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byunbaekby · 4 years ago

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Mythomaniac—childhood best friend!haechan x female reader.

summary: he’s your best friend, he’s always been. but sometimes you have to stop gazing through those rose colored lenses to see donghyuck for who he really is; a liar. warnings: recreational drug use, language, hyuck being an asshole maybe, depictions of a toxic relationship, peer pressure, happy ending? what’s that genres: childhood best friends to almost lovers (?), angst, fluff if you squint, coming of age word count: 10.5k author’s message: big thank you @yongiefilms and @gardenpebble for proofreading this and giving me the confidence to post this. this has been a work in progress for a long time, and i hope you all enjoy it! this story is inspired by the songs, “liar” by leon and “i swear i’ll never leave again” by keshi. i would recommend listening to these!

The first time Lee Donghyuck lies to you, you’re both eight years old and fighting over the playground swing.

It’s your turn, you argue, kicking the floor as tears well in your eyes. Recess is over in five minutes and you’ve been waiting for Juna to get off since it started! But then this random dark-haired boy suddenly shows up and is going to take it away from you.

“It’s my turn!” You screech again, on the edge of a temper tantrum.

Your shrill tone causes Donghyuck to wince, and being much more mannered than you, he sighs in defeat. “Fine, fine. I’ll push you. Tomorrow, you push me. Okay?”

Sniffling, you nod and make your way onto the swing. When you jump up and land your bottom on the seat, your toes barely brush the ground. You grasp tightly onto the swing, looking over your shoulder at the boy who’s disappeared behind you. “Not too hard, okay? Not too high.”

“I won’t push too hard.” You’re still unconvinced.

“Promise?”

His response comes out as smooth as honey. “Promise.” His hands are already on your back, pushing you forward ever so lightly. It’s okay at first, and a bright smile spreads across your lips as you register the breeze fanning across your face.

A boisterous laugh leaves your lips, like sparkling stars in the dark of the night. For a moment your small childish world is overrun by excitement and enjoyment; the only thing that exists in this moment is you and the swing. From the height you’re at you can almost see the whole playground.

Wait—the whole playground? Were you already up this high?

When you reach the highest peak of your pendulum you look down, and your eyes widen at the distance from the ground that you are. Your bright laugh now turns into a terrified shriek. “Too high! Too high! Let me down!”

Donghyuck is, at first, unaware of just how frightened you are, but when you start flailing around in fear, his eyes widen. It all happens so fast. You swing back and forth a few times but your limbs are flying around so impulsively in your moment of fear that the boy has to scoot away so he isn’t hit by your flailing figure. Then one more time, you’re at the highest point of the swing when your frightened flailing becomes too much and before either of you can register, you’re flying off the swing and freefalling toward the ground.

He’s afraid to look so he turns away, but your loud crying quickly turns him back to you as the recess bell rings, signaling the end of your playtime. When he sees you on the ground, his first instinct is to run away. But then he sees you grasping your leg and crying, crying, crying.

God, you sure do cry a lot.

“Are you… are you okay?” He asks, running to kneel beside you.

You shake your head furiously, still grasping onto your ankle which burns with pain. It’s the worst pain you’ve ever felt in all eight years of your life. Tears freely flow down the apples of your cheeks.

On the verge of panicking, Donghyuck tears your arm from where you’re grasping onto your leg in the moment of searing pain, and swings it over his shoulder. “Come on,” he says, as though encouraging not you, but himself. With the strength that a normal eight year old wouldn’t have, he stands and pulls you to your feet. Your eyes wince in pain as sharpness shoots up your right leg, but alongside Donghyuck, the two of you walk to the nurse’s office.

He had lied. He said he wouldn’t push you too hard. He promised.

Your parents had told you since you were a little kid, fibbing about whether or not you ate the last cookie in the cookie jar, that lying was bad. But that day, you find that maybe lying isn’t always bad.

Because Donghyuck’s lie brings you a new friend.

“Do you think things will change, Hyuck?”

Your sudden question causes him to open his eyes from where he lays in the grass. When he does, it’s as though the stars in the sky are reflected on his orbs. But no, that’s just your crush on your best friend making itself prevalent once again.

“Things change everyday, Y/N.” His answer leaves you unsatisfied, so you roll your eyes, laying back down beside him in the grass. The playground is only a few feet away, but who are you to play at the park? You’re thirteen years old, for God’s sake.

“I mean in high school. The first day of school is already next week, aren’t you worried?” You turn to him, eyebrows furrowing at his relaxed expression.

His chapped lips purse in mild consideration, before shrugging his t-shirt clad shoulders. Carefree Donghyuck and worrisome Y/N, that’s your dynamic.

“It’s just high school. Same people, different classes. Why are you worried?”

“It’s just—” You sigh, eyes staring up into the endless dark abyss of the sky. “Things change. People change. You’ve seen the teen movies! The childhood best friends go to high school, one of them is super smart and becomes a nerd, the other one goes and does drugs.”

All you get in response is a laugh. Donghyuck’s laughter is something you’ve become accustomed to over the years. He has the light, boisterous laughter where something is so absolutely funny that he can’t help but screech. There’s the mid-tier average laugh, which he often lets out around relatives to be polite, but it comes off a bit awkward. Finally, he has the low chuckle in his throat he does when he finds something amusing and almost pitiful—it’s almost always reserved for you.

“We can definitely tell which one of us is which,” he jokes, which causes you to turn and slap his chest lightly, playfully.

“Drugs are bad,” you respond gently, reeling back into your space on the grass. Hyuck doesn’t understand: he’s easygoing, an extrovert with a sunny disposition. He’ll have no problem making friends in high school. You, on the other hand, won’t have it so easy. You can’t lose your one and only best friend. Wrapping yourself in your hoodie, you sigh. Hyuck registers this pitiful sound and settles down a bit; he knows when you’re really upset about something.

Suddenly scooching closer to you on the grass, he speaks softly. “Listen.” You do. “Nothing is going to change. Not between us. Things will happen, we’ll meet people, but we’re best friends forever, okay?” Now he looks straight to you rather than the sky, and you stare back. There’s something in his eyes, determination clear as he speaks. “I promise there will come a day when we grow up and become old, that we’ll come back to this park and stargaze just like now. By then, we’ll be able to drive ourselves, and your mom won’t have to wait for us,” he says, nudging his head toward the curb where your mom sits in her car. This makes you laugh: it really is amusing, your mom waiting for the two of you. “So shut up and stop doubting.”

Hyuck knows your insecurity and that’s what makes him your best friend. Your only best friend in the whole world. Quietly you respond with a question, digging your hand out of your hoodie sweater paws. “You really promise?”

Easily does he intertwine his finger with yours before leaning back into his spot. “Do I ever break my promises?”

The answer is yes, because a month later it’s a Friday afternoon when Hyuck does just that—break his promise.

Your first month of high school wasn’t as bad as you had initially thought it would be, really. Your teachers seemed nice for the most part, and you had managed to make a friend. A real friend, other than Hyuck. His name is Mark, and you only meet him because he’s the TA for your biology class. He’s a year older and not completely comfortable speaking Korean yet, but you’ll take what you can get!

Sadly, you don’t have any classes with your best friend. You don’t even share the same lunch period, and it saddens you that you can’t pay witness to Hyuck laughing so hard to shoot carrot bits from his nose anymore. He made friends in his classes though, and tells you about them. Most of them are upperclassmen… it’s not a surprise that your outgoing friend would be so compatible with older kids. So, you don’t get to see him that often. But that’s what the time outside of school is spent for: your best friend.

The two of you are supposed to meet at the park like you normally do on Fridays. It’s not a long walk from your school, and you’re halfway there when your phone vibrates in your pocket. Fishing it out, your eyes focus on the message lit on the screen.

[ Hyuckie ] : Jaehyun hyung invited me to hang out with the guys at his house. Sorry! Next week, I promise.

You sigh.

It’s not the first time he’s rainchecked you for that group of rambunctious older boys. The first week of school, you were supposed to get ice cream when he suddenly pulled up with those guys in tow. Just last weekend, he had promised to take you roller skating for your birthday, only to cancel when you already had your shoes on.

It’s like he has no time for you anymore.

So with a bitter huff, you send a passive-aggressive response and turn on your heels, trudging the rest of the way home.

When the bell rings, you slip your airpods into your ears and put your hood on. Finally, the day is over. Sadly, it’s only Tuesday so you still have a ways to go before the weekend.

Music rings in your ears as you tread down the halls of your high school, hands tucked into your hoodie pocket. It’s quite hot outside, winter transforming into the buds of spring. Spring and the oncoming heat make it more difficult for you to limit your fashion to hoodies.

When you push open the front building doors, the heat hits you, but you immediately walk toward a little shaded area under a tree near the courtyard. It’s where you always wait for him after school.

As you make your way there, the group of boys leaning against the wall don’t fail to catch your attention. With their brightly coloured hair and dark shaded eyes, it’s hard to miss them.

You have to reject the urge to visibly scoff at their appearance—they don’t even go here anymore, having graduated years ago. Why do they still show up here and hang around like they own the place?

Even if they left the school a while back, they still have a vivid reputation at the school. Though you had never paid attention, there are a few you know. Taeyong, presumably the oldest with his bright red hair and clouded gaze. Johnny, who had quickly been recruited into this group of delinquents upon his transfer from Chicago. Among them are others who you don’t care at all about.

Though their gazes follow you as you walk directly across their line of sight, you ignore them and retreat to your spot. Flopping down, your bottom meets the grass and you lean your head back against the tree. Closing your eyes, music fills your ears as your eyes meet darkness. For a moment, it’s as though you can shut out the world and simply relish in your own company.

High school hasn’t changed you much, but the people around you have changed.

The moment passes soon enough, as you feel a light slap on your thigh causing you to open your eyes. Your gaze lands on the sight of your best friend, who plops down beside you. A gleeful smile spreads across your face as you take your airpod out.

“Mark,” you tsk. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, though a smile rests on his face. “Mr. Moon wanted to talk to me about something.”

“What about?”

“Auditioning for the talent show.” You blink, your eyes widening a bit at his revelation. Mr. Moon runs the talent show every year; if Mark had caught his eye, there would be no doubt that he would get in, and maybe even win the show.

“Really? You should!”

“I don’t know,” he says, pursing his lips in thought. “Honestly I don’t think I’d be good enough.”

“Shut up, you will. Besides, it’s your last year, you’ll never know what could have been if you never try.” The thought sobers you a bit: because Mark is a year older than you, his senior year will soon be coming to an end. The idea of spending your final year without your best friend saddens you.

Speaking of what could have been, the same time that Mark shows up, someone else also makes an appearance.

Fleetingly your eyes flicker over the group in the corner. Lee Donghyuck joins the group, his purple hair falling over his eyes as he lets his backpack fall to the floor. You watch, lips pursed as Taeyong hands him a joint, then you turn away.

He doesn’t call himself Donghyuck anymore. Or Hyuck, or your best friend. He’s Haechan now.

“Hello, earth to Y/N,” Mark’s voice rings in your ear.

Shaking your head to rid your thoughts of what could have been, you look to your best friend. Black hair is more appropriate than purple, you decide then. “Hm?”

“I was telling you that I’m leaving, but you zoned out.” You know he has his job, shifting through vinyls at the record store, in twenty minutes. Slowly, you bob your head in a nod.

“Okay… Have fun at work.”

“I will. I work for the rest of the week but we’ll hang out this weekend, okay?” You nod in response. He’s been a bit busy recently, but you don’t worry too much about it. “Promise.”

Your smile must visibly falter a bit, even though you try not to let it show. Mark’s eyes immediately widen slightly—sometimes he forgets how you dislike promises. How they give you a sense of false hope, and how you’d rather not give them space in your heart to do so. “Sorry,” he sounds. He stands and places a hand on your shoulder with a gentle smile. “I’ll see you.”

Then he leaves, and you pop your music back into your ear. With a soft sigh you look out at the courtyard, at the students leaving and cars moving. Will there ever be anything more than this? You take in the sight: the students running across the yard to their friends, the school doors opening and closing, even the group of boys racketing in the corner of your vision.

Hyuck—or Haechan as he now calls himself, though you find the name to be dumb and pretentious—is the youngest of them all. It all started in freshman year, when he met them and the distance between the two of you grew. His promises had worn thin, and eventually the string of friendship between you ripped apart right before your eyes. You can’t say that you miss him.

Because you don’t miss Haechan, the replacement for the boy you once knew. You miss Hyuck.

Your best friend who snuck over to your house on his bike when you had gotten rejected by Huang Renjun. The person you could always trust to push you on the swings and know your limits.

But that’s not him anymore.

The thought puts a sour taste on your tongue so you turn your eyes away from the cloud surrounding them and close your eyes. You don’t need him anymore. All you need is the music in your ears and the warm sun soaking into your skin.

You’re not sure how many minutes pass, but suddenly the warmth disappears from your skin. Your eyes slide open and there he is, casting a shadow over you. The sun is gone, only cold filling your veins at the sight of the long-legged memory before you and the smell of weed filling your nose. You take your airpods out of your ears, sighing.

Your voice comes out harsher than you intend. “What do you want, Haechan?”

Your use of his name must catch him off guard. You’ve never called him that—even when you drifted apart, like lonely boats without anchors, you always called him Hyuck in your sweetest tone. Now all you reserve for him is indifference.

“Haechan?”

“That’s your name isn’t it?”

He blinks, eyes fluttering underneath his lavender fringes. “Oh—” Sheepishly, he nods. It’s unlike the normal persona he employs when walking around school. That Haechan is cocky, flirtatious. “It is.”

You’re not entirely sure what it is that ticks you off. Not him, but the memory of him. “I don’t want any weed, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Haechan has the nerve to scoff. “No, that’s not what I’m asking.” You raise your eyebrow at him; he had left you in the dust when he decided to become one with those drug-doing law-breaking fools, yet he has the audacity to stand in front of you now. He takes a deep breath, tucking his hands into the pockets of his dark ripped jeans, which definitely don’t fit the school dress code. “I want to ask if you want to hang out?”

“Hang out,” you repeat, eyebrow raised. You could almost scoff from how ridiculous it sounds.

“Yeah.” He nods. His eyes are big, almost sheepish, and for a second he looks like your old Donghyuck. Behind the chains, the hair dye, the eyeliner, and the weed scent, you wonder if he still is. “I promised you I’d take you skating, remember?”

“No, I don’t,” you lie curtly, rising to your feet. Skating, that was over three years ago. It’s upsetting, but something in the way he still remembers this broken promise pushes you to say your next words. “Fine.”

As though he hadn’t expected you to acquiesce so easily, he nods. “How about Saturday? I’ll pick you up at your house? You… you still live in the same place, right?” It’s both humorous and painful that he has to ask.

“Mhm.” You sling your backpack over your shoulder and stare at him. “6PM. Don’t be late. And leave the weed at home. You stink.”

With that, you turn on your heels and make your way home. Behind you, you can hear the group of rambunctious boys yelling, congratulating their youngest.

Saturday comes quicker than normal, and it’s nearing five when you’re still not dressed for your meeting with Haechan.

If it were four years ago, you would have thrown on a t-shirt and called it that. If you were hanging out with Mark, it would have been easy to just put on a hoodie and jeans. But something is different now.

Why are you nervous? You ask yourself as you stand before the mirror.

It’s not… a date, but something in you wants to dress up, to look nice. But why? You don’t own many fashionable items, and it’s not a date. You hold back a self-deprecating groan as you darken your lashes with mascara and slather some lip gloss over your lips. He doesn’t deserve it.

You had expected him to come to your door, but when Haechan pulls up to your house in his very own car, all he does is text you. You had deleted his number years ago. Had he kept your’s all this time? Is your contact name still the same?

Fluttering down the stairs in a pair of jeans and a nicer t-shirt, you have to stop to remind yourself not to get caught up in the moment. This isn’t a date.

“You drive now,” is your first comment as you slip into the passenger seat.

The air is dank, reminiscent of a clear weed smell but it’s masked, as though someone had tried to get rid of it. “You look nice,” he says.

All you say is, “Thanks,” then retire yourself to looking out the window. He drives you to the roller rink, the familiar streets sliding by. The ride is quiet, awkward. Four years ago, the two of you would have been chattering away.

By the time he pulls into the parking lot, you’re reconsidering why you even agreed to coming here with him. After he parks, you step out and walk ahead toward the entrance of the roller rink. He jogs to catch up with you, and it’s the first time you get a good look at his outfit.

He dons a blue flannel over a white t-shirt and blue skinny jeans. A chain hangs from his belt hook, and another by his neck. His hair is done up, unlike the purple fringe he wore over his eyes earlier in the week. The old Hyuck you knew was a fashion disaster.

“What’s up?” He asks, tucking his hands into his pockets again as the two of you fall into the line. You need something to do with your hands, and suddenly you regret attempting to dress nice; your hoodie was a lot more comfortable.

“Why did you bring me here?” You ask suddenly, turning to him.

“I told you,” Haechan responds. “I wanted to hang out. And I made a promise to you that I’d take you skating for your birthday, but I didn’t. I just want to lighten my conscience a bit.”

A laugh almost leaves your lips at this. His conscience?

