots organization/influential figure/congressperson, if possible. In America, in 2022, currently, the big names are Bernie Sanders and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (AOC). But they are big names and quite far from you, so if you can't support them much, you can still learn a lot from them. Now what is easier to do is to find and support the people and organizations who are running your local area, be it a team, school, company, town, district, or city. You can also educate yourself a lot about these topics by following and supporting them.

Fourth, another Me - You: Share your knowledge and learn from other people. Talk to your friends and family about the wonders of free stuff and the evilness of mega corpos. Tell them to burn their means of labor in protest. Discuss and share ideas on the fight.

Fifth, Me - They: Be against mega corporates, as much as you can. There are so many ways to do this, just to name a few: Boycott. Vandalism. Quiet quitting. Protest. Complaints.

Feel free to add more, my comrades.

disclaimer: I know there are other concerns about AI Art as well, but that is another topic for another time.

disclaimer 2: sorry for lengthy post. no one asked for this but i need to say it anyway. im pretty sure I'm neurodivergent lmfao.

the fact that yall is afraid of AI taking over jobs is just.. sad...

We made tools, machinery, robots and eventually AI so that they make our job easier and eventually do work for us, sustain our lives without us having to put in the time and arduous labor. isn't that just great? we will have free time to just do what we want without having to worry about not having food to eat.

"oh, but that's not what is happening! without a job i cannot have food to eat! it's those robots and AI's fault!"

that, my friend, is the fault of the rich, the mega-corporations and the greedy capitalists. they are exploiting and hoarding all of the "harvest" made by you AND those machinery and purposefully leave you unsatisfied and hungry so that they can sell it back to you, effectively trap you in an endless circle of giving them your labor and your money. the AI is merely just the tool, what it does depends on the wielder.

so, my dear friend, next time someone complains that AI and robots are taking human jobs, tell them to direct that frustration towards the top management, the big corporations, the rich people.

eat the rich. don't eat the bots.

[homogrimoire-archive]

The Remnant Branches

CH. 6 - The Woe of the Wretched

Part 3: A Sibling's Love

Having completed his mission for Oz already, James returns to Jakob to deliver some unfortunate news. After, he begins his peaceful quest to search for any astronomical information this world may hold. This first takes him to the library in the nearby village.

AO3 Link

The elevator reached the surface with the sound of its old doors creaking open. Ironwood was feeling ambivalent, however. On one hand, his mission was complete, and he had five days left to do as he pleased. On the other hand, reviewing the video tapes revealed that the mother had perished in the factory while running away from her children with a man. It is only human to want to be free from burden too. Ironwood knew he had to at least tell Jakob that harsh truth.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re okay. You were in there for a while.” said Jakob as James entered the door.

“Yes, I’m fine, but, there’s no easy way to say this.” From the look on Jakob’s face, Ironwood could tell he already knew what was coming.

“It’s my mom, huh? It’s alright. Nier already told me. He said he found her on his way back, and brought me back some of her perfume.” he said sadly.

“How are you holding up?”

“I’ll be alright. And Gideon will come around eventually. … I just-” he let out a sigh. “I just don’t know what to feel now. It hurts that she left us, but I know this was all too much for her. She just wanted to be happy, and her happiness didn’t involve us, but I still love her. We had some good times, and she did try for a time, and she is my mom. I just can’t bring myself to hate her. I feel like I should be stronger, and not even cry for her. Is that bad?” he asked, eyes watery and voice on the verge of cracking. Ironwood thought for a moment.

“I will be honest, I can’t understand how you feel, so take this as a grain of salt: I don't think you’re wrong for wanting that. Ultimately, she hurt you, her child. But understand this,” James got down on a knee to be eye level with him, “you are strong. From all my years, I’ve learned that it's easier for people to hate than it is to love. It takes a lot of strength to love, especially after what she did. And look around you!” James got up and motioned him to look at the shop around him. “Despite everything, you’ve managed to run this shop and become an excellent blacksmith, all while taking care of your brother all on your own. That is no small feat, especially for someone your age. This is a tough time for you, but you will get through it. You are strong.”

“Thanks mister Ironwood.” Jakob sniffed. “I needed that. It's gonna be hard, but things will be alright. I think she would want us to be alright too. And besides, I still have Gideon.”

“I’m glad. Oh, and here’s some junk I collected on the way. I figured you could use it.” Ironwood tossed a bag full of scrap onto the counter.

“Sweet! Thanks!” he exclaimed happily.

“No problem Jakob. … It looks like I’ll be on my way now.”

“Alright, stay safe now. There are a lot more shades out there than here in the Junk Heap.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve faced all sorts of monsters before.” With a final wave goodbye, James closed the door behind him and made his way to the exit. He was never the best at goodbyes or any sort of closing remarks.

As he walked, he thought about how Jakob could still love his mother after what she did. However, he knew he would have to be content in knowing that he would never understand it. A child’s love for their parent was a powerful thing.

He rememberd that Nier told him that there was a library in his village just across the plains. He hoped he could get lucky and find some old star charts or any sort of astronomical information. While Remnant was overall more technologically advanced, this world had traveled into space, well beyond their atmosphere.

From the information stored at the factory, he learned that this world had sent people to their unbroken moon, set artificial satellites in orbit around their planet, and sent machines to study planets billions of miles away. It amazed Ironwood so, and he intended to learn as whatever he could from this world’s knowledge on outer space. It was about time he treated himself to enjoying his little hobby.

