#The duality of the bad and small good in society; the hope of working together for change; for a restart

[cephalopodiums]

Analysis of 'Aska i vinden' in a Disco Elysium context

So, another post about a hbd-core Swedish song inspired me to finally make this analysis of 'Aska i vinden', a song mentioned in DE.

Game quote: [failed the Shivers check in front of the FELD-building] YOU - "I am trying to ask the wind." TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "Ask the wind or 'Aska i Vinden' is the name of a Vaasan lullaby," he remarks. "Maybe that helps?"

'Aska i vinden' does not actually translate into 'ask the wind', it means 'ash in the wind'. It also isn't a lullaby irl, it is a pop song and I have not found any mention of it being inspired by a lullaby, it seems to be a wholly original song. (Vaasa and Vaasan is the DE equivalent of Sweden (roughly) and Swedish btw, if you didn't know that.)

Anyway, on to the lyrics analysis below the cut

Swedish lyrics │ English translation │ [DE parallels]

Jag kan se att du nått din gräns nu I can see that you have reached your limit now [Parallels to Dora having enough of Harry] Jag kan se vart allt tar slut I can see where it all comes to an end [Parallels to the end of their relationship] Jag kan se alla miljarder stjärnor I can see all billions¹ of stars [Kinda parallels the Inland Empire portrait] Tändas upp bara för att dö ut Light up just to die out [This line and the previous parallels with the quote 'In dark times, should the stars also go out?' from the communist side quest]

Jag ser dig nere på T-centralen I see you down by the central station² [While not a metro station, I feel this parallels the aerodrome in being large/prominent transportation infrastructure] Du rycker till när våra blickar möts You flinch when our gazes³ meet [Parallels with the discomfort Dolores Dei/Dora felt when Harry talks to her when she tried to leave for the aerodrome] Jag ser hoppet i dina ögon I see the hope in your eyes [What Harry saw, or probably more accurately thinks and wants to have seen in Dolores Dei/Dora's eyes] Tändas upp bara för att dö ut Light up just to die out [Maybe this is what happened, Dora hoping for just a normal goodbye and then realizing no, Harry will try into the last moment to get her back]

Spring, spring för ditt liv, du kommer aldrig hitta hem Run, run for your life, you will never find your way home [Parallels the thoughts Lonesome Long Way Home/Hobocop] Spring, spring, spring för livet, vänd dig aldrig om igen Run, run, run for your life⁴, never turn back around again [Parallels the thought Cleaning Out the Rooms and the various warnings the skills give when Harry wants to find out about his past, for example the letter in his ledger] Spring, spring för ditt liv, för du är närmre än du tror Run, run for your life, because you're closer than you think [Parallels both that Harry is close to death at all times and that his memories are also close, sometimes just needing reminders or a bit of thought to return to him] Snart så är vi aska i vinden Soon we are ash in the wind [Parallels both the inevitable death of everything by pale if 'we' is used to refer to the people of Elysium and if 'we' is used to refer to Harry and Dora together, their relationship, being over to the point of only being ash in the wind, Harry and Dora no longer being a 'we' or an 'us' like Dolores Dei says: The atoms don't form us anymore: us, our love, our unborn daughters...]

Det finns en plats där alla minnen hamnar There is a place where all memories⁵ end up [Parallels the pale and the thought Cleaning Out the Rooms] Där allting rensas ut Where everything is cleaned out⁶ [Parallels Cleaning out the rooms to a T, and maybe the origin point of the pale, the nothingness, not the gradient or curdled milk] Kanske en plats där vi kan andas Maybe a place where we can breath [Parallels that Harry has a little more "room to breathe" now that he has lost the baggage of his memories and also this parallels the lung and breath imagery in Elysium] Där vi kan andas ut Where we can breathe out [Same as above, maybe parallels this line from Conceptualization about the pale: Instead of air, you exhale thoughts. There are no trees that eat thoughts.]

Och jag kan se att du nått din gräns nu And I see that you have reached your limit⁷ now Jag kan se vart allt tar slut I can see where it all comes to an end⁷ [Same as above, but I want to add a parallel to Le Retour, girlchild revolution and the end of an era] [Also just this line, I want to add the parallel to Harry knows about the end of Revachol] Jag kan se alla miljarder stjärnor I can see all billions of stars Tändas upp bara för att dö ut Light up just to die out [Same as above, but I want to add parallels to the communists in the revolution (having stars as a symbol) and also the disco stars of The New, they may not be billions but it is often used hyperbolically]

Spring, spring för ditt liv, du kommer aldrig hitta hem Run, run for your life, you will never find your way home⁸ Spring, spring, spring för livet, vänd dig aldrig om igen Run, run, run for your life, never turn back around again⁹ Spring, spring för ditt liv, för du är närmre än du tror Run, run for your life, because you are closer than you think Snart så är vi aska i vinden Soon we are ash in the wind [Same as above but I also want to add the parallels to these Shivers lines: SHIVERS - Your hair is an oily mess flecked with ash from neighbouring coal plants. Smoke stacks rise somewhere in the distance. SHIVERS - COME MORNING, I CARRY INDUSTRIAL DUST AND LET IT SETTLE ON TREE LEAVES. I SHAKE THE DUST FROM THOSE LEAVES AND ONTO YOUR COAT. (La Revacholière would carry the ashes of people to a nice place)]

So yeah, there you have it. There are some more parallels in the translation notes and I will put just the lyrics in a reblog on this post, if you want them alone without my commentary.