“Does your conscience ignore the weed and loitering?”

“Loitering? When do I loiter?”

“No, not you.” You shake your head, correcting him. “Your friends. They don’t even go to school anymore, why are they always around? Waiting for you?”

He blinks, then shakes his head. “Taeyong and Doyoung hyung are helping Mr. Moon coordinate the talent show. They have meetings with him after school. Jaehyun hyung teaches a piano class after school and Johnny tags along.”

Somehow, his answers shock you. It’s hard to picture his “friends” helping out at the school. You don’t respond, and clearly he’s less happy than you to talk about his friends because he follows his words with, “Can we not talk about them? I wanted to catch up with you, not talk more about them.”

“Sorry,” you mumble half-heartedly as you approach the booth, grabbing your size in the roller skates. Then, you search for a spot to sit down and put them on. For a few moments before Haechan joins you with his own skates, you think to yourself, is he sincere? He keeps saying it, and you want to believe it. Does your old Hyuck, your best friend exist somewhere in there?

Haechan approaches you, his skates in hand. You’re focused on tying your own, but you manage to scoot over on the bench you’re in to make room for him to sit as well.

But he surprises you.

He kneels, placing his skates on the ground and before you know it, your fingers on the laces are replaced by his as he ties them into a tight knot. You look up to him, but all your eyes fall on is his face, tightened in focused concentration. “What are you…” You start.

When he finishes tying the last lace into a tight bow, he looks up to meet your eyes. “You should tie them tight. Your laces used to always fall out when we were younger.” Then the corner of his lip tips up into a smile, and you can swear your heart races.

It beats out of your chest and you’re suddenly vividly aware of the fact that his face is mere inches away from yours.

But as quickly as the realization hits you, the moment is over.

He pulls away, taking the seat next to you before putting on his own skates. When he finishes, he pulls you up by the hand to the skating area and you let him. Your legs are a little shaky, but he looks over to you with careful eyes. “I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”

It’s not a promise, but it feels like one. Maybe, you decide, it’s okay to let down your walls and be with him. After all, he was, once upon a time, your best friend.

As much as you want to pull away from him, your legs are sliding, about to give out. You grip onto his arm with both hands, trying to keep your balance, and his hearty laugh is heard in your ear. In the midst of his laugh and your attempt to stand straight, your hand slides down to grasp his instead.

By the time you realize this, you’re already sliding halfway across the rink with gentle hesitant laughs on your lips. This is the first time you’ve talked to Donghyuck in years, yet it feels, you realize as your gaze down at your connected hands, as if you’d never stopped.

A couple hours later when you’ve both had more pizza than your stomachs can hold and both your knees are starting to bruise from how you’ve slipped onto them, Donghyuck brings you somewhere else.

Despite the curtain of dark over the town, you know where he’s taken you the moment he pulls into the street.

When he parks and you slide your feet out of the car to meet the grass, you look around and take in the appearance of this old place which hasn’t felt your presence in years. Your old park. Everything still looks the same, as if your late night stargazing sessions had never halted.

You’re still gazing when Donghyuck pulls you by the hand to the playground. “Come on,” he ushers.

“Hyuck, aren’t you a little old for the playground?” You question, not recognizing your slip.

He stops walking altogether and blinks at you, the light of the moon reflecting off his sparkling orbs. “You… You called me Hyuck.”

You hadn’t even noticed it yourself. Pursing your lips, you respond carefully. “Well… it is your name, isn’t it?” Somehow, your gaze finds your interlaced hands. By the time you look back up, you realize Donghyuck was also staring.

A soft smile graces the tips of his lips. “Yeah, it is.”

For a moment, a short moment, Haechan is forgotten. All that exists at the park with you is Donghyuck, your best friend since age eight when he had pushed you too hard on the swings and caused you to fracture your ankle. You had always blamed it on him in the following years, but it was never his fault.

It was always yours, for not being brave enough.

Even now, Hyuck pushes you on the swings after you give him a pointed look which clearly says, “Not too hard.” The force of his push reminds you how big of a role adrenaline once played in your life. Hyuck was your daily dose of adrenaline, of energy you never knew was missing from your life until it was gone. Now, he’s back again.

After a few minutes, the two of you find yourself lying on the grass gazing up at the stars, in a similar situation that your younger selves once experienced. You’re content to sit there staring at the glistening firmament above, but his velvet voice fills the silence between you.

“Is Mark a good best friend?”

His question catches you off guard. It could be a trick of your mind but is that… jealousy you hear in his tone? “Yeah, he is.” You nod, the cold breeze brushing your face. “He’s nice. Understanding… I’m just not looking forward to having to spend the next year without him after he graduates.”

“You don’t have to,” Hyuck replies quickly. You turn to meet his gaze, and find that he’s gazing at you with serious eyes. “You can spend it with me.”

The thought, however hopeful, causes a twinge of doubt to ignite within you. “What about the others?”

“What about them?”

“Are they good best friends?”

Like you, Hyuck takes a long moment to ponder over his answer. “They’re not my best friends,” he finally says when he comes to a conclusion. “They were always just placeholders. Just… people to spend time with.”

“Spend time as in vandalizing, smoking weed, and skipping school?”

He releases a scoff at your response, as though the idea sounded absurd to him as well. “Well… yeah. I guess that’s what it seems like.” You’ve never been the type to do those kinds of things, always too afraid of losing your self control for even a moment, so you ask: “What’s it like? Smoking weed?”

Your inquiry seems to throw him for a loop. You had always been quiet, comfortable living in a box which you knew to be safe. It was always him who had wanted to explore. He turns away from you and instead throws his gaze to the dark sky, though you remain watching him and the way the grass brushes his side profile from where he lays.

“It’s like… searching for something. You don’t quite know what you’re looking for. I don’t know—Nirvana, epiphanies, the meaning of life, or whatever. And for a second,” he pauses, his eyes matching the twinkle of the stars in the sky, but it’s a somber reflection. “When you reach that high, it’s… it’s amazing. It really is. You feel… calm. And relaxed, a bunch of things I’ve never felt before. But when you get used to it, and you come down from that high… it just feels… empty.”

Emptiness isn’t something you’d ever think Hyuck has experienced. In your memories he was always so bright-eyed and lighthearted, filling you up with everything you needed. Had you forgotten how to fill him up? Make him happy? Or, your hopeful heart suddenly asks, are you the emptiness in his heart? When he left you, was that when his heart had begun to feel hollow, as yours had? When had things changed so much, when had the two of you grown up? It seems just like yesterday that you were two little kids with hopes bigger than the world could hold, still playing on the playground.

Suddenly you lurch toward him, closing the space between you to lay shoulder to shoulder. The simple brush of your shoulder on his, a feeling that was once so familiar, speaks volumes to the both of you. “I wish things could go back to the way they were before.”

He sighs, a sound that’s supposed to somehow indicate that your words are easier said than done. “If only life was that easy.”

A thoughtful moment of silence passes over the two of you, the cold night air brushing on your bare arms. Your hoodies often kept you warm, but you don’t have them now. Instead, you have Donghyuck. “Are you cold?” He asks as he notices you shivering at a sudden strong gust of wind. You shake your head, not wanting him to give his flannel to you, but he does something else instead. “C’mere,” is all he says as he scoops you into his arms on the ground and presses your head into his chest.

You start to argue at first but you soon find yourself resting your head on the expanse of his chest. Eyes widened ever so slightly as you try to maintain the erratic beat of your heart, you whine quietly, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“We used to do this all the time.”

“Yeah,” you scoff gently with a roll of your eyes. “When we were ten and forgot our jackets.”

“Not much difference,” Hyuck responds. Suddenly a teasing tone occupies his voice, almost reminiscent of Haechan’s persona. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

You have the decency to be shocked, hitting his chest softly, playfully. “As if.”

He says things aren’t much different, but they are. Back then, things were simpler and easier. Your best friend was just your best friend. But now, seven years later, he’s a boy and an attractive one—that much you can admit. And, you have a history that makes your heart wrench; you had come to terms with the fact that you would no longer be able to envelope yourself in Hyuck’s bear hugs anymore, that sleepovers with him would be further nonexistent.

Hyuck doesn’t say anything after your hasty response, and it seems like he’s satisfied sitting in the silence with you, but you aren’t. Gently you speak up, “Hyuck.”

“Hmm,” he responds, eyes closed rather than gazing at the star-stricken sky.

“What’s your dream?”

He takes a moment to think about it. A couple seconds pass with his eyes still closed, and you turn your head to gaze up at his contemplative expression with tufts of dark grass tickling his ears. A couple minutes pass like this.

You’re almost convinced he’s fallen asleep right there, so you prod once again. “So?”

Hyuck takes a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Everyone has a dream,” your brows furrow.

The next words to leave your best friend’s mouth sadden you to no end. His voice is soft but his tone is tired, as if he has all but given up. “I think somewhere along the line I stopped dreaming, wishing for things. It’s not the reality I’ve grown to know.”

By the end of the night, when the two of you arrive at your home, you’re starting to believe that a reconciliation with your best friend is possible. All these years, they were just… a break. A time for the two of you to learn yourselves and meet new people.

As he walks you to your front door, swinging your interlaced pinkies between the two of you, you speak first. The night, however sudden and strange, was nice. “I had fun.”

“Me too,” he quickly replies as he turns to face you though he doesn’t let go of your hand, your pinkies hooked around each other like a little unsaid pledge.

“I really missed you,” you confess. Before tonight you had never allowed yourself to consider how much you missed your best friend, how his absence left a gap in your life. “I want to do it again sometime.”

Hyuck’s eyes widen just a bit, and he blinks as though surprised. “You do?”

Giddily you bite down on your lower lip and nod. “I really do.”

His shocked eyes soften like sweet yellow honey, and he mirrors your smile. Here with the front porch light shining on his tanned skin and some lingering grass strands tangled in his hair, he doesn’t look like the cruel Haechan you’ve seen over your time in high school. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Why are you saying thank you?” you ask, a slight smile on your lips. “It should be me saying thank you.”

“I’m just glad you came along,” he explains, tapping his foot gently against the cement. “Taeyong would have gotten me in trouble if I hadn’t asked you to come.”

You blink. What?

“I’m just really glad you agreed to go out with me today. Even though I had no choice, I think it was really good for us, and I’d love to do it a—”

“Hyuck.”

He stops suddenly, having begun to ramble, and stares at you. “What?”

Anxiety begins to creep into your stomach, building a dark heavy pit. As your breath quickens, coming to your realization, you fall into the dark abyss of that hole. You tear your gaze away from him, your eyebrows forming a tight line as the gears in your head turn.

As he recognizes the way your chest starts to rise and fall rapidly, Hyuck leans toward you. “Y/N, are you—”

“What do you mean, you had no choice?”

“You’re shaking, you should go inside—”

You tear your hand from his, trying your best to control your accelerated breathing. Finally looking back at him, you feel despair begin to bubble inside you. “What the hell do you mean, you had no choice, Donghyuck?”

The look on his face is almost dumbstruck. He opens his mouth but no words come out. He closes it quickly, then parts his lips again after a moment. “I… I thought you knew…”

“Knew what?”

“That Taeyong hyung made me do it.”

If it’s possible for your entire world to crash in the fraction of a moment, it must be this. Suddenly your lungs feel heavy with burden and your eyes water, watching your ill-fated hope shatter before you. You want to scream at him, to yell at him, but you can’t find your voice. By your side, your hand which was once occupied by his, feels awfully, horribly cold.

Hyuck, on the other hand, still looks stupefied that you had no idea. Stuttering over his words, uncharacteristic of him, he continues desperately. “I-I… They know about us, about our friendship, and Taeyong hyung told me to ask you on a date or…or he’d make me deliver his next package. I already got caught once, I couldn’t get caught again! I couldn’t risk it,” he pleads.

Weed. That’s what this is all about.

“It was just for fun, they thought it was funny.”

Your throat feels dry, parched like the desert, and your voice feels like sandpaper as you speak. “I didn’t think it was funny.” A lonesome tear breaks the barrier, sliding down your cheek pitifully before being followed by another.

Clearly startled by the course of the conversation, he desperately reaches out to grab your hand. “Y/N, please let me explain—”

You whip your hand back, his touch making your skin crawl with betrayal.

“You’ve done enough.”

Of all the things he could say, he says the worst. “I thought you heard everything that day, in the courtyard.”

“I…” You start thinking back foggily. “I had my airpods on.” The pained look he wears at his realization of this would have been laughable if your tears weren’t threatening to flow down your cheeks.

All you want to do is run. Run inside, run away from him, run from this night and pretend that nothing had ever happened. But for some reason, your feet are stuck to the cement as though something holds you down. Burden-like weights, holding you down.

“I, I’m sorry,” he beseeches, only making it worse. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You want to yell at him, to curse him into the next life for playing with you. For not knowing your character enough to think that for even a second, you’d be okay being a pawn in his game of dealing and dares. For giving you hope, even the slightest burning sliver. But you can’t raise your voice at him. Rather than fury, it’s sadness which erupts in your chest. You cannot find it in yourself to scream. Because he did, he did hurt you.

This must be the emptiness he was talking about.

Any sense of blankness you thought you knew before was nothing to this. As if your heart and mind itself have been ripped out of you, you’re overcome by a horrible, horrible hollowness. Then, looking at his pitiful figure, you realize that you want nothing to do with Lee Donghyuck any longer. Whoever he is, good or bad, best friend or stranger, Haechan or Hyuck, he is no longer important to you.

Wiping your tears against the back of your hand with an indignant sniffle, you scowl at him, but there is no anger, no resentment. Just exhaustion. You’re tired of his lies.

“Leave me alone, Haechan. Leave me alone, and don’t ever bother me again. I can’t believe I—” You stop yourself. You can’t believe you had believed, even for the shortest moment, that things would be okay. No, not with him, nothing would ever be okay. Nothing would ever be true, nothing would ever be pure. But you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how close you were to falling into him.

All you do is stare once more at his cowardly figure then turn away, hiding your tears which you refuse to let him see. Just as you’re about to turn to disappear into your house however, he reaches for your wrist.

“Y/N, please—”

“Don’t,” you say softly. If he truly is your best friend, if he had ever known you for even a second, he would be able to recognize the pain in your voice, the fragility with which you’re about to break.

But if he was ever your best friend, by now you can never truly know.

For a third and final time, you tug your hand from his touch. “Don’t. I mean it.”

Then you disappear into your home, flying up the stairs to the confusion of your parents, and leave Donghyuck there alone, stranded and in the dark.

There was a reason why you never liked parties growing up, and why you tried avoiding them at all cost, but today is different. Today is for Mark, you have to suck it up and enjoy yourself at least for him. Besides, since hitting twenty three you’ve been trying to “adult” more, and that means putting other people’s desires before your own.

You’re sitting on a couch in the bar, clutching a water bottle when you hear Mark’s voice in your ear. “Hey, you made it!”

Immediately you turn and feel your lips spread into a wide smile at the sight of your best friend looking completely ecstatic. Standing quickly, you collapse into his open arms. He pulls you tightly into a hug and you smile feeling his familiar embrace.

“Hey, you,” you say when you pull away. “Congratulations! I’m so proud of you, really.”

The beaming smile he wears back at you makes your heart warm. “Thanks, and thanks for coming! I thought you weren’t sure you were going to make it.”

“I cleared my schedule for you,” you admit cheekily.

“Aw, I must be so special,” responds Mark playfully, pulling you in for another quick hug. Mark has just been signed onto a record company as a producer. It’s only his biggest dream ever, and you couldn’t be prouder. His record label had insisted on throwing a party to welcome their newest hire, and from the smile on his face, it seemed like all his dreams had come true.

“But enough about me, how are you?”

With your busy post-college schedule, you’ve had little time to meet your best friend. “Just the usual. Work, eat, sleep.”

“Hey, at least you sleep, I’m up all night, every night working on music.”

“I believe that was your career choice,” you laugh and roll your eyes.

Mark laughs along with you. “I guess you’re right.” He suddenly eyes the water bottle in your hand. “Don’t tell me you’re not drinking at my party.”

“I—”

“No excuses! It’s a Saturday night, don’t say you have work tomorrow.”

“But—”

“Sounds like an excuse, you better go to the bar right now and get a drink.”

“I’m—”

“Now!”

“Okay, okay, I’m going!” You finally acquiesce, rolling your eyes at your friend’s behavior. “Do you want me to grab you something?”

He ponders it momentarily, sitting down in the spot on the couch you occupied earlier. “Just one of what you’re getting,” he says, already making conversation with the other person on the couch, one of his new coworkers.

You make your way over to the bar counter, basically shoving past the numerous people occupying the bar. With the prestige of the company that Mark has just been hired into, you wouldn’t be surprised if you were brushing shoulders with celebrities in your search for the bar.

When you finally find a spot at the crowded counter, you attempt to speak over the music to one of the two bartenders maintaining the counter. Flashing your ID at him, you sound, “Two Negronis, one with light ice!” You’re in the mood for gin tonight. You would have gotten your typical gin on the rocks, but you’re feeling a bit fancy and with the open bar, you’re fine not paying for the extra pizazz of a Negroni.