Astronomy was something that always interested him. So much of it was unknown. There was a sense of serenity in that. It was a place free of the chaos of a cruel world. He considered that space could be chaotic too, but in its own ways, ways much less cruel. Space is an exotic, previously unknown beauty to him. He dreams that it is a place free of duty and worry, where people are safe, and will never have to worry about the cruelest cruelties of life. Salem, Grimm, murder, and needless suffering are absent there in his dream.

However, more than that, much more than that, a part of him believes something. It is the part of him where his last shred of innocence exists, the part where he holds onto hope for a merciless and unforgiving world. It believes that there, he can finally love.

-

After about half an hour fighting aggressive shades across the plain, James finally arrived at the gates of the village. He knocked on the large door, and waited. Looking up, he saw a man looking down on him over the side of the top of the gate, and disappeared from view, shouting an ‘okay’ that led to the gate opening. A guard gave a grunt of acknowledgement as he passed. It was a quiet place, and nothing like Atlas. By the fountain, he noticed a woman at a fountain singing a song. It helped calm him after the heavy, heart racing, fighting.

Ku ata

Tsu no-o va-lai

Tzud-e jei

Fo-aul ae kai

She seemed like she could help him.

“Excuse me, miss, would you happen to know where the library is?” he asked her.

“Do I look like a tourist guide to you?” she said curtly. Ironwood didn’t know what to say. “I’m just joking with ya.” she laughed. “It’s that building at the top of the hill.” she pointed out. “I’m Devola, and if you need any help finding something, ask my sister Popola. She’ll be in the room on the second floor to the right.”

“Alright, thank you.” he waved as she resumed her song. He just hoped his encounter with the other sister wouldn’t be like that.

The library had all its books stacked up its walls, leaving it a rather open space. At first, he aimlessly wandered around, scanning the spines of the books he passed. So far, he hadn’t found what he was looking for, and decided to give Popola a visit. At a shelf next to the base of the stairs was a little girl struggling to reach a book. Her hair was a silvery white, akin to Nier’s. He noted that similarity. He reached for the book and handed it to her.

“Here you are.”

“Thank you mister!” she said with a bright smile. She took a seat at the stair’s first step and began to read the simple book. Aside from her pale skin, which could be attributed to a lack of sunlight, odd considering the eternal sun, she did not look sick to him. Once at the top of the stairs, he turned right and knocked on the door.

“Come in!” she shouted, and Ironwood entered. “Oh, a new face. Not often you see one of those. How can I help you?” she said, looking up from the paperwork on her desk.

“I’m looking for books on astronomy, or any information you have on it really.” he said.

“Hmm… Astronomy… I don’t recall there being any books on that here, but-”

“DEVOLA, HURRY, QUICK!” screamed a voice downstairs.

“Crap, crap, crap!” she fearfully repeated as she leaped over her desk and bounded downstairs. James made sure to get out of her way, and looked downstairs once she had past him.

At the bottom of the stairs was the girl from earlier. She was curled up, wincing in pain as a darkness enveloped her arms and legs. There seemed to be some lettering in it. It had almost seemed familiar to James, but it faded before he could more clearly see it.

However, he knew for sure that this was Nier’s daughter, Yonah, with her silver-white hair and some sickness that could only be the Black Scrawl. It was unlike any kind of sickness he had seen before. He saw Devola scoop her up in her arms and leave the library.

He made his way down the stairs and picked up the book she dropped, A picture book titled The Wizard of Oz. Amused at the title, but otherwise uninterested in it, he placed it back on the shelf. Aesop’s Fables, Red Riding Hood, Snow White, Beauty and the Beast, and Goldilocks and the Three Bears were among the selection of books with colored pictures and big fonts.

Realizing he was the children’s section, he went back upstairs to browse another random section. He managed to find what he assumed was the philosophy section, based on the titles. It was filled with names unknown to him, Friedrich Engels, Karl Marx, Karl Grün, Simone de Beauvoir, Georg Hegel, Zhuangzi, Mozi, and many more.

He picked up a book by Karl Marx and flipped through it. Interestingly, none of its words were capitalized. He assumed it was a printing error. Once he saw that it concerned economics as well, and he quickly put it back. He dealt with enough economics back home, and had no desire to read about it on his little vacation. He owed himself that much, even if he was starting to feel guilty for taking such a long break from his work. He managed to find the romance section, but quickly found that none of it was to his taste. Romance as a genre was he never really understood the appeal of anyways.

Eventually, he settled on a titleless book that was at the top of a first floor shelf. It seemed mysterious, and therefore interesting.

There was an android who was set to oversee a small village. Her name was Skald, and embedded in her was the incredible power of an ancient song from another world. The song allowed her to help and manage her village in incredible ways, but, it soon corrupted her and the villagers. As a result, her creators had her and the village destroyed.

Learning from their failure, the scientist removed the magical power of the song. Despite having less power than before, she still ran and oversaw the village well enough. Her creators were pleased and began to make plans for mass production. While her creators did that, she had grown close to another woman in her village. They did lots together, so much so that many began to believe they were sisters. And soon, they began to refer to themselves as sisters. The scientist saw that there was an increase in her performance during this time.

However, the woman died in an unfortunate and sudden accident, leaving Skald all alone. Her performance decreased greatly as a result, and she was eventually decommissioned. She was not saddened at the revelation of her fate. In fact, she seemed grateful. However, the scientists were saddened by their creation. They created something near immortal that could love, and would more often than not have that love ripped away from them eventually.