¹Billions in short scale specifically. ²T-centralen is actually a specific Swedish metro station, it is the biggest station for the Stockholm metro. I chose to translate/localize it to central station to aid in understanding the scale, importance and meaning conveyed by the word T-central. ³My translation is probably a grammatical bastardization of the idiom meet [somebody's] gaze, but you get the meaning of it and it stays truer to the Swedish version. ⁴The sentence 'Spring för livet' does not literally tranlate to 'run for your life', but it is it's meaning. Literally it translates to 'run for life'. ('Spring för ditt liv' actually does literally translate to and mean 'run for your life'.) I find the change of phrasing fascinating, as it can ad an additional way to read that line of the lyrics as 'running for the concept of life itself'. ⁵Here you can translate the word 'minnen' (it is in the definitive form) into both 'memories' and 'the memories' because they are both definitive, but the translations have different connotations. Both connotations are in the Swedish meaning of the word 'minnen' and there is no way to specify which one without use of additional explanatory words. I chose the phrasing of 'memories' to better fit with the parallel to the pale, but 'the memories' could also work well, as the connotation of that is that it is Harry's memories and it fits with the next line about cleaning out, as it is that what he does with his memories according to the thought Cleaning Out the Rooms. ⁶The phrasing 'rensas ut' (it is in gerund form, passive voice) can be more accurately be translated to 'is cleared out' (gerund form, passive voice), but 'is cleaned out' (gerund form, passive voice) is also a perfectly good translation and I chose it to parallel the thought Cleaning Out the Rooms. ⁷I did not foot note this earlier because it would make the grammar of the translation and the current word is more accurate in meaning, but... The word 'gräns' can not only be translated as 'limit' but 'border' as well. And idk, the word border reminds me of the porch collapse, especially with the next line about seeing 'where it all comes to an end', or the alternative translation 'where it all ends'. Which is exactly what you see at the porch collapse, you see where the world ends and the pale begins. So if we take these alternative translations and suppose the 'you' being referred/spoken to is the world, then you can think of it as the singer seeing the porch collapse, the approach of the end of the world. ⁸A fun thing just in the act of translation, not necessarily a meaning you can extract from the Swedish text but... If you literally translate 'du kommer aldrig hitta hem' it is 'you will never find home'. And you can read that translation as not finding a place that fits you, in the societal sense. Like the various Copotypes and political leanings Harry tries out/thinks about to try and find himself, who he is, and what titles/roles (places) fit him. He is trying to find home, in an identity sense as well. And it doesn't have to be *back* home, it just has to be home, a new one will suffice too. ⁹I think the word 'again' could actually be left our in the translation, to give it another connotation that is included in 'vänd dig aldrig om igen'. I interpret the meaning of the Swedish sentence as both the meaning 'never turn back again' implying the singer has turned around before and 'never turn back' which does not imply the singer having turned back before. But am a bit unsure of that though, so take it with a grain of salt.

[retvenkos]

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!

[bangtanlalaland]

around the way girl | knj (m.)

synopsis ↳namjoon kim was the man you’d fallen in love with in college, while existing in a society where ambw relationships are rare.

→part of the bring it back collection!

— 1990’s!au; strangers to lovers!au

→pairing: underground rapper!kim namjoon x beauty supply store worker!black female reader

→genre: fluff, smut

→word count: 4.7k+

→contents ⨯ warnings: that beautiful, interracial love (AMBW) [if you’re racist, fuck off my page!] some major fluff action here, joon is so soft, (I stg he’s a dom but also a hopeless romantic. the DUALITY. agsgsjlldlejd), rapper joon makes an appearance, sweet love making, name calling (cute shit, I promise), also the use of DADDY, lots of kissing and caressing, body worshiping, oral (f receiving), protected sex (no glove, no love baby), fingering, over-stimulation, namjoon is so inspired by hip hop culture, y’all I tried really hard to sprinkle some 90′s vibes in there so bare with me ok,

a/n: heyyyy loves! I wanted to do something different, considering that I hardly come across any fics (specifically BTS) with a woc or simply a black reader. so here’s one to all of my beautiful, black queens out there! much love to you all & I want you to know I am here & stand with you.  

song rec: “around the way girl” by ll cool j

☞ disclaimer: If any of the warnings listed above offends you in any way, please do not read. It is not my intention to start any sort of debate/argument in regards to racism, culture appropriation, etc. Therefore if any characters, settings, and/or facts/statements are incorrect, please disregard. However, this body of text is for entertainment purposes only. All characters, settings, scenarios, and dialogue are fictitious. Any similarity to events or persons, whether living or dead, is coincidental.

It was like a movie, from start to finish. Growing up, times were hard and challenges never ceased to fade. But, you pushed through — the good, the bad, and the ugly. Lost ones along the way, realized you couldn’t trust everyone, but you grew. As an independent, young, black woman living in America. And then something happened, that changed everything.

The year of 1998, when fall semester classes at your college just ended, which called for finding a seasonal job for the time being. And that’s how you ended up working at Queen Beauty Supply about two blocks from your place. You grew up knowing Mr. Park (who is the owner and now your boss) all your life. As you were a child, your mother supported his business, always stocking up on flexi rods, Just for Me relaxers, Goody brushes, and all. Even the endless amounts of barrette balls of every color you could think of, she made sure you had. And seeing that you blossomed, Mr. Park was more than honored to hire you for a seasonal gig. You loved him as if he was your family, just as well as he loved you.

It all started that one evening when you worked the register, fancy-ing some Poetic Justice-style braids, showcasing your figure with a halter top and mom jeans. A small stereo behind you blared the latest hits on the radio, Jon B currently on play. You flipped through the latest issue of Word Up! Magazine, admiring the new spread that featured Mya, Monica, and Brandy — your two in. acrylic, nails dragging across the pages. The sound of the bell jingles over the door, indicating the arrival of a customer. Your gaze turns up to greet said customer, and your eyes meet with the fellow that entered.