The one you originally speak to seems occupied but he hears you, nodding at you. As you pull out your phone to wait for your order, you register him calling out to someone, likely the other bartender with him. “Take care of that,” he says, likely referring to your order.

Only a few moments pass of you attempting to type out a text until you hear it.

Though it’s not loud, you hear it. Above the music, above the crowd.

“Y/N?”

Eyes leaving your phone screen, you find yourself face to face, eye to eye, with Lee Donghyuck himself. In front of you on the other side of the bar counter, clad in a dark apron and clutching a tall bottle of gin, with his light brain hair, tendrils falling over his eyes, it’s almost like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him. Your gaze hasn’t fallen on him in years, not since graduation, watching him walk across the stage. Your jaw visibly tightens.

“Y/N, is that really you?”

“Who else would it be,” you joke tightly, deciding momentarily to play nice for now.

The laugh he shares is almost believable. “Wow, I can’t believe it’s you. It’s been…”

“Five years,” you finish for him.

Astounded, all he does is nod. “Yeah…”

The last thing you want to do is sit here and take part in a tired conversation with Donghyuck of all people, so you make a show of pointing your attention to your phone as you type a couple text messages. He seems to get the hint, and busies himself making your drinks.

Despite the buzzing bar environment around the two of you, there’s no doubt of the tension in the air. The last time you had spoken to Donghyuck, you had demanded that he leave you alone. For the most part, he had complied. But now, five years later, you have to ask yourself, have you forgiven him?

In the past years since your final falling out you’ve somehow learned to manage the emptiness that sprung inside you, yet now seeing him, you feel something other than hollowness, a swallow feeling in your chest. Are you… ready?

Within minutes he slides two glasses across the counter to you, red liquid occupying its volume. As you tuck your phone away into your purse and reach out to grab your two drinks, it’s clear to you that he has something more to say from the way his eyes linger on the glasses.

“What?” You ask.

“Are you…” He starts, eyebrows furrowing as he suddenly pauses, as though thinking over his words. “You got two glasses. Are you… here with someone?”

He’s curious if you’ve found someone. If you’ve brought them here and if they’ve managed to replace the empty space in your heart once occupied by him. You purse your lips, offering a tight smile as you shake your head. “No, one of these is for Mark.”

You’re unsure if the look on his face at your answer is a relieved one, but you’re sure it won’t bring about good things. “Oh,” he says. “That’s… interesting.” What is that supposed to mean? You have no idea, but when you’re about to turn and make your way back to your friend who is surely waiting for you, he speaks up again. “I have my break in thirty minutes. Can we… talk maybe?”

Talk. He wants to talk, but at this point you’ve learned that accepting any offer from Donghyuck will only lead to trouble. What is there to talk about? Will he apologize? You’ve already told him that you don’t want his apologies. Will he try to fix things? Regardless you’re sure that whatever it is, he will attempt to make his way back into your life, your life that you had worked so hard to create without him.

Every atom, every part of you screams at you to reject him.

But perhaps it’s the heavy feeling in your chest that tells you to say yes. You have unsaid words, words you have held within you for years, and now you might finally have the courage to say them.

Cautiously, you nod. “Fine. Thirty minutes?”

He’s visibly relieved at your easy agreement, and bobs his head in response. “Thirty minutes.”

Because you’re made uncomfortable by his gaze you feel the need to thank him for the drinks in your hands. With a slight gulp you hold the glasses up in a slight gesture. “Thank you for the drinks… Haechan.” His name feels foreign on your tongue.

“Oh, it’s just Donghyuck now. I stopped going by that name a long time ago.”

Over the following thirty minutes, barely sipping on your drink, you try to recollect all you’ve ever felt about Lee Donghyuck.

Once upon a time, he was your playground buddy. Pushing you on the swing high above the play area, he showed you the most thrill an eight year old could have. His excitement did lead to your broken ankle of course, but he had carried your backpack for eight weeks after that.

For many years he was the person you considered to be your best friend. The only person you could trust to share secrets with, like how your first kiss was with Huang Renjun of all people and how you were still, after all these years, afraid of the heights that came along with flying high on the swings.

In high school he was almost an enemy to you, someone you disregarded. Someone you had no respect for, with his smoking habits and dyed neon purple hair.

Then, for the shortest moment so fleeting it felt like a blink of an eye, he was someone you wanted. Someone you desired, someone you could have seen a future with not as a best friend but as a… partner. Laying there in the wet grass beneath the stars with your head on his chest and his voice in your ears, you could have accepted him. Could have forgiven all the distance between you and made it work. Could have become one again.

Then in the moment of truth all you could remember was anger and the pain of the betrayal. At that moment you were set on cutting Donghyuck out of your life. You could no longer take his lies, his habit of coming and going as he pleased. You cut him off.

But that didn’t mean he no longer occupied your thoughts.

Now, standing in front of him in a private room somewhere in the bar, you realize you no longer have anger for him. He is just someone who has hurt you, someone who is part of your past. From the way he gazes at you, he wants you in his future.

You’ve long since graduated from your hoodies and leggings. Now you don a dress, comfortable but also dressy enough for the occasion. But just because you’ve grown doesn’t mean you want him to watch you the way he does.

“You look nice,” he starts. Familiarity rings in your mind, and you purse your lips slightly.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true,” retorts Donghyuck quickly.

“Sometimes it’d be nice to hear a compliment not involving my appearance from you,” you respond almost a bit too harshly.

Taking the loud hint, he quiets and doesn’t continue the topic. Instead he asks, “How are you?”

Unable to control the lilted chuckle that leaves your lips, you raise an eyebrow at him. “That’s what you brought me here for?” There’s no hostility in your tone, yet he winces.

“Well, uh… yeah. I just—we haven’t talked since—”

“Since you broke my heart?”

This seems to be news to him, because his eyes widen ever so slightly, outlined slightly in dark kohl that seems reminiscent of your high school days. “I broke your heart?”

He didn’t know. It’s almost laughable and you could almost be upset at him for not knowing just how strong of an effect he’s had on your entire life, if not for the fact that he looks absolutely pitiful, staring with wide eyes at the damage he’s done. You gulp, and nod tightly. “Yeah, you did.” After a moment, you add, “Tore it to pieces.”

A timeline of silence persists, before he speaks, voice low. “I’m sorry.”

He even sounds it, and from the way he looks, still clad in his apron and standing straight in front of you whilst you’re leaning on the wall, you could believe it. But at this point you’ve learned better than to believe anything that comes out of his mouth. Has he matured? Perhaps, but something tells you that he’s still the same kid you’ve known since the time before you could do long division.

Yet despite this, perhaps to settle the disruptive fire in your heart that has been burning, aching since the moment you turned your back on him, you nod. “I forgive you.”

Still, you continue with a scoff. “You didn’t even know. Didn’t even know that every single relationship, every promise, every smile from anyone since I’ve met you, I’ve had to reconsider. You didn’t even know, probably still don’t, how hard it is to trust someone, anyone. You were my best friend, Hyuck, and you betrayed me. How was that supposed to make me feel? Especially when you didn’t even come find me after that? You just… expected to just get away with it? You thought it’d be easy to just leave and never say anything, never apologize?”

He simply stands there, eyes trained to the ground in what seems to be shame as he takes in your words. You’re not done.

“And to think, I almost thought that things could go back to normal, that we could be friends again. Maybe…” You catch yourself on your words. You had never admitted them out loud. “Maybe even—even…”

His eyes move up to meet yours.

“Maybe even more,” you finally release in a breath.

“More?” The familiar emotion of surprise flashes over his dark ochre stained eyes. “You… you wanted to be with me?”

The truth is, yes. You did. In some way, perhaps you still do. You’ve always wanted him, you’ve always been ready to freefall into him at any moment. But he doesn’t deserve it.

“I really wanted to. But clearly that’s not possible at this point.”

“No—” He runs a ring adorned hand through his dark locks, a contrast from the neon purple you associated with him. Other things you associate with him—sadness, betrayal, lies, yet still stars in a night sky. “Y/N, I… I love you. I’ve always loved you. I meant it when I said you were my only best friend, you’re the only one. Not Taeyong, or Johnny, or Jaehyun, or anyone. It’s always been you.”

He… loved you.

It hits you like a truck because as much as he claims it, he has a horrible way of showing it. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying, fuck—I swear. I know I was a horrible friend, and I know I hurt you. Y/N, please, please listen to me. Please believe me.” Suddenly he’s grasping at your hands, beseeching you with pleading eyes. “I’m different, I promise. I’m not that old me, I’m better. I can be better.”

You rip your hands from his grasp.

“I said don’t lie to me! I told you to stop making promises you can’t keep. You’re doing it again, just like always did. You had your chance, and you lost it. You lost me, Hyuck, it’s over.” He stares at you with widened eyes at your sudden outburst, his brows and lips downturned in an expression of sadness. “I was always willing to make things better, I was ready to take you back the moment you stepped in front of me that day at school and forced me to go on a date with you. I never stopped loving you, and you never stopped being my favorite person, Hyuck. But this—” you say, gesturing to the two of you. “—was doomed from the start.”

You sigh, but this time you calm yourself with a breath and grab at his hands, though you had pulled away from him earlier. “It could have been, you and me. We could have been the perfect trope of childhood best friends who fall in love and spend the rest of their lives together, but that was clearly always out of the question for us. And it’s okay, Hyuck. It’s okay. It’s okay that we’ve grown apart, and that you’ve hurt me more times than I can count, and that we won’t be able to fulfill that fantasy. It’s okay, it really is. Please, just… accept it.”

The way he stares at you, the passion that he holds in his eyes causes a yearning feeling to infiltrate your heart. Yet your mind is clear enough for you to discern it’s not him that you miss, it’s the simpler times with him that you long for.

His eyes are pleading when he finally opens his mouth to respond. “You’ve called me Hyuck four times now. That leads me to think that it’s possible. We’re possible, Y/N…”

“I called you that because it’s your name,” you tell him softly, eyes moving down to where your hands are comfortingly rubbing small circles on his skin. He still has the most rough, callused hands you’ve ever felt in your life. “And because I’m going to choose to remember you as Hyuck, my best friend. Not Donghyuck, the kid who pushed me off the swings. Not Haechan, the boy who hurt me. Just Hyuck, my best friend who… made me happy for a really long time, and who will always,” you say with a slight squeeze to his hands. “Always be special to me.”

His eyes are soft as you look back up to find him. “Y/N…”

“I’ve got to go,” you tell him with a small smile. Finally, everything you’ve needed to say for years has been said.

The tears which layer upon his eyes are evident to the both of you, though you choose not to comment on it. You’re his best friend, and you’re about to walk out of his life. The last thing you offer is a comforting squeeze to his hands before you tear away from him, making your way to the door.

“Y/N.”

You stop, not saying anything before his voice pervades through the silence of the room, despite the raucous party outside. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

This time, you really believe him.

You slide the key into the keyhole and unlock the door, twisting the doorknob as you step into your apartment. To no surprise, it’s dark and empty. With a sigh leaving your throat, you slip in and slide off your shoes.

As you make your way through the apartment you flick on the lights you pass to observe your home, before clicking them off to immerse yourself in the temporary darkness again. In the hallway, books and various clutter have been arranged carefully on the shelves. Entering the living room, you take note of the way the couch cushions have been straightened and a folded blanket rests neatly on one of the lounge chairs, awaiting your arrival. A quick glance to the kitchen tells you that the floor’s been mopped and the dishes put away.

A small smile pervades across your face.

Finally, the bedroom.

Your calm, harmonious smile remains present on your face as you slip into the walk in closet, allowing the fabric of your dress to slide off your figure. Instead, you reach for your pajama bottoms and a thin tank top.

After brushing your teeth and clearing your visage of any remaining makeup, you peel off the blanket and glide into the space between the comforter and the mattress. Finally, you’re home.

You’re closing your eyes, ready to fall asleep with a newfound peace, when a hand slides around your waist. Your smile grows wider as you turn in your spot to meet the sleepy face of your fiance, Jaemin.

“Hey,” he hums tiredly.

“Hey. Sorry for waking you,” you respond lightly, pressing a kiss to his nose.

A small shake of his head and a smile is all that’s needed to settle your guilt of waking him. “It’s okay,” he says while pulling you closer to him, gathering you into his chest.

“You cleaned the apartment,” you muse in amazement at him.

The sound which comes out of him is both smug and proud. “I did. And did you have fun?”

You nod. “I did.”

“How was it?”

“It was nice. I… I met Donghyuck.”

This piques his interest. “Oh? Your best friend from high school who broke your heart?”

A pitiful laugh leaves your chest, and you nod once more. “Yeah, that one.”

“Mm, how was that? Do I need to go punch someone, teach him a lesson?” His words intend to sound menacing, but the fatigue in his tone only makes you chuckle.

“No, honey, it’s okay really. I… I told him how I feel.”

“How’d he take it?” He asks, resting his chin upon the crown of your head. He’s more than knowledgeable about your heart wrenching past toward your friend.

“It was difficult for the both of us but I think everything’s okay. Finally.”

You don’t have to look, but you know he’s smiling.

Where Hyuck is a dark night sky of stars, signifying all the possibilities of the universe, Jaemin is the dawn; the sun reappearing after an arduous night to bring you hope. Where Hyuck is a world of lies, Jaemin is your truth.

He had struggled for many years to make you see, to make you forget the scars that your time with Hyuck had inflicted on your heart. Though you had worried for many years that you were unlovable, Jaemin taught you the opposite.

He is the truth, he is all that’s good, and he is yours.

“Yeah, finally. I’m proud of you, honey. Can we sleep now?”

A laugh leaves your lips, and you nod. “Yeah, go back to sleep, love. Goodnight.” With this, he presses a kiss to your forehead. This small touch, the slightest brush of his lips over your skin, causes a world of love and emotion to erupt within your chest.

So, you say proudly, “I love you.”

He doesn’t miss a beat, replying within a second. “I love you too, with everything I am.”

With your entire heart, you believe him. You have no reason to doubt him.

He is your last and final truth.

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retvenkos · 3 years ago

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Grishaverse Deep Dive: The Darkling is a Character that lives in a Society.

((spoilers for ALL of the grishaverse))

Ah, yes, Shadow and Bone season 2 is gearing up, the birds are singing, I have a cup of earl grey tea before me - it is finally time to sit down to talk about the Darkling, and explain his tenuous relationship with the Grishaverse.

The Darkling is a character greatly contested. When simply looking at his motivations, we see a rift in the fandom. Add in his backstory and it fractures even more. When you pepper in the third ingredient of his relationship with Alina, you get an entire war. The Darkling is a divisive character. He gets under our skin and lingers for days afterwards.

I am going to take you on a deep dive of the Darklings character, and try to tease apart the problems that lie within the creation of his character. Why were so many fans betrayed by his ending? How did he muddle the messages of Shadow and Bone, and why is his ending so complicated that it satisfies very few? Today, we’re going to look at The Problem of the Darking: An Essay in Six Parts.

A little history lesson;

So first, allow me to take you back in time, to 2012, when Shadow and Bone was first released.

Two years prior, The Hunger Games Trilogy had finished coming out and, in a rather stunning turn of events, shifted the popular Y.A. category from the genre of the paranormal romance (thank you, Stephanie Meyer) to the dystopian society.

Now, this is not to say that there weren’t dystopian stories prior to The Hunger Games, or that there weren’t paranormal romances in the Y.A. genre afterward. Both have survived, but the boom of dystopian stories and the whimper of paranormal romance was definitely felt.

So 2012 hits. In comes Shadow and Bone, in a time where we have some interesting precedents that our Y.A. forefathers created:

Firstly, let’s talk about themes.

Carried over from both genres, is this idea of duality. There is light and there is dark, and whether or not there is a middle ground is up to the author. As the Y.A. target audience is quite large, there’s a lot to be said for how nuanced this idea can be. In many stories, it’s a nail on the head. In others, the lines are a little more blurred. In most stories, you get some semblance of Good = Light, Bad = Shadow. In the end, the ultimate goal is to embrace one or the other. At the end of the series, we’re either in the midday sun or the midnight darkness. The peak of the story leaves very little middle ground.

Then, brought over from the dystopian genre, we have the idea that The Current Regime is Bad for insidious reasons, and it needs to be torn down and built anew. This is often the main focus of dystopian stories, and our main characters are revolutionaries that see the world in a new, free light.

Finally, a trap of the Y.A. category is it’s simplistic idea of good and bad. Again, we hark back to the vast target age range, and you can see why this would be so prevalent. There is very little by way of morally grey, in the Y.A. category, and if there is moral greyness, it almost always falls into two categories: (1) it is held by the main character alone, and that is why we root for them, or (2) it is martyred and killed. Moral greyness is either the Ushering of a New Era, or The Ideal that Could Not Be. If greyness is to survive, it must exist in the main character who, readers hope, will usher in a new dawn of peace (and light moral greyness) either through their small acts of love (the angel loving the demon) or in large displays of change (the morally grey character rising to be ruler).

These are all themes we expect to be present in Shadow and Bone. And for the most part, they are!

But now let’s talk about character tropes.