In honor of their creation, they learned from their cruel mistake. Skald was renamed Popola, the nickname given to her by the woman and villagers, and she would have a twin to be by her side. Her name would be Devola, after the woman who loved Skald as a sister. “Together, they could sing a song that would calm and heal the heart. Together, they would face an otherwise lonely existence. Together, love would allow them to survive a cruel world.” was the ending of the short story.

Ironwood wasn’t sure what to exactly think of the story. He wondered why someone would write such a preposterous backstory about their village leaders. But then his thoughts were interrupted by the door opening. In came the younger sister, Devola, who went to meet him.

“Good, you’re still here. Sorry about earlier.”

“It’s alright, things happen. Will she be alright?”

“Yeah, she’ll be fine, she just needs some rest and medicine. She’ll be back here tomorrow I’m sure, unless Nier gets back soon. But Popola wanted me to pass a message. She said that you should try the Lighthouse at the Seafront south of here, or the desert civilization east of here. There's a store there where you might find what you’re looking for.” She pointed in the directions he should go.

“Alright, thank you.” James said happily. “Oh, and before I forget and you might want to check out this book.” he said, handing her the book he read earlier. ‘“I can’t imagine why anyone would write something like this, and I think you wouldn’t want it in here.” Curiously, she took the book and glanced at the cover and its back, and quickly flipped through its pages.

“Ha! This is a strange little book. Thanks for catching it. Here, take this to keep it between us.” she tossed him a small sack that rattled. James opened it to find coins in it.

“Are you sure? I don’t think you need to give me this. It-”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” she calmly interrupted. “You just go and have your fun.”

“Well, alright. Thank you then.”

As he walked to the eastern gate, he wondered what it would be like to have a sibling. However, he simply just could not imagine it. A sibling’s love was something he never felt, and would never feel. He wondered if he should feel sad about that or not.

-

We give the finality of death. Iron skin draws out fear and terror, and is bathed in flesh. We are satisfied by the snatching of life. We realize our purpose through the crushing of the bodies. In our delight, we spread death far and wide. We are the iron will. We kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.

This interloper knows what he does as he slashes the blade on the way to his destination.

He knows there is blood on his hands, and accepts it readily, for he knows he must.

What he does is as just as it is unjust.

He knows this, and slashes again.

It must be done, so he believes.

Anyone can do this, so long as they think they are right.

[heartshyuck]

Pairing: Jisung x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst,slow burn, strangers to lovers au, first love, early 1900s au.

Synopsis: Lavenders symbolise purity, silence, devotion, serenity and grace. All endearing characteristics of the gorgeous boy, you met in the fields of purple.

Placed in the late 1930s , just before World War two starts, you flees from your family who are forcing you into a marriage. you lie low in a small village where you meets Jisung in a field of lavenders.

Word count: 2.3k (preview), projected to be around 16k?? (5th of February)

Warnings: sexism and very backwards ways of thinking, forced marriages (for preview)

a/n: let me know if you wanna be on the taglist, also please listen to the merry go round of life whilst reading this (from howl's moving castle). The full fic is hopefully to be released on the 4th of February

Your legs seem to be moving on their own, feet hitting the ground at a steady and fast pace, you don’t look back and can’t seem to see what lies ahead but still you run until your lungs burn, run until the bitter metallic taste is at the back of your throat where bile threatens to rise. You run until finally your legs collapse, knees hitting the ground, grazing them and it’s the slight sting of the sediment seeping into the cuts that stop you from passing out. You’re not sure how far you’ve ran or how long you’ve been running, you don’t know where you're running to but you have to escape. Escape the life they’ve laid out for you, the one they’ve planned without your input, you can’t live a life where everything is set out, where everything is expected and perfect. A life where you’d get married at 18 to a stranger who was of a worthy social class, attend formal lunches with the wives of your husband’s work colleagues and host dinner parties and occasionally large balls in a manor that always felt empty no matter how many paintings you bought to hang on the never ending amount of walls, no matter how many more bookshelves you tried to fit into one room, a place that you’ll always hate. Then to have children by 20, as many boys as possible of course to then not have any say in their upbringing and watch nurses tend to them, your husband educate them and then watch them get married, meet your grandchildren and when you’ve reached a respectable age, death will meet you in your sleep and you’ll be mourned and then forgotten. A life filled with regret, a constant numbness, no fulfillment and no meaning. 

You saw your mum live that life, a smile that never quite reached her eyes, always plastered on at any given moment as she walked around the large hall with a glass of nothing but champagne in hand greeting the hundreds of guests that you were never able to comprehend how she managed to remember them all. She never spoke unless spoken to, never put in any input and always obeyed your father even when you could see the frustration bubble up inside her as her eyes glinted and her jaws tightened with the urge to say something. She would buy gifts upon gifts and shower you in expensive luxuries, spoil you in riches as a form of love and yet it always held another meaning behind it. There was a slight sadness in her eyes as she passed a gift every birthday,christmas and any other reason she found, almost as if she was saying sorry for the life you were going to live and how she’d use these moments as blackmail for when that time came. You’d overhear her quiet sobs when you would sneak around the house late at night, read letters she received from someone you didn’t know and how they wished for her life to get better and for her to find happiness in a world where happiness didn’t exist. You saw your mother cry when your father died, eyes bloodshot red in fear rather than grief. Her life was now uncertain and that's when you decided that you couldn't live an empty life, regretting choices and wishing for death to come to you first.

