#way to go me for being able to recite that quote both times from memory

[socalledsomethingorother]

never forgiving the english dub of dvk pt.2

there’s. so many little intricacies in the dialogue of that episode and they managed to get all of them wrong.

the manga/sub makes it appear like they’re talking to each other in their internal monologues, while the dub changes that. the dub also made izuku grow more of a backbone than bro needed in these scenes. “i guess i shouldn’t be surprised that we’ve both been getting stronger” my ass. this isn’t about you.

also.

“i never felt good about this myself, which is why i never told you. but when the urge to win is stronger than the desire to save, i tend to run my mouth a little more without thinking. you’d think i’d hate myself for that, but somewhere deep inside, it’s because you’re who i picture when i think of ‘victory’.”

vs

“i’d never admit something like this to your face. but the truth is, when i get riled up and my desire to win surpasses my desire to save someone, without meaning to, i start talking like you. you’re so mean sometimes, and i hate it. but my idea of victory is so tied to the image of you in my head that in those moments, i can’t help but imitate you.”

the manga is so poetic, while the dub just seems repetitive to me.

i get how shit gets lost in translation, especially since it’s coming from manga to anime before it’s even translated to english, but it’s sad to me that this episode lost so much of its meaning.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for being passionate about literature?

I (20s, M) have always been a fan of a certain piece of classic literature. I won't go into details, let's just say it's a famous classic epic poem about love and war that has received multiple adaptations and widely known worldwide. I have always found it beautiful. In fact, I have the whole thing memorized, and regularly recite verses of it.

This book is also extremely important to me personally as it helped me through a very difficult time. To make a long story short, I was slowly passing away due to the consequences of unethical human experiments I was subject to before birth. This novel of mine brought me great comfort, and through it I was able to even discover a way to cure myself of this degradation. This to me is proof of the importance of this book, I believe that in itself it is truly the Gift that the Goddess left to us.

However, some people I know have complained about me reciting it. My friends A and S (both 20s, M) would often tease me about it, but in a way that was always ultimately just in jest. They even learnt some parts of the book by memory themselves. Of course, they used to tell me it was my fault for reciting it so much, but I fully believe they also read it on their own.

More recently, A's former pupil Z (early 20s, M) has also been complaining about it. As a general rule I don't care about what that boy says, but he did manage to defeat me in battle so I'm being forced to admit there might be more to him than I previously gave him credit for. He keeps saying something about me never shutting up about that book. Which isn't true, by the way, we have had plenty of conversations on other matters such as morality and apples.

I don't think I did anything wrong but I've recently turned a new leaf, and since most of my friends are dead for reasons I had very little to do with I'm wondering if people find it genuinely annoying to hear quotes from a poem every once in a while. I don't even do it that often, only two or three times in a given conversation. I would like to know what people think so in case the judgement is that I am the asshole I will know this world's existence is pointless and help S nuke the world next time he tries

[mihai-florescu]

Something something the Blackbird story giving a kickstart to the events of the main story of enstars and something something Wataru being the real thing the real bluebird of happiness Eichi was unable to attain in the past because being more realistic than the real thing is precisely what makes a great actor but even if he were to prepare a million words they're sure to mean nothing to Eichi who's been deluding himself into thinking Wataru woild estimate the moment in which he would love both him and fine deeply and would most certainly not wish to part with them only to then disappear from his grasp, just like a mirage, abandoning that which could've survived if only given a single drop of water (these are normal things to be able to quote from memory)

I think if i was in a coma and you started reciting the eplink monologue to me, it would wake me up. Anyway. Wataei are literally perfect for each other but im also thinking about how eichi's biggest regret from the war is tsumugi. And how in another universe maybe he wouldnt have overlooked the bluebird in front of him back then. The bluebird of happiness becomes the real thing once you accept it. How would things have panned out i wonder... i mean, literally everything wouldve been different. There wouldve been no story, maybe not even the war if eichi had been just satisfied with what was in front of him, not wishing for more or to make up for his inferiority complex, if he didnt look up to wataru, if he had been satisfied with a normal teen life. But then no one wouldve grown. I am trying to imagine a world where that couldve worked out and everything is falling apart because there would simply be no story worth telling. It was imperative eichi let go of the bluebird that was tsumugi to learn from his mistakes later on and not repeat them. Sorry i think i started having a different thought here than what you were saying in your ask, i was just thinking about this earlier. For all the pain the war caused everyone, it wouldve been a hundred times worse had things continued the way they were. Once again the conclusion is that enstars wouldnt have happened without eichi and wataru, amen

[thousandmaths]

Still adventuring, 5 years later

Margin Call is a 2011 movie largely centered on a single evening during which a young analyst at a financial firm learns, seemingly before anyone else, that things are about to go south real soon. The firm is unnamed, and the exact nature of the crisis is shrouded in Wall Street jargon, but it’s set in 2008. Make of that what you will.

And if you’ve already seen it, you probably already know the scene I want to talk about.

The focus of the screencap above is on Eric Dale, a guy at the firm who sensed that something was going wrong but was fired just before being able to put all the pieces together. This scene occurs late in the movie; it’s the first time in over an hour that Dale has been back on the screen, and we’re all waiting for what he’s going to say about the goings-on at the firm in the day since he left.

He says little, outside of this monologue:

Do you know I built a bridge once? [...] I was an engineer by trade.

It went from Dilles Bottom, Ohio to Moundsville, West Virginia. It spanned nine hundred and twelve feet above the Ohio River. Twelve thousand people used this thing a day. And it cut out thirty-five miles of driving each way between Wheeling and New Martinsville. That's a combined eight hundred and forty-seven thousand miles, of driving, a day. Or twenty-five million, four hundred and ten thousand miles a month. And three hundred and four million, nine hundred and twenty thousand miles a year. Saved.

Now I completed that project in 1986, that's twenty-two years ago. So over the life of that one bridge, that's six billion, seven hundred and eight million, two hundred and forty thousand miles that haven't had to be driven. At, what, let's say fifty miles an hour? So that's, what, uhhh, a hundred thirty four million, one hundred sixty-five thousand, eight hundred hours. Orrr, five hundred fifty-nine thousand, twenty days. So that one little bridge has saved the people of those communities a combined one thousand five hundred and thirty-one years of their lives, not wasted in a fucking car. 

One thousand five hundred and thirty-one years.

------

As you may have guessed, Margin Call is a movie that is absolutely obsessed with numbers. They don’t usually come as fast and thick as they do in this scene. Still, they are pervasive in the movie, both by impact and incantation. You’d be forgiven for thinking that the screenwriter J.C. Chandor has some kind of weird deep-seated number fetish.

But after giving it some thought this weekend, I desperately want to write an extended essay about how numbers are deployed in Margin Call. It was said of the legendary 20th century Indian mathematician Srinivasa Ramanujan that “every positive integer was one of his personal friends.” The film has a very different relationship with positive integers than Ramanujan did, but the quote popped to mind as I reflected— the film’s relationship no less intimate. 

I believe the reason this scene has stuck with me for so long is that there is an almost comedic tinge to it: this is a story whose main character is a bridge. There are no people in this story, except the aggregated twelve thousand drivers “of those communities” who use the bridge. Even the people who constructed the bridge are sidelined in the narrative. And yet it’s a story with deep respect for humanity. It’s a story about compassion, about our ability to build a better life for others, about how labor can be elevated above pure productivity to be truly meaningful.

It is a direct refutation of the thesis of the main protagonist, the generally sympathetic (and not pictured) young analyst, who says “Well it’s all just numbers, really, just changing what you’re adding up.”

------

It had never occurred to me until writing this post, that I might want to learn to recite that scene in Margin Call by memory, as if it were a poem.

When I was younger I used to memorize so many things. Aside from the routine facts from school and countless songs, there were also dozens if not hundreds of entire pre-meme internet videos that I could quote verbatim. By the time I started writing OTAM, such memorization of random content was no longer a guiding principle of my life. Even classics that I remember fondly like “End of Ze World” and “Ultimate Fight of Ultimate Destiny”, now languish only half-remembered in the pubescent voice of my inner teenager.

But in 2019 I found it in myself to go back and learn one of my favorites, a piece of internet history that is known if not famous, which has always meant more to me than it has to the world: Tanya Davis’s “How to be Alone.”

(The linked youtube video is Davis’s own performance, with lovely editing by Andrea Dorfman. At the time of this writing, it has nine million, six hundred eighty-eight thousand, one hundred twenty-eight views.)

The story of why I chose to do that is a little too personal to share here, the wounds a little too deep*. But I performed it at a small talent show during a summer program. I took the almost-decade of hearing and giving and studying math talks (and the year spent in endless depressive YouTube stupor) and made myself a slam poet, for just a moment.

I’ve never performed it for anyone else, and I might never again. But, I have indeed performed it— oh yes, I have, in the last three years. That poem has been stitched into my heart, with a needle and thread.

------

( * I cry a bit as I write these words, weeping for lost naïveté. When I wrote my thousandth post for this blog, I wanted nothing more than to be seen, known, understood. In the five long years since then, I’ve learned many harsh lessons about the virtues of an inner life. )

------

Today is the five-year anniversary of the official ending date of One Thousand Adventures in Mathematics.

(No, I didn’t accidentally post this to the wrong blog. I meant to write all that stuff up there XD)

I’m sure it will not surprise you to learn that a lot has happened. I am a very different person than I was when I was writing OTAM. But not everything has changed; I am still an academic mathematician. And since you probably followed me for math and not film critique, here’s a brief update on the big CV bullet points.

As I mentioned in the last post about a year ago, I received my PhD in combinatorics and accepted a postdoc at Charles University in Prague. There, I attempted to learn number theory, and I would not describe that attempt as a success. As a result, I chose to leave the postdoc early and return to the US. 

Fortunately, I was already planning on flying to Denver to attend my second Graduate Research Workshop in Combinatorics, where I applied for and received an adjunct position at Champlain College in Vermont. We’re now over four weeks into the semester.

I’ve now had three poster presentations accepted at the Conference on Formal Power Series and Algebraic Combinatorics [the third one isn’t public yet :/] . I’ve given about 1.5 of them. (Shoutout to Nathan Williams for doing the heavy lifting on the Strange Expectations poster :D) Shortly before I graduated, I published the first half of my thesis as one paper. Because of the nature of my work in Prague, this is still my only serious publication. There are things in the works— in no small part due to the GRWC this summer— but I am frankly a bit annoyed that I couldn’t get more done last year.

If you’re reading this post, you probably have seen some other posts on this blog. You may even be responsible for one of the small handful of notes that I still receive weekly on my now-quite-old posts. I have already said thank you several times, but I am going to say it again. Thank you.

Finally, this won’t be the last post on this blog. I plan to keep making occasional updates on my professional activities as long as I remain in academia. This is really important to me, because a lot of the value of OTAM was always in seeing someone grow mathematically during a pivotal moment of their education. I feel it would be dishonest if I didn’t say where that all ended up leading. The academic environment is toxic and the job market is hell. I won’t claim my story is representative, and I’ve learned to recognize the taste of privilege. But the only way I can think to say thank you in any meaningful sense is by letting you all see this story to something resembling its completion.

[xpeachesncream]

off the grid | three

summary: it was as simple as swapping places with a stranger from across the world to get away from everything back home. that is - until you meet Jimin. things become more complicated as he unfolds a new chapter in your life that you were initially trying to avoid.

pairing: reader x pjm

genre: post-college au, christmas/holiday au | angst, fluff, smut (to come)

words: 2.4k

chapter warnings: cussing / mature language, definitely inaccurate depiction of transportation, events and whereabouts in South Korea since i only did my research thru the internet, jimin continues to be cute as fuck for being such an angel

> series masterlist <

"Jimin!" You whined as he had hurriedly grabbed the check from the waitress and politely shoved it back in her hand with his card.

"I just wanted you to enjoy your lunch." He laughed at your pouty face - brows furrowed, lips poking out.

"That doesn't mean I can't pay for my own food."

"Can you relax? It's fine. If anything, you can just get me when we grab dessert later."

"Sure, if you don't beat me to it again."

"Maybe it's your reflexes."

"Wow, I'm a little appalled at that statement. Already judging me?"

"Never that, just being honest." He smiled. "Okay, I'm joking. Don't kill me." He laughed as he stood up and gathered his stuff. You two were spending some time going around Insa-Dong before heading to a park near the N Seoul Tower later tonight to chill.

Besides beaming with kindness, Jimin was patient. He let you walk around wherever, doing whatever, without complaining. He was also very smart, giving the inside scoop with the added bonus of tips and tricks and reciting historical facts when the perfect opportunity arose. He made fun of you for buying small, cute souvenirs because it seemed like a never ending collection, but nonetheless, he really enjoyed how happy you looked. How you glowed. How down to earth and laid back you were. Even though it hadn't been long since you met, you weren't reserved and you took him in (as he was) with ease. He was normally a shy person, but he appreciated the warmth that radiated from you. He felt comfortable, almost like you both had known each other for years.

"Come on, Y/N." He laughed. "Really? How many more pins and stickers do you need?"

"Jimin, you need to lower your voice." You joked.

"I'm sorry." He began to raise his voice, causing others to turn towards you two. "HOW MANY MORE PINS-"

"Oh my god, okay! Stop! I'll drop it!" He laughed and prevented you from dropping your items down.

"I'm just playing. I'll stop." It hit you that his hand still lingered on yours, so you quickly drop it down before shyly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I promise this is it." You shrugged. "For now." You kept smirking at him over your shoulder before you happily walked over to the counter. After slipping the small shopping bag into your bigger shopping bag, you met Jimin outside of the shop who had been taking pictures of the street with his polaroid camera. "Do you always do this?"

"Take pictures? Yeah, I like holding onto the memories, as cliché as that sounds. They really do hold a lot of meaning for me."

"No, I think that's pretty cool."

"Do you mind?" He slightly rose his camera towards you.

"If you take pictures of me?" He nodded silently. "No, I don't."

"Thanks. It'll add a nice touch to my collection." He quickly snapped a picture of you smiling.

The two of you continued to walk around, with Jimin making sure you didn't miss anything significant. He led the way majority of the time, dancing when he would hear music playing on the street, mimicking ads posted on the walls or simply taking more pictures. When you both had your fill of the area, he drove to a nearby bbq restaurant where you could get some jajangmyeon, samgyeopsal and other entrees ready made for takeout before grabbing dessert on the way to the park. You held onto the food while he grabbed a blanket from the trunk of his car and laid it on the grass so you two could dig in and eat.

"That's a nice ass view." You said, staring at the tower up ahead.

"I could take you up there another day. There isn't much, but the view at the tower is amazing."

"I bet."

"So, what made you want to come to here?" All this time you had been spending with Jimin had been occupied by all the plans that you hadn't been able to really talk about this. You hadn't been able to divulge about the dirty details of all things home.

"I really just wanted a break from the chaos." You shrugged.

"Mmm, really painting a great picture of Los Angeles right now." He said sarcastically before he covered his mouth to laugh.

"Sorry, it's a great place, really. I honestly can't see myself anywhere else." You sighed. "I just.. felt myself slipping, you know? I was getting lost in all the work I had to get done, all the projects on my plate. At one point I felt so stuck that I really questioned if I belonged. I'm turning 26 soon and I still feel lost."

"Impostor syndrome?"

"Yes, that."

"Why? You made it that far, haven't you? May I ask what you do back home?"

"I work in translational science." His eyes widened.

"Wow, that's amazing. You came this far, Y/N. Why would you doubt yourself like that?"

"I guess I just always feel like I need to prove myself to everyone around me."

"In work or in general?"

"It was starting to feel like I had to prove myself in general."

"That's not fair. I know it's easier said than done, but you shouldn't do that to yourself. From what I can tell, you're a great person who's down to earth and enjoys life as it comes. There's nothing wrong with that. You're where you're at for a reason. I'm sure your friends and parents are really proud of you."

"Thanks." You smiled softly. "Yeah, my parents are pretty great."

"Yeah? See, that's good. What are your parents like?"

"Well, my dad is the executive director of another lab, while my mom is a pediatric nurse."

"So, science and healthcare revolves around your family."

"Pretty much. My dad is the reason why I got so interested in pursuing a career in science. He would always teach me things growing up and I always enjoyed going to science museums with him. That's all I wanted to do."

"That's cute." He smiled. "You're really close to your parents, then."

"Yeah, I am."

"Do they know you're here?" You nodded.

"Yeah. They were just sad I didn't join them on their Europe holiday trip."

"What?! You turned that down to come here? You're something else." You laughed and tossed a crumpled napkin at him, making him dodge it.

"Hey! I told you. I just wanted to do something solo. Something different."

"I mean, are you really doing it solo if you're here with me?" He smirked.

"I'm leaving."

"No, I'm kidding." He laughed as he put his hand out to stop you. "I know, I know. For the record, I'm glad you're hanging out with me and letting me show you around."

"Nice save, Park."

"You got it, sweetness." He winked, making you shake your head at the pet name.

"What about you? What's up with you and your family? I can tell you and Yana are close."

"Yeah, we are. I'm really happy about the relationship we have. She's my older sister and she's done a lot for me. A lot." He emphasized. "I can't help but feel super protective of her. I feel like I want to shield her from the world sometimes because she's such a good person and I don't want to see her get hurt, you know? It hurts me." You nodded silently. "I know part of the reason why she agreed to this whole thing was because of her ex." You swallowed the lump in your throat because same. Fucking same.

"I get that. That's really sweet of you."

"As for the rest of my family, I mean.." He sighed. "Yeah, we're all close. I love my mom and dad. I'd do anything for them, no question about that. They've always been supportive. But, sometimes I can't help but feel like I disappoint them."

"Why do you say that? Only if you feel comfortable, though." And he did. Jimin really did. He wasn't much to talk about his personal details because he was so busy trying to make sure his people were good, that people he cared for were okay. He barely had time to look out for himself, but he didn't mind it. All he wanted was for his people to be good. If that could happen, then all was well. Plus, he would hate to have to burden someone with such negative thoughts. It wasn't the happiest topic for him.

"I do." He softly smiled at you, his eyes wide and round like a puppy. He ran his hand through his hair before adjusting his position on the blanket. You couldn't help but feel weak at the sight of him. Sheesh. He could do the bare minimum and it would still be so attractive. "My sister is super smart and successful. She's worked so hard to get to where she is now. I mean, she works for a really popular magazine here. She started as an intern, then worked her way up and now she's close to creating her own clothing line. It's been her dream and she really worked to make it happen."

"That's amazing."

"Isn't it? She's such a boss." He shook his head. "And then there's me." He scoffed. "I went to school for business, with a minor in art. But that's about it for me. I don't really know what I want to do or how to go about making my degree useful." He used air quotes. "I honestly just don't even know. I got through school just fine, but I never had set plans for myself. I help my mom and dad at their cafe, then that's it." He shrugged.

"Jimin, you still have so much time to figure out what you want to do. Don't beat yourself up just because you didn't get there as quickly as Yana or other people. Your path isn't theirs and vice versa."

"It just gets hard, you know? I want to make them proud."

"And I'm sure they are. They always will be. You have so much to offer to the world, no doubt. You'll be able to show that in time."

"Thanks Y/N, I needed to hear that. Really." He smiled. "Just you listening makes me feel better."

"You should make more time for yourself, Jimin." You already could tell what kind of person Jimin was. One that always made time for everyone but himself. One who was completely and utterly selfless.

"I know, I'm working on it." He scooped into his ice cream cup. "So, enough of me." He chuckled. "Back to you."

"What else can I say about me?"

"I don't know, Y/N. I'm sure you have a lot you can say about yourself besides being a badass scientist." You chuckled. "Is that really the only reason why you came to Seoul? To get a break from LA and work?"

"If I'm being completely honest, no." He nodded as he continued to keep his attention on scooping more of his ice cream. "I'm actually in the same boat as Yana with the whole ex situation." You scoffed. "It sounds pathetic coming from me, I know."

"No." He shook his head. "No, it doesn't."

"I dated this guy for almost 5 years. But, it was so on and off and inconsistent during the last year. After we officially broke up, I couldn't separate myself from him, even if he was treating me like shit. Like a convenience. He would come around whenever he wanted to, even though he was already seeing other girls and playing his games. I was so tired of crying and feeling hurt over the fact that I was so replaceable. I was longing to find myself again."

"I'm really sorry, Y/N. I can't apologize on his behalf, but you definitely don't deserve that."

"It is what it is."

"No, it's not. Someone who is more worried about getting their ego boosted than treating someone right doesn't deserve your time. None of this was your fault and I really hope you know that."

"It took me a long time to see it that way, of course. It was really difficult. I always questioned what was wrong with me."

"Nothing. There's absolutely nothing wrong with you. Please hear me when I say that. I know we haven't known each other for long, but I really mean it. You're beautiful, smart and you have a lot of things going for you. If he can't fit in that equation, then fuck it. That's on him and that's his loss." You chuckled.

"Thanks, Jimin."

"Of course." He tilted his head to the side as he smiled. He continued to stare for a bit longer, eyeing all of your features and taking it all in. You were really beautiful to him. A work of art. The last thing he wanted to do was scare you away, but he felt compelled to be by your side while you were around. He just wanted to keep spending time with you, getting to know you and making you happy. That became his goal. "So, uh. I have a couple of more places I'd like to take you to, if that's alright?"