Carried over from the paranormal romance, we have the introduction of the “Othered” love interest. This character has a condition that sets him apart from others, and (whether it be vampire, demon, werewolf, etc.) is so prevalent that he cannot fit in. And because of his differences, he has been shunned by Society. This character, notably, is not the “light” or “pure” paranormal figure - he is not the angel - but rather, the demon. The angel would be able to slip into society (presumably because his goodness grants him some kind of godly camouflage). The demon cannot. He doesn’t fit in, and he never can. This creates tension in him, and so he shuns others just as hard as they shun him - he has done so for a very long time until he meets our main character, who gets close to him and breaks down his walls. This character is often the eventual love interest, for reasons that will become apparent later.

Sometimes carried over from the paranormal romance is the idea that the main character is secretly an “other in hiding” (an angel without her wings, etc.). This creates a bond between the “Othered” love interest and the main character - a bond that can’t be deteriorated once it’s been made, because the main character can’t be un-Othered. They can’t take back the forbidden knowledge they’ve obtained. If this character pops up, the “Othered” love interest is almost always chosen, if he exists.

The dystopian genre has a branching version of this trope, as there is almost always a healthy amount of othering. The main character usually comes from a group of people that is Othered from Society, but our main character is even more unique/different from their “Othered group.” This “specially Othered” character is superpowered in that they can navigate both “Othered” Society and “normal” Society. They can be the go-between.

Sometimes found in the paranormal romance is the “normal” or stereotypical character. This is the average human - the character that doesn’t understand the “Othered” love interest, and wants the main character to go back to the way things were before. This character can sometimes make up the other leg of the love triangle and become a love interest. Other times, it’s a family member or a friend or even an abstract ideal. The point of this character, however, is to show the main character that they can’t go back to the way things were. Too much has happened. Too much has been discovered.

All of this is to say that when Shadow and Bone came out, audiences had expectations with long standing. It is safe and fair to say that the Darkling was set up as a character to be viewed in a certain light, and then the rug was pulled out beneath fans, who had already invested so much in his character.

Shadow and Bone: The characters that Don’t Fit;

So now let’s look at Shadow and Bone in the scope of history and audience expectation. Let’s look at the characters as well as the Grishaverse, in broad terms.

The Darkling is, in the first half of Shadow and Bone, the stereotypical “Othered” love interest. He can summon shadows, which is remarkably different from the other powers of Grisha, and his “forefathers” have done terrible things with this power, making him not only an other in talent but an other in animosity and fear.

In comes Alina, and she is a perfect fit for the main character being an “other in hiding” as well as a “specially Othered” character. She was otkazat’sya before she realized she was Grisha, and she is seen as the go-between for these two different worlds - she can bring them together. Furthermore, she is stronger than your average Grisha - distinct from all others, excepting the Darkling.

Alina is understood by the Darkling. She is discovering parts of herself that she didn’t know she had. This is all decidedly Good, and the romance that is forming is living up to reader expectation.

We also have an interesting occurence of duality. Alina, with her light, is the equal and opposite to the Darkling and his shadow. Together, they have limitless power, a common goal, and perhaps a purifying dynamic as Alina can “save” the Darkling. Her light can banish his shadows.

History is leading us to believe they are the endgame ship.

This is only inculcated when you have Mal, who is the “normal” character. Through the framing of the story (not seeing Mal, holding on to him only causing Alina to not reach her full potential), we see that the love story with Mal is the Romance That Cannot Be. They are fated to be apart due to the tropes that readers know and understand.

But then the second half of the book kicks in, The Darkling is proven to have been manipulating Alina, things go South, and readers are left unaware of what’s coming next. In this moment, the theme of The Current Regime is Bad slaps readers across the face.

So let’s take a second to look at The Current Regime is Bad, because how the Darkling and his motives exist in that tempest is thought provoking, to say the least.

The Darkling is, decidedly, a part of The Current Regime. He is a general and close to the King, after all. He is a part of this life... and yet he is not. Remember that The Darkling is our “Othered” character. He cannot be a part of The Current Regime because he is shunned by it. And yet, he is tied to it like a prisoner.

The reader thinks: is the Darkling bad? He is shown to be a part of Society. He wants the war to continue - he doesn’t want to tear down the Fold.

As the reader is grappling with this revelation, we are told (in the same book!) that the Darkling is actually not a part of The Current Regime (which is Bad), but rather, had been working against it.

Okay.

So now the reader thinks that since Society is Bad, and the Darkling is against it, he and Alina do have a common goal, and his status as a love interest can be saved. He can be redeemed as a character because Alina can purify his methods, then together they can get rid of the current regime, and they can be Others together.

It’s a solid thought process. After all, the “Othered” characters have been consistently good at heart, and Alina can redeem him. We still have a bad guy to take down - and it’s not the Darkling.

But...

Leigh Bardugo decides that is not the story she wants to tell, and she has to pull out some literary gymnastics to give us an explanation. The idea is, no, the Darkling is Bad and his “Othered” status is not relevant because it doesn’t justify his actions. He is a part of a radical portion of The Current Regime and is just as Bad.

Enter Nikolai Lantsov, who can take over The Current Regime, because as the reader is constantly reminded, Alina no longer wants novelty - she wants normalcy (which is represented by none other than Malyen Oretsev).

So, what does all of this mean? The Darkling decidedly Doesn’t Fit into any of the currently accepted (and expected) tropes of the Y.A. genre. This, on its own, is not inherently Bad or Wrong, but you can see how readers were thrown and consistently, ideas were stretched to fit the simplistic ideas of good and bad that run rampant through the Y.A. category.

The Darkling: What We Left Behind;

We have all heard the critique that the most frustrating thing about the Shadow and Bone Trilogy is how the treatment of Grisha is never fixed. It’s mentioned, but it’s never addressed.

To play the Devil’s Advocate, I am going to tell you all that this problem was never fixed because it was never part of Alina’s Narrative. As I will now attempt to point out, The Darkling is an ill suited antagonist for Alina’s story.

As I like to joke with my friends, the Darkling is an Adult Fantasy character inside of a Y.A. Fantasy story. He cannot be properly served because the story does not fit him, and it doesn’t really try.

Y.A. stories are incredibly focused. There is usually a lot going on in the wider story, but the reader is confined to one point of view and one narrative. This is why the main character is always leading rebellions and fighting in the thick of things. In order to address the problems of the wider narrative, the main character needs to be pretty front and center with the problems.

Alina is at the center of an inner conflict of power vs. normalcy. She is not at the center of the Grisha’s problems.

Time and again, we see that Alina largely doesn’t care about how terribly Grisha are treated, as a whole. She has moments of clarity where she is angry (notably the scene in Ruin and Rising where the nations’ treatment of Grisha is described in detail), but her remorse doesn’t really extend past sympathy. In the end, she still does nothing to save Grisha.

Alina is a terrible hero when matched to the problems the Darkling is trying to solve. She doesn’t understand their full breadth, having not grown up with them, and she doesn’t want to fix them.

The Problem of The Darkling is that he is a character with problems and motivations that get shrinked and discarded because they do not fit into the Alina Narrative.

Alina’s story is about three things: (1) learning that a lust for power is bad and only corrupts; (2) tearing down the Fold, which is the representation of lusty power; and (3) returning to normalcy. (If you’re wondering why Mal is a rough™ character, it’s because he’s supposed to be the ideal of normalcy, that Alina both wants but can’t have as long as she seeks the amplifiers.) The Grisha don’t factor into that equation.

Alina doesn’t have a solution for giving the Grisha a safe existence where they won’t be sold into slavery, won’t be persecuted by the world, and won’t be forever Othered. She stumbles upon the vague promise of fixing the last of those problems when she runs into Nikolai (purely by chance, or, if you want to stretch it, The Darklings machinations). Furthermore, she doesn’t want to do any of that - she wants normalcy, remember? Her story isn’t going to be saving the Grisha - that’s not what it’s about.

The Darklings entire character motivations focus on all of the plot points that Alina doesn’t hit. He wan’t to make a safe existence for Grisha, he wants Grisha to no longer be persecuted and Othered. How is he going to do it? By ugly means, yes, but he’s going to achieve it nonetheless.

The Darkling has motivations that are not addressed in the Shadow and Bone Trilogy. They aren’t what the story is about, or what the story chooses to focus on. His story is a braided narrative that is too complicated for the simplistic, black and white story that the Shadow and Bone Trilogy is.

So here’s the problem: the story insists the Darkling is the bad guy, but he can’t possibly be the bad guy if his intentions are Good, and there is no other way. Until Alina finds another way, he is a martyr - he is the Starless Saint. The Saint who was misguided, sure, but the only Saint who tried to solve things.

The Darkling is not fit for Shadow and Bone. His story and what he advocated for isn’t resolved by the end of the trilogy. So when he dies, it feels unearned. It’s tragic - and perhaps there is some beauty in that tragedy, or some lesson to be learned about how you cannot justify evil means for a good end - but it feels undeserved. His problems aren’t addressed. He is defeated, but his cause and his essence aren’t put to sleep.

King of Scars: A Cause Without Its Martyr;

Which leads us to the Nikolai duology.

Like I said - The Darklings’ problems are forgotten in Alina’s narrative. So what happens when we break out of that point of view? After a brief (and iconic) interim with the Crows, we are back in Ravka and the Grisha are still struggling with the problems that Shadow and Bone failed to address. Ravka is still dying, but now that we have gotten rid of a reluctant cast of characters and have made distance from the trope-heavy Shadow and Bone, we are better equipped to save her.

But here’s a question - can we ignore the man who pioneered these problems in favor of a more palatable cast? Can we not address the Darkling while picking up the sword he used?

Leigh Bardugo needs to reclaim the Grisha Problem by stealing it from the Darkling’s grasp. That proves to be difficult, given that we’ve killed him and have given him a tragically beautiful death. Absence has made the heart grow fonder, and in his final moments, the Darkling was not the evil Shadow Summoner but rather Alexander Morozova - the boy within. Readers (even those who didn’t like the Darkling) might be more endeared to him now that everything is said and done.

We need to separate the Darkling from his cause.

Enter the Cult of the Starless Saint and the Condemnation of the Starless.

To remind readers that the Darkling is bad, Leigh Bardugo does a few things. Firstly, she has her characters repeatedly condemn the Darkling. On one hand, it makes sense and feels genuine. On the other hand, it can be a little excessive. Sometimes, the vehemence reads like what it is - Leigh Bardugo is giving us reasons to hate the Darkling again. Add on the fact that Nikolai’s monster is Bad and one of few remnants of the Darkling still surviving, and you get a lot of hate.

Except, ah! The more we talk about the Darkling, the more we are reminded of what he stood for!

So we have to strip him of that - we have to take his legacy and drag it through the mud. Thus, we create The Cult of the Starless Saint. They represent the Darklings legacy and status in history - were his intentions Good Enough to grant him mercy? To give him Sainthood?

Spoiler alert: They are not. Not as portrayed by the Cult of the Starless Saint.

The Cult is a laughing stock. They don’t have a stance of the Grisha, they’re worship of the Darkling is meant to be seen as mocking Alina’s sacrifice, and the main priest readers interact with is the receiving end of a slew of jokes. They don’t care about anything the Darkling cared for, and they don’t really want to help Grisha. This is done to muddy the waters - if the people who emulate the Darkling are selfish and without cause, well... the Darkling clearly wasn’t Good. They just think his shadow powers were cool and want him to be a Saint. They exist to slander the Darkling.

So now we have separated the Darkling from his cause, and the story continues. The Darkling is Bad. He doesn’t have a legacy. His cause is passed on to others.

But (because we’re Delta airlines and life is a f*cking nightmare) it doesn’t end there. We bring the Darkling back from the dead.

*long sigh*

Resurrection? The Curse of a Second Life;

I have wracked my brain for many an evening, trying to give reason as to why we brought the Darkling back. The obvious answer is for his role at the end of Rule of Wolves - we need him to hold the rift of the Making at the Heart of the World together. However, when Leigh Bardugo introduces real Saints, he’s not needed. Suddenly, we have a slew of characters who could do the same. Furthermore, part of why this rift exists is because the Darkling was brought back. If he is both the cause and the solution, the conflict didn’t need to be there in the first place - especially considering how inconsequential it was to the narrative.

If I had to pin a reason as to why we brought the Darkling back, it was simply to further push the Darkling from his original motivation. He comes back and... doesn’t do much. He doesn’t seem to have the same care for Grisha, he has watered down character traits, and he largely does nothing. The Darkling in the Nikolai Duology is Not The Darkling because he’s a shell of the character he used to be.

Bringing him back from the dead was unsatisfying, and it weakens his original ending. As I have mentioned in other posts, the Darkling coming back cheapens whatever meaning readers gleaned from his ending. The Darkling is resurrected and he doesn’t truly seem to care about anything - which is the direct opposite of what the Darkling has been shown to be.

The Darkling has been bastardized in any appearance he’s made after The Demon in the Wood, and ultimately, it leads to a rather anticlimactic end for such a distinctive, hallmark character.

But let’s really quick establish why the sacrifice the Darkling makes at the end of this book is unfulfilling.

Because, in the final moments of Rule of Wolves, the Darkling gets his moment of penance and sacrifice - he chooses to hold the rift. It’s said he will have to hold it for eternity. You would thing that this would leave an impact!

However, as is, this ending leaves much to be desired for a few reasons:

The Darkling has been so far removed from his character, that when he states, “Everything I did, I did for Ravka,” it feels... incorrect? It sounds like the hollow, misguided claims of a tyrant king, because for an entire Duology, the Darkling has been bastardized and has been the cause of a blight that is killing Ravka. His presence is actively killing the country he claims to serve, and as for actions, he has done very little for Ravka, and nothing for the Grisha. The last time he did anything of substance was before Six of Crows!

None of the characters present for his sacrifice have any sympathy for the Darkling. The Darkling chooses to sacrifice himself, and we get no emotional closure. Alina isn’t there to whisper his name and mourn him, and while Zoya gets the glimmer of weak pity, we have much reason to believe that Zoya mostly feels disenchanted because he will be praised as a martyr and not hated as the evil man she knew him to be (more on that here). There isn’t sympathy so much as there is bitterness and the semblance of the remnants of tattered respect shining in the dim light.

The final chapter of Rule of Wolves tells us that it’s all going to be made inconsequential in the coming books, when they are going to replace the Darkling with something else. The Darkling won’t even get his full sacrifice, because he is undeserving of a redemptive act of selflessness.

So now, where do we leave the Darkling? For two books, we have separated him from his initial cause, watered down his character and motivations, and given him ends that are largely unsatisfying.

We’ve actually started to fix the Grisha problem, and there’s something interesting to be said in that it’s fixed by Zoya Nazyalensky, who goes up through the chain of command in a very similar fashion as to how the Darkling planned. She was a General, and then she became Queen of Ravka - the acting monarch, no less - with a beloved public figure on her arm (which, in the Darkling’s case, would have been Alina).

So I am left to wonder - was the lesson, then, indeed, that you cannot justify evil means for a good end? Was the moral of the Darkling all along about how you must be good throughout - with good acts and good intentions - in order to make change and be revered for it? If so, why did Leigh Bardugo slander the Darkling retroactively, the way she did?

If the problem was his actions and not his intentions, why insist that his intentions were devoid of meaning, as well?

Aleksander Morozova: What We Buried;

Now, you all knew I was going to get here eventually, and if you’ve made it, congrats. We are now talking about the emotion behind the deed, the man behind the monster, the boy swallowed by the shadows.

I believe it is pivotal to understand that Leigh Bardugo has always wanted us to struggle with our feelings over the Darkling. She wanted a character that you could sympathize with, she wanted a character with humanity, and she wanted a reason for his villainy. I think that Shadow and Bone, for all of its failings, gave us that. There’s a reason why there is such a big divide over the Darkling in the original trilogy. He was a compelling character! Somewhere along the way, Leigh Bardugo lost that nuance of her own character. At some point, she resorted to stripping him of his meaning and slandering his image.

Perhaps I am playing the Devil’s Advocate again, but I believe this was intentionally done.

Because one has to ask - why slander the Darkling? A large portion of the fanbase already hates him, so cheapening his character is doing nothing for them other than giving them sweet vindication, which is unnecessary and only disenchants the other half of your audience. There has to be some deeper reasoning. Leigh Bardugo wanted this character to be sympathetic, so why, now, does she want him to be two-dimensional?

Once more, I am asking you to think back to the original trilogy. What was the main moral? That power, no matter how good-intentioned the pursuit of it is, corrupts. What is the Darklings purpose of coming back again if not to simply have power? He certainly shows no other motive than lusty greed, after being resurrected.

And even if we ignore his lust for power, as he so willingly gives it up to Zoya Nazyalensky in the end of Rule of Wolves, we have two other corrupting forces that could account for the degradation of his character - time, and death.

We know the Darkling to have lived for eons, and he would have continued to live on for an eternity more. There is nothing like time to truly corrupt a character’s vision, and there is nothing like death and resurrection to husk a character.

In fact, if Mal’s character did anything of importance when it comes to effecting the Darkling, it lies in the epilogue of Ruin and Rising, where it is stated that “the boy and the girl had both known loss.” Mal’s loss is equated to Alina being stripped of her power - that is the power of having died, and being forcefully brought back to life. That is a vague basis for which we readers can compare what it must have been like for the Darkling to come back - even if he is so desensitized to feeling, that he doesn’t remark on it himself.