Your father had always made sure that you would receive a proper education, one where you'd read hours upon hours of the finest English literature, works of science and learned of the past and present politics. He always said "a lady should know about the world around her but should never venture off on her own" you hated that phrase but it was better than what you overheard your friend's father saying to her when she asked for him to explain the concept of communism, "a women does not need to busy herself with politics, for your brain could not even begin to comprehend it" he announced with his nose high up in the air as if he had just said the most inquisitive statement known to man. It baffled you how one could even think that, let alone truly believe it enough to announce it so stupidly in the open, it was obvious that women were capable of understanding concepts like politics,maths and science for you were living proof. You did better than your brother at grasping algebra, better at them with understanding Versalius's "De humani corporis fabrica" and it didn't take your friend long to understand Karl Marx's theory on communism once you explained it to her. It angered you that this was dismissed especially when your brother soon went off to universities for they had outgrown your father's enormous library and knowledge, there was no more he could teach them but there was still much to learn and you yearned to do the same but as you approached a suitable age for marriage, your everyday classes on Shakespearean English, Tudor monarchy, Greek mythology and Italian art had now been replaced with sewing, crochet, dining etiquette and the differences between napkins, white laced ones for formal lunches,gold embroidery for important dinners and regular silk for everyday use, you'd recite to your mother and the many maids who were on standby.

You've left that world now, left the bustling streets of industrialised London where a black smog always hung around the air and the smell of burnt rubber that stung your nose, you always hated both. Though you grew up in a large estate where there seemed to be a never ending amount of land on the outskirts of London, you never were allowed out to explore. Only allowed out with your mother to pick out fabrics in the markets, surrounded by military men that guarded the general's wife and daughter but now you were alone, no guards, no mother and no black smog to block your view of what lies ahead, only the sun and the ocean sky, clear of clouds as you breathe in fresh air that cleanses your lungs from the toxins that hang in the city air, surrounded by vibrant lavenders that arrive with a strong, sweet smell of pollen which you welcome to replace the bitter rubber your sense of smell only seems to know. You close your eyes and bask in the warmth of late August , the sun gleaming down on you, rays striking against your skin with the wind between the strands of your hair, blowing the lavenders and they slightly tickle your arms. You’re not sure how long you were in your euphoric trance but you weren't ready to leave yet when the dark shadow was casted over you. 

Your eyes lazily open and beauty lies ahead, the sun gleaming behind him, lights him on flames and he burns with a presence so strong you can see it as his aura swirls around you, engulfing you. His features,strong and yet his eyes are soft and even as he's turned away from the sun they sparkle infinitely as they hold the brightest stars, his stare pierces through you and it makes your gut clench as you feel small under his gaze but you don't turn away, daring him to continue staring down on you, well that's what you tell yourself as you can't help but get lost in the beauty of his eyes. His face wears a worried expression, his hand out forwards for you to take and place in his and it takes you a while to realise he's trying to help you up, even longer to comprehend the words that leave his mouth, as you just watch his cherry red lips move. You're dazed and for the first time you're not thinking straight, your legs won't move to carry you back up onto your feet but your hand instinctively moves towards him and your own mouth gapes open as it does, and again he repeats himself emphasising the words as his eyes widen further “are you okay?” you stare blankly at him, no response until you feel the burning sensation of his hand in yours. A heat that sends shocks through every nerve, it runs through your bloodstream lighting you on fire and as if you were burnt you pull back, shaking off the dizzy spell you rise to your feet, your body finally responding to your screaming brain. A sense of relief washes over you as the fear of losing your mind slowly seeps out as the haze in your mind clears, until your eyes meet his again. “Really y/n, not for a boy” you cry out in your head as your mind seems to be lost in awe looking at him.

You shuffle uncomfortably and it’s just now you realise how much of a mess you look as the embodiment of beauty’s eyes fall down. Your expensive dress torn up, what was once a full sangria and silver ball gown was now rags that wrapped around you with the bottom half missing as it stopped just above your knees, an uneven hem due to the rough ripping which took all of your strength, the white net underneath was visibly stained a brownish yellow, the cuts on your knee not being the only thing the dirt seeped into  but his eyes don’t even seem to stop there, they didn't even seem to notice, only meeting a piece of paper that lied on the floor. He reaches down for it, his eyebrows perk up slightly before handing it back to you.“You dropped this” he avoids eye contact, continuing to stare down, his hand abruptly extends out in front of him and he clears his throat, adding to the excruciating awkwardness between you and you wince at the sudden sound. “Oh thank you..” you can hear your voice waver and crack and for the first time in your life, your voice isn’t confident, seems like a day full of firsts, your mother would’ve been proud if she saw you acting like this, like a lady she would have put it. Quite, reserved but really it was just a suffocating stiffness that lingered in the air. 

“Jisung” he completes your sentence, a small, shy smile appears on his face as his eyes look at everything but you, the letter still in his grasp he shakes his hand at you slightly urging you to take it. Your fingers brush past his ever so slightly as you take the letter back into your possession, a spark is sent through you and your fingers twitch, as if wanting more but you stop them from moving any further, your eyes slightly widen as you catch yourself falling so easily and if Jisung catches the weird expressions on your face, he chooses to ignore them not saying anything. “You are not from around here, are you?” His voice is light and airy as he speaks softly, as if you were made of glass and any harsh tone could break you, you can’t tell if it’s because of the immense awkwardness or because of the pity he must feel seeing you in such a state. You hope it’s the former and decide that’s what it is, when he starts playing with the edges of his white shirt.