And damn were you blown away for a hot sec. He was cute, really cute. You hadn’t even realized he asked you something, while standing in front of you on the opposite side of the counter. He’s Asian, obviously. His eyes having told it all. They were different, not shaped like yours, but beautiful. Which was intriguing. But him simple being here in a beauty supply store was interesting, Yes, it’s ironic. The owner himself being Asian, but the intended audience is your fellow black folks. You could tell he’s obviously inspired by your culture since he sported a bucket hat and a loose, white tee that may have been just two sizes too big for him — which is rare nowadays to find on an Asian man. But, you don’t question it. Of course, you’re well aware people of all races are influenced by hip hop culture so in a way, it doesn’t surprise you as much. Okay, maybe a little. But still.

“Can I help you?” His eyes did a weird thing, but it was cute. He was cute.

“Do you have du-rags here?” Your eyebrows raise and head cocks to the side, having abandoned the magazine you were just reading.

“What do you want with a du-rag?” You question, knowing well the texture of his hair can’t form into waves, so you suppose it’s for a fashion statement. He starts blushing, his eyes shut and beautiful pearly whites on display. Damn, did he have you hooked on the spot and you didn’t even know his name yet. You had to hurry up and get him out of here for your own sake, so you took the lead. A few beats passed before he realized you were leading the way to what he needed. He stumbled a little.

“It’s uh- For my performance,” He slips, trailing behind you while passing by the rows of hair-care products, leading towards the back of the store.

“Performance? You dance?” You question, while strutting down the row of where the brushes, combs, barrettes and the jewelry wall was displayed — purposely swaying your hips back and forth just a tad too much for dramatic effect. He definitely noticed, his eyes glued to your form and wondering how your jeans could mold those curves so perfectly.

He blushes at the thought but replies, “I’m a rapper,” And that’s when you stop in your tracks, flipping your braids behind your back and placing your hand on your hip, giving him the same expression that you gave at the counter.

“A rapper?” You ask, while taking him in from head to toe. You notice his white Air Force Ones.

Damn, he is so fine.

He has style, you’ll admit that. But an Asian rapper? That’s unheard of, at least in your neighborhood.

“Do you, boo.” You shrug, while gesturing toward the wall on your left, that displayed various colors of du-rags. You step away to return to the register and then he speaks again.

“What about Blue Magic?” As if he hadn’t surprised you enough, you cross your arms, facing him.

“Well…. it depends on what you want.” You pause, and roll on your heels to walk again, he follows behind you.

“We have coconut oil, but the hair food is out of stock right now. The hair and scalp treatment is limited quantity, but we do have Castor Oil and Super Sure Gro.” You arrive at the row of hair care products, with numerous brands of oils, treatments, and more that cover the shelves. After leaving him there, you admired the way his eyes were shot wide, and you knew damn well he was not 100% sure of what he was looking at — as he searched for the product that piqued his interest.

And so it became a regular occurrence. He’d come in at least once every two weeks, buying the same thing. A du-rag and Super Sure Gro. Some days you’d even be a little extra to “up” your appearance, in hopes he’d notice or in some fantasy world, he’d compliment you. Maybe even ask about you or your day. Or if you’d like to go watch a movie with him or even hit up a spot for some good food. You ponder if he’d be into trying soul food someday. Your mom always did say that a way into a man’s heart is through his stomach. Well, more-so implying that you should know how to get down and dirty in the kitchen.

—

The bell jingles again, while you’re out on the floor stocking up the shelves with bottles of Luster’s Pink Oil Formula. Reaching below into the box to grab a few more bottles, you hadn’t noticed he was towering above you. You jumped slightly when you meet eyes with him, nearly dropping the contents you held onto.

“Don’t you know not to run up on a black woman like that? I may be little, but I can kick your ass!” You both break out into a contagious laugh. He stuffs his hands into his baggy jeans of his, that gorgeous smile spreads across his face. He clears his throat,

“I- Uh- I’m- I’m sorry, I-”

You shake it off, “You’re fine, boo.” Your hand finds its way into his shoulder, a light rub as you brush past him to head for the register. He hesitates, trailing behind you as he fights for the right words to say.

“I-I just, I-” You reach the front of the counter and turn to make eye contact with him. Your eyebrows raise slightly, taking in how he’s struggling to piece his words together. You place your hand on his shoulder again and note how he gazes at you with those same wide eyes you’d grown familiar with over the past few weeks. His lips parted slightly as if he was going to say something but didn’t.

“It’s okay-” You trail off, in hopes he’d catch on.

“Oh, right. N-namjoon. My name is Namjoon.”

You smile in response, lightly rubbing his arm with your palm.

“Is there…. Something you want to say? I promise, I don’t bite,” You state with a soft smile. You notice his shoulders easing themselves down. Part of you wonders what he was so tense for.

“You should come to my performance-” He says rapidly then pauses, looking down and then back up to you, “I would like it- I mean I think that you- You would like my performance.” He internally hates himself for being shy around you, his cheeks so tight and raised from smiling hard, and you could have literally melt in that moment. You thought it was cute to see him that way. To know you made him feel all flustered.

There was a grand amount of effort he’d built to approach you. The very, first day he arrived at the store, he wanted to say something then. He went home that night rehearsing how he’d spark up a conversation with you. He even recalls one time he’d seen you at a bus stop sucking on a lollipop, and how tempted he was to say something then. But he couldn’t. He was afraid of rejection, and he wasn’t sure how to approach you. So when he’d visit the beaut store and see your face, he’d grow warm on the inside. And when you would make eye contact with him, his heart would stop. When you would speak to him with that sweet voice of yours, he’d freeze.

So when you said yes you would be there, he cried afterwards. Not in front of you of course, but on the bus back to his place. He couldn’t believe that you didn’t reject him. Throughout the weeks, he’d contemplated because he didn’t know how you felt about people of his race. He didn’t know how your race felt about people like him in general. Although, it never mattered to him. Because he believed that love is love. As long as you’re happy with that person, that is all what truly matters. He believed everyone deserves to have that kind of love. Little did he know, you felt the same way.