But let’s keep chugging on.

When we first met the Darkling in 2012 Shadow and Bone, he was unfeeling. He was cold and harsh. There was something beneath the surface, yes, but there were thick sheets of ice in the way. You had to mine for it. Time had already warped the actions of his intentions. It’s expected that time would continue to do its damage, and when he is revived in King of Scars, his intentions are warped as well. He is nothing of the person he used to be other than memories and power. That is why, at the end of Rule of Wolves, when he states that he did everything for Ravka, it feels hollow - that was once true, but the Darkling has even lost that. He has the vague impression of it, but nothing you can sink your teeth into.

I think, had this idea been looked at in deeper depth, it would have been a far more compelling story. Had Rule of Wolves really dedicated itself to showing the Darkling’s conflict of his current apathy, and the knowledge that there was once a time he possessed meaning, we could have found the marrow of his arc. If the book had made an allusion to this concept, his character would have been more satisfying. But as it stands, the Darkling is just degraded in the later books, and unless you really search for meaning, there isn’t any.

And perhaps, if the Darkling had been a different character - a character who, at his core, was more unfeeling - the way we left him would feel okay.

But while The Darkling was harsh and cruel, Aleksander Morozova wasn’t, and that’s what has us all hung up on his character.

If you haven’t read The Demon in the Wood for whatever reason, do yourself a favor and read that instead of revisiting the show’s version of his villain origin story. The show made the Darkling far less compelling by showing him as the grief stricken Black Heretic, rather than the boy within. When we meet Aleksander, he is a boy who is afraid of the world, who has never belonged in it or with others, and who is, ultimately, afraid of himself. With his mother, Baghra, he has taken on a thousand names and traveled a thousand places, and all the while, he is afraid of getting too close to others because he is an amplifier and he knows that if any Grisha were to find out, they would kill him for his power.

Thus, there is so much nuance to his relationship with the Grisha. He is one of them, but he is not. To hark back to our history lesson, he is the exact opposite of the “specially Othered” character that is so often given to protagonists. Instead of acting as a go-between, he is the one person that everyone - Grisha and otkazat’sya - can come together to kill.

And as a little boy, he knows that. He knows he has to stay in the shadows, and yet, he is deathly afraid of the dark - afraid of that which sets him apart, and that which he cannot escape.

This is poignant because at the root of every great character is a singular, vulnerable emotion, and for the Darkling, it is fear. And most importantly, fear of the shadows.

When he meets Alina, we truly see the strength of their duality. We truly see why he was so drawn to Alina - why he could so easily fall in love with her, despite the years and despite the tide, and despite his fear of letting others in. She is his equal and opposite - with her, there are no shadows. There is no fear. The fact that he lets Alina use him as an amplifier is so telling of his deep feelings for Alina.

Where each reader draws the line between their dynamic - either him truly loving Alina, or him simply loving and obsessing over the idea of her - is for the individual to decide. The wonderful thing about the Darkling in his current state in the original Shadow and Bone Trilogy is that he still has good intentions within him, no matter how corrupted by his evil actions. Whether or not they truly could have been is up to each person because the question over whether or not Alina could “purify” the Darkling was never deeply explored. We will never know if she could save him, or if it would have destroyed her in the end. Whether or not you want her to try is personal preference.

Again, Alina didn’t want to fully commit to that act, and so we readers will never truly know. Luckily, fanfiction exists.

But, I didn’t name this section “what we buried” for nothing, and I think it’s important to note that even in the beginning of The Demon in the Wood, the Darkling was already on his way toward a darker, harsher existence.

Baghra, from presumably the moment he was born, groomed the Darkling to be a certain way - the same way as her, a survivor with little hope, living for the sake of living and fighting for the sake of a meal. She had no plans to save the world - it was only after the Darkling had a run in with the possibility of death that he unearthed a deep desire within him - the desire to save the Grisha. Before that, it was buried.

Before that, the Darklings' desires were buried beneath his mother’s words and buried beneath the dirt that settled over his heart like a shallow grave, because his connection to others was buried as well. Baghra did that, and whether or not she was misguided or if she was the smarter of the two is an essay better tackled by looking at her, specifically, which we won’t do here.

As we’re reaching the end, I feel like I have earned the right to be cliche and quote the Darkling’s thoughts from when he was still a boy, but already a shadow. In The Demon in the Wood, he thinks:

“My father is dust. You all are.”

At such a young age, the Darkling has already lost his grip. Already, he knew he would outlive and outlast anyone, and this heavy knowledge was already piling up, and he was slowly being buried alive in his own infinence.

It was only ever inevitable that his story would end like this - with a detached man who was once a hopeful boy, but could no longer recall what such confidence tasted like - so perhaps the tragic beauty in the end of Ruin and Rising was not that he died, it was that he wasn’t given an end.

— Special kudos to @onceupon-a-decembr who let me scream about this with her, and another kudos to @musicallisto who introduced me to a book series that I will never stop screaming about. Ever.

— tagging: @maybanksslut, @musicallisto, @catsbooksandmusic, @thefifthweasley, @thegirlwhocriedwerewolf, @amirahiddleston, @lachichapequena, @mrs-brekker15, @amortensie // add yourself to the taglist here!

#grishaverse #grishaverse meta #shadow and bone #shadow and bone meta #meta #meta analysis #writing #the darkling #aleksander morozova #the darkling meta #i am once again ranting about the grishaverse #if miss leigh bardugo wants me to stop analyzing her characters and (kind of drag her) she better put me in the writers room.#or put me in the show her choice #and there's more i could have added to this smh #but i feel like people stop reading after 5.6k words.

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collisiondiscourse · 4 years ago

Text

battle scars || a deku & class 1-A drabble

(A quick drabble talking about members of class 1-A, the scars they share, and the love that heals them. TW for descriptions of violence and both external and internal injuries.)

There isn't a single hero that Deku knows of who doesn't have scars.

They aren't stigmatized, no not at all. No one who's ever seen a hero in action before thinks that scars are ugly. In hero society, scars are celebrated. Admired, adored, worshipped--whatever connotates the wearer to something positive. In a world where suffering and self-sacrifice are glorified, scars are a mark of beauty.

Even then though, Izuku Midoriya can't help but think that his scars are better off hidden.

He knows, god does he know, that everyone has their own wounds and injuries. Little divots here, the occasional prosthetic there--everyone he knows is marked in some way that reminds the world that they are still human where it matters. They aren't gods or faces off a product--just average traumatized people who unfortunately love humanity more than they love themselves.

Class 1-A being no exception.

Mina, for example, has burns. Big burns, small burns, burns of all shapes and sizes that litter her body like the pattern of the hero costume she wears. A few too many evil scientists with interests in chemistry like to think that their knowledge gives them the upper hand, but the Alien Queen always proves them wrong.

One of her horns is chipped, and when she gets drunk she admits that her sense of sight might be going. Sometimes, the scars sting, but the sweet ache of her body as she nails another dance routine reminds her that there's more to the world than how people look. When she begins to forget that, Kirishima claps loudly as she lands another pirouette.

Kaminari is dotted from head to toe in Lichtenberg scars. It's something that surprises no one, and something the blond feels no shame in showing off at any given moment. The lightning patterned marks are most prevalent along his forearms and palms, every hug from him feeling rough but safe nonetheless.

Occasionally, due to one too many brain fries, he'll have days where his mind doesn't seem like it's all there and memories fade like footprints in the sand. On those days, Denki lays down and Jirou runs her hands through electric blond hair while humming a soft and sweet tune.

Kirishima's scars run like cracks. They splinter and have ridges that look very much like his own quirk. Most of them are very faint and shallow, getting more focused and deep around his chest and forearms as he held firm against countless unrelenting attacks.

After one too many nosebleeds, the red-head finds out that he's way more prone to internal wounds from the way his organs deal with shock absorption less adaptively than his skin and bones do. Eijirou's tense muscles eventually learn to relax under the gentle caring massages from an exasperated Mina.

Iida, on the other hand, has a prosthetic. An unfortunate and horrible incident left him missing half a leg after pissing off a Stain-inspired villain who was a little too much like her idol. He's much less scarred (a benefit of his full-bodied armor), but Deku still sometimes sees the way he struggles to breathe.

Internal scars from internal wounds similar to Kirishima's make his body sometimes forget that he's stopped running. Tenya wears these scars with responsibility and blushes whenever he greets an enthusiastic Hatsume Mei for his monthly prosthetic maintenance check.

Uraraka has scars all over her fingers. Nicks and slices from where people tried to render her quirk useless by taking off a finger. She has a star-shaped mark on the right side of her forehead from where a building caved in and shattered her helmet.

Neat little slashes run up and down her ankles and soles of her feet from lucky shots people had before she floated away. Ochako wears these scars with ferocity and pride, adorning them in pink band-aids that Toga sometimes scratches at when the brunette comes to visit her in jail.

Todoroki is... a little different. The scar over his right eye is a lot more faded, yet still there. It grew up with him, healed and faded at the edges like the wounds in his heart, but not forgotten because of how it made him who he is. He has burns of all types adorned around his body--caused either by his own quirk or others.

He also often gets sick when he overexerts himself like the hopeless workaholic Big Three member he is. Yaoyorozu and Inasa visit him on those sick days, bringing light and chicken soup into his big empty home.

Bakugou's a lot similar to Deku. Their families and friends have noticed that if you put a diagram of their bodies side by side with markings of their injuries, it wouldn't exactly be a mirror image, but seemingly two parts of a puzzle clicking together. The blond had all sorts of scars around his body, a hazard that came with the title of Japan's Symbol of Victory.

There were deep lashes on his back, marks of muzzles and handcuffs from attempt after attempt of kidnappings and ransom hostages. On his forearms were twin bracelet scars, from an especially ruthless villain that attempted to cut his hands off in an effort to eliminate his quirk. Over his torso were two faint pink marks shaped like explosions, both from the first time he sacrificed himself for Deku.

Bakugou had similar aches on his shoulders and neck from overuse and recoil whenever he'd pushed himself too quick and too soon. Kacchan would scoff at the notion of hiding his scars and treat the pain with a quick home-cooked meal, fingers twitching when Deku would plop himself on the counter and ask about his latest shift.

But Deku?

Deku hid well. He hid because it was his habit to deceive and alter his appearance--covering things up with a simple black arm band because in the grand scheme of things there were some secrets best left unseen. Deku wore long sleeves and concealer over his skin like it was a suit of armor, hiding the rawest parts of him because even as he grew and climbed his way to the top, a part of him always remembered that the burden he carries is too heavy to let be seen.

So he hides.

He hides the way burns litter his skin from trying to contain the inferno that is OfA and walking through fire to bring civillians home. He hides the Lichtenberg scars and the way green lightning sometimes crackles hard enough to make him flinch as he fights his way through unbeatable hoards of enemis. He hides the prosthetics, the way his arms gave out on him quite a while ago, forcing them to be replaced and improved. He hides the way people have tried to tear him apart and steal his burden for themselves.

One for All was his greatest gift and most painful curse.

Some nights he trembles and shakes, muscles spasming in effort to just simply keep going. Shivers run up and down his spine because with every injury his blood circulation worsens and worsens until cold and pain is all that he feels. Izuku will sometimes walk around, scars hurting and throbbing hot white under his skin, and look for medication that dulls the ache and makes him go a little less crazy.

Hands mindlessly running over bumps and edges, scars from villains and friends and debris and growth spurts. He would stand in front of a mirror like a house of cards and pull himself apart, reflection making him detest himself from how gnarled and ugly and imperfect he was.

"--No, my boy. Not imperfect." The tall and gaunt figure of his old mentor would tut. Thin and skeletal fingers would grasp the bottom of a white shirt and lift it up, gently revealing a scar so deep it almost looks like a crater. "Not imperfect at all. For people like us, your scars make you far more than just a hero."

Deku, of course, would hum in resignation. He looks at All Might--no, Toshinori Yagi with a skeptical look and the retired hero would smile.

"You are... a miracle."

And just like that, Deku would be brought back to being 14 years old, quirkless and desperate. He's on his knees, looking at the Symbol of Peace in his true form--thin and pale but still oh so powerful. A voice tells him that there is a destiny he has far greater than he'll ever realize, an adventure that awaits him through the old skinny man with unruly blond hair.

Izuku didn't see weakness that day, no.

He saw hope.

So now, even as Pro-Hero Deku hides away the parts of himself that are broken and raw from the world he protects, he finds his cure all the same. In the arms of those who are warm and familiar, Deku sheds his armor, his foundation, his long sleeves--

and he is simply Izuku.

He is Izuku who gets spa days and yoga sessions with Ashido, Denki, and Eijirou that stops his muscles from spasming on days where it gets unbearable. He is Izuku who gets tender massages and hearty midnight snack runs with Ochako and Tenya when nightmares and visions just won't let him sleep. He is Izuku who gets soup and warm borrowed hoodies from Shouto and Kacchan when stress makes him keel over and shudder at the thought of working. He is Izuku who gets big warm hugs and a fierce movie marathon with his loving mother and mentor who is his father in all but name.

He is Izuku, riddled with scars that still heal.

#bnha #mha spoilers #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #denki kaminari #mina ashido #eijirou kirishima #tenya iida #ochako uraraka #katsuki bakugou #shouto todoroki #izuku midoriya #codi.docx #tw violence #tw injury

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orchisailsa · 4 years ago

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Okay but can we just stop for one moment to talk about Wu Chuchu, and acknowledge exactly how ride-or-die this girl is?

Like, a month or two ago her life was completely normal. She was a completely, totally average teenage girl. But she has now lived to see her parents murdered, her brother lost and presumed dead, and literally just saw someone WEARING HER OWN FACE running through the town, distracting the terrifying crime syndicate martial arts sect that is actively chasing her down to murder her for her jewelry.

I can’t say for sure, but I’m really not sure that I, at seventeen, could handle all that. Like at all. In any way. I’m pretty sure I would have been absolutely catatonic after seeing someone in a flawless ME SUIT staring back into my eyes in the midst of provoking a well armed group of terrifying gangsters.

But she holds it together. She learns. She grows. She resolves to stop being a damsel in distress and -- even though she is alone and scared out of her god damned mind -- she keeps her shit together and she freaking DOES IT. I’m not even talking about later when she becomes a super valuable martial arts historian/scholar. I mean RIGHT NOW, when she bodily flings herself in front of a woman who she knows a) could kill her with literally one flick of her hand and b) is seriously, deeply mentally ill and highly unpredictable, to protect Xie Yun, who is obviously more well trained and physically capable than she is (even now, when we haven’t learned anything much about his health issues).

I just think it’s important to acknowledge that at this point in her story she... isn’t special and strong and well trained. She has no martial arts training at all. She’s led a very sheltered life as a young maiden and the eldest daughter of a respectable family. But that doesn’t stop her from keeping her wits about her and stepping up to defend her friends when she knows she needs to do something.

THAT IS SO HARD. She’s a kid who probably never had to kill a cockroach on her own before. I just want to applaud her.

I love Chuchu and I love stories with strong female characters and I FREAKING LOVE when people who aren’t magical, gifted, or touched by fate can still somehow manage to step up and grow and evolve and be badass -- especially in a wuxia story like this where supernatural powers of strength and speed and healing are so prevalent in the world building of the universe.

#wu chuchu #legend of fei #you fei #lof #lof meta #legend of fei meta #wu chuchu appreciation society #respect my wife please #she is an inspiration #mine

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goldeneyedgirl · 3 years ago

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Whumptober Prompt 8: Coughing Up A Lung

In the Night Hours Anthology: Prompt 8 Pneumothorax

A Simple Thing

Alice/Jasper

AU.

It starts off simply, with Alice asking Bella what she’s doing for her birthday - she’s been trying to be a good friend to Bella since she arrived in town, but Bella isn’t making it easy. And Alice is intense, high-energy, and Bella is such an introvert…

Esme overhears Bella say something dismissively about her birthday, about burgers and cake with Charlie, and that gives Esme an idea. An eighteenth birthday to remember, with cake and presents. There’s a garland of brown and gold and beige decorating the room, and the chocolate cake is lacy and delicately edged in gold. It’s a beautiful scene, and none of them are looking forward to it besides Edward.

It's not like they know Bella too well, really. Edward keeps her pointedly separate from the family.

But it’s such a simple idea, an easy thing - a birthday party for a teenage girl. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already planning Alice’s eighteenth in his head, to sweep her off her feet (roses, light purple and white ones; some kind of fancy dessert, and dancing). But Bella’s birthday is the one looming, and so they have to get through it.

And then it all goes wrong.

—

The Brandons move to Forks in the last weeks of May, arriving in a near-new SUV complete with tinted windows and a custom number plate. For the next week, there are nothing but whispers of this family that has taken over the old Higgins place on River Street - the big place. Even the Cullens hear the gossip, it’s so prevalent - two teenage daughters, a fluffy white dog, a homemaker wife, and a husband establishing a family business in Port Angeles. They obviously live comfortably, and everyone is talking about them.