“No I live in London” the words die as soon as they leave your mouth, you used to live in London, you don’t anymore. This only adds to Jisung’s awkwardness and it reminds you no matter how beautiful he is, he’s only just a boy who’s probably around your age. So you smile at him, letting out a small breathy laugh in hopes of lightening the mood, it works as he visibly unstiffens. “Used to” Jisung doesn’t press on the matter any further, doesn’t ask anymore questions, just nods. The unsettling atmosphere sets in once again and your incapability of standing in silence for more than a second, you clear your throat "do you know where this address is?" your tone light and airy, you sound almost clueless and it’s now you realise the true meaning behind every etiquette class, the role of the women is the domestic war, the war on power. For one to rise they must make powerful allies and that’s what this voice is for, to obtain the power of a man and trick them into helping you; so you're glad when Jisung takes the letter back into his grasp and examines the writing at the front, it’s worked. 

“I’ll show you the way” and you nod with a slight smile as a thank you, Jisung leads the way and you follow soon behind, with his face no longer in my sight you can finally observe the rest of him. Judging by his height and build, seems like he comes from a well off family. Though there wasn’t a day you felt hungry, you weren’t blind to the outside world no matter how hard your parents tried to shelter you from it. The world is living off rations but the wealthy still have access to more, Jisung must have some sought of status or most likely works for a household with high status considering it seemed like he was running errands, why else would he be in a field full of lavenders and it’s only reinforced by the fine silk that flows as wind rushes past you. Somewhat similar to the material that makes up your gown, or what’s left of it, it’s an expensive material imported from colonies in the empire. He walks with no flaw and so you guess he didn’t serve in the war, meaning he has to be around your age; this new life is exciting and scary, you’re not sure what you want yet but you certainly wouldn’t mind if the boy in the lavender field stuck around for a while. 

[laceymorganwrites]

NUMBER 5 - from the not from habe US questions ( also because I need some more songs in German too lol convince me that German music isn’t bad because I just hate German rap & so I hate most of the German songs - also let’s pls not talk about Schlager)

okay okay buckle up, you´re my hero and favorite person today <3

so, first of all I fucking agree with everything you said, German rap usually sucks (sadly that and Schlager are the only things we´re known for which well...let me educate you)

at first I was always ashamed of listening to German music because I always thought all of it sucked, but over the years I gave a few artists a try and I´ll list them and my favorite songs and their meaning here (yep, it´s gonna be a long post, sorry not sorry)

1. Die Ärzte

A German rock band that´s very famous 

Some of my favorite songs include: Schrei nach Liebe (it´s about someone who looks ´rechts´ which means radical but is soft on the inside), Junge (a real classic, story about a guy who learned nothing in his life), Zu spät (story of a guy who´s girlfriend broke up with him and replaces him with someone ´better´ and he now plans his revenge), Leichenhalle (nod to Rammstein, really funny)

2. Kraftklub

They´re a pop band with a few rock elements (very nice guitars)

I prefer their first album. 

Now my absolute favorite song of theirs is Liebe (song about a break up and missing the other), then there´s Dein Lied (very bitter, about writing a song about his S/O who left him for his best friend. One line is literally: ´you damn whore, this is your song´), Blau (song about drunk calling your ex). They also do a lot of social commentary and songs about mental health and cities (Ich will nicht nach Berlin, Karl-Marx-Stadt)

3. Alligatoah

It´s hit or miss for me personally. Has a few good songs that I listen to, amazing social commentary and funny lyrics (good example of German rap)

My favorite songs are Fick ihn doch (about jealousy), Meine Hoe (about female empowerment), Wer weiß (unsure of the intentions of this girl), Narben (very funny story about having scars to get the girl)

4. Jennifer Rostock

Honestly not my vibe anymore, but I listened to them when I was like 12-14 (I listened to all of the German 2000s pop/alternative/emo scene and those are still my guily pleasures to this day, honorable mentions also include Christina Stürmer and Eisblume)

I love their song Alles Cool (about her ex wanting to be friends and her not having any of his shit), Du willst mir an die Wäsche (sexual harrassment), Es tut wieder weh (reliving past trauma)

5. Fräulein Wunder

Another 2000s band, female fronted 

My favorite song is Panzerboy (about a guy who has his walls up but she tries to tear them down, really like the lyrics) and Beiss mich (rough relationship)

6. Eskimo Callboy

They don´t sing/scream in German but they´re from here and just released their new EP after getting a new singer (Nico Sallach, he´s AMAZING)

They have the best and funniest music videos out there and I love them sm (German gamers star in them as well haha)

Watch the video for Hypa Hypa and MC Thunder, MC Thunder 2 too!

[cyberneticpeoplespolis]

Covid 19 and the New Era

Initially published on the OA blog here.

Part 1: Goodbye to the end of History

31 years ago, US political writer Francis Fukuyama wrote an essay titled The end of history. In it, he summed up what many were feeling at the conclusion of the Cold War: without a grand historical conflict between world superpowers, what further challenges could there be to the system we live under today: capitalist liberal-democracy? In this essay, and his later books, he wrote that with the collapse of the Soviet Union, most world governments would shift towards a liberal democracy, with an emphasis on transnational government much like the European Union, and with this new epoch would come a period of unparalleled peace. Events might still occur, he said, but the overall trend of civilisation would be towards endless peace, endless profit, and endless technological advancement that would eventually lead to humans having control over their own evolution.

What Fukuyama might not have predicted is that his simple thesis would become one of the most criticised essays of all time. Barely had the ink dried on his paper when scores of writers poked holes in his analysis – something very easy to do, for Fukuyama wasn’t much of a philosopher, but rather a political hack who summed up the dominant view among liberal thinkers at the time. In this, he was wholly successful, but he also ended up being correct in ways his critics couldn’t have predicted.