And then things advanced between the two of you.

It was the night he invited you to an underground party, and it was live. Music thumped with never-ending bass, people danced and smoked, and the space felt warm and cluttered, courtesy of body heat. You gradually ease your way through the space, attempting to find some kind of “safe haven” amongst the grinding, moving bodies within the cramped atmosphere. The music settles down, which causes you to look ahead, realizing you’re in front of the stage where the DJ is posted up on the left.

“Alright, y’all! You already know what time it is.” The DJ blatantly announces through his microphone. The crowd somewhat reacts, but not to his liking you assume.

“I said… Y’all already know what time it is!” Everyone goes wild, screaming, chanting and whistling.

“Tonight, I wanna welcome y’all my boy. From the East side, he’s an up and coming rapper- Y’all check this,” He pauses for a moment, “He is a Korean rapper! Y’all feel me? What y’all know about a Korean rapper, aight?” He shakes his head throwing his hands up.

“Imma let y’all have this one, but I’m tellin’ y’all! You don’t know nothing bout this!” You smile uncontrollably, aware of who he’s talking about. Also somewhat anxious to see what the hype is about, your nerves making your stomach churn just a little too much while you’re out in public.

“Give it up for my boy, RM!” The DJ, swivels the record on his turntable back and forth. And there Namjoon was, appearing from the side of the stage, with his du-rag and bucket hat, loose tee, baggy jeans, and those familiar Air Force Ones you’d grown to recognize. You also peep the Cuban chain that adorns his neck.

And then the beat kicks in. Which was also familiar, you note that it’s the beat for “I Need Love.” Everyone starts bobbing their heads, including him. Including you.

He throws his hand up, shoving gestures to go along with the rhythm of the music, while using his other hand to firmly hold onto his mic.

“I’d like to introduce myself, The name is RM, Let’s rewind and take you back to when it first started, Very first time that I walked in the shop, I was startled and I swear I had felt my heart drop, You made me wanna get down on my knees, Begging, please, Coulda told you I was sprung the moment I seen ya,”

He makes eye contact with you and points directly in your direction. He’s talking about you, right? He’s got to be. There’s no way he isn’t. You continue bobbing your head to the beat, and you can’t fight the smile in return.

“Dang baby, how’d you fit in those jeans? Hips got a brother feeling like he’s in a dream, Couldn’t even keep my head straight, Yeah I’m Asian but damn, Somethin’ must have went left and messed up my fam, Sittin’, thinkin’, contemplatin’, and wonderin’, How could I get this fine lil shawty to blushin’? Hopin’ that you’ll say yes and lemme steal you from the scene, Treat you like a queen and show you what a real man can be,”

He stares at you for a moment too long, yet you’ve already grown too hot for the jean jacket you’re wearing over your tube top.

“I need love,” he adds before dropping the mic; everyone suddenly is hype, continuously cheering him on and giving him props for his performance.

“I told y’all! Give it up for my boy, RM!” The DJ adds, patting him on the back while smiling from ear to ear. But, his eyes are focused on you, and only you — who just can’t seem to shake off the bright smile plastered on your face, you attentively graze your bottom lip with your teeth to attempt stopping yourself from smiling so much. But, you fail. And he takes note of that, returning a smile to you. You could tell he’s blushing, his dimples appearing before he dips his head low.

So shy, yet so damn fine. How is that even possible?

—

That same week, he surprised you at work, stumbling in to rap a few verses about how beautiful you are to him, and he pulled a bouquet of roses he hid from behind his back. You remembered that day so clearly. You remembered kissing him, hugging him, holding his hand, smelling the flowers. You also remembered Mr. Park interrupting your little PDA session to scold you about: “No kissing and no sex on the clock!”

But, Namjoon loved you more than you could think. And he didn’t care who in the world thought it was wrong for you two to fall in love. Because the night you two had arrived at his apartment, lips intertwined with one another, and hands roaming each others bodies, was when everything became so clear.

You both stumble inside, too wrapped up in locking lips with one another. Namjoon guides you toward his bedroom; and being the klutz he is, he stubs his shoe on the baseboard leading to his bedroom. You both break the kiss, and you can’t help but chuckle at his clumsy ways.

“Why you laughing at me, huh?” He lifts you up and you can’t help the half gasp/half giggle that escapes your lips, immediately wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you to his bed. He gently lies you down on your back and hovers above you. You unexpectedly snatch his bucket hat off, tossing it somewhere on the floor — his faded, white-blonde and dark brown strands on display.

“Did you have to do my Kangol like that?” He whines with furrowed brows. You tap his bottom lip, dragging your finger across the plump flesh.

“Shut up and kiss me.” His gold Cuban link chain hangs from his neck, prompting your fingers to tug it down, and you do so, his lips smashing with yours yet again. Your fingers lace themselves within his hair, admiring the feel of his oiled scalp. His lips massage yours in a way that’s beyond comforting, and you make sure to inform him how nostalgic kissing feels. Drawn-out moans spew from you, and you can’t help but wonder how in the hell could you be in this time and moment with him. Piece by piece all of your garments end up lost on the ground, along with his clothing. He had you caged in to his bed and kept himself hovered over you, planting kisses along your neck trailing down to your collarbone.

“Mmm, Joon.” You follow his lead, kissing his blush-colored lips, snaking through his silky strands. His hands travel behind your back to remove your lace bra, revealing your breasts that illuminate from the moonlight peeking through the blinds of his window, your chocolate nipples hardened and desperate for attention. His eyes are blown wide, cherishing every dip and curve of your body.