"Yeah, of course. I'm down to see everything and anything I can while I'm still here."

"I'll do my best." He chuckled. After you both finished up your ice cream, you threw out the empty containers and packed up the blanket before heading back home. You knew you were going to keep spending more time with Jimin and his friends, but you were beginning to feel a little sad parting ways at the end of the night. You gave Jimin a tight hug and said your goodnights before shutting the door. You threw your shoes off to the side and took a quick shower before plopping yourself into the warm sheets. Yoongi had left you a voicemail you hours ago, but you had been so caught up that you hadn't checked your phone until now. You weren't going to call back due to the time change. Namjoon and Yoongi were for sure knocked the hell out. They wouldn't hear a thing.

"Oyyy," Yoongi's raspy voice came up on the voicemail. "Just wanted to check on you and see how you were doing down there. Namjoon is out running errands but I think he's gonna be hanging out with Yana again. Call me back when you get a chance. But not when it's like 4 or 5AM here please. Take care of yourself and be safe."

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Until Forever - Sirius Black

Hey you beautiful people! Last chapter of Part I. 

MASTERLIST I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X |XI | XII | XIII

Chapter 14. 1978.

           Darkness was infinite and pain would linger on forever. There was no hope; hope was the biggest illusion human kind had manufactured in order to keep going when there was absolutely no fucking point. A black void was everything that ever was; nothing more that the absolute nothing. She felt weightless, as if the waves of the raging black sea could tear her to pieces, throw her to the rocks. Then, she felt as heavy as the universe – drowning in the mere thought of water. Her body felt tired, her mind was restless; not in a good way. She though that life went on but to her, that was the saddest part of it all.            It could end two ways, both equally tragic. Either she would die amongst the rest or she would live. She didn’t know what worse. Truly, never having the chance to see her family again or staying behind? Her entire body got goosebumps and her hands were trembling. She had tried to drink her problems away, just for a few hours, but it only made her sadder, lonelier.                Until she left. She wasn’t celebrating – she couldn’t celebrate the new year. Each passing second, fate was approaching them, faster than she had ever realized. Usually, it was the past that made people sad; well, she was the exception to that as well. She really wanted to go home, for this to be over, to give up Hogwarts and magic and the people. She just wanted her home back, her life, her choices – the ability to choose.                          She was making a run for it. After half an hour of pretending, she said her goodnight, only to few people – well, to the Potters. She couldn’t deal with questions and avoided them like bullets. Once the doors closed behind her, all the silence of the world crushed upon her; and it was louder than the loudest sound. It was suffocatingly loud. Refusing to go back inside, she climbed to her room, kicking her heels off, before even closing the door. A soft tune was stuck in her mind and the Greek poem that accompanied it – the moonlight sonata.              

Let me come with you.

This house can’t bear me anymore.

I cannot endure to bear it on my back.

You must always be careful, be careful,

to hold up the wall with the large buffet

to hold up the table with the chairs

to hold up the chairs with your hands

to place your shoulder under the hanging beam.

And the piano, like a closed black coffin. You do not dare to open it.

You have to be so careful, so careful, lest they fall, lest you fall. I cannot bear it.

Let me come with you.

This house, despite all its dead, has no intention of dying.

It insists on living with its dead

on living off its dead

on living off of the certainty of its death

and on still keeping house for its dead, the rotting beds and shelves.

Let me come with you.

Oh, are you going? Goodnight. No, I won’t come. Goodnight.

I’ll be going myself in a little. Thank you.

              She softly spoke the words to the still air as she was looking outside of her window, a wave of nostalgia crushing to her like a tsunami. She was deep into her thoughts, into her world of roses, poems, stardust and a serene chaos. She felt at peace in the midst of a hurricane, within dramatic lines, written by poets with elegant noses and strong beliefs. The music kept repeating memories, stirring them up as it went on. She didn’t want a happy ending, she sadly realized; she wanted tragedy, passion and catastrophe; she wanted everything and nothing. She wanted absolution. Just like every heroine in the ancient tragedies; it was in her nature.                      He didn’t dare to speak, to make a sound; he held his breath in fear of waking up from the tender dream he was having; a vision right before his eyes. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, but he felt pulled towards her as if he had no other place to be; as if he was meant to be in her room. She knew that someone was watching her, and she already guessed who but took her time to face with him, with an all-knowing smile.               He was caught of guard, trying to retain his posture and temper or he would just turn around and run away for good. Feeling rather ashamed that he got caught, not that he was invading her privacy, he looked at the floor, blushing ever so slightly. She really didn’t mind. How could she?                    “Do you like it?” she airily asked him, as she remained by the window. He gulped. He knew she was talking about the poem he heard her recite but he couldn’t shake her image, entering the ballroom. Yes, he loved it.                        “I didn’t know that one” he admitted quite subtly. She wasn’t surprised; it was by a Greek poet and it was an intense portrayal of the subject of loneliness and alienation of the uncommitted individual. The lady in the poem represented that part of the old world, which the poet thought it was condemned to perish with its aristocratic past because of its aversion to adapt and participate in the process of change. She thought that if anyone understood that feeling, was him.              “I know” she melodiously informed him. She was enticing and it was hard for him to stay away. Not that he wanted to, in any case. No, he didn’t know which magical poem had stolen her heart but he did know that she was standing under the moonlight, her essence becoming ethereal. How evident it became? She didn’t believe in happiness and that scared him; he could feel for her but even he believed that there has to be a better way, it has to get better. She seemed to contradict him by simply suggesting that there was no point in … well, anything.              Such a hopeless wanderer’s soul, she had. She was made from a different material, a nihilist and an idealist, a desperate romantic and a catastrophic pragmatist. How wonderfully vague her outlines were. Maybe it was because she was wearing a gold waterfall for a dress, but he knew better – he just couldn’t stop gawking.; to be fair he was an 18-year-old boy.            “Why did you leave so soon?” he asked her without hesitation, as if al the barriers had collapsed under the moonlight. She solely focused on his eyes and he could not avert his gaze.                   “Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques - I believe it is” she quoted Verlaine and that, he did know. Sad beneath fantastic disguises. Why would she ever feel that way? He was only fooling himself. He was lying, pretending not to feel the way he did, pretending that there was nothing between them, pretending he was happy torturing Marlene, pretending everything was fine and the way they were supposed to be.         “Votre âme est un paysage choisi” he quoted back, letting her know that his French was so much better than hers and that he paid attention to the details. He truly did. It was almost inappropriate for her to like him or even to think about how his eyes shined liked spilled mercury under the moonlight. However, the biggest problem was that it was unrequited.                             He took one step towards her direction, fully aware of the fragile moment they shared. She saw the shift in his eyes and her entire mind was screaming to her to shut up. Everyone else was probably celebrating in the midst of an upcoming war but she was fighting another one all on her own. Keeping secrets from the people whom their fates were sealed and she could not do a thing was becoming heavier by the second and that broke her.        

           “What – what is really happening here, love?” he questioned her with a slight anger lingering on in his voice – anger that he didn’t know he was experiencing. She was surprised by the very thought of him being angry. He wasn’t angry at her per se, he was really shaken off about not being in the known, having blanks that he had to fill by himself when it should have been her answers instead of his imagination.              She wanted to tell him everything and then her mind went to the time he spent in prison for no reason at all, and she swallowed hard. How would she ever be able to come clean about that. Remus was a bit easier – yes, he was still very hurt and shocked and everything in the middle but Sirius… it was always different with him. It was always different when it came to him – she was …                  “I want to tell you but it’s too much. Please don’t ask me to be honest with you. Not on that level. Anything else, I will answer. Not that” she finally told him. At least, she was acknowledging all the hypocrisy and all the lying, he thought. He wasn’t looking for that answer though, he wanted the real reason behind her entire existence in his life, and so he closed the gap between them. His tall frame was towering over her, her back was pressed to the wall next to the window and his eyes were piercing her face for clues.                    “No. You don’t get to do that. I have been nothing but honest with you about everything. You don’t get to hide now” he pushed further, making her arch her eyebrow. As he realized that he had overstepped the boundaries, he tried to take a step back but her finger was already poking his chest through his unbuttoned shirt and undone tie.                  “You? Honest? Really? Is that what you tell yourself before you go to sleep? That you are honest with me? Or that you’re honest with yourself? Because neither -                        “Fine, what do you want me to say?” he cut her off, revealing his hot temper with a flush that appeared in his face – something she had never seen before and she had to remind herself that this Sirius was not the one from the books. He wasn’t a character anymore; he was a real person – breathing down on her.                            She closed her eyes, not wanting to create any more tension that what had already been created but he was not having it. He wanted answers, now more than ever, even if he knew that he, himself, had been lying all that time – this was not the same. He was lying about his feelings; she was lying about everything.                        “Who are you? Who could you possibly be to come here through the fucking sky? To come here and turn everything upside down. To make me question things that I thought I had figured out long ago. To make me jealous of my own best friend and to make me want to destroy every sound thing. Who are you?” he bombarded her with accusations that he wanted figured out now. And all it took was one hot second before she screamed the answers back to him, each hitting like a bullet to his heart, each being louder and louder only to finish off with a dead silence.                        “You think you are the one suffering? I have been trapped here for too long, I miss my home, my family, my life. I want out. I am done playing a stupid part in this scenario. I know everything. I know how are you going to end up, when, where, who dies, who lives, who fucking betrays – because I came from the sky. The fucking sky. I don’t know how or even who I am anymore. I thought you were a book character and every single thing was only real in my imagination and the pages of seven books. But no. I fucking live in the damn past – not mine. NO. A past from a different possibility. Twenty years before my birth date. And of course, out of every mistake I could possibly make, every choice gone mad, I had to - ”.

           Usually, there were two basic motivating forces: fear and love. When people were afraid, they tend to pull back from life, when in love, the open up to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement and acceptance. And while fear was easier, almost natural to them, they knew that they had to step outside their comfort zone.                  Not finishing off her sentence, leaving it there hanging in the middle of the thick air between them, was her way of giving him space to decide and her a breather. Her mind was yelling at her to stop and think about all those things that actually mattered but not every act was a result of sensibility. Her accusing finger was still on his chest; as a matter of fact, her entire palm was being pressed against his skin – not his shirt anymore. The information was not new to him; he knew, deep down he did.              Each night before he would fall asleep, he was trying to decode and figure her out, even just a bit. He was repeating the things she had said during the day, realizing just how much of an insight she had and wondering if it was just that or… It started of small, a few words of more than wisdom were spoken, a few things were said that she could not possibly know about… and the ever-present aura of secrecy. Her tattoos were one thing, her words were another. It wasn’t news to him and she noticed that. Her anger calmed down to a side smile.                “But you already knew” she concluded and her touch became gentler against his chest. Gentle as a fire. He looked at her with a desperate look, as if he wanted to do so much, to say so much but couldn’t. Sirius was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a cheater.             Instead of pushing her against the wall and kissing her like he had already pictured in his head about a million times, he stepped back and he sat on the bed, eyes always glued to her.              “I think I did” he agreed, more to his own mind than to her words. She took a deep breath and used the chair in front of the boudoir, to the left of the big window, facing him while at the same time keeping her distance.                          “I still don’t think I can tell you everything, Sirius” she softly apologized but he shook his head.                    “It’s okay. It’s okay if I am the one dying, love, or the one going mad. You will tell when or if you’re ready. I’m sorry for… this” he said, indicating the space between them but she brushed it off. How much longer would she able to keep it hidden from James and Peter, she didn’t know.                  “Sirius… it’s not that simple. I know what I know from the books. So, basically, from I come from, the dimension and the time period, you, the boys, Hogwarts… magic, everything is fiction and contained within seven books that are not even about you. While these books go on, you are older and have gone through a lot. I know that part. I don’t know if it will happen the way it was supposed to, since I am here and I wasn’t supposed to, I think, but I also can’t change much in this plot. Or even if I can, I don’t know if I should. Messing with time and history is not something I am looking forward to do. Although, if I could change some things, I would without blinking” she admitted, staying as close to the truth as she could, without revealing too much. How could she face him and tell him what was about to happen to him in a few years? He wouldn’t even get to turn her age before Azkaban… and that hit her differently.                        “I know that there is something dark in the things you are not saying. And I know that I am neither the one who dies nor the one who lives from the way your eyes never met mine when I said it. Maybe the one who goes crazy but not exactly. That’s okay. It would happen either you were here or not. It’s better that you are. I don’t know if it is for you… I cannot imagine the weight of all those things. I am sorry” he told her sincerely. They shared so many things; intuition, depth, passion. And a five-year gap.            “So you see, celebrating didn’t feel appropriate” she concluded airily. But he looked at her in a perplexed expression.                  “On the contrary. We should. Now more than ever. Because after all, we only have this moment, isn’t that so?” he proposed and she was astonished because he was right. He didn’t want to talk about it more, knowing that something bad happened to all of them, and that she didn’t want to say what. He understood her – it was cruel, such disastrous things being delivered by her. She held answers to questions they hadn’t even thought about yet. He could never blame her for not coming forward. Even though he wanted to be her confidant, the one she would spill her heart out he knew that she wouldn’t. Some things were better left unsaid… but…not forever.                      “You should go back to your friends” she suggested, as she felt worn out, wanting nothing more than to get out of the dress and makeup.                                  “I thought we were friends” he chuckled darkly, earing a fixed glance from her piercing eyes.            “Oh Sirius. You and I…we could never be friends” she admitted and there was not a single shy cell in her body. Her entire mind had shut up and every word coming out of her mouth was a sharp slap across his face, hitting him with the truest statement she could have said. He licked his lips and tamed his tongue not to respond the only way he truly wanted to as he got up and buttoned up again, to rejoin the party.                      “Remus knows?” he asked but it came out as a bold statement. He was jealous he wasn’t the first one to know this, or how her lips felt against his. He shook the image out of his head and focused his eyes one her. She was radiant but she wasn’t fooling anyone – she might have worn a gold dress but she was the moon, dark, secret and almost untouchable. Almost.                    “He does” she confirmed, realizing just how jealous he could get. She didn’t like possessiveness, mainly because she was the one being possessive in her previous relationships, but with Sirius…she could, perhaps, turn a blind eye. He was unexpected in every way, to her. He was biting his lip, deep in thought. It was tragically doomed and yet he found beauty among the disaster. It was fragile and soft, so tender but raw, catastrophe pouring down at everything. It was problematic – making homes out of people. But he had never felt more at home than with people; his best mates, his school, her.  His house never felt like a home and yet he was surrounded by it. And now, a strange feeling washed over his heart. What was he doing, letting her go?                He waned to kiss her, without a warning, with permission, without even deciding to do so but simply because he couldn’t think of anything else. He needed that breath she was holding. It belonged to him and he wanted it back. But there was that small voice, so ever faint, that told him it was not the time nor the place to do so. He had to physically stop from heading towards her rather than the door. And he didn’t know why he stopped.             “Love, I…” he started but she gave him a sharp look.                        “Don’t” she whispered and he left with a heartbreaking look on his delicate features.       

           She found an excuse not to return to the party. She would find an excuse to return to Hogwarts as soon as possible, otherwise her entire being would implode and no one would even notice. She would just collapse under the pressure of knowledge and no one would even understand how hard her life had suddenly become. She was the girl who wanted to know everything, who went looking for knowledge every place she visited and she had become the girl who wished she didn’t know the future, who was oblivious and blissful, who stayed silent and didn’t challenge the world.                It was too early. Too late maybe. No one was partying, no one was in the living room, no one was making any sound. She tiptoed around a bit. The fireplace was livid, calming and consuming at the same time as if it was calling to her. Everything will end up in flames. Not ice, but hellfire. It was the saddest thing she could have thought of. Protecting a breakable heart. What if she got the chance to leave?              “Would I?” she whispered to herself. No. And that feeling of knowing that she wouldn’t be able to leave even if she did find a way, that she wouldn’t go back to her own family and her own life, that very feeling made her realize that this was indeed her home, that the people in this reality were her family and that this was her now. And she had to fight for her home and her family. She had to at least try.              “We missed you at the party” a soft voice caught her off guard. She took a deep breath. This was it. This hide and seek had to end. Once she turned around, he saw how serious she was and immediately understood that something was off. His eyes were tired but alert, his whole body language was signaling that he was able to grasp the severity of whatever she had to say to him.                        “There is something I need to tell you but you’ll need to sit down, James”.

__ Taglist: @must-be-a-weasley-92​ @megalificent​ @fific7​ @maraudersangel​ @tb-ctn 

[moon-in-daylight]

Stay the night / Count Orlo x reader

Summary: It’s the evening before Catherine’s birthday, and knowing what her plans for the special day are, you have to decide whether if you warn Orlo or not.

Words: 2.2k

A/N: So remember over a month ago when I said I wanted to write Orlo fluff? Well, I wasn’t able to write it until recently. I didn’t edit this and I’m posting it at 2 am so forgive any typos that you may find. I’m just really impatient once I finish writing something and I really can’t wait to share it 😂 Also, thanks to the anon that sent this because it practically gave me the whole idea for this fic. Sorry for the delay 😅

Orlo’s mellow voice echoed through the empty room as he read aloud for the both of you. Written words came out of his tongue naturally, as if he was the one choosing what to say instead of just reading the thoughts of another person. He had that gift of making the most boring writings sound like poetry when he read them for you. You were sure that even the dullest treaties he had to redact for Peter would sound delightfully sweet, if he was the one reading them.

The loving tone he used when he knew you were listening, the dedication he put into every sentence, reciting every word with a passion you had rarely seen in any other man at court… As you leant your head on his shoulder, you wished you could enjoy the soothing sound of his voice just like you used to do every night. But, much to your disgrace, this wasn’t just any other night.

Maybe it was for Orlo. As far as you could tell, he was oblivious to all the chaos going through your mind. And you wished you could be as well as you tried to focus on the way he took and released the air around you as he spoke.

He didn’t have the slightest clue, but tomorrow would be a decisive day for the two of you. Not only for the two of you. The whole of Russia could be marked forever by the events that were to come. Tomorrow was Catherine’s birthday, and as one of her most loyal confidantes, you had been chosen to carry the burden of knowing what her plans for the day were.

You had thought that she was joking at first when she told you that she was pregnant, and you even laughed when she let you know that all she wanted as a birthday gift was her husband’s head on a silver plate. But you froze when you realized she was being as serious as ever since she had arrived that godforsaken excuse of a court. She was determined to take the step, to finally kill Peter and take his place the next morning. Seeing the passionate way she spoke of the events that were to come, you knew nothing could have make her change her mind.

It wasn’t that you weren’t glad that Peter was about to get what he deserved. You hated him with every fiber of your being and you couldn’t wait for the moment that he paid for everything he had done to your country, that was why you had chosen to take part in her coup and drag Orlo into it as well. But as the moment of taking the final step approached, you couldn’t help but torture yourself with all the horrible outcomes your plans could bring.

If the coup failed, a quick public execution would be the most desirable destiny for you. Your body trembled when you thought about the physical tortures and punishments you would be subjected to if Peter identified you as one of the plotters. But that worry you felt for your well being didn’t even compare to what you felt when you thought of what losing Orlo would be like.

Orlo had been your friend for years, and now that your relationship was finally developing into something more, you couldn’t bare the thought of losing him. For years you had been meeting in the library at the most remote times of the day, sharing his company and a decent book in the dim light of candles being all you needed to clear your mind of the idiots you had to deal with at court. He had been the most important person to you ever since you had arrived that awful place, the only person that had showed to you some real, uninterested kindness.

You hadn’t been able to avoid developing deeper feelings for him almost immediately, but thinking that he wasn’t interested in you, you had kept them a secret for years, hoping that way you wouldn’t lose your closest friend. You had felt utterly stupid when, after coming back from his unfortunate trip to the front, he had decided to tell you what he truly felt for you in an act of alcohol-induced bravery.

Only a few weeks had gone by since you had gotten together, and honestly not much had changed in your relationship. You still did the same things you had always done. You talked for hours on end, share any and every interesting book or quote you read with each other, go for a walk through the palace gardens… The only difference was that you no longer had to hold yourself back when you felt like grabbing his hand or giving him a little peck on the lips.

It felt as if you had been wasting your time all those years, and you weren’t ready for what you both had to be over. Catherine’s birthday could mean the end of everything you actually enjoyed about that place, because even if you succeeded in getting Peter out of the throne, there was still a high risk that either you or Orlo had to sacrifice your lives for the cause.

You hadn’t mind dying back when you had first joined the coup. Back then, you didn’t have anything to hold on to and you wouldn’t have mind to give your life for a greater good. Now that you had Orlo by your side, you were scared of losing the one good thing that you had.

For the first time since you could remember, you were terrified.

His voice seemed to be drifting away from you as you felt a sharp pain inside your chest. It wasn’t fair. You would never forgive yourself if something did happen to Orlo the next day. You would always remember that you had been to one to drag him into that situation.

“Orlo…” You called his name in a low tone, immediately gaining his attention as he looked away from the book and right back at you.