Jasper doesn’t care - they are meaningless to him, and he ignores most of what he learns unwillingly (there’s speculation about the dark-haired one, when the parents and second daughter are blonde and blue-eyed, but that is the nature of small towns).

There’s no real reason he should care. He has one more year of the public eye, and then he’s free to roam the Cullen property at will. There’s not about the Brandon girls worth knowing.

And then he meets Mary-Alice Brandon.

It happens to be his errand day - there’s a rotating system in place that all the Cullens are seen in town, doing average human things. This week it’s him - calling into the gas station slash grocery store that sustains Forks for milk, bread, a bunch of age-appropriate snacks that will be offered to Bella, and a copy of a gaming magazine that Emmett will read. Just another banal part of the facade, but as he slides money to the cashier, he can at least take consolation that his turn is done for the next month.

And when he walks out he sees her. It’s like the world is suddenly in technicolour.

She’s sitting on the front of a car - a shiny yellow Fiat - swinging her legs and sucking on a soda. She’s wearing shorts and a cherry-red t-shirt, and she beams at him when they make eye contact.

He can’t help but smile back.

(Yes, that’s all it takes.)

—

Alice arrives early to the party, swanning in wearing a pretty pink party dress, clutching a perfectly-wrapped gift and a flower crown for the birthday girl. She smacks a kiss to his cheek as she flits around, helping Esme arrange things.

He realises suddenly that there probably won’t be as much pomp and circumstance over Alice’s birthday by the family, and he wonders uncomfortably how to warn her. It’s just… Bella has the air of a lost waif, somewhat neglected and forgotten. It’s like catnip to the Cullens. But Alice is just too good at making it seem like she’s happy, like when she goes home at night, there’s a cheerful family dinner waiting. That the Brandons might engage in a spontaneous movie night, or a wholesome board game evening. Alice’s facade is flawless and because of that, Esme keeps her distance.

So there probably won’t be flowers and cake and garlands for her birthday unless he bugs Esme about it, and he doesn’t want it not to be genuine. So he’ll probably just make it special between the two of them.

Maybe it won’t matter that much; maybe the Brandons will throw Alice a party or celebrate in a meaningful way, he thinks, as Alice laughingly throws a handful of glitter over the cake-and-presents table, fragments sticking to her cheeks and hair. Maybe it’ll be fine.

—

Emmett dubs it ‘the summer of love’ since he and Edward are head-over-heels. And he’s not that wrong - Jasper finds himself spending more and more time with her. And Alice seems to welcome that. How many nights does he spend, lying next to Alice in her bed, talking? How many days do they spend in his study, a sketchbook balanced on her knees as he reads?

She drops details about herself carelessly, and he hoards them - the homemaker mother is actually her stepmother; her biological mother is dead and the grief is still raw underneath the surface, bubbling along. There’s a distance that’s been growing between Alice and her sister since their mother died. There’s icy tolerance between Alice and her father since she’s only got one last year before she goes away to college. She loves to dance, loves beautiful clothing, orange soda, the colours blue and purple, Audrey Hepburn movies, and drawing.

It’s a good summer, the best. Long nights talking, watching her sleep in the early morning hours, dragging her wandering through the forest between town and the Cullen house, where she makes flower crowns and demands he tell her everything about himself. She’s curious about his family but doesn’t press to meet them. Not until school is looming.

He goes to her house on a Tuesday in late July, and she’s wearing a long white skirt and a tiny peasant blouse that makes him duck his head at the smooth expanse of bare flesh. She grins at him, like she’s laughing at him, and waves off his question about her getting breakfast, holding up the apple she has in her other hand.

“Jasper?” she asks, as they drive towards the Cullens’. She’s playing with her charm bracelet - it was a gift from her mother when she was thirteen, and the sound of each charm moving reminds him of bells; he’s so used to the sound that he associates it with her now.

“Alice?” He responds, reaching out to take her hand; she’s nervous.

“I need to tell you something.” The nerves rise. “And I really don’t want you to get mad.”

“With you?” He laughs. “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

“…So, um, you know about my dreams?” she begins, and Jasper isn’t sure what he expects. She’s told him her dreams have guided her before, shown her things that haven’t happened yet. That’s how she found him the first time they met. That’s how they know her parents won’t catch him if he climbs in her window. That’s how she knows that once she goes away to college, her family are going to let her go without a backwards glance. That one haunts her, and he tries to comfort her but he knows that it weighs heavily on her.

“Well…” Alice begins and Jasper thinks he knows what she’s going to say.

“I…IknowthatyouareavampireIhaveknownthewholetimeitdoesn’tmattertome,” Alice babbles, and looks up him. “I love you.”

He didn’t expect it to be that.

—

Bella is uncomfortable at the party, and it pricks at him. She blushes and hunches when Alice insists she wears the flower crown, one that Alice has clearly painstakingly made to match the decor. It suits Bella, and Alice claps in joy as Bella adjusts it.

Alice is like a little tornado of happiness at the party, setting the music in the background and snapping photos with her phone as Bella is settled with her small pile of presents. Alice promised to take care of ‘their’ present, and he’s relieved - he has no idea what he would have picked out for Edward’s girlfriend.

He must admit, he finds some of the gifts strange - the airline tickets from Esme and Carlisle, for one. Rosalie and Emmett buy her a new stereo for her truck, which is surprisingly thoughtful for Rose, and Emmett even installs it. Edward has a CD of his music, which makes Jasper smother a laugh, and a heart charm that Edward insists is ‘crystal’ and every single person in the room sans the birthday girl realises is a two-carat diamond.

Alice presents Bella with their gift (he’ll find it later; three volumes of obscure Jane Austen works and a thick brass cuff etched with an excerpt from Wuthering Heights. A thoughtful gift that was clearly picked out with care, and it makes him feel tired.)

“I hope you like it, it’s from me and Jasper,” Alice beams, snapping another photo of Bella, and bouncing back to Jasper’s side.

For a moment, he just savours the moment; the cloying sweetness of the cake and the flowers; the glitter still clinging to Alice’s hair and skin as she settles beside him; the delicate layers of her pink dress; the smell of…

Bella hisses and holds up her finger and the whole world narrows

that

drop

blood…

—

He was planning on hunting with Emmett after the party.

He was planning on taking Alice to Seattle next weekend; they were going to see a movie and spend the day together.

She had plans, too. College; she wanted to go to New York next summer… she had mentioned prom once or twice as well.

So many plans.

And he managed to ruin them all.

Every single one.

—

It happens in a split second, and it’s like he’s watching from outside of his body.

Alice gasps, and she steps backwards (still clutching her phone, in the glittery purple case with the butterfly charm).

Edward looks up, and he’s already moving.

He wants it and he needs it, and she’s going to be all his.

There’s yelling and Edward slams into him and there’s a scuffle.

Two things happen.

Bella is half-thrown into the table, the cake and candles collapsing underneath her, the glass shattering beneath her and cutting deeply into her arm (the blood) and tiny cuts littering her body, the glass scattered around her.

And Alice is flung against the wall with a thump and a cry, and she ends up pressed against the wall looking dazed.

Emmett has him then, and Edward is snarling as Emmett and Carlisle drag him outside, Rosalie and Esme hurrying after them.

That’s the other moment that imprints on his memory: of Bella, bleeding and frightened, with chocolate cake smeared up her legs and back and the flower crown broken and hanging limply on the side of her head.

And Alice, crouched against the wall, her hand fluttering against her chest, looking worried. Her dress is rumpled but intact, but the strap of her shoe has snapped and he can already see her ankle swelling.

He tries to remember who hit Alice, but he can’t. Or won’t. Maybe it was him, maybe it was Edward. Maybe it really doesn’t matter, maybe it matters more than anything in the end.

But that’s his last moment of her, disorientated but not afraid.

He takes comfort in that.

—

The fact that the new girl managed to snag Jasper Hale before school even started is a much-whispered about achievement. Alice thinks it’s funny - “I just sweet-talked some boy I met at a convenience store,” she tells the other girls in a confused voice and smirks at him when he shoots her a look.

“Jasper, I don’t know what you’ve convinced your classmates,” Alice says as she slides her lunch tray onto the table next to him; they’ve already worked out a system where he puts some of her food on his tray to make it look like he’s actually eating. “But I have to tell you something.”

“Yes?” He raises an eyebrow as she immediately reaches for the fries.

“You’re a dork and I love you, but these girls seem to think you’re some kind of tortured genius demi-god, and it’s really depressing having to correct them all the time,” Alice says in mock despair. “Telling that girl Tina? In History? That you owned a really gross Xbox t-shirt was heartbreaking, Jas. It was like kicking a puppy.”

“Brat,” he shot back, pulling the fries away from her and she pouts.

Bella watches them looking confused and curious, and Edward rolls his eyes as she kneels up to reach for the lunch tray and maybe he steals a kiss.

(She steals the ‘gross’ Xbox t-shirt at some stage, because he finds it under her pillow and when he teases her, she rolls her eyes and tells him that she’s not afraid of some axel grease and bleach stains, even if she knows exactly why the shirt was bleached so aggressively. Besides, she’s already added her own make-up and face-mask stains to it. He laughs at her and lets her keep it.)

—

The fresh air shocks his senses back into him, and Emmett is reassuring; they were due to hunt, and Bella’s so clumsy… it could have happened to any of them, really. Rosalie is sour, but he knows it’s because she was afraid of this happening, with two human girls hanging around all the time. At least she hasn’t told them she told them so yet.

Edward summons Esme and Carlisle inside immediately - Bella’s wound is serious enough that she needs stitches. He tugs out of Emmett’s grip to follow them inside, worried about Alice - he knows she fell, knows she got hurt. And he spots her, still kneeling against the wall looking bewildered. Bella is already being swept upstairs to Carlisle’s study for first aid.

Before he can ask, Edward shakes his head.

“Just a twisted ankle,” Edward fills in as Esme helps Alice stand, though she sways almost imperceptibly for a moment.

“No,” Alice manages in a funny voice, and she seems to be breathing too fast. It takes him a moment to focus on her heartbeat because it’s pounding so fast and he hates himself for making her this frightened.

“Probably some bruising,” Esme says kindly. “Carlisle will check you over as soon as he’s made sure Bella’s okay.” Esme guides her towards the couch; she’s limping and looks so pale.

“I don’t…” she manages, her hand groping at her chest, her brow furrowing.

And then she tries to stand back up. She is suddenly gasping for breath, her eyes wide and scared as she meets his gaze, and begins to gasp and cough, and cough…

The blood is bright against the rug, and she falls forward with Esme and Rosalie both reaching for her.

(The bloodlust sparks at the scent of fresh blood but it is dampened by the horror of her collapse, by the gasping noises she is making because she cannot breathe; she is desperate for air, and he can hear someone bellowing for Carlisle. It might be him.)

—

The first time he kisses her is two days after they met, and really, she kisses him.

It’s weird, really, how much he wants to spend time with her in those first few days. How enticing two big green eyes can be, how a smile can fix his entire day. How she smells like clean fabric and saltwater and fresh lemons. How she scrunches up her face and shakes her head when he says something she disagrees with.

He doesn’t want to like a human this much. But he still finds himself agreeing to ‘hang out’ with her two days in a row.

She makes him drive them to a beach - not La Push, but one of the ones they are still allowed to visit, up towards Neah Bay. He expects her to disparage the tiny little inlet he takes her to, with more rocks than sand but she spreads out a blanket and wades ankle-deep into the water that’s too cold! and she laughs as she comes back to the blanket.

He catches her as she tips to sit beside him, and he remembers she wore a pale green dress with bows on the shoulders and a denim jacket. And she lands in his lap, still smiling and that’s when she leans up and kisses him.

Oh.

Yeah, he might understand Edward and Bella a little more after that.

(It’s like fireworks, the world spontaneously rearranging itself like a Rubik’s cube. She tastes like orange soda and lemons and salt, and somehow he remembers to let her breathe before he kisses her again.)

—

Carlisle is there in a second, efficient and steady as he checks Alice over; she’s choking and gasping but he can already see that she’s not conscious, not really.

Rose has his bag at his side in a second, and he wants to push the doctor away when he tears the bodice seam of Alice’s dress to give her more freedom to breathe.

It isn’t helping, none of it. Nothing is changing. She’s just lying there, her heart pounding and her lungs sound wrong, and he wants to snatch her up and hold her tight until she wakes up again.

It feels like an eternity before Carlisle looks up at him.

“Jasper,” Carlisle said, and the grim cocktail of emotions around the man tells Jasper everything he needed to know.

“We can call an ambulance, but there’s no guarantee Alice will get the help she needs in time,” Carlisle says. “Or I can change her for you.”

He knows that it’s an enormous gesture; that changing Alice means leaving Forks forever (the goddamn pact), it means a rapid disappearance carefully designed to distance themselves from the mysterious disappearance of Alice.

He knows Carlisle never wanted to turn another person again, that Emmett was one more than he ever planned.

He knows that none of them know her well enough to feel comfortable with what Carlisle has just offered him.

It should be an easy answer, an obvious choice.

Except…

There’s blood on Alice’s mouth and she’s all blue and grey; she looks wilted, like a discarded doll, and he stares at her.

He’s the reason she got hurt.

(He loves her.)

He’s the reason she’s dying.

(He adores her.)

He’s the reason that she’ll never get to graduate high school or go to prom or reconnect with her sister.

Or celebrate her eighteenth birthday.

Could he do that to her? They never spoke about it and he regretted that now. He didn’t know.

(Would she even want to stay with him? To be changed and stuck with the man responsible for her sudden death? Who had stolen so much from her in a moment of weakness? Would she ever be able to forgive him for this?)

“Jasper,” Carlisle said gently. “We’re losing her. You need to make a decision.”

It was such a simple thing.

It was just a birthday party.

(There’s still glitter on her face.)

#whumptober2021 #no.8 #coughing up a lung #fandom #fic #violence #blood #alice cullen #jasper hale #twilight fic #jalice #my fic: in the night hours #human alice/vampire jasper #new moon au #does this count as whump #i hope so #angst #drama #romance

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jeannereames · 3 years ago

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Hi, Dr. Reames! I just read your take on Song of Achilles and it got me thinking. Do you think there might be a general issue with the way women are written in mlm stories in general? Because I don't think it's the first time I've seen something like this happen.

And my next question is, could you delve further into this thing you mention about modern female authors writing women? How could we, beginner female writers, avoid falling into this awful representations of women in our writing?

Thank you for your time!

[It took a while to finish this because I wrote, re-wrote, and re-wrote it. Still not sure I like it, but I need to let it go. It could be 3xs as long.]

I’ll begin with the second half of the question, because it’s simpler. How do we, as women authors, avoid writing women in misogynistic ways?

Let me reframe that as how can we, as female authors, write negative (even quite nasty) female characters without falling into misogynistic tropes? Also, how can we write unsympathetic, but not necessarily “bad” female characters, without it turning misogynistic?

Because people are people, not genders, not all women are good, nor all men bad. Most of us are a mix. If we should avoid assuming powerful women are all bitches, by the same token, some women are bitches (powerful or not).

ALL good characterization comes down to MOTIVE. And careful characterization of minority characters involves fair REPRESENTATION. (Yes, women are a minority even if we’re 51% of the population.)

The question ANY author must ask: why am I making this female character a bitch? How does this characterization serve the larger plot and/or characterization? WHY is she acting this way?

Keep characters complex, even the “bad guys.” Should we choose to make a minority character a “bad guy,” we need to have a counter example—a real counter, not just a token who pops in briefly, then disappears. Yeah, maybe in an ideal world we could just let our characters “be,” but this isn’t an ideal world. Authors do have an audience. I’m a lot less inclined to assume stereotyping when we have various minority characters with different characterizations.

By the same token, however, don’t throw a novel against the wall if the first minority character is negative. Read further to decide if it’s a pattern. I’ve encountered reviews that slammed an author for stereotyping without the reader having finished the book. I’m thinking, “Uh…if you’d read fifty more pages….” Novels have a developmental arc. And if you’ve got a series, that, too, has a developmental arc. One can’t reach a conclusion about an author’s ultimate presentation/themes until having finished the book, or series.*

Returning to the first question, the appearance of misogyny depends not only on the author, but also on when she wrote, even why she’s writing. Authors who are concerned with matters such as theme and message are far more likely to think about such things than those who write for their own entertainment and that of others, which is more typical of Romance.

On average, Romance writers are a professionalized bunch. They have national and regional chapters of the Romance Writers of America (RWA), newsletters and workshops that discuss such matters as building plot tension, character dilemmas, show don’t tell, research tactics, etc. Yet until somewhat recently (early/mid 2010s), and a series of crises across several genres (not just Romance), treatment of minority groups hadn’t been in their cross-hairs. Now it is, with Romance publishers (and publishing houses more generally) picking up “sensitivity readers” in addition to the other editors who look at a book before its publication.

Yet sensitivity readers are hired to be sure lines like “chocolate love monkey” do not show up in a published novel. Yes, that really was used as an endearment for a black man in an M/M Romance, which (deservedly) got not just the author but the publishing house in all sorts of hot water. Yet misogyny, especially more subtle misogyny in the way of tropes, is rarely on the radar.

I should add that I wouldn’t categorize The Song of Achilles as an M/M historical Romance. In fact, I’m not sure what to call novels about myths, as myths don’t exist in actual historical periods. When should we set a novel about the Iliad? The Bronze Age, when Homer said it happened, or the Greek Dark Age, which is the culture Homer actually described? They’re pretty damn different. I’d probably call The Song of Achilles an historical fantasy, especially as mythical creatures are presented as real, like centaurs and god/desses.

Back to M/M Romance: I don’t have specific publishing stats, but it should surprise no one that (like most of the Romance genre), the vast bulk of authors of M/M Romance are women, often straight and/or bi- women. The running joke seems to be, If one hot man is good, two hot men together are better. 😉 Yes, there are also trans, non-binary and lesbian authors of M/M Romance, and of course, bi- and gay men who may write under their own name or a female pseudonym, but my understanding is that straight and bi- cis-women authors outnumber all of them.

Just being a woman, or even a person in a female body, does not protect that author from misogyny. And if she’s writing for fun, she may not be thinking a lot about what her story has to “say” in its subtext and motifs, even if she may be thinking quite hard about other aspects of story construction. This can be true of other genres as well (like historical fantasy).

What I have observed for at least some women authors is the unconscious adoption of popular tropes about women. Just as racism is systemic, so is sexism. We swim in it daily, and if one isn’t consciously considering how it affects us, we can buy into it by repeating negative ideas and acting in prescribed ways because that’s what we learned growing up. If writing in a symbol-heavy genre such as mythic-driven fantasy, it can be easy to let things slip by—even if they didn’t appear in the original myth, such as making Thetis hostile to Patroklos, the classic Bitchy Mother-in-Law archetype.

I see this sort of thing as “accidental” misogyny. Women authors repeat unkind tropes without really thinking them through because it fits their romantic vision. They may resent it and get defensive if the trope is pointed out. “Don’t harsh my squee!” We can dissect why these tropes persist, and to what degree they change across generations—but that would end up as a (probably controversial) book, not a blog entry. 😊

Yet there’s also subconscious defensive misogyny, and even conscious/semi-conscious misogyny.

Much debate/discussion has ensued regarding “Queen Bee Syndrome” in the workplace and whether it’s even a thing. I think it is, but not just for bosses. I also would argue that it’s more prevalent among certain age-groups, social demographics, and professions, which complicates recognizing it.

What is Queen Bee Syndrome? Broadly, when women get ahead at the expense of their female colleagues who they perceive as rivals, particularly in male-dominated fields, hinging on the notion that There Can Be Only One (woman). It arises from systemic sexism.

Yes, someone can be a Queen Bee even with one (or two) women buddies, or while claiming to be a feminist, supporting feminist causes, or writing feminist literature. I’ve met a few. What comes out of our mouths doesn’t necessarily jive with how we behave. And ticking all the boxes isn’t necessary if you’re ticking most of them. That said, being ambitious, or just an unpleasant boss/colleague—if its equal opportunity—does not a Queen Bee make. There must be gender unequal behavior involved.

What does any of that have to do with M/M fiction?

The author sees the women characters in her novel as rivals for the male protagonists. It gets worse if the women characters have some “ownership” of the men: mothers, sisters, former girlfriends/wives/lovers. I know that may sound a bit batty. You’re thinking, Um, aren’t these characters gay or at least bi- and involved with another man, plus—they’re fictional? Doesn’t matter. Call it fantasizing, authorial displacement, or gender-flipped authorial insert. We authors (and I include myself in this) can get rather territorial about our characters. We live in their heads and they live in ours for months on end, or in many cases, years. They’re real to us. Those who aren't authors often don’t quite get that aspect of being an author. So yes, sometimes a woman author acts like a Queen Bee to her women characters. This is hardly all, or even most, but it is one cause of creeping misogyny in M/M Romance.

Let’s turn to a related problem: women who want to be honorary men. While I view this as much more pronounced in prior generations, it’s by no means disappeared. Again, it’s a function of systemic sexism, but further along the misogyny line than Queen Bees. Most Queen Bees I’ve known act/react defensively, and many are (imo) emotionally insecure. It’s largely subconscious. More, they want to be THE woman, not an honorary man.

By contrast, women who want to be honorary men seem to be at least semi-conscious of their misogyny, even if they resist calling it that. These are women who, for the most part, dislike other women, regard most of “womankind” as either a problem or worthless, and think of themselves as having risen above their gender.

And NO, this is not necessarily religious—sometimes its specifically a-religious.

“I want to be an honorary man” women absolutely should NOT be conflated with butch lesbians, gender non-conformists, or frustrated FTMs. That plays right into myths the queer community has combated for decades. There’s a big difference between expressing one’s yang or being a trans man, and a desire to escape one’s womanhood or the company of other women. “Honorary men” women aren’t necessarily queer. I want to underscore that because the concrete example I’m about to give does happen to be queer.

I’ve talked before about Mary Renault’s problematic portrayal of women in her Greek novels (albeit her earlier hospital romances don’t show it as much). Her own recorded comments make it clear that she and her partner Julie Mullard didn’t want to be associated with other lesbians, or with women much at all. She was also born in 1905, living at a time when non-conforming women struggled. If extremely active in anti-apartheid movements in South Africa, Renault and Mullard were far less enthused by the Gay Rights Movement. Renault even criticized it, although she wrote back kindly to her gay fans.

The women in Renault’s Greek novels tend to be either bitches or helpless, reflecting popular male perceptions of women: both in ancient Greece and Renault’s own day. If we might argue she’s just being realistic, that ignores the fact one can write powerful women in historical novels and still keep it attitudinally accurate. June Rachuy Brindel, born in 1919, author of Ariadne and Phaedra, didn’t have the same problem, nor did Martha Rofheart, born in 1917, with My Name is Sappho. Brindel’s Ariadne is much more sympathetic than Renault’s (in The King Must Die).

Renault typically elevates (and identifies with) the “rational” male versus the “irrational” female. This isn’t just presenting how the Greeks viewed women; it reflects who she makes the heroes and villains in her books. Overall, “good” women are the compliant ones, and the compliant women are tertiary characters.

Women in earlier eras who were exceptional had to fight multiple layers of systemic misogyny. Some did feel they had to become honorary men in order to be taken seriously. I’d submit Renault bought into that, and it (unfortunately) shows in her fiction, as much as I admire other aspects of her novels.

So I think those are the three chief reasons we see women negatively portrayed in M/M Romance (or fiction more generally), despite being written by women authors.

------------------------------------

*Yeah, yeah, sometimes it’s such 2D, shallow, stereotypical presentation that I, as a reader, can conclude this author isn’t going to get any better. Also, the publication date might give me a clue. If I’m reading something published 50 years ago, casual misogyny or racism is probably not a surprise. If I don’t feel like dealing with that, I close the book and put it away.

But I do try to give the author a chance. I may skim ahead to see if things change, or at least suggest some sort of character development. This is even more the case with a series. Some series take a loooong view, and characters alter across several novels. Our instant-gratification world has made us impatient. Although by the same token, if one has to deal with racism or sexism constantly in the real world, one may not want to have to watch it unfold in a novel—even if it’s “fixed” later. If that’s you, put the book down and walk away. But I’d just suggest not writing a scathing review of a novel (or series) you haven’t finished. 😉

#misogyny in m/m romance #how to avoid misogyny writing women characters #writing complicated women characters #asks #writing life #writing advice

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alatismeni-theitsa · 4 years ago

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What is Greece's general attitude to people from Africa or are African American or African British? I remember a friend of mine with roots in two African countries went to Greece and their hotel did an African night but according to her it ended up being quite racist. Luckily she still enjoyed the rest of her trip!

Weeell, the average Greek knows about Africans (I assume you mean the Subsaharan nations?) as much as Africans know about Greece xD A stereotypical Greek night for foreigners across the world would be Zeus themed, with wine, white walls, donkeys and syrtaki or something xD

People tend to be stereotypical about nations they don't know and it can be quite offensive to the other nation without the intention of the person who has the stereotype ingrained. I won't excuse any possible racist actions. In that case, knowing Greeks, what probably happened is that the organizers didn't know what they were doing and did a poor research, or just found the most exotic things and presented them for show. ("Exotic" comes from Greek and means "extraordinary thing from the outside" and it can apply to Greek things, too, from the perspective of foreigners).

The general attitude here is "well meaning but not knowing". Perhaps because some are cautious towards immigrants, or because African people here are quite rare compared to the population of the county, the information hasn't been spread. Of course each African country has its own unique culture. And so knowing an African immigrant or a person with African ancestry doesn't make you knowledgeable in other African countries. And since those people are a bit rare to meet, the knowledge of Greeks is limited.

Also, African Americans are... Americans and African British are... British xD Before anyone interprets this the wrong way, let me explain:

We have an idea about the US American and British culture and there is usually not a crazy difference to us when that person identifies as "African American" or "African British". Now, if the influence of African culture is still prevalent in their family then we will know less about that person. We have an idea about the stereotypes in US American culture and British culture, but not those of African cultures in the African continent.

I have a tag, I think it's "Black in Greece" and the Black Africans there talk about how people react to them. That is *generally* "nice but a bit weird", like they didn't expect their appearance or as if they find it fascinating. Greeks are *usually* not used to seeing and interacting with Black people and so they ask them "do you tan in summer?" and "can I touch your hair" and "where are you from?" really often... That is annoying to those people but it shows less malice and more the lack of exposure and experience Greeks have on that matter.

I am sure some people have bad intentions - we had our last blackface on tv only a few years ago - but that's not the norm. People are not very keen on spotting the offensive things for foreigners they're not familiar with their culture and non African Greeks are the same... But if they do realize something is racist (or they get informed by Africans that it is) then they usually speak up.

In case their African roots are Arabic, Greeks will know a bit more about their culture, although our nation is a bit scarred from historical events and so, even though they are close to us culturally, we don't have much contact :/

Excuse me for any grammatical mistakes or weird phrases. It's 4am here I am quite burned out :P Please contact me for certifications or further explanation.

#answered

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toukenramblings · 4 years ago

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NSFW Headcanons: Buzen Gou, Matsui Gou, Samidare Gou

A continuation of these headcanons I made, but nsfw, fufufufu (^ω~)

Warnings: NSFW, ALL OF DAT SHIT IS NSFW

Buzen Gou

Remember when i said that Buzen’s legs are nice? OH dude this man is BUILT. He has slightly above average build (not like Tonborkiri for example) but it’s obvious he has muscle on him. And he adores showing it off to you and you alone!!! Can and will take off his shirt in the middle of a run/walk with you just to make you flush and stare.

His legs are so fucking nice man, thick from running all of the time and muscly but not too much. But you know what you could do with those thicc thighs? Mark them up with hickies. Will show them off on his runs if it’s hot outside. Sure Buzen will flush for a moment before smiling, “Yeah, I think they’re nice.” He would say, proud of them.

He also has a nice ass, change my MIND. Gets super embarrassed if you slap his ass, or he is straddling your lap and you use his ass to pull his closer hehehehehe.

Buzen is kinda loud in bed, not UBER loud but enough to hear it within the confines of the room and have it bounce off of the walls. He does love it when you are loud though!

Oh dude Buzen is not above teasing in public, most often happening on your runs together. Will suddenly claim it’s hot and then take off his shirt with a wink, “Like what you see, love?” and sure he’ll put it back on in the citadel but he kNOWS. Also going back to his nice ass, can and will wear pants to show it off. He is confident about his form for sure.

He can’t handle it if you tease him back though, he tries, he swear he’s tougher than this. But the minute you try to tease him back, he has to retrain himself and remind himself he’s in public before trying to fuck you into some kinda surface.

Buzen by default is a switch who is comfortable with either role. Bottom? Top? As long as he and you are connected by this sexual intimacy, he is happy! His favorite places to kiss are your lips and your thighs though, marking yours up just like how you do his! A taste of your own medicine!!! Can and will be found between your legs all day if he must.

There are times when he chuckles or laughs during sex, going back to the ticklishness of him. He can’t help it! Sometimes it’s during a serious heated moment but sometimes he let out a small giggle, amazed at the fact you two are doing this – the more likely you two are to be found out that you two are doing the do, the more giggles will come.

BuBu’s sex drive is rather spontaneous and in a way, it’s obvious to tell whenever he wants to do the do. His eyes will wander over your form yes but it’s his touches that give him away. A sideways hug is found with his fingers ghosting over your form, kisses turn more passionate, and if he’s feeling bold enough he’ll press a kiss to the side of your neck in public.

Body worship is oh so prevalent here, even more so if you can worship the body that BuBu has. Run your tongue into the hip of his hips, kiss his scars, trace his veins, massage his muscles, oh man he’ll melt under your touch. Buzen is the same to you, equal body worship here!

Buzen’s weak points are his inner thighs, yes, but also the nip of his neck behind his ear. He loves it when you whisper naughty things into his ears and you may hear the slightest of growls back, “Do not test me love, I wonder how long you can handle it until we get back to our room, hm?”

Buzen adores it when he can hold your hips when you are riding him, the view is almost enough to make him cum.

He won’t lie that he hasn’t thought about shower sex, but will only try it with you if you want. Besides, he loves lil intimate showers with you, sexual or not!

Massages always turn out to be sexy fun times anyway, knowing him. One minute he’s rubbing your shoulders and the next they’re gliding down and WHOOPS THERE GOES THE CLOTHES.

Aftercare means there’s always a bottle of water present and clean up is mandatory. After that he becomes the big spoon of your dreams, murmuring praises into your ears and rocking you to sleep.

Matsui Gou

It takes a long time before Matsui is ready for sexual intimacy. He already has trouble within the confines of your relationship, thinking of whether or not he’s good enough for you. The first time you have sex together is slow and awkward and clumsy. Yes you two have talked about this many times but Matsui is a very slow and cautious person. His fingers against your skin are oh so gentle, kisses pressed up and down your form. No matter who is on top or who is on the bottom, Matsui wants to ensure that you are feeling good.

There are times when he will stop and question it, “Are you feeling good?” “Does this hurt? Please let me know.” And he shows nothing but concern for you! God forbid him from hurting you.

Matsui has a pretty low sex drive, feeling much more comfy with romantic intimacy than sexual intimacy more than anything. That isn’t to say he isn’t willing to have sex with you! He does, it just takes him a while to get enough confidence.

And then there’s the body worship. Oh Matsui will want nothing more than to show you how much he loves you. His hand will always be in yours, and if it isn’t damn right he’s going to search for it. Hand kisses are mandatory between you during sex, and maybe sucking each other’s fingers. Oh Matsui will almost die from a nosebleed.

·Matsui does frequent this one sex shop to find suitable lingerie for the two of you. Sometimes it may be matching or sometimes it’s a bit of a surprise. He tends to bring extra tissues with him though in case his nose begins to bleed. He prefers picking out things that have nice material that is comfortable, and suits your body/skin tone. If he does wear something scandalous under his clothing it’s something to compliment himself or you! Gods help him if he catches even a glimpse of something naughty under your clothing; he’s found dead on the floor.

When Matsui wants to be sexually intimate, he’ll come up to you with a shy smile and a flushed face, and tell you straight up that he wants to be intimate with you. Of course it’s in private when it tells it to you.

Matsui doesn’t mind marking you but always seems to treat you like glass. His kisses are gentle and will hesitant to do anything to make you bleed. Gods forbid that! If he worries about himself biting you, he will ask for you to lead and thus will practically gag himself. He adores it when you mark him though, and sure he may try to hide it under his clothing but everyone knows with his red face and how he’s constantly adjusting his clothing in a mirror.

Oh sweet Matsui has such a big ol praise kink. He is doing nothing but murmuring the sweetest of words against your skin. “You look so beautiful right now, I wish you could see the way I see you.” “It is alright, my love, I have you. Come here, let me touch you a little more, yes?” “P-Please…will you mark me more? Let the others know that I am yours?”

Ain’t nothing more sexy than consent as he asks for permission to remove items or touch certain parts of your body. If you do the same to him, he’ll be happy.

What gets him riled up the most is pulling him by his collar to kiss him, depending on who is sitting on who’s lap at the time. His hands on your hips, rubbing soothing circles into them.

Matsui is rarely ever rough. The only time he is rough is when your hips snap together during sex, his hands gripping your hips and careful to never break skin.

Despite how soft Matsui is, there are times that if you push his buttons enough, Matsui turns out to be rather intense. This normally involves casually showing off hints of lingerie under your clothing, have your hands glide over his body when no one is looking, whispering sweet nothings into his ears and sometimes full on trapping him against a surface, straddling his hips. A switch will almost be flipped within his mind and soon he flips you two over with a smirk dancing on his lips. “Are you sure you want to play this game with me?”

Matsui is a bottom leaning switch, but again it doesn’t matter much to him who is on top and who is on the bottom. He’s just happy being connected with you like this. That being said, don’t be surprised if he suddenly wants to switch things around outta nowhere. He is also rather quiet in bed.

Toys are a maybe? It’ll be further on down the line of your relationship.

After care consists of Matsui rubbing your sore body, with whispers of, “Are you alright? I didn’t harm you right?” “Did I hurt you? I apologize.” Half of it are apologies and other times it’s just him telling you how good you did, or if he did good. He just wants to be praised, okay????