“Wow,” He admits, his erection growing behind his undergarment. He holds a few moments to etch this view of you within his memory, appreciating every trait of your being in this form. His hands find placement on your hips, pulling you to his body completely — the soft, plushness of your breasts pushed against his chest. He rubs the outline of your face, slowly dragging his index finger along your jawline.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world. You know that?” You let out a small giggle, feeling vulnerable in this state. He kisses you, being sure to suck your bottom lip, pulling and tugging softly with his teeth. His hands roam down your back and land on your ass cheeks, gripping with force. Your breath hitches, and you find yourself wrapping your arms around his neck, in hopes to ease him in just a little more. Even though physically it isn’t possible. He teases your bottom lip with a swipe of his tongue, asking for entrance.

And you let him in, sucking and licking him back in response, both of yours saliva mixing with each others, and not a care in the world — too consumed in each other. He gropes your ass, causing a moan to slip from you. His large palms kneading the cushion-y flesh, and damn is he grateful for this moment in time with you. He pulls from your lips with an audible smack, and you relish in the sight of his thick lips all swollen and damp.

“I love you, ____” He admits with those delightful irises.

“I love you too, Namjoon.” He guides you to lie down on your back, hovering above you as he places kisses along your jawline, leading down your neck, taking his time to cherish every part of you. His hands roam along your sides, caressing the curves of your body. He kisses the area between your breasts and stops suddenly, eyeing you for approval. As if understanding, you nod. His tongue peeks out and circles your right nipple, he wraps his lips around the bud and sucks with tenderness, making sure to release with a pop each time while his other hand massages your left breast.

Your core aches as a result, needing to feel him so the void inside your walls can be filled. He repeats this with your other tit, sucking your nipple while massaging the other, pinching and rolling the bud between his fingers. Your core throbs with an intense pleasure, soaking your now soiled panties. He eases down further, planting kisses down your tummy and moving along the inner thighs of your mocha skin, praising the smooth, supple, flesh. His fingers tug the band of your lace panties, and he eyes you again for approval.

“Please,” You plead, and it was all he needed to hear to remove the garment and reveal yourself to him, treasuring the sight of your lips dripping from arousal. He wastes no time, as you feel his warm, wet muscle gliding along your folds, his nose nuzzling your clit in the process. Your fingers snake into his hair and hips buck upwards to move along the rhythmic motions of his tongue, while he devours you whole as if he’d become a man starved.

“Joon!” You praise, panting for air, Your gaze follows between your legs, cherishing the man that continues to eat you out. He watches your expressions, glaring deeply into your eyes as he does so. His fingers ease toward your folds, rubbing his digits along your drenched pussy, coating them with your wet. He watches you still, not wanting to leave your gaze as he enters a finger inside you. You moan his name in response. His finger delves deep within you, your walls sucking him in perfectly.

“So good for me,” He lashes his tongue out to lick your clit in a circular motion. The sight of him between your thighs makes your heart quiver. He deliberately adds a second finger, his lengthy digits curling themselves upwards and dragging along the walls of your womanhood. His nails dig along the flesh of your thighs, keeping you settled and under his grip, his lips suck on your clit til no end. His obscene noises send a shockwave of pleasure through you, and your toes curl at the sensation. He pulls his fingers from out of you and tastes your arousal that clings to him.

“Tastes so good,” He moans, and you can’t help your thighs from rubbing together to ease the tension that has built. Then, he blushes at the view of you, all horny and ready for him. Only him. How can he be so cute and so fine at the same time? You ask yourself this everyday. Your legs move on their own accord, struggling to draw him back in. He chuckles at your actions.

“You want more, baby?” He questions in that deep, sexy voice of his.

You nod in reply, “Yes, Joon. Please, daddy?” His famous dimples reappear, and those mesmerizing, pearly whites appear. He dives back down, trailing kisses along your tummy, leading to your mound. He worships your body as he had wanted to do since the day he met you, gripping and rubbing along your skin. He moans against you, admiring the feel of you under his fingertips. His lips encase around your clit again, and your body jerks from the sudden feeling. His tongue slides along your folds, sucking and slurping, making the most lewd noises.

His fingernails drag along your thighs, adding an odd tingle within you. You follow his motions and graze your nails on top of his hand, when an unexpected bliss washes over you — causing you to writhe underneath him. He continues sucking your clitoris until you can’t take anymore, your legs gliding up an down along his back, back arching off the mattress, eyebrows furrowing and you simply drowning in euphoria with trembling thighs as your nails drag along his scalp and your cries echo within his eardrums.

“Joon, daddy!” Your nails dig further into his hand, and fingers tug harshly onto his strands. Your core now sensitive to the touch, something you’d never experienced before. He moves his head back and forth, delving deeper and not wanting to let go. You scratch his back, now in hopes he’d give up. You’re nearly convinced he’s going to kill you with that tongue of his, and then out of nowhere, he pushes two fingers inside you. Your toes curl for what feels like the millionth time, and you whimper his name repeatedly.

He thrusts his digits into you, a loud squelching noise filling up the space. And you feel those plush lips wrap around your clit again. He ruts against the bed, wanting to feed the tension within his groin. Your feet now having fought the sheets you lay upon, twisting and turning due to the over-sensitivity. But in some strange sentiment, there’s another wave. And here you are having your second orgasm of the night.

“Fuck, Ungh- I’m cumming again!” Your body shakes violently, not having control over the orgasm that’s overtaken you. An uncontrollable scream slips out and you shove Namjoon away from you with a strained push, his chin now glistening with you. He wipes the residue from his face with the back of his hand, grinning at you fucked out and waiting on his bed. He pulls a condom from somewhere in his drawer and wraps himself up.

He was so thick, thicker than you thought. You lay flat on your tummy and Namjoon sets himself on top of you, caging you in again. He notes the glow upon your ebony skin as he coats his protected member with your drenched self, adding a line of his own saliva and finally diving into you with every inch he has, at a slow, steady pace. But the places he reaches leave you wondering what you’d done to deserve this kind of dick.