The next 31 years of history were some of the most uneventful, in terms of real movement, of any decades that had passed before – sure, not all countries became liberal democracies, and sure, history continued to chew up innocent lives and spit them back out, and sure, a few terrorists showed up here and there – but it seemed that no single event could ever truly change things beyond occupying the evening news for a few weeks. We have just emerged from the one of the most viscerally boring periods in human history, at least for the more sheltered populations in the west, and it’s important to recognise this.

Fukuyama’s end of history was not a new thesis: as the postmodernist Jaques Derrida, was quick to point out, Fukuyama had simply regurgitated some of the most turgid liberal philosophies of the early Cold-War era; the idea that liberal-democracy had emerged victorious, and that socialism had been proved wrong once and for all through the many perceived failures of Soviet societies. All that had changed was that Fukuyama said it at the right time: it truly was the end, capitalism had found its perfect justification in neoliberalism, a set of ideologies based in the idea that capitalism was a perfect, trans-historical goal of humanity, that only needed to be sufficiently untethered from regulation and sufficiently protected by a growing military and police forces in order to function properly. In this proper version of capitalism, untethered from the need to legitimise itself in the face of opposing ideologies, there was no need for capitalist societies to change to face new threats, for what can challenge an ideology that is so totalising it can convince people that it’s the only thing that exists? The only thing that has ever existed. A universal default.

In that sense, Fukuyama was perfectly right. History did grind to a halt for three decades. Not just the history of those decades, but all history, for every society throughout history could be painted as nothing but a stepping stone to this universal conclusion. There was no challenge to neoliberalism in that time, no great ideological foe to defeat, no workers’ movement to crush, and the best that the neoliberal states could offer up as some immense civilisational enemy was a pitiful force of Wahhabi terrorists – a by-product of the previous era, and therefore hardly a new historical agent. All that was left for the world to do was to reckon with the leftovers of the Cold-War period (the Wahhabis, remnant socialist societies, and shrinking unions), products of the last true period of historical movement, and wait for whatever technological innovation that would come next and inject some feeling of forward momentum into an otherwise stagnant society.

In time, even technology failed to deliver a feeling of progress. Each new technology of the period wasn’t truly new: all that capitalism could deliver was slightly faster and more powerful versions of technologies based in the previous era of major public scientific investments. Internet, wi-fi, cell phones, miniaturised processors, satellite communications – every single one of these technologies was a product of Cold-War era military or public scientific investment, albeit with a better marketing team. It is almost as if capitalists could produce no new innovation whatsoever, other than a faster, slimmer version of existing tech, that broke more often.

In this sense, one of the two defining features of the past 30 years that gave life a sense of movement and progress, communications technology, proved to be nothing but a latent product of the previous era, that came up against a wall as soon as the legacy technologies it relied upon reached the limits of exploitability. The same would soon be proven true of the other great symbol of neoliberal progress: economic growth.

Since the beginning of the end of history, economic growth has skyrocketed. Only part of this was due to imperialism – the ability for strong states with financial capital to spare to offload their surpluses onto the global south. That would have been a source of actual value were it the primary cause of this continuous economic boom, since it would have meant greater exploitation of labour. Instead capitalism developed along the much easier route – pure speculation in financial markets and tech companies, both of which are largely phantasmal.

Capital was creating a bubble – not of any one market, such as the late 90s tech bubble or the late 2000s housing bubble, but rather it was making a bubble out of capitalism as a whole. Who could have guessed what would pop it?

Part 2: What the fuck is going on?

Sometime around December 1, 2019, a few people got sick in the Chinese city of Wuhan. Many writers have spent thousands of hours speculating about the potential causes of transmission. Was it from a shopper at the Huanan Seafood Wholesale Market? Did the disease come from the actual produce at this market? Was it a bioweapon? Was it a bat? A Pangolin? Was everyone at the market just too weird and Chinese to not get the disease? What comparatively few news sites have focused on was how on earth a virus could cause an economic crisis so great that we have nothing to truly compare it to.

This is because it could have been anything. It could have been a completely different virus in a completely different country, it could have been a sudden war erupting, it could have been a plane crash, it could have been a Wall Street Executive slipping on a banana peel. The system of global financial markets had been systematically hollowed out and prepared in every possible way to collapse at the drop of a hat sooner or later. To understand how, we need to understand three things: the underlying philosophy of neoliberalism, the way a modern financial market operates, and the general theory of economic crisis put forward by Karl Marx in his unfinished third volume of Capital.

Under neoliberalism, austerity is everything. The existence of everything, often including human life, has to be justified in terms of cost-effectiveness, self-reliance, and interoperability with the rest of the system. This is why social welfare, such as Work & Income New Zealand, operates by giving the absolute bare minimum to beneficiaries, and why all government departments, with the exclusion of Defence, Police, and Corrections, have to operate on paper-thin budgets, constantly needing to justify any expenditure whatsoever in terms of net-benefits to the economy. It is also not a rational ideology, in that in pursuing its goals of profitability and lean government, the means are much more important than the ends. A health system stretched thin (the “ambulance-at-the-bottom-of-the-cliff model”) might actually be more costly to society than a health system which is budgeted to act preventatively and deal with unexpected crises, but this doesn’t really matter. Likewise, stockpiling, preemptively initiating spending, or even paying for proper maintenance can come to be seen as unnecessary luxuries in a system in which everything must be justified in terms of short-term profitability.