You wanted to apologize to him. To tell him just how terrified you were and ask him to run away with you far away from that palace, move to another country if needed. You had more than a bad premonition about the following day, and your heart pounded in your chest as you struggled not to share those anxious thoughts with him.

This could be the last night that you got to spend by his side. He seemed so blissful there, reading to you. So calmed and unaware of the horrible thoughts that clouded your head… You couldn’t tell him, you couldn’t make him carry that burden too. Orlo deserved every second of happiness he could get, and you wouldn’t have been able to be the one bringing him bad news. He’d know about Catherine’s plans when he strictly had to, not a second earlier.

“Am I boring you?” He innocently asked as he put the book on his lap, trying to disguise his true fear of being boring with a kind smile and an amusing intonation in that question. He had slowly learned to become comfortable around you, vulnerable. But sometimes you could still see glimpses of old shy, nervous Orlo when his insecurities hunted him.

“Of course not.” The reassurance you gave him seemed to bring him back to that previous state of peace he had been enjoying during that whole evening. “I could never get bored of you.”

He didn’t need to give you an actual answer for you to notice his disbelief of your words. A simple, practically unnoticeable blush of his cheeks and the way his eyes immediately avoided looking directly at you were enough for you to notice the incredulity he still demonstrated at the thought of someone being able to love him.

“I hope you know I mean it.” You added, reaching his cheek with one of your hands and caressing it softly as you removed the book that still laid on his lap so you were the one resting above him instead.

Grabbing his chin carefully, you guided his stare so that it would meet yours, his chocolate brown eyes reflecting some of the dim light of the room. He had removed his characteristic glasses recently, and you weren’t quite accustomed to see him so… Naked yet. The absence of them allowed you to look into his eyes with no barrier in between, and though you had to admit you kind of missed that accessory of him, there was no comparison to what getting lost in his uncovered eyes felt like. You could get lost on them for hours.

Observing the way he stared back at you in deep affection and devotion, you even forgot about everything else going on for a second. For just that one moment, you could pretend everything was okay.

“Remember when we met?” Your fingers traced the outline of his jaw as you recalled the first time you had seen him.

“I got scared when I heard the door because no one else but me used to spend time here.” He evoked his memories of that first day too. “You were surprised when you saw me too. You were crying and you had run in here hoping you could be alone.”

“The Ladies here can be really mean.” You smiled at him as you remembered how you were affected by the comments of other people when you first arrived the palace. It had been long since you last cared about those things. Truth was you had stopped caring about the Ladies’ opinions once you had started to prefer Orlo’s nicer ones instead.

“I tried to comfort you.” Orlo kept relating the events of that day as he let his hands rest on either side of your waist, embracing you softly. “I didn’t know what to do, I felt so bad that you were suffering so pointlessly… I read some Descartes to you, because it always helps me to see things with perspective…”

“Conquer yourself rather than the world.” You recited one of the quotes Orlo had read to you, the one that had been printed in your mind since that day.

“I’m sure I bored you more than I helped you relax.”

“That’s not true.” You intervened again, refusing to let him indulge in his own negative perception of himself. “You helped me a lot. You didn’t have to, but you stayed with me until I felt better. No one else would have done that.”

When he looked away from you in embarrassment, you decided to draw his attention back at you by kissing him on the lips. He should have been accustomed by now, but he still froze for a few seconds every time you kissed him unexpectedly. Far from being bothered by it, you felt touched whenever you got that reaction from him, and you delighted yourself when you finally felt him moving his lips against yours one the initial shock was over.

It was those little things that had made you fall so deep for Orlo. Those were the things you were most afraid of losing. Thinking about the fact that it could be the last time you kissed him, you deepened the kiss as your fingers started to play with the few locks of hair that fell messily around his head.

“I love you, Orlo.” You whispered softly, quickly hiding your head in his chest. “Please, don’t ever forget that.”

It was inevitable that the tears started forming in your eyes, and you couldn’t hold them back anymore when Orlo surrounded your body with his arms. Bringing you even closer to him as he repeatedly kissed the top of your head.

“I love you too.” He muttered, the feeling of guilt while seeing you cry overcoming every shyness he could still have left. “I… I’m sorry if it sounded as if I don’t. You’re the most important thing to me and sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you. I’m really sorry… Please, don’t cry…”

“It’s not your fault.” You quickly assured him, once again refusing to let him self-flagellate. “It’s okay.”

“What is wrong?” Orlo asked, trying to clean the tears that already felt down your cheeks as you silently calmed yourself. If you died tomorrow, you didn’t want that you crying was the last memory he kept of you.

“Nothing is, I promise.”

You knew you hadn’t sounded confident enough for him to believe you, but you weren’t able to tell him what was really going on. All you wanted was to enjoy that night with him and stretch it as long as you could in fears it was actually going to be your last. Cuddled against his chest, you wished for him not to ask anymore questions, fearing that you wouldn’t be able to keep the secret from him much longer.

His hands kept moving up and down your back as you tried to calmed yourself down.

“Is there anything I can do?” Orlo worriedly asked, still trying to help despite not knowing what the situation was. You had always admired that of him, his predisposition to help even when he didn’t know how.

Focusing on the calming rhythm of his breathing, you tried to find the right words to express what you needed without ruining this evening for him.

“Would you stay the night with me?”

“Of course. Anything you need.” He agreed, wrapping you tighter with his arms.

Accommodating yourself inside his embrace, you wished for a way to be able to stop time in that precise moment.

[collectsfallenstars]

Azaleas for Lt. Jeong Taeeul: A close reading of Kim Sowol’s poetry in “The King: Eternal Monarch”

Korean Literature is divided into the Classical Period and the Modern Period. Literature under the Classical Period is heavily influenced by Confucianism, Buddhism, and to some extent, Taoism.  The earliest form of literature came about in the 8th Century during the Shilla Kingdom.

The break-off point between Classical and Modern Literature is found in the Choson Dynasty which lasted from 1392 to 1910.  Modern Korean Literature flourished when the Chinese writing script took a backseat to Hangul, the Korean alphabet.  It was developed by King Sejong, or Sejong the Great, who ruled between 1418 – 1450.  If you watched the first episode of The King: Eternal Monarch, that huge statue of a seated king in the middle of Gwanghwamun Square where Lee Minho hugged Kim Goeun without any warning? That’s King Sejong.  Thanks to him, Korean language and Korean literature flourished.

Now, during the Choson Dynasty, two kinds of poetic forms came about— Shijo and Kasa and some of the most common subject matters from these poetic forms can be found in the Kim Sowol poems that were used in the kdrama, “The King: Eternal Monarch.”  These are the themes of nature, grief, and the loneliness of traveling.  However, when used against the backdrop of the drama, the poems, written during Kim Sowol’s lifetime between 1902-1934, take on a new life.

Let’s take a look at the poet’s life first and see how it informs our understanding of some of his poems.  He was born in 1902 in an area that now belongs to North Korea.  He suffered from a troubled childhood with a father who was mentally ill and beaten up by Japanese construction workers and therefore was unable to provide for his family.  Kim Sowol was then raised and supported by his grandfather and his aunt.  It has been said that it was his aunt who sang folk songs to him and told him traditional stories during his childhood and that it was this that stirred his love and talent for poetry.

But aside from poetry, he also loved a woman named O-sun.  However, during their time, love rarely played a role in marriages and they were soon married off to different people.  O-san then committed suicide at a very young age and losing her led to the first and last poetry collection that Kim Sowol ever published— “Azaleas.”  His poetry carried the quality and rhythm that could be found in old Korean folk songs, possibly the ones his aunt had sung to him when he was a child.   However, Kim Sowol found it hard to find his place in the world with just his poetry but without O-san.  He committed suicide in 1934 at 32 years old.  He remains, to this day, the most beloved Korean poet.

INVOCATION OF THE DEAD Kim Sowol

O shattered name!
 O name parted from me in mid-air! O name without owner! O name I’ll call until I die!

The words left in my heart,
 In the end, I wasn’t able to utter all. O you whom I loved! O you whom I loved!

The red sun is hanging from the western summit. The herd of deer also cry sadly.
 Atop the mountain that has fallen off to the side, I call your name.

I call your name til I can’t bear the grief of it. I call your name til I can’t bear the grief of it. The sound of my call sweeps forward but sky and earth are too far apart.

Though I turn to stone standing here O name I’ll call until I die!
 O you whom I loved!
 O you whom I loved!

This poem is largely different from the rest of the collection because it is loud in its grief while the rest in the collection are like “Azaleas,” quiet, subdued and dignified in their sadness.  In this one, the persona calls out to the beloved directly with lines that begin with an expulsion of breath and grief in “O,” and punctuated with exclamation points.  But even in this intensity, the persona still can’t call out the beloved’s name.

There are several reasons for this.  It pains the persona to even say the beloved’s name.  Or it could be that the beloved’s name is as lost to the persona as the beloved is.  Or it could be a staunch denial of the beloved’s departure.  I’m going to go with the last one.    

This poem is closely linked to the Korean pre-funeral custom called the Chohon, which involves calling out the name of the dead 3 times by the Sangju, the chief mourner who is usually the closest family member of the deceased. They go to the roof of their house, face north, and wave the deceased traditional shirt or blouse in the wind.

This stems from the Confucian belief that the human being is made up of the Hon (ethereal soul) and the Baek (corporeal soul) and the union of both is what keeps humans alive while their separation means death.  The Chohon is then performed to keep the Hon from leaving the world because they hold on to the hope that they can bring back the soul to the dead. It is only when this ritual is finished that they can confirm the death of the person and then they can begin with the funeral rites.

Now, in the first stanza, “O name” appears 4 times in 4 different ways that can’t be called a repetition.  The second stanza only contains 2 of the same lines with “O you” in it. The third stanza has one line with “your name” in it while the fourth stanza has only two lines with “your name.”  The fourth stanza contains 3 lines but 1 has “o name” and the 2 have “o you.”  The persona avoids the Chohon, even though the beloved is gone.  By refusing to turn this into a Chohon, the persona evades thinking of the beloved as completely lost.

“O shattered name!” is a reference to the separation of the Hon from the Baek, resulting in the death of the beloved. “O name parted from me in mid-air” speaks of someone being gone too soon, someone who is only in the middle of his or her life. This could also mean that they are gone before the persona could even hold them, like a ball thrown in their direction and disappearing before it can be caught.  “O name without an owner!” is especially painful because even though the name belongs to no one now, it’s still in the memory and on the lips of the persona.

The second stanza has many different translations but the gist of it means that even at this point when the beloved has been lost forever, without any hope of return, he still can’t bring himself to say the beloved’s name and complete the Chohon.  He refuses to accept her death.  Undoubtedly, this sentiment comes so close to Kim Sowol’s loss of his own beloved, O-sun.

The third stanza speaks of the setting sun and the lament of animals— it is grief found at the end of something.  The top of the mountain replaces the roof of the house the persona should be on top of because they did not belong to a house, to anywhere, really.  They probably belonged to other people too, like KSL and O-sun.  

On the fourth stanza, the persona stands on top of that mountain, calling out the beloved’s name and hoping to bring back their soul, knowing it is impossible. The grief of this practice in futility comes to him in the realization that the sky and the earth are too far apart.  No matter how long he stands there calling out her name, or how loud he can be, she will never hear him, nor return.

But even under the light of his sad epiphany, he remains steadfast in his love for her. He says he will call out her name until he dies, loving her and only her, for the rest of his remaining life and possibly even after death.  It isn’t too far off to think that this may have been exactly what Kim Sowol felt at the death of his beloved.

Now, how does its use within the world of The King: Eternal Monarch add another layer to the poem.  In the third episode, Lee Gon (Lee Minho) stood in the middle of a bamboo forest arguing with Jeong Taeeul (Kim Goeun) about his name.  He’s trying to convince her that a parallel world exists alongside modern day Korea and in that parallel world, Korea is spelled with a letter C and operates as a Parliamentary Monarchy.  He is also trying to convince her that he is the king there.  Jeong Taeeul, being a police officer, insists on asking for his identification, his name, and he refuses to give it because there is a rule in Corea that no one is allowed to use the king’s name.  At this, JTE makes fun of him and asks him if he is Kim Sowol, quoting the second stanza of “Invocation of the Dead” to him.

Spoiler alert, they eventually fall in love.  But this moment leads LG to a bookstore in search for Kim Sowol’s one and only poetry collection, “Azaleas.”  He finds it and opens it to the poem that JTE quoted to him.  In the background, we hear Lady Noh, whom he eventually gifts the book to, reciting the poem. It switches to LG’s voice at the last line, indicating that he had read the poem as well.  On screen, the frame is split between JTE and LG, directing the viewer to relate the poem to the pair of lovers.

The poem then acts as, of course, a foreshadowing of the events to come. Spoiler alert, no one died. So obviously, the poem does not act in its original capacity as some form of elegy for the dead.  What it does do is drive home the point that LG and JTE are going to have a love that will be threatened by separation.  Love between two people from parallel worlds with a ticking time bomb for a gate between them will not be easy.  It will also be painful, should the separation be permanent.

Now, if one were to ask you, if you knew how painful this love was going to turn out to be, would you still have allowed yourself to fall in love?

LG’s answer will be a quick yes. He’s been in love with JTE for most of his life, and has literally held on to her name, by her ID, since he was 8 years old.  JTE, on the other hand, took longer to gain access to, and use his name.  He gives his name to her on the 5th episode, and she uses it to him on the 6th episode.   She now has his name and will now know what to call out and hold on to, when she loses him in the future. Spoiler alert, she gets him back on the last episode.

So even though they don’t exactly lose each other like the persona and his beloved in “Invocation of the Dead,” or even Kim Sowol and O-sun, who lost their beloved to the sky while they remained on earth, the poem points us to a different kind of physical separation— that of two parallel worlds. While the persona in the poem vowed that he would defy time and space by loving her until his death, and even beyond, in the world within The King: Eternal Monarch, that vow was fulfilled.  They found a love that could defy time and space.

(from Episode 10, The King: Eternal Monarch) *if anyone can help me find the title for this poem, I shall be eternally grateful to you ^_^ ---------------- by Kim Sowol

When the sun goes down over the white rapids, I shall wait by the gate. Between the shadows of the birds singing at dawn, I see the world brightening up In its still calmness. With my eyes fixated on the traveler passing by At the break of dawn, “Is that you?” “Is that you?"

By the tenth episode, LG and JTE have redefined and upped the game for long distance relationships.  Much like the Kasa poems from the Choson Dynasty, the 2nd and 3rd poems used in “The King: Eternal Monarch” have grief and loneliness in travel as their subject matter.  Long distance relationships have it easy now with plenty of choices for communication and travel (except now, with the ongoing pandemic).  But one can only imagine what it was like for a lover to leave during the feudal Choson Dynasty.  There is no assurance of a safe return, nor of an actual return.  The waiting would seem endless without any word, just silence for months or even years.  One can’t just text, “Where u?” every five minutes, or mark oneself safe during a village siege.

LG and JTE had to contend with this aspect in their relationship as both held important positions within their own worlds.  Cellphones bought in one world would not work in the other.  There’s no magic two-way mirror, faces in fireplaces for a Fire-call in the Floo Network or even owls, crows, or pigeons. Do despite being lovers in the 21st Century, LG and JTE’s temporary separations and the subsequent waiting in between visits feel like those from the Choson Dynasty.

This poem is a prime example of that with a persona who vows to wait for the return her beloved.  She positions herself by the gate by sundown and stays there until dawn.   She stays in the shadows of the birds who see the dawn before she does.  This image is especially powerful in its quiet strength and fierce loyalty. The persona vows to wait for her beloved even through the darkness of the night.  No matter how difficult or painful it is to wait, she will.  And even if she doesn’t see the light of the dawn, or the end of this long night, she will still wait. She survives the nights of waiting by holding on to hope, despite the dire circumstance.

And life rewards her with the safe return of her beloved.  It seems only fitting that this poem is read aloud during their brief reunion under a moonlit night in the bamboo forest.  They are a long way from dawn, but hope and strength are there.

Note the way that Kim Goeun, who plays Jeong Taeeul, delivers her lines, “You’re finally here. Did you just get here?” as if they are the same line even though one is a statement and the other is a questions.  Her inflections do not change.  This echoes the last two lines of the poem, “Is that you?/ Is that you?”  The repetition allows for a slight change in emotion— the first is a question, an expression of disbelief, while the second is filled with relief.

(from Episode 12, The King Eternal Monarch) *if anyone can help me find the title for this poem, I shall be eternally grateful to you ^_^ ---------------- by Kim Sowol

What is your reason for doing that? You were sitting alone by the stream The green grass was sprouting And the water was splashing From the spring breeze You promised that even if you go, You won’t be gone forever.

That is what you promised I sit by the stream each day And think about something endlessly

When you promised that even if you go, You won’t be gone forever Were you asking me not to forget you?

This poem plays on memory and remembrance. In the first stanza, the lovers are in the beginning stage of their relationship when everything is like spring—  new, full of hope and potential for growth.  While at this stage, it is easy to make promises like, “Even if I go, I won’t be gone forever.”  It is meant to comfort the one who could be left behind. In the middle of bliss, that promise might sound comforting.

But as the poem progresses to the second and third stanzas, the persona is now alone on the same stream.   No longer in spring nor the middle of bliss, the persona is left only with the vow that her beloved made to her.  And it provides no sense of comfort.  Instead, it makes her realize that the vow had been made as foresight.  Her beloved must have known of his imminent departure and it was the only way he could ask her to wait for him— because every act of remembering him is an act of loving him.  And when there is love, surely there must be hope for a return.

This poem is read by Lady Noh in background while LG and JTE are getting their picture taken— an act of remembrance, of keeping something frozen in time so that one can always remember the moment.  Ironically, this is also the time when the world freezes. This is the side effect of one half of the Manpasikjeok crossing over into the parallel world.  This is the moment that Lee Gon is made even more aware of their impending separation.  The gate between the worlds is beginning to crack and the amount of frozen time keeps increasing with every crossing.  Pretty soon, he will have to choose between righting the wrongs that Lee Lim created and staying with JTE.  He is the King of the Kingdom of Corea— there is no question what his choice will be and he knows it.

He goes through all of these emotions in the hour that JTE and the rest of the world spends frozen in a smile.  JTE is still in spring but LG is already far off into the future.  But when the world unfreezes, LG slaps a smile on his face and has his picture taken with JTE. This is the perfect adaptation of the third and last Kim Sowol poem used in “The King: Eternal Monarch.”

AZALEAS Kim Sowol

When you leave, weary of me,
 without a word I shall gently let you go.

From Mt. Yak
 in Yongbyon
 I shall gather armfuls of azaleas and scatter them on your way.

Step by step
 on the flowers placed before you tread lightly, softly as you go.

When you leave
 weary of me,
 though I die, I'll not let one tear fall.

“Azaleas,” the titular poem of the Kim Sowol poetry collection, is not included in “The King: Eternal Monarch” but I think it is still important to discuss it as it relates greatly to the character of Lt. Jeong Taeeul.

Outside the context of the kdrama, the poem “Azaleas” has a persona who is the embodiment of dignity and strength in the face of utter devastation.  The persona, by saying “When you leave,” shows her awareness of his inevitable departure.  She knows in the future that he will leave her because he will get tired of her.  And yet, she continues to love him.

And when that dreaded by unavoidable day comes when he leaves her, she vows to let him go as gently, and as lovingly as she can.

She promises to decorate his path away from her with flowers from her hometown.  This is seen as an act of blessing.  And although it’s tearing her apart in the inside, she refuses to let him know that him leaving is killing her.  So it’s an even classier way of saying, “To the left, to the left, everything you own in a box to the left, don’t you ever for a second get to thinking you’re irreplaceable.”

Now, while Lee Gon doesn’t get tired of Jeong Taeeul in the drama, he does eventually leave her in order to save both worlds and right all the wrongs his uncle made.  And in the 15th episode, when she finally realized that Lee Gon had made his choice and it did not include her in his world, she actually says the words, “I don’t think I can stay here and endure it alone…I think I’ll die.”  Spoiler alert, she did not die. She does get stabbed though, but she did not die of waiting.

Instead, she found a way to get to him.  Although it was unsuccessful, she did manage to kill Lee Lim of the present while Lee Gon killed Lee Lim in the past.  She’s definitely not the type to spread flowers on the feet of the man who leaves her and then goes to cry quietly in the corner.

But the thing is, the azalea flower is the key to all of this.  Azaleas are wildflowers that can be found in the deepest areas of forests that were previously destroyed due to deforestation or wildfires.  According to “The Plant Book of Korea,” azaleas are known for their endurance and long lifespans.

So when the persona in the poem “Azaleas” spreads the flowers in the path of her beloved, she is reminding him that she will survive his departure.  And when used within the world of “The King: Eternal Monarch,” Lt. Jeong Taeeul is the wild and resilient azalea flower.  She will not stay in her place and simply wait for him to come back.  She tried to find a way to get to him.  And when that did not work, when being strong meant loving him even in his absence and waiting for him even if there was no hope in his return, she still mustered up enough courage and strength to love him and wait for him.  And in the end, her strength and resilience were rewarded with the return of her beloved.