Magnificent.

“Beautiful, black queen,” he slips in between breaths, rocking his hips against yours. The position granting him a much deeper access. You gasp at his remark, clenching your walls tighter around him, he hisses in response. His warm breath fans the right side of your face, and he presses a kiss along your earlobe while adding,

“All mine. You’re my black queen, understand? Can’t nobody take that away from me.”

“Yes Namjoon,” You reply. “I’m all yours.”

His cock twitches at the sound of his name slipping from your lips within this state — having you underneath him like this, needy, desperate, and only craving him. He inches to meet your lips with his. His kisses are filled with want and desire, full of love. That sweet, sweet love.

“Give it to me daddy,” You say under your breath but audible enough for him to hear, and he takes heed to continue thrusting himself into you, his delicate, golden skin glimmering with perspiration. The sound of your bodies clapping against each other resonate throughout his apartment, as soft whimpers and moans fall from you, and he utilizes every millisecond of this moment to drown himself in your presence.

“So tight, so wet. So beautiful.” His hips buck in a gentle, yet stern manner, causing your body to jerk upward and eyes to shut close in response — his balls slapping your ass with each thrust of his hips, he continuously hits that sweet spot over and over again, your eyes rolling back due to the nostalgia. He eases his fingers in between your legs to rub circles into your clit simultaneously, and it doesn’t take long for your walls to contract for the third time that night.

“Fuck baby,” He coos with followed moans and groans, spilling himself while still buried in you. You shudder underneath him with nails dragging along the sheets, and muffled moans from burying your face, as you call out his name like it was the only function your brain could process.

He eases himself out of you, and you can’t help the low gasp that emits from you — having been so full of him and sensitive at the same time. A few moments later, and the slight shift of the bed indicates he vanished to discard the condom. You simply lay there, slowly processing that he’d given you the best sex you’ve ever had, being that his main focus was pleasuring you.

But it was in those final moments when Namjoon cuddled you afterwards, bodies attached together by sweat, gasping for air and basking himself in the warm, vanilla, sugar aroma of your essence — that he knew he was in love with you. And there was nothing anyone could ever say to change his feelings.

You break the silence having thought of Namjoon’s words you recall from his performance.

“Think you’ve found it?” He watches your form with raised eyebrows.

“Found what?” You trace circles along his chest, gazing upon his abdomen.

“Love,” You state, and a silence falls that makes your body warm up in a flash.

He shakes his head in a “no” gesture, “I don’t think I have.” The sudden pause of his sentence makes your heart drop.

“I know I have.” He kisses your forehead and draws you closer to him, holding onto you for dear life — like he’s afraid he’d lose you. You beam at his gesture, curling up into his figure. His heart thumps from the immense affection between the two of you. Your now closed eyes like an irreplaceable gift to him.

“My around the way girl,” He whispers to himself, while petting your hair and drifting off into slumber.

[lovedlovingly]

Growing up, spec when seen as a daughter, with an abusive mother - u swear to never become like her. Which we all know can be a trap, the mindset can make you overlook the exact traits you silently took with u from her without even noticing it, because your focus is more on "what not to be" than "what to be" and self reflection.

I live with this fear all the time. Not always consciously, but especially when someone makes me feel bad, small, unimportant etc about myself I always go back to "I shouldn't be like my mother" trying to find a response, which isn't... Usually the situation where i should have my focus on [those traits]. But instead see if what I'm feeling is how I felt as a child, and make myself finally heard the way I longed for by a mother figure.

These fear throughts of "am I becoming my mother?" are also strong when ppl come to me with a problem or a need to vent. The way I react to them to be able to give them the sense of being heard and validated is strong, not only because I want to prove something/"someone" wrong, but because it's something I myself long for, it's traits of someone I want to be. Choose to be.

I think this process has been one of the hardest for me, also because I don't have good tools yet! I feel insufficient, as if I could imagine what should be in my toolbox but when I actually look in it there's only a hammer wrench and a couple of nails.

I know I have [toxic traits]. Any human does. What separates me from my own mother is that I want to try to be better. Not only for myself but for those around me. Right now tho, limited edition© for ppl who treat me with kindness, value and respect, because they're things I've been starved of for so long and I need my The Sims™ meter to go up to green. Then I can probably handle other people with no turmoil inside me. But while working with one self, these aren't easy things. Trauma patterns and beliefs are hard, especially from childhood. You have nothing to go back to, no former self. You have to find a new you to create, find out what you even want, find your own needs. It takes time and you stumble and u get angry because u feel with one toe out of line you've fallen all the way back over.

And sometimes that's also connected to the abuse, to be hard on ourselves, to think we can't handle it - not really, that things are too good to be true so we should take a more modest path to set our goals on. There's so many dimensions to this to work with. And it both makes me exited but also really sad.

What's also hard is. Even if you cut your mother out of your life, the people around you know you in a certain way. So changing can be really hard on that point too, you've found a new role with new ppl but u still want more, you still want to recover. I dont know how to solve that either, it feels like an elastic band. You try to move forward but find yourself ending up in old patterns because even if your abuser isn't around you've formed a trauma self, who's the one others know u as. It's weird. I guess the best thing is to try and grow with the ppl around u? And if they can't it's okay to leave them behind. And it's okay for them to leave you behind too! They might not be able to handle the change (ever so small) but it's important for you and for once you want to listen to yourself and not long for suffering.

Because we do bond in suffering. We bond with complaints. But when that's all a friendship is u have to reflect if that's helping you become the person, the version of yourself, you want to see.

And if you only bond in "happiness" in "positive thinking" where there's no room for venting or problem solving. That's unhealthy too, and you won't thrive. You feel like a cactus in a habitat for lotus flowers. It's someone constantly pouring on soil to completely cover a flower and tell it to grow thus their job is done (they give so much nurture but not what's actually needed for said person and it's still neglectful)

I feel recovery is a really lonely path. It's like, you're not alone on your journey, absolutely far from, but it's lonely.

And sometimes the fear of still being the victim is stronger than the fear of becoming my mom. The fear that that loneliness (even though on my way I've met amazing ppl and we've walked the same path for a while) will make me turn around. Sprint back to what I know. What's familiar. Because at least I know that outcome, I know I'll be miserable - and for some that's more comforting than the thought of unknown possibilities. No matter how good they are. Been there too!

So sometimes the bravest thing an abuse survivor can do(being terrified but doing it anyway), is having the courage to take the first step towards the unknown and open the different doors on the way forward and decide if they want to stay there for a while or move forward again. And even though it is lonely at times, we actually never are alone. It's loneliness in community. It's a duality at the same time. It's a coin forever spinning.

Just because our mothers made us feel cut off from the rest of society, because our trauma makes us feel like we're the puzzle piece that doesn't fit in, doesn't mean it's true. There are, sadly enough, so so many survivors in the world to find strength from or to help in your turn when able. And even more amazingly, to work together with.

I hope that in the future, and it might take me 20,30,40 years to get free from all the marionette strings my mother tied to me, but I hope I can look back, from time to time, and be proud of and have so much thankfulness in my heart and compassion with how brave I was for taking that first step towards unknown recovery. And really thank them for bringing me there. Just like I in the present, thank my former self for all the ground work they've done for me to be where I'm at already!

And maybe that's the biggest difference between me and my abuser, I can truly feel love for myself and in turn it makes me want to love others and make them love themselves. All because I'm proud of the former versions of me, even though they've stumbled head first at times and had to learn hard lessons and just like anyone I have things I feel ashamed over in my life. The thing I can be happy over is, in hindsight and who I am rn, I would go back to all those situations and correct them if I could. Apologize if I could. Make amends if I could. Tell ppl to fuck off earlier if I could. It gives me comfort to know I don't feel fear towards who I was. Back then I might have only had a nail in my toolbox! And I did what I could with what I had - just like now.

But one thing remains the same, I've always wanted better for myself but never at the expense of others. If I go up I take u all up with me! And in that I can never become my mother.

[15hont1c]

Week 5: The End

Our reflective essay should:

Discuss set text and how your screenplay was inspired by it.

Draw specific links between screenplay + source text.

Show familiarity with relevant aspects of book (period, themes, genre, location, etc)

Discuss writing process and the creative decisions you made.

Reflect on your journey from first idea to finished script.

Use quotes/evidence from screenwriting texts to explain and support your decisions.

Refer to any other books, films, images, etc that influenced your writing process.

Discuss how film would be like?

Discuss animation style, aesthetics, material, color palette, lighting, soundtrack.

Think about intended audience for film.

The tone and style of the reflective essay should follow the appropriate academic tone with citations and bibliography. The reflective essay can also use first person as it is meant to be discussing and analysing our own experiences. 

The Last Night - Strictures of Victorian Society

Utterson is annoyed at the servants who are “huddled together like a flock of sheep.” 

Upkeep of the Victorian calm and self-contained attitude.

The housemaid breaks into “hysterical whimpering.” -> Mass Hysteria

“A rather wild tale.” 

Utterson stands for the audience as he expresses the same doubt/questions the readers ask.

“This drug is wanted bitter bad, sir.”

Depiction of drug addictions.

Victorians can buy over-the-counter heroin; frequented to opium dens and even babies who were born drug-addicts.

Stevenson himself is also a drug addict who was reliant on hallucinogens. 

Poole seeing the masked man who was much smaller than his ‘master.’

Referral as a symbol of something hidden/concealed (like door).

Description is evocative and deepens the mystery.

Upon breaking the door, there was no big reveal; no dramatic scene.

Instead, they found a mirror with their own reflection reflected instead, showing the “evil” duality of themselves. 

The scene also utilises the uncanny -> we expect the extraordinary, but is actually overwhelmingly ordinary in the scene, even though things are not ‘quite right.’ 

There is a duality/juxtaposition in the description of the scene: The twitching corpse and a defaced book as opposed to the boiling kettle.

Prompts the idea of “To what extent did Utterson cause the death of Hyde/Jekyll.”

The final two chapters were written in first person narrative:

Dr Lanyon revealing the core of the mystery.

Jekyll telling the chronological story that happened over the course of the novella through his perspective.

First Letter (Lanyon):

Lanyon receives a strange message, begging to carry out a series of specific and peculiar requests. 

Jekyll/Hyde begs Lanyon for help.

He goes to fetch a drawer containing powders and a test tube from his lab and goes to wait for the mystery man.

Hyde’s too desperate for the drugs, and gives him the option to leave to watch him ingest it.

Dr Lanyon is bound to secrecy - bound by the Hippocratic oath.

He is unable to reveal what he knows.

Even in a vulnerable state, Hyde presents himself as more superior  than Lanyon.

The format of an ‘objective’ third person narrative + ‘subjective’ first person accounts was a trope of Victorian fiction, but was also similar to the medical literature of that period. Anne Stiles (2006) observes that the book’s structure reflects the medical case studies of that period, but also subverts them. Jekyll’s character is both the physician and patient in the story.

Jekyll’s observation states that “man is not truly one, but truly two.” This reflects a Victorian theory that ‘each brain hemisphere might house a separate personality or a separate soul.’ It can be imagined that when a Victorian reads this, they may become afraid of their inner “Hyde” taking over. 