This is why the richest country in the world ended up with a shortage of basic medical supplies. Under ideal circumstances, each hospital should have had just enough masks, gloves and smocks to last a normal week, just in time for a new shipment. The same is true of most systems of logistics and supply under neoliberalism – things enter the warehouse, the shipping container, or the truck, just in time for them to leave. If anything stays in the warehouse, or is stockpiled, then that is an inefficiency in the system. Every minute those hospital gowns spend in the warehouse means a surplus is developing, which means profits lost for the manufacturer and shipping company.

The same logic rings true for financial markets. Each sector of the economy deals in just enough liquid assets (money) to operate under normal circumstances. If too much money circulates in the economy at any one time, then we get inflation – the decline in the value of currency. In a crisis, excess liquidity can be a good thing, which is why the US markets are being flooded with trillions of dollars, but under normal circumstances, these simple laws of financial supply and demand create an incentive for capitalists to invest their cash assets as soon as possible, never leaving anything in reserve in the event of a crisis.

But all of this, supply and demand, surplus and shortage, is somewhat obsolete under late capitalism. Contrary to popular belief, most microeconomic problems are pretty easy to solve using the microeconomic levers most accessible to capitalists such as changing prices, production or wages. Capitalists make them out to be huge, complex issues so that price regulation can be painted as naive meddling in the arcane market, but really, these simple problems like overproduction, underproduction, low demand, and the like, can all be fixed using the tools of the private sector. Larger systemic problems (macroeconomic issues), such as sovereign debt, low competitiveness, trade deficits, and poor consumer buying power, can also be fixed, but through the financial levers available to the state, such as bailouts, stimulus packages, elimination of reserve requirements, and massive liquidity injections. What can’t be fixed, at least not permanently, is the general downward trend in profits relative to investment.

The more serious problems of late capitalist economics – wafer-thin profit margins, constantly slowing rates of growth, and constant fears that consumers are “killing” various industries – are all products of one phenomenon that Karl Marx identified as far back as 1857, the discovery of which he called his “greatest triumph” but which remains a lesser known Marxian theory. This is the tendency of the rate of profit to fall, a hypothesis which explains why capitalism is doomed to perpetually swing between boom and bust, until it reaches a crisis from which it can’t recover.

Central to Marx’s theory of crisis is a much more famous theory – the labour theory of value. Put simply this is the idea that all the value that capitalist society places on a commodity comes from the workers who harvested the raw materials, worked in the factory that made it, and built the machines that filled the factory. The work being done by living workers is supplemented by the machines that other workers have made to assist them in their work.

The living people involved in this system are the organic component, while the machines, products, and other lifeless objects are the inorganic component. Taken together, the ratio between these components is the organic composition of capital (OOC). When there are few workers but many machines in a factory, the OOC is lower, and so the productivity of these workers is very high because the machines allow them to multiply their efforts. But high productivity creates a problem – if all of this work can be done by fewer workers, then unemployment will surely rise, wages will go down, and fewer people will be able to pay for the products from the factories. Eventually this leads to a crisis of consumption, which is what we are currently experiencing, and unless you’re over 50 or so, you’ve probably been experiencing one your entire life.

In a consumption crisis, wages are far too low for people to buy commodities or easily reproduce their capacity to work. Since the 1970s, wages have stagnated in most Western countries, but until now capitalists had many ways they could “kick the can down the road,” delaying the crisis for another few years and making higher and higher profits in the meantime. For example, to absorb the huge surpluses generated by an economy undergoing a consumption crisis, Capitalist states could offload their surplus values onto colonies and nations in the global south by creating new markets, or waging wars and thereby investing in weapons and reconstruction. A good example of this was the 2003 Invasion of Iraq, which ended up costing trillions of dollars, allowed for billions to be invested in weapons manufacturers, and opened up a handful of new markets in the bombed out ruins of Baghdad or Fallujah.

This is one way to offset a major crisis, which we might call the “fuck the rest of the world” method. The other method is a bit harder for the capitalists, which is to massively increase consumer buying power through various measures. The most straightforward of these is the one capitalists are most loath to do, since it undermines neoliberal ideology, which is to simply give people money. This was done in Australia in 2008, when each Australian was given $300 and ordered to spend it immediately. Many other countries, even the US, are now rushing to copy this method of stimulus. Another method, which has been growing since mid last century, is by artificially raising a stratum of consumers through employing people in “bullshit jobs,” a term used by economist David Graeber to refer to people engaged in work that doesn’t seem to do anything. This includes a lot of professionals: secretaries of secretaries, managers of managers, supervisors of supervisors and the like. Finally there is another method which is gaining traction among some of the more far-sighted capitalist technocrats, the Universal Basic Income (UBI), which would give people a flat rate of just enough money to fulfil their duty to the economy as consumers. Such a move would represent a last-ditch effort by capital to avoid the looming consumer crisis, which at time of writing appears to be a tsunami whose waters have only reached chest-height.

However, all of these means can only delay the inevitable. A capitalist system undergoing crisis can only offset the real crunch for so long. In 2008, the global capitalist system experienced a major shock when a speculative housing bubble popped in US financial markets. If the crisis continued, the capitalist class would have had to sell off huge amounts of assets, including industrial machinery. This would have solved the underlying productivity crisis for a time by restoring the huge imbalance between the organic and inorganic composition of capital. But this imbalance had been building for decades. Could the capitalist system survive the shock? Mass sell-offs are nothing new – the first response of the US government to the 1929 Wall Street Crash was to encourage these sell-offs, only to find out that doing so would massively increase public unrest from both capital and workers.