REFERENCES:

“(485) Poet Kim So-Wol.” Koreatimes, 10 Jan. 2008, koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/opinon/2008/01/137_17042.html.

Foundation, CK-12. “12 Foundation.” CK, flexbooks.ck12.org/cbook/ck-12-chemistry-flexbook-2.0/section/2.1/primary/lesson/matter-mass-and-volume-ms-ps.

“In the Midst of Death, Let's Have a Party.” Korea JoongAng Daily, koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/2007/10/28/features/In-the-midst-of-death-lets-have-a-party/2882042.html.

Klaudia Krystyna Writer. “Korean Funerals: Traditions, Customs and What to Expect.” Cake Blog, www.joincake.com/blog/korean-funeral/.

Korean Literature (Character of Korean Literature, Korean Classical Literature, Modern Literature of Korea), www.asianinfo.org/asianinfo/korea/literature.htm.

“The Most Beloved Poet of Korea, Kim So-Wol.” The Yonsei Annals, annals.yonsei.ac.kr/news/articleView.html?idxno=1896.

국립민속박물관 . “Temporary Spirit Tablet.” Encyclopedia of Korean Folk Culture, folkency.nfm.go.kr/en/topic/detail/537.

[blacknight1230]

Dreaming of You

Ponyboy Curtis Imagine

Prompt: In this world, you have dreams where you can meet your soulmate. But when you wake up, you don’t remember what they look like, only small things, like the sound of their voice or the smell of their perfume/cologne.  

The sky was the bluest blue imaginable, stretching as far as the eye could see. I was surrounded by the heavens, no ground beneath my feet, yet I stood there as if a god had risen me up to spoke with them in their land. I tore my eyes away from the calm stratosphere, my vision focusing on the figure in front of me. 

I couldn’t see his or her face, but I somehow knew this person was a female. “Can you recite that poem that you like for me again?” she said, her voice angelic and soft. “Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold,” I recited by memory. I could feel her presence get closer, yet her figure was still blurry. “Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour,” she chimed. I wanted to touch her, but I was afraid my hand would go through her, like a ghost. “Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief,” I continued. She was in front of me now, so close I could smell the scent of (favorite perfume scent) on her skin. I felt her wrap me in her arms and I returned the action. The warm of her body, the softness of her skin, the scent of her shampoo, enveloped me as I felt soft lips ghost my own. “So dawn goes down to day, Nothing gold can stay.” Those soft lips touched my own and I pressed back in a sweet kiss. 

The early morning sun woke me up from my slumber. My eyes fluttered close, not used to the bright sunlight shining through my bedroom window and onto my face. I sat up from my bed and rubbed the remaining sleep from my eyes. “Another dream,” I breathlessly said to myself. I could still feel her touch on skin, her body in my arms. I felt like I lost something I wanted - something I needed. 

Sodapop walked into the room as I got out of bed. “Morning, little brother,” he said cheerfully. “Morning, Soda,” I replied and opened up the dresser to gather clothes to wear for the day. “Hey, are you alright, Pony?” Soda asked, frowning at my introverted demeanor. “Yeah. I just had a dream about her last night?” “Your soulmate?” I just nodded as I pulled my sleeping shirt over my head. “I know how you feel, Pony. I still dream about my soulmate,” Soda said gently. 

“When am I going to finally meet her? I’m sick and tired of having her in arms, only to have her ripped away from me when I wake up,” I rambled. I could still smell her scent on me, but it was already fading. “Cheer up, Pony. Maybe you’ll meet her today? And if not today, you’ll meet her one day. You just have to live without her for a little bit longer. Okay,” Soda reassured me. “Okay.” “Good, now go take a shower and grease up that hair of yours. You’ve got school to go to and no way is Darry going to allow you become a dropout like me,” he piped up, ruffling my hair up. “Yeah, yeah, just get to the DX already will ya!” Soda put on his DX cap then left me alone, heading out the front door with a shout to Darry about where he’s going. I went into the bathroom and started my shower up. 

The steps leading up to the high school’s main entrance was contested with teenagers. Male and female alike, either stood in certain clique groups, talking to friends, or hurried to homeroom class. A couple of Socs glared at me as I passed them on my way inside, yet I was used to it. I was successfully able to get to my locker, putting in my combination and opening the metal door. Grabbing my books for the next few classes, I shut the locker door and turned around, about to head to my English class. Immediately, I bumped into someone, causing that person to drop their books. “Oof, I’m sorry!” the person cried. “No, no, it was my fault. I should have known someone was behind me,” I quickly apologized. I got on my knees besides them, who I saw a was girl, and helped her gather her books. As I picked up the numerous textbooks and notebooks, I caught a whiff a familiar scent. It was (favorite flowery perfume scent). Can it be? I thought. The mysterious girl had gotten all her things back together, standing up from the tiled school floor. I was finally able to get a real look at her. 

She had (color) hair that fell in (long/short) (curls/straight locks/waves). The natural makeup on her (skin tone) face complemented her (eye color) orbs, they being what stood out to me the most. I noticed she wore a simple (favorite color) short sleeved blouse and (2nd favorite color) knee length skirt, paired with white knee high socks and black & white saddle shoes. I could tell she wasn’t a greaser, but she also wasn’t a Soc, and I didn’t recognize her from the regular faces I see roaming the school. 

When I looked into her eyes, I felt an immediate connection and I hoped he felt it too when she looked into my greenish-grey eyes. We kept eye contact as we both got up from the floor, standing at our full heights. I saw that she was (taller/shorter/the same height) than me. Before I could ask the girl her name, the bell rang for the start of class. The girl realized she was going to be late for class and quickly turned around, sprinting away towards her class without another word. As she did so, I caught a whiff of the familiar smell of (favorite perfume smell). 

Snap out of it, Ponyboy. It might not be her, my conscious told me, trying to persuade me that the girl was not my soulmate. I couldn’t really focus on it as I also had to hurry to my first class of the day. Luckily, I was able to get to class right before the bell rang, symbolizing the start of class. “Mr. Curtis, please take a seat,” Mr. Syme said, turning away front he chalkboard and towards me. I bowed my head down in embarrassment and hurried to a desk. 

Mr. Syme got right into teaching the class, standing in front of a podium and started talking. “Today we have a new student in our class. As per custom, we’ll each read out a favored poem to the class, starting with our new student,” he said. “Come on up, Ms. (l/n).” 

Up comes the girl he ran into in the hallway, which not only caused my heart to stop in his chest, but caused his brain to go haywire. As I mentally shut down, the new girl introduced herself to the class. “Hi, I’m (y/n) (l/n). Um, I really didn’t expect having to do this, so I’ll just read a poem I’ve memorized,” the new girl introduced herself, before she started to recite said poem. 

“Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour.” 

I recognized that she was reciting ‘Nothing Gold Can Stay,’ the poem I shared with his soul mate in his dreams. It’s really her. She’s my soulmate, Ponyboy thought to himself. 

“Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.”

She finished and the class started to applaud. “Magnificent, Ms. (l/n). Just magnificent,” Mr. Syme congratulated. “I would have never thought you would have quoted Robert Frost. Where did you learn to recite such poetry?” “Well, my soulmate recited it to me in my dreams once. It’s been my favorite ever since,” (y/n) explained, bashfully avoiding looking anyone in the eyes. “Ah, I understand. Please, take your seat now, Ms. (l/n),” Mr. Syme said. The (h/c) haired girl took her seat, which was in the next row over and several seats ahead. 

I couldn’t help but keep my eyes on her, studying her as she gracefully took her seat and got out her materials for class on her desk. (Y/n) seemed to be able to feel me staring at her, for she glanced from the side at me unexpectedly. I immediately put my head down, avoiding the girl’s gaze, my cheeks red at the embarrassment of the beautiful girl catching me staring. Class went on and I felt as if time was barely passing at all, wanting nothing more for class to be over and talk to (y/n), needing to find out if she really was my soulmate. 

Eventually, the bell did ring, class ending, and everybody packing up their things before rushing out of the classroom and into the hallway. I hurried to reach the new girl, but I lost her in the crowd of moving students in the hallway, not a sign in sight of where she was or where she went.  My heart panged in disappointment, as I went to my next class at a moderate pace, no longer caring about it. Hopefully, I will see her at lunch, I thought. 

~ Time Skip ~  

I hoped to see (y/n) at the school’s cafeteria, but I couldn’t see her in the mass of student bodies. So I left the crowded space, ignoring the stares of the Socs as I walked past the teens from the West Side, letting out a sigh of relief when I made it to the open outside. Seeing as I didn’t have anywhere else to go, I made my way to the DX to eat my lunch in peace and talk to Sodapop about my day so far. Eventually I got to the gas station and walked into the garage. 

“Hey, Pony!” Sodapop greeted from behind the counter. “Steve! Pony’s here!” he shouted towards his friend. Said young man was underneath a Camaro, only grunted in response. “So, anything eventful happen today, Pony?” Sodapop asked as I was getting a Coke from the cold drinks display in the car shop, before returning to the counter to pay for the drink. “Yeah. We got a new classmate today. No idea where she’s from, though,” I told him as I paid with change. Steve rolled out from underneath the car, saying, “Is she a babe at least? If she is, then I might just go back to school!” I rolled my eyes at my brother’s best friend, popping open my Coke and taking a swing from it. 

“Mr. Syme made us all read out our favorite poem today in class,” I continued telling my brother. “Oh, really. Did he make the new girl read first?” Sodapop asked as he rubbed his hands with a dirty rag. “Yeah. She read ‘Nothing Gold Can Stay,’ by Robert Frost. That actually got me thinking. I think she might be ...” I was interrupted by the sound a bell jingling, meaning someone just walked into the shop. “Hey, darling. Do you need help with your car or something?” I heard Steve ask the new customer. “I’m just here for a sodapop. Thanks anyway,” they replied. 

My heart stopped, as I recognized the voice, and slowly turned around. Just like I suspected, the new girl, (y/n), was reaching into the drink display for something to buy. My blood rushed in my ears as she started to come to the counter, and I quickly turned back around, a blush on my face as I tried to make it look like I just wasn’t ogling at her. “One Dr. Pepper,” she said, finally standing next to me as she paid for her drink. “Also, do you guys have any potato chip bags?” “Hold on a second. I think we have some in stock. I’ll just go get you some,” Sodapop told her. He left the counter, leaving me alone with the new girl. 

It was silent for a while, as I tried not to have a mini heart attack, when the new girl spoke up. “Hey, you’re Ponyboy right?” (y/n) said. “Yeah. T-That’s me,” I stuttered. “You’re in my English class. And I think you also were the one that bumped into me and made me drop books,” she pointed out. I  really wanted to curl up in a ball of shame, regretting the morning’s events. “I’m so sorry about that. I wasn’t paying attention and ...” “It’s okay! I was just messing with you!” she laughed, a kind smile on her face. 

Soda returned to the register and told the new girl the price, which she silently paid. “Well, I guess I’ll see you back at school, Pony,” (y/n) said. She grabbed the items she paid for and turned around to leave. “Wait!” I cried out before she could leave the DX. (Y/n) turned around, shocked at my outburst. “I ... I ... Do you want to eat lunch together?” I struggled to say. I want to tell her that she’s my soulmate, I was thinking in the back of my head. But not with Steve and Soda around. They would probably ruin it. (Y/n) looked a bit unsettled, taking a moment to contemplate of what to do, before answering me. “Um ... sure, whatever you like,” she answered, seeming a bit unsure. I think I’ve scared her, I thought. I think I messed everything up already. 

I allowed (y/n) to walk through the door to the DX first, following closely behind her. I could hear Steve and Soda snickering behind me, but I ignored them. I would deal with them later. As soon as we got out into the warm Oklahoma air, I found an unoccupied picnic table that was set up for those passing through to eat before leaving town, motioning (y/n) to come sit with me. So there I was nervously fidgeting into my seat with my possible soulmate siting across for me. To say my nerves were frazzled was an understatement. (Y/n) quietly ate her chips,  occasionally taking sip from her pop. Go on, Ponyboy, I silently urged myself. You can do it. 

“So ... sorry for yelling at you earlier. I just didn’t know how to get you to talk to me,” I apologized, sweat accumulating on the back of my neckline. “Oh, um, that’s okay. You just spooked me, that’s it. No harm down,” (y/n) replied, avoiding eye contact. It was awkwardly silent for a moment. “Um, so, where are from? I mean where did you used to live before you came to Tulsa?” I spit out hasitedly. “I’m originally from (hometown). My father got a new job out in this area and dragged my family here for it,” (y/n) explained. “Oh, that’s neat. How’s the town for you so far?” “Well, it's a bit different than my hometown. I mean, we really didn’t have Greasers and ,what do you call the upper class kids, Socs?” (y/n) answered, a little unsure if she was using the proper term at the end. “Yeah, your right. The Socs and Greasers never get along. I advise trying to avoid any of the drama between the two if you’re able to,” I warned. “Duly noted. If you don’t mind me asking, which ones are you a part? The Socs or Greasers, I mean.” “I’m a Greaser. Well, I hang out with lots of Greasers but I don’t really act like them. I’m actually in a lot of classes with Socs,” I tried to explain. “That’s interesting. I’m in classes like that, too, but I’m not a Soc either. At least I don’t think I am. Honestly, I don’t care who’s a Greaser or a Soc and so on. To me it just matters who you are, as a person that is like.” I nodded in agreement, trying not to give away how she was making me feel. My heart seemed to fill up with admiration as I started to become more attracted to her. The way the sun made her shine, giving her an almost angelic appearance, as her (hair length) (h/c) glimmer and her (e/c) eyes light up. 

We continued to eat our respective lunches in comfortable silence. It was only as I finished my Coke did (y/n) say something. “This is going to sound weird,” she began, making me to stop sipping my beverage. “But I feel like I know you. Like, I’ve meet you before and such. Am I just nuts or ...?” she continued, trailing off as she began to second guess herself. “No, it’s ok! I feel the same way!” I reassured her. 

I then looked down and saw that I subconsciously grabbed a hold of her soft (s/c) hands that were on the table. (y/n) noticed, too, and I felt her grasp mine tighter in her hold. “Ponyboy ... I ...” she tried to say, looking deep into my green-gray eyes. “(Y/n), I have to tell you this, even if I’m wrong, but I think we’re soulmates,” I finally admitted. “Soulmates?” she said breathlessly. There was only one thing I could think of that could prove it to her. 

“Nature’s first green is gold,” I started to recite, knowing the words by heart. 

“Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour.” 

Before I could continued, (y/n) chimed in. ““Then leaf subsides to leaf.” “So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day ...” “Nothing gold can stay,” we recited in unison. 

Time seemed to stop around us as we revelled in our shared enlightenment. I could only focus on her and she on me as we finally confirmed that we were indeed each other soulmates. “Pony ...” (y/n) trailed as we slowly each towards each other. “(y/n) ...” I muttered as I closed the small distance between us. Our lips meet in a sweet, gentle kiss and my heart soared. I could taste the sodapop she had before on her lips and a hint of a distinct flavor. (Favorite sweet/fruit) and I longed to taste it more. But (y/n) was the first to pull away, no matter how long I wanted to continue kissing her, we separated. 

I huffed as I felt the electricity shared between us from the kiss, watching as (y/n) settled back into her seat. “Ponyboy, would you ...” she started to ask. But I cut her off, already knowing what she was going to ask. “Yes. I would love to be your boyfriend,” I told her, not being able to hold smile on my lips back. (Y/n) mirrored my smile and she got up from my seat, causing me to do the same. We reached for each other’s hand, holding tightly onto each other as we started to walk back to class. I found her, my thoughts screamed. I found my soulmate!

THE END

[b-rainlet]

Gotham for the fandom ask thingy.

(I ran here so fuckin fast you have no clue)

Hello anon! :D I will answer this now, so you don't have to wait any longer but also....this would be very nice to answer through gifsets...(maybe when I am feeling up for it).

For now, have this:

(It's not proof read because I just sat at this for several hours and I don't wanna look at it anymore).

Favourite Male Character

You mean...besides the obvious answers?? :D

Ngl, it's S2 Jerome. I love that little twink with his parental issues and his tragic backstory and I wanna see him happy. There's a reason I have a bunch of AUs where he ends up having a family (mostly in the form of Lee as his Mother) and gets some actual help instead of being ostracized for being a mentally ill person snapping after years of abuse.

(This also ties into my very strong feelings regarding the fact that nobody actually helps the people at Arkham. And I don't mean the main villains there, I mean all the inmates who get treated like shit and are left behind on the regurlar (remember in S2 when Arkham was about to explode and nobody was talking about evacuating the inmates???? I do).

Other than that, one of my faves is also Jonathan. Which may be a little surprising because I barely talk about him but he was my favourite character throughout the show and he had way too little scenes.

(Kinda telling that the characters I latched onto are both helpless teens who were fucked over by the people who were supposed to protect them and can both trace their villain origin story back to Jim Gordon not caring enough about them lmao).

But the cast is big and varied enough that I actually like everyone? Butch, Zsazs, Penguin, S1 and 2 Ed, Jervis, Harvey, Jim......I like them all!!

(Special shoutout to 514A too, he was soft and baby and I wanted to keep him safe and sound really desperately).

(Another special shoutout to Barnes!! I didn't expect to like him when I first saw him, given he looked like he was gonna be mean and stoic and all, but I ended up really liking him and his story!)

Favourite Female Character

Let's just pretend Ecco doesn't exist for this answer ajdkaskaslj.

I fell in love immediately upon seeing Ecco but all! the women! are so!!! good!!!!

I especially have a soft spot for the side characters. I mean, upon first watching I got attached to Alice (even though she only features in two episodes lmao), and also Kristen Kringle - who isn't talked about much within Fandom, but she was pretty and her and Ed were actually quite cute but then she had to die for him to become the Riddler which was...pretty much telling us from the beginnning 'The woman here die to advance the men's plots'.

Barbara was also a big surprise to me because I figured she'd be the female love interest and nothing more but!! her and Jerome were the best thing in S2 and also the most entertaining thing about the Maniax Plot. (In several ways, I think I had the most fun watching this show during S2 , it was just. Good).

Also upon being in this Fandom and thinking about certain characters a bit longer I also really like Vicky Vale. And Montoya. And I wish they had kept both around for longer.

(I also wish they wouldn't have made Vicky a love interest for Jim. Or Sofia. No love interests for Jim except Lee and Barbara please).

Also Selina!! I love both Selina and Tabitha with all my heart - which may also be surprising because I barely ever talk about Tabby but I contain multitudes aklskddsm, and while I like sharing my horny thoughts about Ecco, I also love to think about Tabby and daydream about her being happy and exploring her (and Selina's) issues with showing weakness and affection and their strong loyalty regarding people that they trust.

I just.....women. Women good.

(Women also deserve to have more character than just being somebody's love interests and I have enough wips that completely sideline the guys to focus on the woman instead lmao).

Least Favourite Character

I don't have many characters that I hate??

I generally tend to instantly love everybody unless they are specifically made to be unlikeable. (I also spite-like characters who are hated for petty reasons, I just have a lot of love in my heart and not much energy for hate lmao).

But there were characters who annoyed me while I was watching.

For one, I think Gotham has a variety of super entertaining villains, but the main villains of each season tend to be....boring.

Safe for Strange they all kinda fell flat for me. Theo. Kathryn. Ra's Al Ghul. His Daughter. Mostly because their plotlines were less exciting than stuff like Jerome's carnival or Mother and Orphan's Hotel of Horrors.

Or their motives seemed a lot less understandable than the ones of the other Batman villains who pretty much always come from a place of suffering and abuse and break/snap under the pressure that's put on them (continuing this take of Gotham creating its own villains by leaving behind - mentally ill - people that need help, which I think is very true to most - if not all - Batman villains).

And then you have some characters that simply suffer from the fact that the show was cut short - which is pretty much any and every S5 character that had way too little screentime, but in this specific case means Jeremiah.

Because I disliked Jeremiah a lot while watching.

Without wanting to step on anybody's toes, him and Nygma are probably the two characters on this show I ended up disliking the most.

Mostly because Miah felt like a very cheap copy of Jerome and to this day I think it was a bad idea to replace Jerome with him, since Jeremiah - to me - seems like a super flat character.

Maybe if we had gotten him without meeting Jerome first, just having a Joker character introduced in S4, maybe I would've adored him, who knows.

But in comparison to Jerome...no. Just no.

(I will spare you from any longer rambles, but I think if you follow me, I talked about the ways Miah is lacking for me before).

My made up version of Miah though? I love him.

With Nygma it's even worse because I adored him. I instantly liked him. I was 100% behind him right up until the godawful Isabella plot happened and then it just all went to shit so quickly, I couldn't stand seeing him on screen anymore.

It's surprising that I didn't stop liking Oswald but to me, Oswald pretty much stayed the same while Ed became all bitter and hard and I just miss dorky S2 Ed you know?

It actually got so bad, I completely turned my back on Nygm/obblepot as a ship because I was so severly disappointed and I barely talk about Ed because I just can't stand what they did with him.

(Another victim of bad writing).