Samidare Gou

Marking. Oh this man is very much into marking his territory. Of course he’ll be giving you hickies everywhere he can! No stopping him here! Why would he stop when he wants to show the world that you belong to him???? Can and will show off his own marks if he must. He will be proud of them after all!

Samidare is probably one of the more feral of his brothers, next to Murakumo. There will be growls and groans when he is having sex, loud and proud, and you have to keep him quiet, gags or mouth or fingers. Take your pick.

Samidare is a service top. He won’t mind who is what role and he’s pretty fluid and ready to adjust to whatever role you will assign to him, but Samidare on top is something else. His fingers will leave marks on your skin, and will not hesitate to make you scream his name.

It’s rather easy to see if Samidare is in the mood. He becomes more protective and possessive of you around the other TouDan, growling at anyone and hugging you from behind. His hands ghosting over your form, and his favorite neck and shoulder kisses linger for far more longer than they normally do. In fact, they might start trailing upward to your ear to whisper something into them, or downwards to make a map of stars upon the expanse of your back.

It’s not that Samidare has a high sex drive or anything, it ebbs and flows with the wind. There are times when he’s happy just to kiss you and then there are times when he wants to fuck you into the nearest surface and make you beg.

Speaking of begging, he is very much into that. Flip the roles, make him beg for your touch. It’s delicious I swear.

Oh Samidare lives for praise. Praising him makes his cock twitch in longing and him to lean into your touches, soft whimpers whenever you tell him how much of a good boy he is. Because he is in fact, a good boi.

Samidare has a pretty good nose, and knows your scent very well. So uh, don’t be surprised if he steals an article of clothing from you and you find him jerking it off to your scent.

Also loves it when he goes down on you and you pull on his hair. There is this guttural growl that leaves his throat and his eyes will glance upwards almost begging you to do it again.

Don’t tease Samidare in public unless you want to play with fire. How dare you press up against him like this, playing at his own game. Be careful dear, you might find yourself on top of your desk, clothes ripped to shreds and Samidare overstimulating you to no end.

Yes he’s also into overstim and orgasm denial, will abuse these as he sees fit.

Breeding kink? Maybe?

Oh dude this man has a bit of a thing for your hands. Pet him, force him to suck on your fingers and call him a good boy. He’ll love it.

Does he have a fave position? Doggy style? Maybe. MIssionary? Maybe. You riding on top of him? Y ES

Aftercare is nothing but cuddles, he wants to hold you close man. Sure you two will clean up but Samidare is ready to knock tf oUT.

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sapropel · 3 years ago

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The main things that turned me off of conversion for now were

1. I have alot of shit on my plate and am low income as a result so finding a place that will help might be hard because locally there really aren't any synagogues around

2. The synagogue I did find locally was uhhh...... Hhhhh. Their web page had a huge section about Israel in a positive light..

I love the religion, I love certain values it holds however I refuse to align with anyone who justifies colonialism and bloodshed against another group of people while ignoring past bloodshed done onto themselves. It makes 0 sense to me and is highly hypocritical.

Hypocrisy was one of the reasons I hated Christianity so much. Constantly causing bloodshed, huge present and past history of colonialism, huge present day history of wanting people like me who are gay or trans dead and in the ground.

the difference with Christianity is that there isn't even a present day persecution or justified worry of safety despite the fact that I've seen jack chick esque evangelical fuckers unironically act like they're holocaust survivors whenever a pride parade happens within 1 mile of them.

It makes me sad, I don't see the point in colonizing or maiming a group of people who should be your equals.

It's racist at best, dangerous and actively contributing to more death and violence at worst.

The thing is there isn't really a "point." It creates its own point. Real actionable Zionist sentiment was basically non-existent until the rise of European nationalism. It's literally the exact same brand of nationalism that gave birth to fascist Italy and other great failures of modernity. And when "Israel" was a proto-state basically its entire existence was contingent upon its continued usefulness to Britain as a tool of control over India through the Suez. Zionist claims to the land are super shaky at best and straight up revisionist at worst. Post-facto Israel has tried to give itself legitimacy through fearmongering, genocide, and forging alliances with other imperialist powers. It's doing what America did (and is doing) but it's happening in the age of mass media and we are all watching colonial revisionism happen in real time.

If you are letting the prevalence of Zionism keep you from Judaism, I would say you should keep thinking about it. If you treat Judaism as too thoroughly engulfed in Zionism, you do the work of Zionists for them--you legitimize their claim that Judaism is Zionism is Israel. You legitimize the idea that anti-Zionism is antisemitism which is incidentally exactly how my local rabbis have been fucking me over since June. You are of course totally within your rights not to convert to a religion that doesn't work for you, but I hope you rethink the implication that converting to Judaism is akin to aligning with Zionism.

And yeah, Zionist hypocrisy is a systematic issue within American Jewish institutions in a feedback loop with Jewish populations. Any institutional apparatus is going to have systematic issues that reflect the dominant discourse of the greater cultural framework--mainstream Jewish institutions are going to, both by the nature of maintaining relevancy in America and by the natures of fearmongering and cultural amnesia, have a vested interest in participating in capitalism, imperialism, racism... You are not going to find mainstream insitutions that don't perpetuate them. That's why they're dominant. You are no more aligning yourself with Zionism by going to a synagogue than you are aligning yourself with capitalism by shopping at Wal-Mart. Anything you meaningfully do in public is in some way going to be "problematic" on some level because public space is designed to keep itself alive by those values.

It's exhausting to make yourself never come close to anyone or anything bad at all--refusing to associate with anyone with a problematic ideology is a doomed enterprise. I've been there. A lot of Zionist sentiment is implanted in people's minds with lifelong propaganda and destructive mind control techniques, and it's important to recognize that. That doesn't mean Zionist adults don't have a responsibility to unlearn it, but I think it's possible to have compassion for people who do try to do their best with improving themselves. Most people you meet want to be good and don't want to be willfully ignorant. I try to think about how difficult it is to convince the average well-meaning white American of the merits of decolonization/land back. Most well-meaning Zionist Jews are going to feel the same way about Israel--actual systematic justice and decolonization are not in their lexicons. Decolonization is hidden behind thought-stopping techniques that they have been inundated with from day 1. But most people do have a basic sense of goodness and are willing to sacrifice something for it. Most people are willing to give ground for the sake of human decency. The only way I can survive talking to people I know are Zionists is by understanding that we both want the world to be a better place and if I dwell on the specifics of how I perceive them to be evil, the possibility of us having a working relationship and any hope at productive dialogue drops to zero.

You don't have to be patient with Zionists or Zionist institutions. You don't have to forgive them. You don't even have to be compassionate. But you do need to understand, intellectually, that imposed cognitive dissonance is a very powerful tool of mind control (and I'm not talking about woo-woo shit I'm extrapolating from cult research and personal experience) and that the pathos of Zionism isn't supposed to be logical. Fear trumps hypocrisy. Fatigue trumps informed consent. Charisma trumps logic. Any bigoted ideology is going to fall apart under logical scrutiny, and that's why the only battleground for maintaining bigotry is necessarily charismatic and emotional.

We haven't yet, of course, acknowledged that there are also tons of anti-Zionist Jews and that the concept isn't absurd or fringe, no matter what the dominant Zionist discourse says. It's important for us not to let Zionists be the stewards of Judaism--Zionists do not OWN Judaism. Just like the most Orthodox of Jews also don't OWN Judaism. Judaism is only what you make it to be, and if you leave it alone because you are too worried about Zionism, that is all Judaism is ever going to be for you. Of course, you still have to contend with Zionism, and if you actually are interested in being a Jew, you would have to find a way not to let it kill your Judaism. I've come close (ish) to giving up on Judaism a couple of times because of Israel and Zionism, but I'm glad I haven't. I've stuck it out long enough to give myself to tools I need to separate the two and see the situation with more clarity.

#j tag

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nezumiismissing · 4 years ago

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Control Through Culture and the Lack of It

Ok so before we get started here I would like to just give a big thank you to everyone who came to my panel during the convention all the way back in September and listened to me ramble out the first draft of this! We had some great discussion and everyone brought up great points that all came together to make this post happen, and it wouldn’t have been nearly as good without all of your input! I also profusely apologize for taking this long to get this done, but sometimes you have 18 college credits and 30 hours a week of work that have to come first! Now, on with the topic:

When we look at the city of No.6, we see a world that appears, for the most part, free of any defining cultural characteristics. It would appear, in fact, that as part of the city’s construction, what we would normally associate with such a society’s culture has been purposely removed as a factor in the citizens’ lives. The “removal” of culture as a contributing factor in the city of No.6 is highly effective in what it was meant to do; separating citizens from the “other” while reinforcing the identity of citizenship and treating it as not only a good thing, but the only acceptable way of being. In the minds of the citizens, this is a functional system, as they are the ones who have benefited from it, and they are able to live comfortable lives free of the suffering that is inflicted upon “others”, creating the sense that despite their internal differences, they still constitute a distinct group. But while at the citizens’ level they have been chosen as existing on the top, the picture is much different for those ruling the city. While the nonexistence of culture functions as a way to dehumanize outsiders and reinforce No.6′s position as superior (ie. it does not need culture to be a complete society), it also serves as a highly efficient way of making sure that the citizens are also unable to truly empathize with and care about the other citizens, or any other humans for that matter. Because the city is all they know, and they have been conditioned to not be able to understand anything outside of that context, the “othering” of those outside the walls by the citizens and No.6’s government becomes that much easier, as the understanding of “citizen” to those in the city is equivalent on some level to their understanding of being human, making anyone outside of the citizen category not only lesser, but also not fully human, and justifying the violence used against them for the purposes of supporting and expanding the city. In a less explicit way this is also functioning within No.6, as citizenship is viewed as a single, mostly homogenous group, and so it becomes impossible to view the lower classes as being treated unfairly. In their eyes, citizenship is equivalent to safety from injustice, and so any violence or mistreatment experienced by a citizen is justified based on their perceived noncompliance with the city’s norms.

By removing culture entirely from the picture, No.6 not only limits what its citizens are able to express in terms of art and politics, but also in their own self-expression and understanding of the human experience. This is probably most clear with Safu, who at the beginning of the story shows an almost complete inability to recognize and express basic human emotions in a way that would be seen as appropriate and useful to the average person reading/watching the story. This type of behavior, shown more subtly by several other characters throughout the story, distances us from them. While the lack of any existing social norms would usually allow space for us to impose our own norms onto the city, which in many cases is what happens, these micro level interactions, instead of coming off as a blank canvas for us to fill in, instead are just off-putting and strange, completely distanced from what we would recognize as a normal interaction, and that distance is perhaps the clearest example of culture we get to see in the story, as it reflects a set of norms that is completely separated and distinct from what we are used to seeing.

No.6 as an entity exists to alienate its citizens from the rest of the world, positioning them as existing “elsewhere”, and as being “other”, with No.6 existing as the “real” world. However once we, and Shion, are removed from this context, first through his meeting with Nezumi and again when he moves to West Block, we see that while No.6 exists as a template upon which to place our own social structures and systems, it is the “elsewhere” and “other” that I think ends up being more relatable to most of us. Even if we haven’t lived in extreme poverty or experienced much in the way of suffering, the West Block is a world that, more than anything, feels human. There is culture in the West Block; we see the food people eat and what an average day looks like for those who live there. We understand the issues that they face on a daily basis because they are concrete; hunger, violence, homelessness, much different from the highly technical and abstract problems facing those within the walls. There is diversity among this group, but there are still norms in place (no matter how questionable) that hold it all together in a way that feels organic and far removed from the isolated, expressionless world of No.6.

So, it should also be stated at this point that when I reference No.6’s “removal” of culture, this is not an entirely accurate description of what is happening. At its core, culture is simply social aspects of a group that differentiate it from another group, and that is something that can never be fully and purposefully removed. But what the city does do in order to replicate this effect is remove other groups as a point of comparison, leaving only one culture to be learned, accepted, and practiced. We can say that No.6 has no culture only because the citizens do not perceive that other people live any differently than they do. And as we see with Safu’s travels to No.5, as well as our own experiences learning about the city, the realization that other ways of living do exist completely shatters the illusion of No.6 as a perfect society, making its issues immediately clear. No.6 does have a culture. It is a culture of authoritarianism, nationalism, and isolationism. The city is to be worshipped and given absolute loyalty, to the point that social activities not in the city’s interest come with harsh punishments, and knowledge of anything outside of the city is limited only to those who have demonstrated an extraordinary level of commitment to the project, intentionally or not. While social norms and laws are generally viewed as overlapping but distinct, with many norms not legally enforced and many laws viewed as universal rather than cultural, in No.6 there is no such distinction.

So where do we, the reader/watcher, fit into this equation? I mentioned at the beginning that the lack of easily identifiable culture in No.6 is what makes the city and the story easily relatable to us, as we are able to layer our own culture and ideas on top of what is otherwise a blank city. But if No.6 does have a culture as described in the last paragraph, then where does that leave us? Now the easy answer here is that in recent times (including when the novels were originally written) many places around the world have faced an increase in the types of ideologies that make up No.6, and our viewing No.6 as a reflection of our own society shows an understanding (either implicit or explicit) that this shift in dominant ideology is occurring in the real world, that authoritarianism is still a prevalent part of our lives. But that answer is no fun, and is actually extremely depressing, so I’m going to point out some other aspects of the relationship between No.6 and our own world as well.

Although the culture of No.6 does exist, it isn’t blatantly discussed or shown in a way that most people would traditionally associate with “culture”. We don’t generally treat government and political ideology as part of a society’s culture, as so much of our everyday lives is determined by norms and practices that aren’t necessarily directly dictated by political systems. This is why No.6, despite having such a strong presence, also feels so blank. It looms so large over the events of the story and yet, once we are outside of it, we see that it has basically no impact on everyday occurrences outside of its walls. Unlike the West Block, where we see so many of the things we associate with culture; food and music and marketplaces and so on; No. 6 just doesn’t really have any of these, and what does exist doesn't really have a distinct form separated from any other modern industrialized nation. It is easy for us to imagine then, that perhaps the people in No.6 live similarly to us, that they share many of our values and understandings of the world, and have the same everyday concerns that we have. So much of what we use to understand a society is just not mentioned that the story basically forces you to impose yourself and your worldview onto it. It forces you to take part in the story and forces the story to take a shape that makes societal critique impossible to ignore.

On the other hand, besides just having a feeling of being more “alive”, the West Block also has its reasons for being the more relatable of the two places, at least for a solid chunk of the people who are going to be experiencing the story. Despite the fact that the structure of No.6 is meant as a representation of the issues found within the modern industrialized world, the position from which we are seeing those issues is skewed. I have touched on this in my post about Getsuyaku, and will definitely go into more depth on it in the future, but outside of Lost Town, No.6 exists as an upper middle class utopia only. There is no room in their world for regular working people, or those framed as being “unproductive” in society, such as the elderly. While wealth is a complicated topic when talking about No.6, class is not, and it is clear that the ways in which class manifests are strikingly similar to the real world. So where does West Block fit into this? Well, the reality is that a significant percentage of the people reading or watching No.6 do not belong to the upper middle class, or even the middle class. A lot of us are working class or poor (or both depending on how you categorize classes), and even if the West Block is a somewhat extreme example, those people, along with those in Lost Town, have far much more in common with us than those living in the regular districts of No.6 or in the gated area of Chronos. So while the city may reflect our own society in significant ways, and accurately describes the “culture” of that society, it only does so through the lens of someone who is successful within that structure, leaving it “blank” and without culture for those of us who have not had such an experience and view that position as something completely distanced from ourselves, or that we only encounter from a subordinate position.

In the world of fiction, there basically are no rights or wrongs when it comes to writing culture. That’s kind of the point of fiction. And to a certain extent every story is going to have some aspect of the society it was written in in it, because culture is just an unavoidable part of every person’s life that dictates everything about how they see the world. But through the story of No.6 we get to see that influence from several perspectives, both within and outside of the story, showing not only a reflection and critique of our own society, but the ways in which the positions of the characters and ourselves changes how we perceive that reflection. Ultimately every society is controlled through culture, and systems are in place to in turn control how culture functions, creating an endless loop of changes and reinforcements. To, in any concrete way, remove culture from a society is a fundamentally impossible task, and yet the illusion of removal is very much real, created not through an active effort of removal, but through the elimination both of comparable groups and the perception that any culturally significant differences may exist within the original group.

I could probably go on, but I’m getting away from the main topic, so I’ll stop here for now. The topic of culture in No.6 is really fascinating and something I definitely want to write more on in the future, but it will have to wait until I finish a couple of my other drafts first! So like always thanks for reading if you made it all the way to the end, and I will hopefully have at least a short thing done in the next couple of weeks or so!

#no.6 #no. 6 #no.6 analysis #long post #hello!#i finally return!#yes this was supposed to be done in September please do not remind me!#my brain would not shut up until this was finished though so here we are #not sure how im feeling about this one?#it took so long to finish that I think I lost most of the original concepts I had #so its a bit all over the place #but got to touch on some cool topics so thats all that really matters!#thanks again to the folks at the con last year!#could not have done this one without your input!#original

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