An example of this could be the case study of an injured French soldier called Sergeant F which was discussed in the medical Cornhill magazine.  According to Stiles in her book Popular Fiction and Brain Science in the Late Nineteenth Century on page 43, Sergeant F developed “two distinct personalities upon a gunshot injury in the left brain hemisphere.” His first state is known as intelligent and kindly, while his second state displayed “animalistic and automatic qualities along with impaired sensory impressions.” He is also resilient to pain in this second state. 

Even though Sergeant F was male and his condition was caused by an external factor (gunshot), the ‘multiplex personality’ was almost overwhelmingly a female condition. Felida X was an example of a female patient that was also discussed in the Cornhill magazine. Felida’s condition was natural occurring, exhibited hysteria and has another ‘peculiar secondary state of mind.’ She felt pain when transitioning between the two states. While she felt better in this second state, it had “unfortunate moral consequences,” such as when she got herself pregnant with a man whom she had no romantic interest in the first mind state. Her subconscious base instincts made her chase after the man and impregnated herself due to it.

Applying to Jekyll and Hyde, we can see that Hyde was wrestling against the approaches of hysteria. Hysteria is a centuries old illness that no one really understood at the time. It was usually diagnosed when no other cause could be found for its exaggerated symptoms. Examples include:

Salem Witch Trials

Occurred in 1692, over 200 people were accused of practicing witchcraft.

20 people were hung upon accusations from mass hysteria.

Neighbours and friends turn against one another.

Started because a group of girls exhibited convulsions and weird spastic behaviour -> epilepsy.

Most of them were girls and women.

Anneliese Michel

A German woman who was supposedly ‘possessed’ by a demon after a complicated series of illnesses early in her life.

Suffered a seizure and diagnosed with psychosis of temporal lobe epilepsy.

Took a lot of medication, but her condition worsened (as well as her mental health.)

Began to hear voices and became intolerant to sacred Christian sacred places and objects. 

Stiles (2006) theorised that the small, puny, right-brained Hyde has something of the Victorian femininity about him; emotionally unstable, physically chaotic and somehow ‘lesser’ than his male counterparts. In the novella, Poole describes Hyde as “weeping like a woman.” 

The nocturnal setting, theme of monstrosity and embedded narratives (i.e fragments, manuscripts and letters. 

Key Features of the Gothic

Wild landscapes vs imprisonment

Hyde was constantly ‘imprisoned’ by the duality in Jekyll’s personality. 

Other characters were also imprisoned by the Victorian society’s rules. 

The re-emergence of the past within the present (often represented by ghosts - the thing you thought was dead.)

Exploring the limits of what it is to be human.

Internal desires or forces outside our control.

Perverse, weird and dangerous kinds of sexuality - incest, abduction, violence.

The vulnerable of women in 19th century - the ‘triumph’ of young women over seemingly impossible force.

The Uncanny

Figures that are not quite ‘human’ (dolls, was works, automata)

May feature ‘evil’ doubles.

“Somebody who seems unfamiliar and strange in fact has an identity you already know.” 

No one in the novella could really describe what Hyde looked like; an uncanny physical description.

We can harness the power of the uncanny to enhance the story in our writing.

Less is More 

Planting the seeds and letting the readers’ imagination flow.

Stay Close

Use all senses when writing, stay close to the protagonist and allow the audience to feel their fear.

Make it personal

Use your own fears/phobias to make the scene more realistic.

Give the reader time to feel the fear

Place hints that something disturbing is going to happen.

Create a mood of tension/horror before it actually happens.

Provide something uncanny that is both familiar and unfamiliar.

Allow the sense of underlying unease to intensify over time.

E.g A radio turns on by itself, a child toy changes position.

The Birth of Urban Gothic Horror

Jekyll and Hyde is usually considered as the first ‘urban gothic’ novel. Gothic revivalists of the 19th century believe the threat is no longer an external force, but rather an evil that is curled inside the very heart of the respectable middle class person. This scared the readers at the time even more, as to some extent, the evil was inescapable. The progressive society with the advancement of the Industrial Revolution caused the dark progress of social and psychological effects. Moral decay was an obsession of the Victorians. By identifying and analysing that fear, they seek to control and contain it.

How to Write Dialogue

Unnatural is natural

Not real speech, but a representation of it.

Aim to capture the flavour of speech (without the boring stale bits)

“Natural speech is full of hesitation, repetitions, omissions... when we’re listening to it in real life, our brains filter this out and extract the essential parts (Pierre, 2011).

The S.A.D method

Dialogue is a function of character. Know the character well so their dialogue flows easily.

Status - Who was the upper hand?

Agenda: What is the purpose of the conversation?What do they hope to gain from it.

Desire: What do they want? (What is their ultimate goal/super objective.)

Inhabit their physical space

Listen to how differently different people talk.

Our physical bodies affect our voice. Spend time imagining yourself as the character.

E.g. Timid & trembling? Broad & bold?

Silence is gold

What people don’t say is just as important as what they do.

What are they avoiding to talk about?

Actions speak louder than words.

Explanation kills drama

Characters should talk to each other, not the audience.

“Good dialogue is a manifestation of behaviour, not an explanation” (Yorke, 2013, p150).

Dialogue is not just a Q & A

Good dialogue is surprising and unpredictable.

Promises excitement, but keeps us waiting for it.

Drip-feeds information but withholds answers.

Be ruthless

Dialogue should either move the story forward or reveal something about the character.

If it does not, take that out!

Always read the dialogue aloud.

Make sure the dialogue can actually be spoken/performed realistically.

Reference:

Stiles (2006) - https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=KyFrjbezjSgC&pg=PA43&lpg=PA43&dq=sergeant+F+brain+study&source=bl&ots=XgsrEFdmxR&sig=ACfU3U0cTzmOzIkZPnboQKh4FeOQA41Zzg&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiC5dm7t4LgAhVho3EKHTYRAJcQ6AEwA3oECAUQAQ#v=onepage&q=sergeant%20F%20brain%20study&f=false