Favourite Ship

I'm just gonna stick to canon ships because I don't ever shut up about my Fanon ships so you probably know which ones I love the most :D

There isn't much romance going on within Gotham if I think about it - apart from Jim - which I definitely prefer. You wouldnt guess it from my blog, but I am not a fan of too shippy stuff because in most cases it just means sex scenes and I can live without those. I want action! Blood! Dead People! Not a two minute make-out session between two bland characters!

I gotta admit that Ed and Lee have some cute scenes and I would definitely ship them if I didn't dislike S4 Ed so much (S2 EdLee tho?? Yes).

Also I thought Jim and Lee was okay and Baby Batcat was quite cute at times but mostly I don't care about the canon ships.

I do ship Barbara and Jim though :D

I remember right before they hooked up in S5 I was like: 'I wouldn't mind if they got back together' and then went 'yay!' when they did and I wouldn't have minded a little more 'Will they?? Won't they??' between those two and them just having the mother of unhealthy relationships on this show.

(Also Jim/Barbara/Lee poly relationship but we can't have everything).

Favourite Friendship

So many good relationships on this show!

I need to rewatch the show soon because I probably already forgot about most of them but from the top of my head: Oswald/Butch and Oswald/Zsazs

Which were both then done dirty lmao. One by having Oswald be overly petty (one of the few times I was like...Pengy...wtf...) and the other by passing up the obvious opportunity to have Zsazs find out who really killed Falcone and just...letting Oswald and Victor never interact again. 

Then of course Ivy and Selina which also gloriously fell apart. Just like Ivy and Oswald. 

(Gotham isn’t the best when it comes to maintaining friendships). 

And the biggest and most grandious friendship of them all: J Squad. 

(Who have too little scenes together honestly and then also simply fell apart after Jerome died. Consistency who?)

Favourite Quote

I don’t know, I don’t have many quotes in my head from the show. Me and my niece mostly reference: “Yeah, that’s a spoon.” - “IT IS ALSO A FORK!!1!!!”

Also: “Gotta Go! Gotta Go! They’re after me and the Scarecrow!”

(There are some dialogue blurps I have written down somewhere because they are inspriration for gifsets but in order to be able to just recite some of them from Memory, I would have to watch this show way more obsessively). 

Worst Character Death

I don’t even gotta say anything do I? :D

But I think the character death that actually made me cry was Jerome’s first death. I clearly remember crying because...he just wanted recognition! And praise! And instead he was used as a pawn and betrayed by someone he idolized and he was only 18! My poor little meow-meow!

Seriously, the only things that make me cry on this show: Jerome’s first death, any and all mention of Bruce as a baby - told by an emotional Alfred, any and all Bruce/Alfred interaction at all and Solomon Grundy. 

This made me so happy you have no idea Moment

I seriously need to rewatch this show, it’s been so long :D

But I remember being pretty excited for the J Squad Team Up - because I was like ‘If I were Jerome I would definitely work with Tetch and Scarecrow since they’re also in Arkham atm’ and then he did!!

And I also distinctly remember in S3 that I was close to falling asleep right when they scene came on where Oswald realizes his feelings for Nygma and let me tell you - it caught me so off guard, I was awake instantly lmao. 

(I knew that people shipped them but I was so used to mlm ships being popular when they only have a handful of scenes and are platonic friends that I didn’t expect them to actually have a possibility of being canon). 

From then on I was super pumped for them to deliver on that ship but well....we all knew what happened asnksnndk. 

Saddest Moment

Aside from the already mentioned scenes in the character death column, the scene where Bruce leaves and Selina runs to the airport. I always liked Selina but she wasn’t a priority character of mine (much like Bruce isn’t) but then that scene happened and in an instant, I felt super protective over her. 

She is now my baby. My daughter. My beloved wife. She deserves everything and most importantly she deserves better than Bruce Wayne. 

(Coincidentally that was also the scene where I decided I don’t care much about Bruce asldjkjlj. I absolutely adore early seasons Bruce though). 

Favourite Location

There are so many different locations, I don’t think I can adequately answer this with my spotty memory :D

But I always loved the few episodes where Alice features, because I love how her scenes are shot so probably the little carnival Jervis prepares for her.

Also!! Jeremiah's church!

Or Commissioner Loeb's secret house (Especially the Attic).

There are a lot of cool locations, I gotta gif some of them soon :D

[daesungfmd]

hello! i’m peyton, but you can call me pey for short if you’d like; either is fine by me. i’ve only recently returned to tumblr rp, so i’m still getting back into the swing of things! please....... be patient with me in the meantime. anyway, i’m going to be writing for impulse’s lead vocal  &  rapper, hwang daesung! go ahead and leave a  ♡  if you’re interested in plotting with us and i’ll send you an im asap!

private profile  /  idol profile  /  plots  /  pinterest

daesung is originally from the neighborhood of samcheong in seoul. his mom owns a small salon there, which is where he spent the majority of his time while he was growing up (and where he still spends a lot of his free time nowadays, tbh). 

he doesn’t have any siblings  &  his dad passed away when he was twelve, so it was just him, his mom and the stray cats that they fed. they struggled quite a bit in these times and daesung’s mom often considered selling the salon, but daesung refused to let that happen. he didn’t ask for a whole lot because he didn’t want to make her feel bad.

but! he’s always been very deeply interested in music  —  stems a little from memories of just sitting in the family car with his dad and sharing music as well as listening to a busker who frequently performed near his school.

wanted to be a rockstar, which definitely irritated his mom. she wanted to be supportive, but she also wanted him to succeed in life  &  knew how hard it would be for him to make something like that come true.

regardless, she kept buying him the cds, record players, records, guitars, etc that he asked for around his birthday and the holidays because he never wanted anything else.

a series of strong-willed fights resulted in daesung’s mom finally allowing him to audition for companies. after many rejections, he found his home at gold star entertainment.

he became a trainee in early 2012—so when he was 15—and two years later, he debuted with impulse. during this time, he became estranged from his mother, but after debuting, he began to get closer to her again.

he stayed outwardly optimistic during his time as a trainee, but he didn’t exactly love it and his health was on a steady decline, both physically and mentally. there were times when he wanted to back out because he didn’t want to be an idol, he wanted to be a rock musician, but... he had too much pride to go back home. so he stayed.

during next: origin story, daesung’s poor dancing skills  &  unfaltering confidence had him framed as an arrogant boy with no shame; furthermore, he was said to be dumb because of how many times certain things had to be explained to him. towards the end of the show, he was able to redeem himself a bit, though.

to be fair............... he is kind of dumb. promoted as the ~4d type~, but it’s not like that image was pulled out of thin air --- he’s more or less the same on and off camera, can’t really differentiate between his work persona and his actual self. the best way i can describe it is that it’s really obvious that he isn’t book/traditionally smart, but he’s intelligent in other ways: emotionally, first and foremost. 

anyway! in impulse, the shameless and dense aspects of his personality that the public had already met were molded into a new, more likeable persona... although more likeable is still up for debate. during the debut era, he was very loud, a little too honest, always trying to crack a joke  &  steal the show.

in his most ridiculous shenanigan so far... he has a nervous habit of scratching his head (also does this when he’s embarrassed  —  i.e, when someone’s making fun of him) and fans made a compilation of the clips. he took it much further than he should have and made a statement without running it past management about how he’d been scratching because he had lice. never actually had lice, but fans began gifting him with copious amounts of lice shampoo, hair trimmers, plastic gloves, hairnets, etc. management was definitely fed up with him over this... but he found it hilarious.

impulse debuted nearly  7  years ago, so he has toned down his behavior a bit... or maybe the public’s just gotten more used to it? it’s hard to be shocked by him now ‘cause the public’s already seen it all. seen as the kind of idol who has no shame whatsoever.

i intend to push him towards variety whether he likes it or not. he really, really wants to act, but the company’s quite adamant about not letting him do that (for one good reason: he sucks at acting)... so maybe variety’s the next best thing? he certainly doesn’t want to be reduced to the few osts he’s done, anyway. </3

he doesn’t hate being an idol. it isn’t what he wanted, but all things considered, he doesn’t think it’s that bad, either. impulse’s music is a lot better now than it was when they debuted, he’s made a lot of friends who he never would’ve otherwise met  &  he likes to be known/liked. kinda indifferent about the idol status ig.

for more general facts about daesung... he’s quite the social butterfly. he has many friends, but i imagine that he doesn’t have very many close ones. partially because he doesn’t tend to spend too much time with individuals  &  partially because it’s hard to break past the superficial layer with him. his fans will claim that he’s the most genuine guy around, but when you actually know him, the constant grin and jokes become a bit unnerving. especially when it’s obvious that he’s not doing well, but refuses to speak about his feelings.

but once he deems someone trustworthy, he’s the king of oversharing. he’s a very open book, will tell you anything you wanna know if he knows that you actually care.

he’s a very affectionate guy, whether he’s close to someone or not. he thinks the world could definitely use some more love (and he’s seen first-hand that idols tend to be the angstiest mfs around), so he’s always looking for a way to brighten someone’s day or at least get the tiniest smile out of ‘em. with people he is close to, he’s usually pretty touchy; likes to hug his friends, rub their backs, ruffle their hair, etc, but his affection is also shown through words of affirmation! if you need an ego boost, he’s here to provide it. thinks his friends are the absolute coolest. with people he’s not close to, he tends to crack jokes to break the ice, try to talk about their interests, pay attention to whatever they have to say. gives spontaneous gifts to friends and acquaintances. likes to spend time with people, too, whether he knows them well or he’s just starting to.

he says “i love you” like it’s his life’s motto. calls up his friends when he’s drunk like, “you know that i love you, right? i really love you. so much... damn. i miss you!!! i love you and i miss you! please come back to me!!!” aka it starts out innocent enough but then he starts sounding like a crazy ex. no worries, though, it’s just your good ol’ friend daesung acting like a fool because it’s been a week since he last saw you. <3

makes spontaneous phonecalls. if he has your number in his phone, he’s definitely called you a handful of times — even if you’re a virtual stranger. i imagine there are plenty of people who’ve probably blocked his number at this point.

he’s interested in fashion, but if he said this aloud, it would be treated as a shocking statement. nothing that he wears is ever in trend. most of his outfits are inspired by ‘90′s fashion, but even taking that into consideration, hardly anyone ever thinks he looks good other than himself. his neon-toned bucket hats, excessively tie-dyed clothes  &  gaudy accessories result in him getting clowned a lot. it’s very obvious when he dresses himself....... probably not even allowed to pick his own airport clothes.

mcs have joked that he even manages to make expensive brands look cheap with how he styles them. kind of hurts his feelings but it’s okay. <3

he’s super into skateboarding. he didn’t start until after impulse debuted, but he’s gotten pretty good at it with how much he practices in his spare time. has a collection of unique boards  &  even has his apartment decorated with some furniture made from decks. some fans have definitely met him at skateparks before.

believes in the most outrageous conspiracies  —  say what you want, but you can’t change his mind about anything. he thinks that aliens are indeed real (and already walking the earth), he thinks that the government consists of people who are not entirely human, he thinks that there’s a huge chance that this world is only a simulation, he thinks that all cryptids are Definitely real (mothman, bigfoot, nightcrawlers, etc) and so on. i suggest not letting him get going about this because he can def sound a little crazy.

specialties: reciting quotes but always getting one word Terribly wrong, misusing and mispronouncing words, getting under everyone’s skin without even really having to try, slapstick humor and making 30 second stories feel 3 hours long.

[sondepoch]

Day 6

10 Days (Jumin Han x Reader)

You didn't expect to find yourself locked in an engagement to Chairman Han, but with your own mother forcing you into it, you have no way of denying her. But as time continues and things change, you begin to develop affections for your fiance's son: Jumin Han. But the sad truth is that there's nothing either of you can do to stop the marriage, and you only have these 10 days before your future becomes reality. 10 days with Jumin Han.

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | ✔

MASTERLIST

BREAKING NEWS: C&R Chairman Han to wed BC-Sonic's Corporate Heir?!

After a tip from an anonymous source, it has been newly confirmed that corporate heir (F/N) (L/N) has is engaged to C&R's Chairman Han, and has been for the past eight months! Looking through recent media footage, several sources have discovered multiple pictures and instances of these business lovebirds on various romantic getaways in these past few months. There has been a noted increase in sightings over the past few days of the lovers as they prepared for what we just learned is their approaching wedding date—a short four days from today!

"They wanted the wedding to be a private affair," A reliable source, wishing to remain anonymous, has informed us. "They were worried that if the media caught wind of their plans, then their relationship would suddenly be under scrutiny. But now that the date of the official wedding is so close, no one can keep the surprise any longer!"

The wedding is currently set to be in a private location, the two business typhoons wishing to keep the ceremony as intimate and secretive as their discreet relationship thus far; but now that this news has reached the media world, every outlet in Korea is abuzz with excitement for their future!

There is currently an interview scheduled with Chairman Han on the 12th, just after the wedding. Tune in to this outlet channel to watch the interview LIVE as he reveals all the exciting details of the relationship he's managed to keep secret for so long and stay tuned for a followup article to reveal all the juicy details!

With the number of times you've reread this article, you should be able to recite the whole thing from memory, but your mind simply cannot. You can't process it. Your brain can't begin to comprehend the utter, ridiculous possibility that this is real.

You drop the phone Jumin had handed to you on the table, leaning back in your chair. For once, he doesn't say anything and leaves your mind to process what you just read.

They got so many details wrong, you think. It's the media, shady and unreliable, so the severe drought of truth in the article was rather unsurprising. But the sheer confidence at which the information was delivered made even the lies seem convincing.

Eight months. They said I've been with Chairman Han for eight months.

If not for the severity of the situation, you would scoff at that fact alone. The two of you have been engaged less than eight days, and the 'multiple' pictures showing the two of you together weren't linked anywhere in the article, an obvious nod to the fact that you two had yet to even meet each other during that time.

But the biggest lie is even more troubling.

The words still bounce around in your mind, numb and daunting. Wedding date. Approaching.

You swallow.

Four days from today.

You close your eyes, shutting them before any tears can form and escape. You don't need Jumin to see you cry again.

But the man can practically read your mind.

"(Y/N)," He murmurs, placing a comforting hand over your trembling one. "Don't..."

But even Jumin can't complete the sentence.

Don't what?

This article isn't the only one popping up on headlines today. There are at least a dozen other articles, all quoting the same anonymous source, and you're quite confident that, if you turn on the television, you'll see features talking about your love life there, too.

The article said it.

All of Korea is abuzz.

And there are only a few people in this world who have the power to do such a thing.

You clench your jaw. Anonymous source. After meeting with the woman just yesterday, what other person can this mystery person be?

"Why would my mother leak these details to the public?" You ask, voice breaking in the middle.

Jumin knows the answer.

He also knows that you know the answer.

But you want him, you need him, to lie to you. To tell you that maybe it isn't true. That you aren't going to be marrying Chairman Han in four days. That your mother didn't inform the media as a cruel Checkmate against you, tying you down to the future that the world now expects of you.

Jumin is quiet.

You clench your fists, too horrified by the situation presented in front of you to even relax as the man squeezes your hand tenderly. You close your eyes, trying to think and find a way out of this situation.

And ridiculous as it seems, there's only one thing you can think of.

Something stupid.

Something you should have done a long time ago.

Pulling yourself out of Jumin's arms, you force yourself into a standing position, hoping that the assertive pose will give you the courage you need as you dial Chairman Han's number. The moment he picks up, you don't even give him the chance to bid you his usual "Hello darling," cutting straight to the point.

You take a deep breath.

"I don't love you."

***

Somewhere, in the distance, your father watches the scene playing out before him in the afterlife. Heaven is supposed to be a place of joy, he's been told, but ever since arriving here, he has only been brought misery at seeing all the paint that befell you after his death.

A tear slides down his cheek.

He's so proud of you for having the courage to tell your betrothed the truth: of your unwillingness in this godforsaken marriage.

But then another tear slides down, and another, and the man is quietly sobbing as he continues to watch the scene before him.

It's too late for you, he knows.

It's too late.

***

"I know, my darling."

Your eyes widen at Chairman Han's words, turning to Jumin in shock. The man seems just as surprised as you are at the words, though on his face, confusion overrides everything else. You can hear the gears turning in his head as he thinks: his father knows? This can't be happening, right? This can't.

"But in time, you will come to appreciate me as much as I do you." Chairman Han continues. "There's no other solution. Your mother sees it as much as I do, and while it will be difficult at first, things will definitely sort out. You will be happy in the end, my child. Truly."

Silence.

You know that Chairman Han is waiting for a response from you, but you can't think of anything to say. He knows you don't love him, and he still intends on continuing with the engagement?

In your state of shock, Jumin takes over.

"Father, what is the meaning of this?" His voice is controlled, but there's no mistaking the raw fury that lurks in between every word. "Surely you do not intend on marrying a girl who is unwilling?"

"She may not wish it now, but in time she will see that this is the best thing for her," Comes the Chairman's response, loud and clear. "If anything, Jumin, you should be the one to understand my situation here. You know of the...issues C&R has been facing, the very reason why I'm in international waters right now!"

"That?" Jumin's nostrils flare, and your ears perk up. C&R is facing issues? You knew that Chairman Han had left because of something serious, but what could be so ridiculous that the only solution he sees is marriage?

"As an independent company, C&R's stock will drop five days from now when the press statement and the details of this data breach get released. We need as much positive PR as we can get right now—this is to benefit your future, my son."

And then, it clicks.

Everything.

Your mother, she seeks to torment you. To return to you all the pain that you caused her when your father protected you from a drunk driver and lost his life. That's why she's so on-board with this situation.

On the other hand, you'd thought that Chairman Han wanted to marry you because he had taken an actual liking to you, and perhaps he had. In the beginning.

Now, it's obvious.

It's not a marriage Chairman Han seeks.

It's the cushion that the marriage will provide.

Marrying you, to him, will be a safety net.

Linking BC-Sonic and C&R will automatically ensure that his company doesn't go under, no matter how large the scandal caused by the data breach C&R suffered. Moreover, the current benefits that both BC-Sonic and C&R are facing are immense, the amount of media coverage going into investigating the details of your supposed "love life" only further advertising both companies and raising their value.

The rise caused by the media hype around your two companies will offset any losses that C&R takes when the public learns of this data breach, and the empire that Chairman Han has worked so hard to build will be safe.

And on top of that, he gets a pretty and young wife out of it.

"Father, you cannot be serious." Jumin looks terrifying now, pure wrath dripping into his every word. You wish that Chairman Han could be here now and see his son in front of him, see the distress that he is causing. "Do not marry (Y/N) for the sake of your business."

"Our business, Jumin."

"I would rather have no company to inherit than to inherit a company that was saved through you ruining an innocent girl's life."

"Goodness, Jumin! I am not ruining her life," Chairman Han defends. "She may not love me today, but she definitely will in the future. You know I will treat her well. I'm telling the truth."

And angry as Jumin is, you're shocked to find that even he does not contest that statement—though you're not sure if that's because it's the truth or because the man's judgment is being shrouded by the fact that he's dealing with his own father.

"Father, if it is the PR that you seek..." Jumin's voice wavers uncharacteristically, his tone desperate. "Please let her marry me instead. It will have the same benefits you seek."

You know you should pretend to be surprised, but you're too tired to put up an act. These past six days have shown you an entirely new world with Jumin, a world that you never want to leave.

You love him. And you know he feels the same way.

No doubt, you adore the idea of spending the rest of your life with him.

"You love her?" Chairman Han asks.

"Yes." Jumin doesn't hesitate. His father, however, does.

It's a long time before the man's response finally comes, but the weight of his words seems to sink your entire world. "I'm sorry, my son. Your hand in marriage is to be saved for separate business pursuits, and the public already knows about the two of us, and..."

You tune out the rest of Chairman Han's words, only aware of the fact that, other than Jumin, no one is on your side.

And now that Chairman Han has made his priorities clear, nothing can save you from your future.

"Please, put her back on the phone. This wedding will do no harm to any of us—it simply quickens things. (Y/N) and I were to marry from the very start, and we're going to be doing just that."

Jumin bites his lip, internal conflict glowing darkly in his grey eyes.

You can see his turmoil over having to accept his father's words or fight against them. Your heart softens. Just as weak as you are in front of your own mother, Jumin seems to harbor the same soft spot for his father.

You sigh.

Jumin has done so much for you.

It's time for you to accept that this is beyond your hands.

Gently, you take the phone from him. "Fine," You murmur into the microphone. You keep the words coming steadily, not giving Chairman Han a single chance to interrupt you. "I will marry you in four days. Send me the details over text, and please have all arrangements ready. Do not call me until then, do not contact me until then. Say what you will to the media—I'll marry you. But, Chairman Han, I do not love you."

You hang up the call, somewhat shocked that you even had to courage to say those words. They were so bold. So unnaturally bold, coming from you.

Then again, nothing about this situation is natural.

Closing your eyes, you slink back into your seat.

So much has changed over the course of these past few days.

Too much.

Just yesterday, when your mother had left the apartment, you'd been so willing. You'd truly accepted your fate. Resigned yourself to the fact that your life would be spent with the Chairman, as your mother wished.

You knew that you would have to marry Chairman Han.

But now, things are happening too quickly.

And...

"I don't want to marry him, Jumin." Your voice is small as you say the words. "I don't want him."

I want you.

"I know," Jumin murmurs. For once, he doesn't fight back or try to offer you any way out of the situation, now that he, too, knows how futile it is.

Fighting against one parent was one thing, but for both to be in on it?

Nothing could have prepared him for this, just as nothing could have prepared you.

"We have three days," You murmur quietly to Jumin. It's a silent proposition.

Three days until the day of your marriage, three days for the two of you to bask in what you both recognize as newfound love. Why, six days have already been wasted—you don't want to sacrifice even a minute.

Jumin turns to you, eyes focused. "I'll take these days off, then." He comes close to you, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "You do want this, correct?"

You nod your head.

You don't just want this. You need it.

And then Jumin's lips are on yours, as tender and delicate as the very first time you'd kissed.

You kiss back with a strange sense of solemnity, noting how this kiss is different from the previous ones. It's sad, the tear stains on your cheek moistening Jumin's own face. It's pained, with the knowledge that the two of you won't have the rest of your lives to continue kissing and loving each other. It's yearning, yearning for more of each other and more time to appreciate each other.

But most of all: it's helpless.

Because at last, the two of you have come to terms with the truth: you're soon going to be sealed away in marriage to another, and Jumin will meet a similar fate.

You can't belong to each other.

But, perhaps, for these next few days, you can forget that truth.

You gasp lightly as Jumin wraps his arms around your waist, murmuring the word "Jump" huskily into your mouth. You don't waste a moment in complying and wrapping your legs around the man as he walks you to his room, pressing you against the wall. He keeps you pinned upright with his body, kisses trailing lower and lower until his mouth is settled over a familiar spot over your neck.

He sucks.

Your moan is breathless as it leaves your lips.

Jumin continues, slowly pulling articles of clothing off of you until you're entirely naked for him, only your underwear separating him from unleashing all his lust upon you. His eyes are hungry, starved for contact and starved for you as he gazes down upon your exposed form.

You can't belong to Jumin.

But for these next few days, that doesn't matter. For these next few days, you're his, and he's yours.

And as he tosses you onto the bed, crawling on top of you to continue leaving love marks all over your body, you can already sense that he plans on showing you all the love and lust and passion and happiness of your would-be life together in the short time you have remaining.

So with thoughts of Chairman Han and your mother pushed far to the back of your mind, you yank Jumin by his tie and pull his lips back onto yours, savoring the contact.

For these next three days, nothing will be able to pull you from him.

Nothing.

MASTERLIST

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 |  ✔

Word count: 2.8k

Notes: i havent seen my best friend in over a month and i hate it

Comment & Like

Next Update: 5/06/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

[knives-out20]

Magnetic Pull - Erik Lehnsherr x Male!OC - Part 6

Fandom: X-Men: First Class (2011)

Pairing: Karmel Rosenstein (OC)

Warnings: Spoilers for X-Men: First Class, Swearing, Internalized homophobia,

Notes: I couldn’t find the gif I wanted of the Lincoln Memorial scene. Be sure to pick up the Hamilton reference!

Karmel, Erik, and Charles sat on the great front steps of the Lincoln Memorial, talking. 

Well, Erik and Charles did the sitting and talking.

Karmel wasn't quite up to the same level of maturity, patience and 'ability-to-sit-still-ness' as the other two men, so he stood by the 19-feet-tall statue of Lincoln sitting, jumping up and around it to try and grab hold of something. He wanted to climb it. If climbing the 19-foot-tall statue of a sitting 16th president who happens to be long dead, distracted Karmel from his vile, non-platonic feelings towards Erik, then so be it. He'll climb it.

"Can't stop thinking about the others out there" Charles told, "all those minds that I touched. I can feel them. Their isolation, their hopes. Their ambitions. I can tell you, and I can tell Karmel later, we're at the start of something incredible, Erik. We can help them."

Erik and him stared out across the lake, over at the looming Washington Monument."Can we?" He questioned, turning around to check on Karmel."Identification, that's how it starts. It ends with being rounded up, experimented on, eliminated."

Karmel was currently attempting to use his vines as a lasso, and if that didn't work, he'd use them like rock-climbing rope, next."'In this temple, as in the hearts of the people for whom he saved the union, the memory of Abraham Lincoln is enshrined forever!'" He read the quote carved into the wall behind Lincoln's stone head aloud, scoffing. Karmel stood in a position where it looked as if Lincoln were pointing right at him."Beware, it goeth before the fall!" He repeated to the statue he pointed back up at (as if it was listening and sentient) the same thing he told Erik in Hank's transmitter. 

Erik's eyebrows knitted together once again, in confusion. But also slight interest...what a strange specimen, that Karmel was. But why was he so weirdly enticing?

Charles grinned softly."Weird one, isn't he? Restless, too. More than anyone I've ever met" he commented, glancing down at the chess board between Erik and himself.

"What does that mean?" Erik whispered to himself, referring to Karmel's recurrent quote.

"'It goeth before the fall', eh? It's a quote adapted from the biblical Book of Proverbs. It means that people who are overconfident, or- or too arrogant, but mostly prideful, are likely to fail. Quite a strange circumstance to use it under, but I'd let the poor man live. I wouldn’t question how a Jewish man knows a quote like that; it’s been brewing around for ages.”

Karmel was able to lasso a vine around one of Lincoln's ankles, the vine automatically tying around like a knot. He chuckled in surprise, at how it actually worked."Gotcha, bitch." Karmel shed himself of his black leather jacket, tossing it away, towards Charles and Erik. He was blissfully unaware that they became technical audience members to his small mission.

Erik reached out, grabbing the coat and pulling it closer. He hummed softly, folding it neatly and setting it aside.

Charles noticed, deciding to keep out of Erik's mind for now.

Karmel placed a foot flat on the marble block under Lincoln and his chair, grip tightening around his vine. The thought of Erik's eyes had that effect on him, where he'd tightly grab something he's holding.

"Should we stop him?" Erik inquired.

Karmel grunted, tugging on his vine-lasso as he made his way up the block, rock-climbing style. He had both feet flat on the block, slowly making his way up, step-by-step. This was quite a feat of his own; Karmel had never gone rock climbing before. 

"No. And to answer your question, Erik-" Charles turned back over to Erik."Yea, not this time. We have common enemies. Shaw, the Russians- they need us."

Karmel's vines seeped back into his body once he stood vertically again, panting lightly after he accomplished phase one.

Erik looked over at Charles, diverting his gaze back over to the Washington Monument. He wondered if Karmel would ever try climbing that."For now."

Karmel stepped onto the smaller stone above the platform he just got onto, hopping onto the pedestal above that. He lightly kicked one of Lincoln's hard, faded shoes."Sick kicks, Abe" Karmel teased, looking up at him. He hooked his thumbs around his suspenders, pulling them off so that they hung at his hips. Karmel rubbed his hands together, throwing an arm over his head as he bit his lip. 

Erik glanced back over at him.

"Baggyass pants, though" Karmel cackled, stepping onto Lincoln's flat foot. He reached up as high as he could, barely getting to the president's knee. Karmel leaned against the statue's leg, vines crawling out from behind his back and sliding over the thigh of the leg he was on."Risque" he grinned, holding onto his vines and beginning to hoist himself up.

"How do you feel about Karmel, anyway?" Charles inquired.

"This sounds like the beginning of a 'what are your intentions with my daughter' speech" Erik compared, locking eyes with Charles."Whatever do you mean, then? Karmel's...I see quite a bit of myself in Karmel, weirdly. He seems quite hot-headed, and by the looks of it, is physically courageous. He'd be a dogged adversary" he explained.

"Yea, he seems like he'd be one who’s prone to losing his temper. If I do say so myself, he practically feeds off of his emotions. But trust me, Erik, there's a lot of stuff hiding in that little head of his."

Erik arched a brow."Does consent mean nothing to you?" He joked.

Charles chuckled."It does when it can. Karmel's problem is, though, that I don't need to try to read his mind sometimes. Sometimes, he projects his thoughts so much that I strangely end up reading them whether I want to or not. He has such...such strong emotions, I'll word it. That he hides away, keeps it under a lock and key. Out of pure instinct, and fear for what people would say. There's internalized aggression to these emotions, he doesn't want them to exist, and believes that he's made them up for whatever reason. Poor chap, he is" He read Karmel like a book.

The unknowing mutant just made his way onto Lincoln's knee.

"Karmel, don't-" Charles called, contemplating whether he should get up and walk over or not.

Karmel laughed in triumph, leaning against the statue's thigh."Boy, I'd tell you what I want for Christmas, if I even celebrated it" he crossed his arms, content in Lincoln's gigantic lap. Karmel decided to ignore the fact that he had to physically turn away from Abraham’s crotch- but, he used the classic excuse that come on, it’s RIGHT there.

Erik just watched Karmel in Lincoln's lap, wondering why he suddenly wished he were a 19-foot-tall statue of a dead president. He shrugged to himself, thinking it would be a fleeting feeling, an intrusive thought.

Karmel rolled his shoulders back, hands on his hips as he looked out at the view."Some view this is, guys!" He yelled over."The sixteenth president's view of a monument for the very first president!" Karmel told, pointing out at the Washington Monument in the distance. He turned around, raising his arms as if reaching for Abraham's neck. Karmel's vines came shooting out, wrapping around Lincoln's neck.

"Don't choke him!" Erik joked, earning the sound of Karmel's sweet laughter.

"Don't encourage him-" Charles mumbled, standing up.

Erik gestured for Charles to stay."Please, he's having fun for once in the past couple days. Nobody's going to catch him, anyway" he smiled slightly.

Karmel huffed softly, repeating his previous actions and rock-climbing his way up Lincoln's torso, in a one-hand-in-front-of-the-the other way on the vines. He made it up to Lincoln's shoulder and hopped on, steadying himself as Erik's playful voice rang in his ears. Karmel's vines untied from around the statue's dusty neck, reeling back in like yo-yo strings. He held onto the side of the statue's face before he sneezed, to steady himself. Once stable, vines shot out from behind Karmel's back, around Lincoln's forehead.

"He's almost there."

"Yes he is."

"Think he'll stop?"

"Absolutely not."

Karmel glanced over at Erik, a smile zapping onto his lips at the mere sight of him. Maybe this'll impress him. Slowly and steadily, Karmel climbed up the side of Abraham's huge, angular face, facing a bit of difficulty around the ear area. Maybe this activity will make him 'man up', and out of whatever Erik made him dumb down to 'acting like a sissy.'

"You got this!" Erik yelled in slight encouragement.

"We believe in you!" Charles sighed; if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

"Beware, it goeth before the fall!" Karmel answered, not taking his eyes off where he was going. Erik's encouragement was some heart-racer for him. He groaned lowly, gritting his teeth in determination as he felt his internal organs flop when he went at an upside-down-like angle around Lincoln's ear."You have a nice face shape" Karmel whispered, chuckling as he made his way up Lincoln's smooth temple.

"He's quite driven" Erik noted, followed by a small 'huh.'

"Determination's filling him to the brim like an overflowing shot glass."

Karmel landed on his stomach atop Lincoln's head, coughing a bit."Does no one shower this thing? Dirty as fuck" he complained, taking his time to get up. Karmel put his fists on his hips, standing proudly on top of the 19-feet-tall statue of Abraham Lincoln, America's 16th president, in all his glory."I did it!"

"Yes you did!" Charles laughed through his words, clapping a bit like he was praising a child at a dance recital, or a school play.

Erik tilted his head, slowly getting up."Impressive, Karmel" he complimented, slowly clapping along."I wish I had your patience."

"Patience?" Karmel cackled."Erik, thank you, but this is pure determination. I have an endless uphill climb, this was it in a physical form" he specified."Hey, did you guys see Lincoln's hands? People think he's doing sign language for 'A' and 'L', his initials. Isn't that cool? It's 'cause back when he was alive, he was familiar with ASL. It also has something to do with him giving a university for the deaf- Gallaudet University- the authority to grant college degrees. There's other stuff to it, but I can't remember because holy shit, you two! Look at me! I'm ON Lincoln! The- The Lincoln Memorial, I’m ON the Lincoln MEMORIAL!” Karmel quickly corrected himself.

"Doesn't he have something to prove? Nothing to lose, that one" Charles whispered."His pace is relentless, I tell you. He'll waste no time of ours, or anybody's."

”Abraham Lincoln emancipated the slaves for ME!” Karmel yelled, at no one in particular.

Erik hummed in response, delving deeper into Karmel's character as he watched the vine mutant stomp on the statue's hair."Karmel doesn't hesitate."

"Exactly."

"He exhibits no restraint to these things. He'll take, and he'll take and he'll take if need be, he'll do what it takes to survive. He'll keep winning anyway, he'll change the game, he'll play and he'll raise the stakes with his restlessness. We'll need him on our team for this whole thing, no doubt. But..." Erik caught himself eyeing the man."We'll need someone to keep an eye on him."

Charles grinned, holding back from saying 'looks like we already have someone for that job.' He cleared his throat."I feel like you could keep him in check- allow me to explain" Charles put his hands up in defense."Karmel is very loyal to the people he cares about, possibly like this team. And from what I know, you both in particular, are similar in an array of ways. No doubt that if Karmel is approached by someone with possibly a similar view of the world to his, similar morals, similar character, he'll do as they say because you give him a sense of...stability? Stable familiarity, perhaps? If you told him to do or don't do something, he'll do it or won't do it, because you said so. You clearly mean a lot to him, regarding this, so he'll listen to you, despite whatever his anger is telling him in that moment. What'd'ya say?"

Erik looked at Karmel, and figured soon that attitude of Karmel's would be his doom. He nodded."I'll see what I can do."

"I'd say it's almost as if Karmel was raised to fend for himself, think for himself, act for himself...Be for himself, if that makes sense. I wonder what it was like for him, growing up."

"Most likely different from me" Erik piped up."He was raised here in America, I know that's for certain."

Charles looked between Erik and Karmel, Erik's gaze on Karmel softer than it used to be.

[dreaming-gamer]

The Angel - V & OC

General, hurt/comfort

V truly didn't think the boy was fit for this kind of work. Yes, despite Takuya being a teen of supposedly 15 years or so, V referred to him as a boy. For Takuya felt… pure, in a way V and the others did not.

In fact, V felt defiled, whenever he was around the boy. His memories of his past failures, the actions he had taken to ensure his own survival.

The truth he withheld from his fellow hunters, even now. It all seemed to come up to the surface, making him… not feel shame, at least not outwardly. But he felt very much that he did not wish to be around the boy, Takuya, more than was necessary.

The boy however, seemed to have other ideas. V held in a sigh as he leaned against Nico's van, eyes focused on his book, but he was very aware of the… puppy eyes, from the boy sitting on a small chair by the fire, watching V while eating from his heated can of soup. Nico and Nero were engaged in conversation over their food, eating with gusto. The two of them had quickly taken to including the boy, whom V very much expected to be an orphan now, considering the state they had found him, or more accurately, his home in.

The house had been close to overrun by the Qliphoth roots he and Nero were working hard to exterminate, all except the small room where they had come across the boy, the roots having kept the door shut, but the boy miraculously unscathed. At the sight of his home, he had grown concerned, calling for his parents yet again, but with no reply.

V did not want to admit how much that raw desperation to find a familiar face had twisted in his gut. How it made a very old memory resurface… As such, he had told Takuya the truth, that his family was most likely dead. It had made something in the boy’s eyes shatter and Nero had glared at V, demanding to know what his problem was, but V did not take back his claim. He could admit, perhaps it was cruel.

But he also deemed it better to pluck the small hope in the bud, or it would hurt so much more later, when the boy realized there was no familiar arms to hold him close anymore.

Why the boy seemed intent on remaining in his company after that, V could only guess.

It seemed like the boy was just itching to ask something, from his seat by the fire but not wanting to disturb him.

Finally, V had enough of the quiet staring.

"Do you require my assistance with something?" V kept his voice perfectly calm, his gaze remaining on his book.

He could still hear the boy gulp, inhale before asking:

"Aren't you cold? It's getting chilly." He asked, sounding less nervous than V would have guessed from his earlier reaction. It was an innocent question, but not necessary.

V used his cane, wordlessly pointing the tip towards Shadow, lounging at his feet.

"Oh, right. The kitty helps huh? But um…" Takuya seemed to bite his lip, pausing what he was about to say.

V closed his book, giving the boy a small smirk.

"He who desires, but act not, breeds pestilence… so it is written." He said smoothly, feeling his smirk grow as the boy's bluegreen eyes widened in confusion. As V suspected, poetry was nothing the boy understood, much like Nero. Shadow got off his feet as V made an attempt to move. The evening was progressing into night after all, so a little bit of rest would be good, for the next day of devil hunting. Their progress towards the Qliphoth was… much too slow, for V's liking. They still had much to do, he had even more to do, to fix, if this mistake, the Qliphoth’s existence was to be corrected.

"Goodnight, V!" The clear, happy-go-lucky tone almost made V pause his step. The child’s family was most likely gone, how did he still manage a smile?

“Goodnight.” He smoothly replied. Again, he wondered when they’d reach the human line of defence, so that somebody could make sure that Takuya got to safety… Because despite the boy’s wishes, letting him stay in their company was much too dangerous.

V sighed into the darkness. The van was quiet, the sofa under him not the most comfortable place to sleep. But he wasn't expecting a satin bed or something, during this mission. This time he might have left on this earth, in this state. He was exhausted, if truth was to be told, there had been quite a bit of fighting during the day. Nico's half snoring did not bother him, Nero gave her a light shove when she was being too noisy after all.

What bothered him, however…

… were the sleepy mumbles of an orphaned boy with dark blonde curls, sleeping under the desk, in one corner in the van.

There were no words to really make out, but there was mumbles about something. Positive or negative in nature, he couldn't really tell. The rest of the van did not seem to notice, not even Shadow or Griffon. The avian was perched on one of the shelves, while the panther rested by his feet. The boy's smaller stature had made him perfect for the small space under the bench, but V had certainly not expected… him to speak in his sleep.

What could he possibly be dreaming about, that was so important that he needed to speak to it, in the dead of night? In truth, V had a feeling. Nightmares, he certainly recalled how those could burst into a young mind during sleep.

V tried to ignore it, fall asleep again. He certainly needed it, his limbs feeling sore from the long day.

It couldn’t have passed more than ten minutes, when he heard quiet shuffling from the back of the van. From the small space under the bench, in fact.

V stayed still, perhaps the boy just needed the bathroom, it was no big deal, he could pretend to sleep through it.

What he did not expect however, was to hear a sob.

V let out a weak sigh through his nose, and he heard Takuya's breath hitch. The boy certainly had better hearing that he'd thought..

V broke the silence.

"Can you not sleep?" He asked with a low, smooth voice, his eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness of the van. The boy seemed to carry his blanket over his shoulders.

"S-sorry, I didn't mean to-- I'll be going.."

"Opening the door will surely wake them all up." V pointed out, as he heard the boy shuffle again. But he was quieter than V had thought he'd be. A sleepy Nero was about as soundless as a bull in a China shop and V had sort of expected the same from this teen, no, boy.

"Then I'll just… G'night, V." Takuya said, but it was obviously with a heavy heart.

V was uncertain, perhaps he should just let it be. Or perhaps… this was an opportunity to convince the boy to go. On the battlefield, more people was definitely needed, but this mission… V was still unsure, about letting the boy join. To their surprise, he could handle knives, but he was much too young. Much could go wrong and from what he knew, the boy was as human as could be and he certainly had no demons to aid him.

"What is ailing you?" V knew he himself would not reply, directly if anyone asked him. But this boy seemed to not be able to tell a lie, or withhold truth at all.

The answer was not what V expected, however.

"You… You quoted Blake earlier, right?"

"I… certainly did." V replied, mildly interested in the change of topic. The fact that the boy even knew of Blake's works was a surprise.

"My mother used to read this poem to me, you know… The Angel?" Takuya cleared his throat quietly. "Do you know it?" Something in the young man's voice tugged at V's heart. It was sorrow, he realized.

"Yes."

His innocence might have been stolen from him as well.

V merely patted the edge of the sofa.

"Would you… like to hear it?" The poet offered, keeping his voice low, but gentle.

The young man sat down, barely needing the prompt, it seemed. V inched further in on the sofa, giving Takuya as much space to sit as he could. Shadow just moved her head, over V's feet, she let the young man come close to her master.

V said nothing when Takuya even laid down beside him. It was… a bit cramped and the teen's arms touched his, but he didn’t particularly mind. For now, he could grant the teen some sense of protection. V knew very well how it felt to desire that, after all…

He had a lot to make up for. A moment of compassion… might be a small start.

Quietly, he started to recite the poem from memory, the young man inching closer as V's words floated between them.

"I dreamt a dream. What can it mean?

And that I was a maiden Queen,

Guarded by an Angel mild

Witless woe, was ne'er beguil'd!

And I wept both night and day

And he wip'd my tears away

And I wept both day and night

And hid from him my hearts delight

So he took his wings and fled:

When the morn blush'd rosy red:

I dried my tears and armed my fears

With ten thousand shields and spears

Soon my Angel came again

I was arm'ed, he came in vain

For the time of youth was fled

And grey hairs were on my head"

"Thank you.." Takuya's voice was quieter than he'd ever heard it, slow and sleepy. He didn't sound about to walk back to the small sleeping space under the bench.

"You should… return to…" V fell quiet as Takuya suddenly wrapped his arms around his slim waist.

Was this happening? The poet was about to ask Shadow assist the young man back to his own sleeping space but a sleepy sound made him pause.

"Stay…?" Takuya's voice was so low it sounded like he was more in the land of dreams already.

V couldn't help it, he chuckled.

"Is this how you ask… permission?" He questioned, but a sleepy mumble was his only response. The grip around his waist was not terribly tight and the young man's hair smelled nice. Citrusy, he noted. It was a warm, soothing scent.

Just for tonight… Perhaps it was fine to not be alone, just for a little while.

Slowly, V placed one arm around the young man's shoulder, just to make sure Takuya wouldn’t fall off and bring V with him in the fall.

Or maybe, it was nice to share closeness for one night.

To not be armed, until the morn blush'd.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Credit to @thedyingmoon for her post with the layout of Nico's van 😀😀😀

[sasskarian]

Fanfic Authors Tag Game

Tagged by @marblesarelost

AO3 Name: Sasskarian

Fandoms: Lord. Uh. Star Wars (Legends EU and canon, though I tend to cherry pick what I like). Dragon Age. Mass Effect. Elder Scrolls. Crimson Peak (one completed fic, one WIP). Witcher. Arcana game. When the Night Comes. Cosmere/Sanderson works. Mercedes Thomspon. Black Jewels series. Good Omens. Haven.

Number of fics: 27, not including my Scrivner or Drive folders

1. Fic you spent the most time on: At this point, I’d say it’s a toss-up between my Hollywood/Noir/Murder Mystery AU of Dragon Age, Glitterverse, and my Jaal/Ryder romance, Home. 

2. Fic you spent the least time on: Honestly? Probably the Arcana fic I’ve started three times and thrown away every time. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about my Voiceverse fic but not actually writing it. 

3. Longest fic: Technically, my longest fic is a collection of tumblr prompts, totalling 38k. My second longest work but longest proper fic is Glitterverse, at 30k.

4. Shortest fic: He Might Like That, a Mandalorian ficlet. Din reminiscing on how mandokarla Cara Dune is, and Cara being oblivious. 

5. Most hits: Shakarian Smut that’s been under construction for like a year. (I want to rewrite it, I just never... seem... to actually get to it) at 4.2k. Current fic that’s still up would be the kickoff to Home, Come to Me, at just under 4. 

6. Most kudos: Come to Me, at 342

7. Most comment thread: Glitterverse at 48

8. Fave fic you wrote: Oh man. Don’t do this to me. >< How can I choose between my bi disaster hollywood!Hawke (Glitterverse) and my overly-romantic Orlesian au Isera (Fairbanks)

9. Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: There are definitely a few. Like... most of them. Mostly the Shakarian smut-- now that the OT3 of Garrus/Shepard/Thane is my canon-- and I want to expand on the Crimson Peak fic. My girlfriend and I had the great idea of mashing together Crimson Peak and Rivers of London, and having Nate end up associating with Nightingale at some point. 

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning:

New Fairbanks:

“I’m sorry,” Isera says, blinking slowly at her advisers. “Can you repeat that but… make it make more sense?”

Leiliana sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What part of this is difficult to understand, Inquisitor?” Josephine makes a noise somewhere between amusement and resignation, and Isera narrows her eyes at the way Cassandra and Cullen are very carefully not looking at one another. “Your presence is not required at the evening meeting.” 

“My presence,” she says, “is not required? Me? The Inquisitor?” 

“That’s correct.” Cassandra nods once, decisively, as if to say and that’s that. “Your evening is yours to do with as you like.” Something twinkles in her eye, something that suddenly and sharply reminds Isera of the look Varric gets right before he gets into mischief or starts bullshitting in the hopes of distracting her. 

“...you’re up to something,” Isera says, accusingly. “I know you four are up to something.” 

Witcher, with my beloved heart-sister @suspendnodisbelief​:

“Even now, I hear them at the gate, crashing against it to make their way here,” Calanthe announced, and Jaskier quoted verbatim in a recitative cadenza. “You must go now, both of you. Renfri, will you help me guard them as they make their escape?”

“Fight a swarm of all manner of dreadful monsters, alongside a Queen who has matched me cut for blow? Oppose Death itself, and cry our defiance against the endless night?” Renfri’s bladed arms glistened red and wet in the dim tavern light, and the black pits of her eyes sparked hotly with the joyous violence of distant stars. “Why, Calanthe, I thought you’d never ask.” “Jaskier, give Mousesack my order to hold the tavern behind us as long as he can, by any means he can.” Calanthe stretched and limbered open her enormous brazen wings, and the tavern seemed to distort and expand around them all, making room for her. Every feather was a sword, and her lashing tail now more closely resembled a whip tipped with steel teeth, striking embers in the air and sending red cinders flying every time it cracked. 

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm, attempting to pull him along, before realising Geralt still couldn’t detect where he was. For all that Jaskier wasn’t simply passing through Geralt, as though not a solid object, Geralt still seemed impervious to his touch, and pulling on him was like pulling on a mountain in hopes it would budge.

Crimson Peak sequel:

Nate never set out to be a ghost hunter. 

Bollocks, William would say, in that lounging, charmingly-arrogant way that was all flattened vowels and half-swallowed consonants. Your mam and pap bein’ who they’d be, what else could you be, Nathe? 

Glitterverse:

“Anders, if anyone in this group deserves a punch…” Varric trailed off, hands hovering over Hawke’s prone form like he was afraid to touch her. “Hawke, come on. Wake up.” 

His hands finally settled on brushing Hawke’s hair away from her face and Cassandra hissed as she stepped around for a better view: Hawke’s thin wrists were covered in angry red marks, some already darkening to purple. The bruising was grotesque in the stark magelight, no softer than a crime scene tech’s flashlight, and it took Cassandra several blinks to dismiss the intrusive image of Daniel’s bruised, broken face highlighted by a similar harsh light months and months ago. 

Distantly, a door opened and the chattering of the party drifted down the hall for a moment, a reminder of where they were. “We need to go,” Cassandra said, armoring her heart back in her training, stopping the sideways slide from sorrow over Daniel to Hawke with brutal pragmatism. Mourning and memories were luxuries she couldn’t afford right now; there would be time for falling apart once they were safe. “Either she wakes or someone carries her, but Bartrand will kill us if we don’t get out.” 

When neither man moved, just stared at their friend so pale in the dark, Cassandra hissed again. “Tethras, move your ass!” 

Shakarios:

There are a few days, Garrus marvels, when the universe is still able to surprise him. Usually it’s in bad ways, like a thug having more firepower, or Grunt’s grenades having a dud at the wrong moment. Having Cerberus drones appear out of goddamn nowhere.

This moment, though, where the artificial sunrise of the Citadel skims pale fingers over the curve of Shepard’s waist, gentle and lovely on the freckles and scars life has left on her, is glorious. Thane’s dark eyes blink at him sleepily from the other side of their Commander, mouth already curved in invitation. “How long’ve you been ‘wake?” Garrus asks through a yawn. 

“A while,” is the soft reply. “It is a rare pleasure to see her at peace.” Delicately-scaled green fingers reach for his own, stroking with what Io would call intent. Garrus’ throat flushes, heat crawling up from his chest, at the memory of just what those soft fingers can do.

Tagging, no pressure: @aban-asaara​ @systlin​ @shetanshadowwolf​ @thebisexualmandalorian​

[arcticdementor]

Two years ago, when reviewing “The Benedict Option”, I wrote, “Almost all Dreher’s critics accuse him of crying wolf or being a Chicken Little at best … Meanwhile, I’m saying that Dreher is underestimating his enemy, painting an overly rosy picture, and not being nearly alarmist enough.”

This is still true.

“Wait, what?  Totalitarianism!  Gulags!”

I know!

Let me explain; I promise hope, this will be shorter than last time.

…

First, Dreher’s critics, while still far too blasé and insouciant about the end-game-level crisis racing straight for them, have at least started to acknowledge that something’s happening here, what it is ain’t exactly clear, but that some greater degree of consternation and freak-out is now warranted.

But they are still far, far behind the power curve on this one.

As a friend of mine put it, “The single biggest problem is lag-seriousness.  We are always just at best about grim enough for yesterday’s battle.”

That is where “Dreher’s Law of Merited Impossibility” comes from.  “It will never happen, and when it does, you bigots will deserve it.”  If it were possible, despite denials, and by pointing out a clear logical implication of progressive ideology – and even going so far as to supplement with the early appearances of those explicit proposals – to scare conservatives enough, early enough, to do whatever it takes to avoid it, then the impossible wouldn’t keep happening to them, over and over again.

But it’s almost never feasible to do this.  It turns out this is the one impossibility.  The frogs never jump out of the pot in time to avoid another scalding.  The need is not to be grim enough for yesterday, but for today, so that tomorrow won’t bring your final sunset.

That puts Dreher in the position of a Cassandra.

…

In “Live Not By Lies”, Dreher seems to assume that something like faithful Christianity as we know it today is going to go through a profoundly difficult era of persecution, but still, its adherents having prepared for it, it will persist at some level despite intense suffering until, well, ‘deliverance’.  Perhaps not in the Acts 12:3 sense, but then again, maybe so.  How else?

…

That’s why even Dreher isn’t radicalized enough yet, because he doesn’t seem to fully grapple with the gloomy prospects for his tradition that is the clear implication of his own arguments about the overwhelming magnitude of the problem.  That is: termination.  Slow and steady and (mostly) gentle evaporation under the relentless heat of the sun until the last drop of water finally evaporates and the spiritual desert goes completely dry.

It would be like Travis telling the defenders of the Alamo that Santa Anna was sending a force in the morning that outnumbered them ten to one, that supplies were nearly exhausted, and reinforcements too far away to help.  But with a tone of brutal optimism, “It’s going to be really rough boys, but if we’re tough enough, we’ll make it.” – “Um, rough?  Well Travis, come hell or high water, I’m happy to make a stand and fight by your side.  No rendirse!  But to be frank, from the way you put it, I reckon it sounds like we’re all going to die.”

…

Now, before I explain why, let me get to the second piece of good news and commend Dreher for a wonderful second half of the book, which contained the inspiring and gut-wrenching stories of what it was like for people of faith behind the Iron Curtain to be the subjects of Communist anti-Christian oppression.

As I look over my notes, I see almost no comments or criticisms in that half.  The testimonies speak for themselves.  These harrowing and moving tales of triumphs of fidelity and perseverance in the face of the hardships and miseries of hard totalitarianism don’t need any gloss.  The stories of these brave people deserve your study, and their memories your honor.

However.

What is both terrible and true is that a month later you are probably going to forget all their names, forget the details of their persecution, and come away with the same rough impression and vague understanding you already have. This is that Christians had it really bad in a place where Christianity was once all of life but had been evicted, that some of them nevertheless stayed devoted, and others gave the last full measure of devotion.  Others resisted, and some of them even lasted long enough on the road through hell to make it through to the other side.

Though, in a way, it was lucky for them there was the other side: that didn’t happen everywhere.  If the Soviets had then what the Chinese have now, likely there would have been no interviews or happy endings.  You can’t even forget a martyr’s name if you never got the chance to hear about his martyrdom in the first place.

…

Alas, this is not really a manual at all, and regardless of whether Dreher is dropping some kind of Straussian signal with that, it’s surprising that few of his critics have noticed the problem.

An actual manual is more than just general rough guidelines; it has clear, specific, step-by-step instructions for how to accomplish some identified, well-defined task or troubleshoot typical problems.  It cannot be a bunch of personal narratives, and, “Follow their lead; just be like them.  Refuse to bend, like Benda.”

If one picked up, say, a survival manual, one would expect to emerge knowing how to start a fire and build a shelter.  A beginner’s cookbook will at least tell you precisely how long to boil an egg.

What does Dreher tell us to do in an age of persecution?  “Embrace Suffering.” “Choose a Life Apart from the Crowd.”  “Reject Doublethink and Fight for Free Speech.”  “Cherish Truth-Telling but Be Prudent.”  “Cultivate Cultural Memory.” “See, Judge, Act.”

He doesn’t get much more specific.  I think he believes he got more specific – “form small cells … read other books,” and the recitation of Solzhenitsyn’s Six Hard Rules on page 18 – but it’s not actually the case.  “See, Judge, Act” is just a description of any rational decision-making process, and “Yeah, but this is Persecuted Christian decision-making,” doesn’t actually put meat on the bones.  These are mostly motivation stimulants and abstract encouragements of the right general attitudes, but those do no a ‘manual’ make.

These are like ordering the military to “Be able to fight and win wars,” and then someone else develops the *actual* doctrine and writes the field manuals.  These commandments, like the Decalogue itself, just raise a host of questions, “How much suffering?  How far apart from the crowd?  Which crowd?  How do I identify doublethink?  Fight for free speech how?  Fight for hate speech too?  Where is the line between prudence and paying so much lip-service I lose my soul?”

…

But how is some ordinary person who needs an actual manual supposed to live not by lies, if the famous, influential guy writing the admonition feels just as compelled by circumstances and prudence to live by omitting the lies?

There should have been at least one page that went like this:

You as a Christian are going to be strongly pressured to “wear the ribbon” and to say the following things which do not accord with the truths of our faith, and in order to live not by lies, you must be willing to sacrifice, suffer if necessary, and never say …

Never say what, exactly?  Yes, integrity in general is a virtue, but obviously Dreher is talking about the Big Lies.

But in his book, there is a surprising paucity of actual lies.  Isn’t that something?  First it’s strange, then it’s puzzling, and then when you solve the puzzle, demoralizing.

My take is the answer to the puzzle of absence is Dreher’s actual manual, the one you are supposed to figure out.  The most critically strategic task is to preserve precisely this kind of room for maneuver: the freedom to speak the truth and to condemn the lies.  If you still can, if there is still some crack open in the window of opportunity, then you must band together and stop your opponents from being able to impose their rival orthodoxy on you, which forces that absence and omission and uses that dominance to call your lies truth and your love hate.

If you can’t do that, if you missed your chance to make that stand, then like the Alamo, it’s only a matter of time.

…

Otherwise, without the list of lies one lacks a clear idea of the threat one faces, and so vague guidelines are all that are left and there is no possibility of a manual with precise instructions.  But with the lies, the enemy hears his own name like the aliens hear a scream in “A Quiet Place”, and then come down on you like a ton of bricks.

VI. From whence the cascade

Well, look, no sense getting some bricks in the face if one can avoid it, that’s just being smart and prudent.  Though, inconveniently, it’s Dreher himself who quotes Milosz to argue against this kind of seductive logic.

Better logic would be to say that one can reason that the intended audience probably knows the lies already, and knows that they have been weak, acquiesced, and lived by them.  They know what they are supposed to stand up for already, and they know they have failed to do so.  They know who their enemies are, and they know they have failed to resist them.  You don’t need to list the lies to send a signal to all these people that, by the very fact of this book existing, knowing that it is being digested by so many other people, they are not alone, and they can act differently.

But what the audience still doesn’t know is what to do about it.  Dreher may not know either.  Notice: a thousand Benedict Option startups have not bloomed.  The Benedict Option was criticized as crazy and alarmist, but again, the ugly, gloomy truth is that it’s actually the hopeful, optimistic, and practically wishful-thinking take on things.  Most likely, there is no such option.

…

The anti-audience already believes Dreher is far more of a kook and Chicken Little than his Christian critics do, and just a continuation of “The Paranoid Style In American Politics.” To them, Dreher can get in the back of the line behind the McCarthyists, “Eisenhower was a Commie!” John Birchers, QAnon conspiracy theorists, and low-status judgment-day-is-just-around-the-corner-all-the-signs-are-actually-happening prepper types.  They are once again proclaiming the first half of the law, “It will never happen.”

And without the list of lies, their argument wins the day.  It seems fully plausible and convincing.  It sounds like this:

Oh look at these idiots going off again.  Here we are, just trying to make sure love wins and hate loses.  Our ‘radical ideology’ amounts to “Don’t be a bigot, help your fellow man, and keep your toxic hatefulness to yourself.”  Everybody should be included, and nobody ought to be unjustly discriminated against.  Simple, self-evident, human universals, really, do real, loving Christians really disagree so much with any of those?  And because the white supremacist homophobes can’t think of anything else to say in response, the hide behind ‘Christianity’ as a pathetic rationalization for their simple irrational animus, and resort to inventing fantasies like gulags and torture rooms and KGB agents.  Like *they’re* the victims!  Delusional!  What kind of creepy psychological problems do they have to really imagine that with all their wealth, comfort, freedom, privilege, and petty first world problems, that they are remotely spiritual kin with people who endured the worst suffering possible?  Crazy!

Do you see the problem?  It’s the ‘merited’ part of the law.  Dreher wants to respond with the simple truth, “We’re not bigots, and we don’t deserve it.”  The response would be, “Ok, let’s find out.  What is it exactly that you are going to insist on believing or doing, that we would possibly think was worth throwing you into a gulag?”

He can’t beat around the bush with something general and evasive, “For being devout Christians.”

The response (at least from the rare one who knows anything about Christianity) would be as follows:

Look, we just think your religion is mostly a collection of mythological fantasies and superstitious prohibitions, but combined with a salvageable core of a worthy moral perspective that, like almost all ancient and traditional lines of philosophy, represents an incomplete and imperfect grasping toward the same ethical framework we now hold dear.  That’s why Jefferson rewrote the bible, removing all those superfluous distractions.  Following the actual bible seems kind of nutty and backward to us, but now that it’s in clear political retreat in terms of numbers and influence, and since most self-identified Christians don’t really seem to live like they take most of it seriously, we regard it as mostly harmless.  So long as you keep it to yourselves.

So, nobody is going to throw you in the gulag for going to church.  Or for believing Jesus is Lord, that he is the Savior of humanity and God’s only son, that he was born in Bethlehem of the Virgin Mary who in turn was immaculately conceived, that he performed miracles, made water into wine, multiplied bread and fishes, walked upon water, healed the sick, raised the dead, died for our sins, and was resurrected.  That he saves his people by means of their repentance and confession to sin and commanded his followers to love each other and their neighbors and their enemies, and to spread his word and the gospel of the good news of their salvation to every soul.

Seriously now, is that not Christian enough or you?  Are these not the central claims of Christianity?  Is that not enough freedom to be a Christian?

And we aren’t going to do a single thing to anyone for any of that.  Why would we even care?  Maybe if proselytizing is done obnoxiously in an imposing manner and makes people feel unsafe and not included.  But let’s face it, 99.99% of American Christians aren’t ever doing that anymore, so it’s kind of absurd to spook them, right?  Now we will insist that you not discriminate against LGBTs, and not to teach people to hate them, and yes, you will indeed get merited punishment if you persist in doing so.  But seriously, is Hate the hill you are choosing to die on?

As another friend of mine put it, “We do not want you to subtract from your faith, only to add to it.  Just don’t be a jerk and you’ll be just fine.”

One simply cannot give this line of argument anything like an adequate response without getting right into the contrasts between what one believes and what one’s opponents believe, that is, between the truth and the lies.  It’s a no-win situation.  Without naming the lies, the progressives will suspect Dreher’s audience are closeted bigots.  Naming the lies, open bigots.  C’est la guerre.

Unlike in the Soviet Union, the progressives don’t see mere belief and worship as inherently threatening, and so aren’t interested in prison and torture for merely belonging to a faith, going to church, being a priest, and so forth.  They look at ‘worship’ in “freedom of worship” in the same ’boutique’ manner that Fish explained as the way they look at culture in “multiculturalism”.  That is, by definition, non-threatening to the imperialist program of imposing progressive orthodoxy on everyone, everywhere.

In other words, Fake Religious Tolerance, and Fake Multiculturalism.  Fake, because it is precisely at the important friction points that the freedom or the multi ends.  Now, as Winnifred Sullivan explained, whether genuine religious freedom is even possible in anything like our system is an interesting question, but the point is that one can’t have any coherent discourse on the subject real or fake tolerance, without identifying those points of difference.

…

Now, the approach Dreher has taken has been to say that, of course it won’t actually be ‘hard’ torture and gulags, it will be ‘soft’ totalitarianism.  Dreher would have given his argument much more punch had he marshaled the parade of horribles of all the “never going to happen”s that are definitely going to happen, probably soon.  Without getting into the lies, he could still have collected in one place the likely sequence of escalation of oppressive state policies and mob pressures which will be brought to bear against Christian (and other) holdouts in the mopping-up operations.

They’ll penalize or dis-accredit private school, take away homeschooling, have child protective services yank your kids away if you try, mandate offensively heretical curriculum on core moral issues, kick your kids out of athletic competitions and related chances for scholarships, boycott your businesses, commercially excommunicate you as unhireable, and ineligible to use the internet or transactions system, give your kids abortions or sex hormones behind your back, take away your guns, allow the mob to walk right up to your front door and smash your windows with impunity, and if you try to defend yourself, you’ll be the one who gets arrested.

To his Christian readers, that parade of horribles will feel closer and more plausible and real, thus helping to raise their alarm to more accurate levels.  Some may reject these claims at first, but as they start coming true, one after the other, he will seem nothing less than, well, prophetic.  Cassandra was cursed, but Dreher can build a track record.

The trouble is, while all these things will happen, unlike in the Soviet system, they will never need to be ubiquitous or even common, so they can always be rhetorically dismissed as rare aberrations.  No one is going to publish a ‘study’ with some nice scatter plots showing the increase in the persecution index.  In the contemporary media environment, one hanged admiral – a pizza shop, a cake decorator, an expelled student, a heterodox professor – encourages millions of the others, to just give in and side with the strong horse, the cool horse.  You only have to hang one or two admirals a year, (only after groveling apologies of course) and soon enough, the whole Navy has surrendered, concludes that those admirals had it coming, and that they “weren’t being smart.”

…

The thing about hard totalitarianism is the fact of brutal oppression is inescapably clear to everyone.  Sure, it will be rationalized and justified, but that people know it’s there if they step out of line is half the point.  And if one is not enjoying being on the delivering end, the common human psychological instinct is to resent such domination.

‘Soft’ is totally different.  People will still have choices, but if they choose ‘wrong’ in the eyes of the elites, then they will just be seen as weirdo losers and low-status pariahs, not martyrs.  The flip-side of resenting domination is admiring, conspicuously affiliating with, and imitating the prestigious.  People – your own fellow Christians too – will look at the refusal to pinch incense for Caesar the same way they look at a hermit’s refusal of all society.  When you think about it, the hermit who could fit in if he wanted to is just persecuting himself.

…

The perception of dual loyalty would mean that you would be spied on, that your closest friends would be recruited to inform against you, and that you would hit an unacknowledged but hard glass ceiling in your career path, “Performance Assessment: A highly competent and reliable professional with unlimited leadership potential, but … does not adequately demonstrate he fully shares our values and commitment to progress.  Pass over for promotion absent a critical personnel shortage in his field.”

And of course, you would never be told: a breeding ground for paranoia and self-doubt.  Nevertheless, if you kept your head down otherwise, you could enjoy a normal life and even some measure of personal success and respect.

Sometimes, to remind people who’s boss, an ‘informant’ would be told to make up some baloney accusations and the local priest would get arrested and interrogated, maybe leaned on to make more false accusations of his colleagues.  No one would hear about him for days.  Then, usually, he was released with a stern warning to watch his back.

When he showed up again at services, what happened?  His whole congregation would weep for joy and relief, hugs and handshakes for hours, invitations and offers of support.  He would be a kind of minor hero, a kind of minor martyr, honored and dignified.  There were thousands of such events in the second half the 20th century.  That’s worthy suffering; inspiring, socially productive suffering.

XI. Live Hard

But what about someone who gets ‘canceled’ today?  Most of the time, it’s the Big Meh, no welcoming arms and no heroic status in one’s reference social group.  Without that, there is no utility in withstanding the suffering, because there is no power of example or remembrance.  Today, if you are accused of ‘hate’, things are such that most of your fellows will feel obliged to act like they believe it, dump you like a bag of dirt, and avoid you like the roof over reactor number three.

Dreher and Benda like to use the example of “High Noon”.  But try to imagine “Low Noon”, where, at the end, all the townspeople ganged up on the sheriff saying, “What the heck did you do that for, you psycho?  Those guys didn’t deserve that!  Now you’ve just gone and made trouble for the rest of us.  Get the heck out of our town, monster!”

…

To throw this into even sharper relief, and to demonstrate the absence of a true ‘manual’, instead of ‘Christianity’, imagine that one is trying to preserve and propagate some even more unpopular views that, while one believes them to be perfectly true, are deeply hated by just about everyone.  Any manual for dissidents necessarily works in general for any strain of persecuted dissent, and if it speaks to a particular kind of dissident, it is only because is it written in the language they are best able to comprehend.

Now, imagine a group of scattered people who were trying not to propagate Christianity and persevere as Christians, but as Confederates.  Some kind of secret society that saw it all coming since Calhoun and had, against all odds, continued for two centuries to the present day, who believed in the lost cause as the right cause, hereditary racial slavery, and all the rest.  What concrete advice does Dreher give that these people could use?  What advice could anyone give them?

There isn’t any.

This hypothetical makes it easy for everyone to immediately grasp, at this stage in the game, that it’s an impossible task.  The powers that be and 99% of society are fully committed and determined to thoroughly eradicating any remaining trace of those ideas and traditions.  They can do it, they will, they are, they are almost done.  Either the hypothetical Secret Confederates get nukes, or the protection of someone who has them, or (if they weren’t already extinct), their days are numbered.  That’s it, game over.

XIII.  Other Feet

The point is, the Soviet context is simply not the proper analogy for our situation.  That ideas makes it seem like the familiar image of the Romans throwing Christians to wild beasts in some arena.  But the right way to look at it is the other way around, once the Christians had won the upper hand.

The right context is something like Watts’ “The Final Pagan Generation”.

In late antiquity there were still sincere worshipers of Minerva and Apollo and Jupiter, continuing a religious tradition that went back, as it happens, about two thousand years.  And then it ended.  It’s a long story, and yes there was a fair amount of actual persecution as the shoe gradually moved to the other foot, but it wasn’t the key factor.

Gradually, there were fewer and fewer of these people, until there really was a last one.  And when he died, the faith died with him; the chain linking 100 generations was broken, and the line went completely extinct.  The last drop of water evaporated and the ground was dry.  Now, no one praises Jupiter, because their great-grandparents praised Jupiter.

…

Dreher’s “Why Communism Appealed to Russians” is, unfortunately, typical progressive mythological narrative (i.e., widely-swallowed propaganda) and mushy-headed nonsense drawing a line from “poverty and oppression” to the allure of Socialism.  The material circumstances of various populations simply do not constitute the proper explanation for how that particular idea – or any idea – spread and came to dominate.

…

If our own past is a foreign country, the past of foreign countries is too weird and alien to grasp without extensive immersion in its particular history.  We are taught to think of tsarist-era exile in Siberia as a retroactive extension of the Soviet gulags, but it wasn’t like that.  Siberia was like their Australia: a far away place you could send prisoners of all kinds with minimal supervision and the understanding that it was really hard to get back.  You might even hope they would try to take a go at making a life for themselves out there like colonists, because you needed to populate the vast, mostly unpeopled wilderness.

So “exile” at that time was mockable as a kind of Siberian summer camp.  Many of the Bolsheviks who experienced it were practically unguarded and made many successful and attempted escapes.  Stalin wrote of his enjoyment fishing with Tunguses, horseback riding, and of fornication (and procreation!) with 13 year old locals like Lidia Pereprygia.  Brutal, I tell you.

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By page 41, Dreher admits that “Intellectuals are the Revolutionary Class,” but he might have just said ‘elites’.  Major historical events and struggles between groups are always and everywhere a phenomenon of disputes between classes of elites.

But then a few pages later he goes off course, “To be sure, neither loneliness, not social atomization, not the rise of social justice radicalism among power-holding elites – none of these and other factors discussed here meant that totalitarianism is inevitable.”

Unfortunately, when you are dealing with a replacement religion on the rise, and all the elites believe either in the latest edition of it or the version of it from ten years ago, yes it does.

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With Chapter Three Dreher gets into Progressivism as Religion, but instead of accurate anthropology, we get the enemy’s version of the story about themselves, which is, as in all similar cases, slightly less than perfectly reliable.

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If one looks under the hood, one sees that what leftism is mostly about is “redistribution of stuff and status.”  The political formula is a tacitly understood bargain to clients that offers, in exchange for political support, the use of state power to take from the enviable and give to those who envy.

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Here’s another example of bad history:

The original American dream – the one held by the seventeenth century Puritan settles – was religion: to establish liberty as the condition that allowed them to worship and to service God as dictated by their consciences.

Actually, the Puritans immediately established a suffocatingly strict theocracy that did not tolerate heretics except by necessity, and in which ministers were public officials.  Nathaniel Ward’s or Winthrop’s ‘liberty’ was the liberty to be a pious Puritan, and the lack of liberty to be anything else.  If you were not a member of the church, you were officially a second-class citizen, and they would throw you out for anything.  The Puritans did not give people freedom to make choices according to their consciences about living virtuously or not, see, e.g., Platform of Church Discipline (1648).

Most of this ‘liberty’ story was retconned in the late 18th century during the establishment of the popular mythology of American History.  Once upon a time people like Rothbard thought that perhaps one day American society would come to be so confident and mature that it could replace the white lie mythology with the reality.  No such luck.  Instead we got a new religion that is just replacing it with a much more sinister and malevolent mythology.  That’s how it goes.  There is always a de facto state religion, and it will spread the myths it finds most useful.

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Dreher does a good job in summarizing some of the claims of progressivism and “critical theory”, but he presents them as if they are to be taken at face value.

There is no such thing as objective truth, there is only power

Yes, you will hear this kind of rhetoric mindlessly parroted all the time, but it is by no means some kind of metaphysical principle consistently applied.  It is little more than an opportunistic tactical pose and a weapon to be deployed only when convenient, just like any double standard.  “Out truths are real, whereas your ‘truths’ are just useful lies you can shove down people’s throats and get them to repeat because you can intimidate and bully them into it.”  The fact that one can’t tell which side is making that statement about the other is what gives that perspective its robustness.

Progressives believe in rule by (credentialed, prestigious) experts, a rule that is legitimated by appeal to superior knowledge of objective truth.  Consider: “Reality-based community” or “Climate change is real.  The science is settled.”  None of that is compatible with the “no such thing” claim.

What about the “Myth of Progress”

It seems to flow naturally from the Myth of Progress as it has been lived out in our mass consumerist democracy, which has for generations defined progress as the liberation of human desire from limits.

No, just Christian limits.  This is an important point, and I think one that Dreher resists or finds hard to appreciate, mostly because progressives usually want mandatory toleration for everything Christianity prohibits.

But progressives are not libertines and have their own comprehensive sexual morality that is in some ways even more restrictive than that of traditional religions.  Is it not actually based on “live and let live,” “different strokes for different folks,” or the “anything goes with consenting adults” principle of volenti non fit iniuria, because in the progressive conception ‘true’ voluntariness and consent can only be valid in the absence of a whole host of pressures, undue influences, and power imbalances.  Contra Dreher, this imposes all manner of limits on human desire, as one can witness watching any tribunal of sex bureaucrats on any American college campus.

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XX.  Woke Capitalism

At the same time, Big Business has moved steadily leftward on social issues.  Standard business practice long required staying out of controversial issues on the grounds that taking sides in the culture war would be bad for business” – now not taking sides is bad for business. … A powerful coalition of corporate leaders … threatened economic retaliation against [Indiana] if it did not reverse course.

Somehow I missed the reporting about all the progressives who screamed in outrage at this corporate interference in our democracy.

Still, the reason they were able to make these threats is pretty obvious: no one was credibly threatening back.  In a ‘manual’, Dreher would tell his readers what to do about this, but he presents it as a fait accompli and new normal Borg against which all resistance is futile.

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The real issue is the surveillance, and the power of modern capabilities.  Without going full ‘technological determinism’, my impression is that the reality of software eating the world coupled with the constant tracking and surveillance by all entities with the wherewithal and reach is inevitable and unavoidable.  It is in the basic nature of technological change that once the capability is there, Pandora’s Box cannot remain shut for long.  We are already well past the tipping point on that one.

Yes, all the big institutions constantly spying on everything you do for the rest of time is very creepy and disturbing.  But if one is worried not so much about privacy in general but about persecution in particular, then from a more abstract perspective, there is really no reason to implicate ‘capitalism’ except as yet another mechanism by which powerful social coalitions can apply extralegal coercive pressure while circumventing the rules limiting direct state action.

If the state tolerates this, it is allowing an effectively collateral state to fill the power vacuum by abandoning the field of certain sovereign prerogatives.  This is the real “parallel polis”, much like the mafia is a parallel government on its own turf when the official state is unable or unwilling to take it on.  If the state does not protect its claim to a monopoly on all coercion, hard or soft, then someone else is going to pick up the coercion left lying around.

Then again, sometimes the state wants it that way.  If the mayor needs an inconvenient opponent to disappear, he probably can’t ask his chief of police to get it done for him.  But if he tolerates a Don, he can go to the Don.  If the state is not technically allowed to persecute you directly, if it tolerates some persecutors, it can have them do the persecuting.  In either case, when you pierce the veil, the rectified name for it is conspiracy.  The tragedy is that the veil has countless defenders who will insist that if it didn’t come from behind the veil, no harm no foul.

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Two decades ago, when we started to become aware of this problem, people guessed that a combination of (1) new cultural adaptations to avoid these hazards, (2) new generations being raised from birth to be familiar with the risks of the internet, and (3) an increasingly long track record of lots of people having their lives publicly ruined, would encourage people to “adjust trim” and be much more cautious and prudent.  

Some people did just that, but, in general, it hasn’t turned out that way.  It seems that psychological effect of the way we interface online – when it seems as if it’s just you and your screen in your own little virtual secret world – makes people feel too “alone and private” to keep their guard up.  Unfortunately, if one assumes this isn’t going to get better any time soon, then one can only conclude that in a time of Christian persecution, ordinary people are going to slip up sooner or later if they touch networked devices at all, and if they refuse to do so, they will out themselves all the same.  Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

What that means is that there is no longer any possibility whatsoever of evading the notice of powerful people who are out to get you.  From the perspective of any serious, capable, and determined state (cough, China) this is now a solved problem.  There can be no secret meetings or clandestine samizdat printing operations or anything like that.  Near the end of the book, Dreher advises, “Christians should educate themselves about the mechanics of running underground cells and networks while they are still free to do so.”  As the Uyghurs would tell you, if they could, that ship has already sailed.  The old mechanics are obsolete and no longer work, and there are no new mechanics.

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Hard cases make bad law, but there is nothing but a hard choice to make about this undeniable situation.  Either one embraces the principle of “they are private companies so they are free to do whatever they like and the state has nothing to do with it,” and accept, well, ‘extinction’.  Or one says no, undermines the principles of free enterprise and private property, but creates a terrible state power that, eventually, can and will be used by ones enemies too.

On the other hand, all the undermining and regulation has already been done in every other possible way in every other industry and sector, especially all those rules insisting on equal treatment.  Frankly, it’s bizarre to watch advocates insist on straining out the gnat of just this one thing that apparently crosses the line though it threatens half the country with political neutralization, when they are unable to summon up ten percent as much passion for having swallowed as many camels as there are pages in the Code of Federal Regulations.

Speech Is Special.  You can’t argue to get it back once it’s gone.  There can be genuinely free platform companies, or universally safe platform companies, but if companies are only free to the extent it is safe for our enemies to use the platforms to crush us, then crushed we will be.

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“The essence of modernity is to deny that there are any transcendent stories, structures, habits, or beliefs to which individuals must submit and that should bind our conduct”

He says ‘modernity’ but my impression is that he means modern, secular, leftist progressivism.  But if you are not a progressive, ask yourself, do they seem like they aren’t interested in making you submit and binding your conduct?  Do they lack for stories with unfalsifiable elements that explain why they are entitled to do this?

The progressives imagine that they’ve solved for objective morality.  There is no “dictatorship of relativism.”  The Jacobins are not libertarians “At the heart of liberty is the right to define one’s own concept of existence, of meaning, of the universe, and of the mystery of human life.”  They have a perfectly well-defined concept, and it applies to you too, without any right to define a different one, because error has no rights.

XXV.  Velvet Samizdat:

Perhaps nothing helps to highlight the contrast between Soviet-era or North Korean-style Communist oppression and the current circumstances in America than the irrelevance of ‘samizdat’.  Yes, there is certainly a fair bit of purging and memory-holing, removal of items from curriculum as well as chilling, suppression, and intimidation out there for present-day writers and publishers who wish to go off-narrative.

But all of it has a mostly prospective, deterrent character.  The robust strength of the current system of opinion management is perhaps in no way better demonstrated than by the fact that there is mostly no problem with actual eliminative censorship of the past, with preserving cultural memory, archives, records, and so forth.   Because none of that makes any difference.

All the old books are still out there, accessible to anyone, instantaneously, in their own language, and free, and one doesn’t have to go back very far before most of them have the “currently regarded as problematic” volume knob pegged to eleven.  Don’t even get me started on Greek philosophy!  But almost nobody cares, and it goes unread, and even more unread than one would figure correcting for our increasingly post-literate society.  The ‘soft’ system is so much stronger than the ‘hard’, it is nigh invulnerably, such that brazen, obvious, and easily-disproven falsehoods can be printed without any concern on the part of the authors or publishers whatsoever, who know they’ll win prizes anyway.  

The counterarguments will be allowed to exist, just not allowed to make a difference.  They will never get any attention, buzz, or amplification from prestigious, cool people, and so can be ignored just as if they had been censored.  This is deeply demotivating; why even bother?  In a way, it’s actually better when your enemies know you’re lying and know you can get away with it.  Show’s everyone who’s boss.  No need for samizdat, no point.

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Dreher is particularly inspired by the Bendas and their commitment to turning their home into a sanctuary, place of refuge, and the ‘parallel polis’ of an alternative community.

But Vaclav Benda had advantages.  The Communist takeover of his country was recent and had been widely predicted.  That meant there was still a large population of people who had grown up in the old days and were formed by that previous order to be loyal to pre-existing commitments, traditions, habits, institutions, and, most importantly, to each other.  That includes Benda himself.  His activities depended on being able to rely on the remnants of that inheritance, along with the nationalistic perception of a brutally oppressive *foreign* occupation.

But pressure and time wears down all things, and another generation or two of persecution, combined with the psychological enervation from a fully indigenous phenomenon such as that in America, and it would have been impossible.

Benda also lived in a time and place where physical proximity was essential and common.  Today it is like herding cats to bring people together, and so the internet is now where all the “private home” discussions are had.  There are plenty of virtual Bendas and little digital salons out there.  They are a great source of consolation and solidarity for dissidents, and the quality of gallows humor is top notch.  But mostly these venues have proven to be impotent and incompetent for any other purpose.  Probably the last old pagans gathered around to drink and talk about their plight, and to joke and complain about those darn Christians as they tried to figure out if there was anything else to be done.  There wasn’t.

XXVII: Man and SuperBenda

If one doesn’t have a manual, perhaps one can imitate a model.  But can the Bendas be models?  A model provides an example that an ordinary person can feasibly replicate.  But the Bendas put the extra in extraordinary.  Inspiring cases of astonishing and, frankly, naturally elite people with incredibly strength of will who are one out of ten thousand are wonderful to hear.  But if that’s what it takes, then any project which relies on typical people following in their footsteps is altogether hopeless.  Consider:

The Benda family model requires parents to exercise discernment.  For example, the Bendas didn’t ops out of popular culture but rather chose intelligently which parts of it they wanted their children to absorb.

I am somewhat less than perfectly confident in the capacity of most ordinary Christians to exercise anything approaching this level of judicious discernment, including the abilities to both choose wisely and intelligently and also to maintain the strict discipline and constant overwatch needed to keep it going, day in, day out.  “Be Like Benda” is a tall order, and if we’re being honest, too tall for too many.

This is a different context from the one in which one would encourage sinners to try to live more like saints, or to imitate the lives of the holy family, as every little step in that direction is an improvement.  As it is in horseshoes and hand-grenades, so it is in holiness: getting closer counts.

But when it comes to resisting overwhelming social pressures, one has to clear tall hurdles, and if one can’t, one cannot move forward.  Imagine you are in the ocean near the beach and someone spots a man-eating shark.  Michael Phelps is there and can out-swim the shark to shore, because he is an extraordinary man.  We all admire his prowess and we can try to imitate what he does, but in our cases it won’t be enough.  Phelps is going to make it, but we will be shark food.

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Near the end of the book, Dreher writes, “The culture war is largely over— and we lost.  The Grand March is, for the time being, a victory parade.” Dreher has repeated this over many years, and I have been reading a similar lines for two decades at least, and it probably goes back long before that.  In a way it’s true, and, depending how you define terms, it’s been true before any of us were born.  But in a way it’s not true, because there is a great deal of ruin in a culture.  As much as has already been taken, there remains so much more territory left to conquer, and it’s odd to say one has lost a war when the battles never end and new fronts keep opening up all the time.

It’s more precise to say that if non-progressives keep doing what they are doing now, following the conventional rules of the game, then like the Pagan, what they are giving up is the capacity to hold ground.  That means the best they can do is slow down the advance and retreat and retreat and retreat until, one day, they are on the beach, backs against the ocean.

The real trouble with “Live Not By Lies” is that the encouragement of the stories (which are inspiring) and the instructions of the manual (such as they are), are simply not remotely adequate to arrest the trend of the progressive progression, which ends in The End.

The good news is that it doesn’t have to end like that, and it is still not too late to choose a different destiny. The bad news is that it would require measures far more radical than 99.99% of Christians and other non-progressives are currently prepared to accept.  The proper task of a prophet is to expand that acceptance by making them understand they don’t have any better options.   At least, not if they don’t want to end up like the Pagans.