In the end, the crisis was instead offset through fiscal policy, as the US federal reserve removed barriers to debt and artificially preserved the value of assets by paying off capitalists with sums that often exceeded the value of their entire business. For this reason, the recovery from the 2008 crisis was slow, but the crisis itself was short-lived. The speculative bubbles weren’t quite popped, but enough air was let out to delay the inevitable, for about 12 years, as it turned out.

Part 3: Infinite new era

It is still entirely possible that the capitalists will be able to kick the can further down the road, and avert the current crisis through arcane fiscal finagling or through truly barbaric methods like forcing US and UK workers back into the workplace well before it is safe to do so.

But it seems equally possible that the world as we know it is over. By this I don’t mean that we’ll soon be living in a Mad Max-style apocalypse, but rather that period of “the end of history” is finally over. Capitalism will probably recover, either through solving the crisis through the above means before it gets worse, or it will allow the crisis to reach its conclusion and engage in massive selloffs of fixed capital, which might extend its rule by several decades by restoring some degree of profitability relative to investments. What that could mean for our people and ecology is anyone’s guess.

But whatever the results of this crisis are, one thing seems very clear. For the first time in our lives, workers have been forced to sit at home and think – not between shifts, or under the endless stress of being a beneficiary expected to look for work that often doesn’t exist, but just thinking, and getting bored. I don’t remember a time when capitalism gave an entire class of people the opportunity to get truly bored, apart from the upper classes, who get to call it ennui.

The politics of idleness are interesting. A few thousand years ago, the backbreaking labour of slaves, poor citizens, and women created the opportunity for the first truly idle class – the Ancient Greek philosophers who are credited with the entire foundation of our moral and political systems. For the next few thousand years, the only people who were allowed to be idle were the sons of rich nobles and merchants, and only with the birth of capitalism did common people find themselves idle – the unemployed newly-displaced rural folk who waited outside the great cities of Europe, waiting for jobs at the new textile factories to open up. Many of these people became the backbone of the first workers’ parties, often millenarian Christian-socialists and underground brotherhoods like the Chartists, Luddites, or League of the Just, which Marx and Engels would later co-opt and rename The Communist League.

Idleness in these times was feared greatly by those in power, and rightly so. Nothing worried them more than huge surplus populations growing restless, organising in their idle time, and realising their position somewhere near the bottom of a great social pyramid. From time to time these surplus populations grew so great that entire nations had to be set up just to get rid of them: the unemployed and wretched masses of the British Isles found themselves criminalised and subject to transportation to the penal colonies of the Caribbean, the Americas, and later New South Wales. Luckier surplus citizens found themselves in the free colonies, such as Perth, or New Zealand.

But are we truly surplus to requirements? Surely after the crash we’ll get our jobs back?

Many economists aren’t so sure. Unemployment modelling already shows rates are going to grow higher than during the great depression, and that’s without a much more pessimistic Marxian analysis of the crisis. To be surplus is a new experience to many of us. Idleness will force us to reckon with our position in the pyramid of society, just as those 19th century oligarchs were afraid of all those years ago.

The ideological backbone of capitalism as it currently exists has been broken. Neoliberalism has shown itself incapable of dealing with Covid-19. But what we make of this realisation is up to us. The ideological backbone might be broken, but the real nuts and bolts of the system: the police and politicians, bosses and workplaces, will still remain. Given enough time, they will use this crisis of legitimacy to forge a new kind of capitalism: maybe a society with a UBI? Or a form of eco-capitalism? Or maybe they’ll go the other direction, and lead us down a road to fascism, or Trumpian nationalistic fervor? If I had to place bets, I’d put it on a mix of all of the above, as usually seems to happen in a crisis of legitimacy. After all, the last great crisis of legitimacy happened during the Great Depression, leading to both the social-democratic compromise of the New Deal and Michael Joseph Savage’s welfare state, as well as the horrors of Nazism.

In truth I don’t think it matters so much what path capitalism chooses to take in order to legitimise itself in this new era, because unless the agency of that choice lies with working people – with beneficiaries, Māori, migrants, the multitude, the proletariat – it will leave us worse off. It might end the crisis, but we’ll live with the knowledge that the next one will be worse, and once again our lives will be utterly beyond our control.

So agency should be our watchword in this new era. So long as we lack agency, we are only a few years from collapse. So long as we lack agency, the response to crises will be arbitrary. New Zealanders got lucky in getting a rational response to the crisis, but next time we might be more like the US or UK – sending thousands more people to die in the name of profits. Taking power, then, is the only way to ensure that this total lack of agency never happens again.

So far in the things I’ve written for this blog, I’ve not actually included a call to join Organise Aotearoa. In a system built on broken promises, who am I to make a promise to readers that things will get better if only we fight for a revolutionary overthrow of the bosses, police and markets that put us in crisis again and again? As an organisation, we are young, and we are emerging from a very beaten-down, hollowed-out, and disparate left-wing movement. Revolution doesn’t seem realistic to many people, but then, neither did capitalism being crushed by a virus a few weeks ago. Socialism will never just happen – it takes work, and a sense of realism. We have a lot of work to do, but only in this period of transition can we see the possible futures laid out before us – apocalyptic misery, or social and economic justice. To fight for this is always worth the effort.

The best summary of the times we’re living in come from this quote I’m quite fond of:

“There are decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen”