#and I thought we were done romanticizing assault
Text
Goodnight (Love)
Jimin x Reader – Spy!Au
Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Fluff, Enemies(?)/Lovers(?), Non-Idol Au, One-Shot
Part 2
Summary: You and Jimin hold an unwavering grudge against each other, but for what reason? Or, when you and Jimin get partnered for a case together, emotions arise, and so do the stakes. Pride and vulnerability are an explosive pair; will you both set each other off into flames?
Warnings (Buckle up folks because there's a lot): THIS STORY CONTAINS THEMES OF HARASSMENT AND IMPLICATIONS OF S/A!!! DO NOT READ IF THOSE TOPICS ARE TOO HARSH FOR YOU!!! Angst, panic attacks, anxiety, descriptions of violence (like a single fight), sexual assault (no non-con sex happens i swear), misogyny if you squint, Jimin is an asshole at times, trauma, trauma flashbacks, horrible communication tbh, implied abuse, implied s/a
Disclaimers: I am in no way, shape, or form trying to romanticize these sensitive topics, I simply want to show that comfort can be found after said situations. Please do not leave any comments about glamorizing any of the topic.
A/N: Hello hi author here! I haven't thoroughly proof read this oopsies but we'll get there when we get there. There's a lot of time-skips in this btw, and I also just made shit up because I don't really have any clue as to what spies or agents do or whatever (lol)
Taglist: @screamertannie
main masterlist
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
"This mission is risky, as it's heavily reliant on precision and strategy, so we'll have to be very careful with who we send."
"I have the perfect pair in mind."
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
"You're fucking kidding me."
Jimin stares in disbelief at his bosses, Seokjin and Namjoon, not knowing why they thought it would be a good idea to partner you together.
"I don't care whatever personal vendetta y'all have against each other, you both are the most reliable option we have. So put your willy-nillies aside and get your head in the game."
Namjoon shoots Jin a disapproving glare at his choice of words.
"Please never say willy-nilly again."
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
You never thought it was possible for so much tension to fit inside a singular car, yet you and Jimin seemed to be breaking that record currently:
"Listen, I want to get this done as soon as possible, so please just listen to me and do what I tell you and I can finally stay away from your annoying ass."
"As long as you listen to me as well, it'll be a smooth sail."
"And why do I have to listen to you?"
"We listen to each other, it's called teamwork; hence the fact that we're a team, and we work tog-"
"I know what teamwork is – I'm not stupid. But I specialize in retrieving information, so I think we both know who has sufficient knowledge to lead this case."
"One of the requirements to be recruited is being able to safely retrieve information, so technically even though I'm not centered in the encryption department, we still have the same level of expertise in the field of-"
"Do you ever shut the fuck up?"
"I do."
"Great well do that now."
"If it means you stop running your mouth as well then I will."
It isn't that Jimin hates you specifically, he just hates how stoic you are all of the time. No matter what case you had to take on, what was going on around you, your cold demeanor never faltered — and that pissed Jimin off.
I mean, who were you to be so stand-offish to all of your colleagues? Did you think you were better than everyone else? Is that why you never spoke up unless you were giving your 2 cents on the approach the organization should take on the case given. And it pissed him off even more how you were always right, how Namjoon and Jin always agreed with whatever you had to say.
Jimin didn't hate you specifically, but he hated your face and how nice it was to look at and your annoyingly smart brain and your voice that was so soothing to listen to.
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
"Jimin, I'm telling you, having me go undercover isn't safe or efficient. The man who has the information we need is kno-"
"Are you admitting that you don't have the guts to complete this mission? What happened to commitment?"
Strategizing with Jimin felt like being a court trial where anything and everything you said would be used against you.
"I am committed. That's why I'm telling you that this isn't a good strategy."
"And why not? We've used it countless times before and it's worked, what's different now? All those men are the same, just play them to your will. Is that really so hard for you to do?"
"It's not good because it's not safe. Chances are that not only will I walk out of there severely injured, but you will too. And what happens then?"
"All I'm hearing is that you're too scared to do it. If that's the case, then why don't you just go home? I can even go ahead and call Jin hyung and tell him that you chickened out-"
"I am not chickening out."
"Then just trust my plan, princess. It's never failed me, and it's not going to start now."
"....... Fine. But don't call me that."
"No can do, princess."
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
As you walk into the large fancy venue where the event was being held, the urge to run and hide became much more prominent.
You doubt that he remembers you, you were small when it happened, and now you'd grown.
That should bring some form of comfort, but it doesn't.
Because even if he doesn't recognize you, you would never be able to forget those months.
What he did changed you as a person forever, and for the worse as well.
You walk tentatively, saying hello to people you come across, until you find who you're looking for.
Upon seeing his face, it felt like a kick had just impacted your gut, like if you were dumped into a freezing lake with nothing on. Your mouth dried and the room began to spin, and you almost ran away, almost cowered back to safety, but you were stopped by-
"Dumbass, he's right there all by himself. Approach him, quick."
Hesitantly you started your way towards him.
"Jimin, turn my earpiece's mic sensitivity up."
"Why?"
"Please, I need you to be able to catch anything."
"Fine."
Seeing he was grabbing a glass of wine by himself, you took the opportunity to slide in next to him.
"Excuse me, sir? Do you happen to know what kind of wine this might be?"
"Cherry wine, madam. Would you like to try one?"
"Yes, please. Thank you."
"It's no problem. If you don't mind me asking, is someone accompanying you tonight?"
"Oh, no. I'm here by myself. I got invited by mutual friends."
"Ah, I see. So then, you wouldn't mind joining me tonight? I have a table right over there if you'd like to sit."
"I'd love to join you. Please, lead the way."
After some brief moments of small talk, Jimin gives you the okay to start trying to pull information out of him.
"This venue is so lovely, I wish I could see all of it in full." You started prying. "Well, actually, one of my closest partners runs the venue, if you'd like I could ask him if it's okay for me to give you a tour?"
"Would you really?"
"Of course, anything for such a delightful woman as yourself."
"Oh, you're too kind."
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
The tour was going well as good as your given position allowed. You managed to ask about almost each room, giving Jimin any helpful information through your earpiece.
That was until you got to the third floor.
You were trying as hard as you could to push through being in his presence, when you'd been going up the stairs you stumbled for a second, and his hand reached out to "stabilize" you. You managed to regain your balance, still his wrinkled hand remained on the small of your back, a little lower than appropriate, and that was all it took to push you to the edge.
"Um, excuse me, do you mind if we pause for a short while so I can use the restroom?"
"That's totally okay. Do you want me to lead you to the one on this floor?"
"Oh, no. Thank you, I'll use the one from the previous floor. You can wait for me here. I won't be long."
Running down the stairs quickly, your head began to spin with fear.
All of the haunting memories you'd managed to drown out in the deepest parts of your brain resurfaced within a flash, and suddenly its like if you were back where you were less than two years ago.
Rough hands around your waist, liquor scented breath hitting your face, the cold air biting your exposed skin – you remembered it so vividly that you could almost feel it happening to you.
You could feel the harsh tone of voice, taunting you, painting you with shame.
'You should be thankful for all that I do for you. I'm the only person that can stand you after all.'
"Why the hell are you going to the bathroom? Don't stall, you idiot. We need to get this done."
"Right. Yeah. Right."
You stood up and walked towards the door, but you couldn't bring yourself to twist the doorknob. The thought of having to continue with him had your breathing quickening, and your vision shaking, it was all too much at once.
All Jimin could hear was your shallow breathing, and strangely, he found himself growing worried.
"Y/N? What's going on?"
"I can't- I can't do it-"
"What do you mean?"
"I- I need to get out of here."
"Y/N, what's wrong?"
"I can't be here, please Jimin."
Jimin burrowed his eyebrows in confusion, not understanding what caused you to get so worked up. He was even more confused when he felt himself progressively getting more concerned for your well-being.
"Where are you right now?"
“Um, a bathroom in floor 2."
"And you told the guy to stay in the third floor, right?"
"Yeah." You hear Jimin sigh, and you know he's upset with you, but your brain can't fully process that right now.
"I can't believe you're actually pussying out of this right now."
"Jimin, please."
The crack in your voice left an uncomfortable buzz in his chest, and Jimin found himself caving in.
"Okay, fine. I'll find a distraction for him so you can leave while he's busy. Only because we stil have tomorrow to do this and we've made progress."
"Thank you-"
"Don't, we still have to get this shit done tomorrow."
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
You thought you'd be relieved as you finally got the chance to run out of the building, but guilt was heavy on your chest. The sound of Jimin's frustrated voice made you uneasy; you've never really been on his good side, but hearing him sound so disappointed in you drilled a hole into your pride.
He watches you as you open the car door and clumsily jump in, and Jimin can't stop his frown from deepening further when he sees your usually sparkly eyes tainted a light color of red, one that matches your nose and cheeks. You take his expression as one of disapproval, and you shrink in your seat, hoping that it'll swallow you whole. You were triggered as it is, an angry Jimin would not help you whatsoever.
Obviously, the only thing he could come up with was to scold you, because what else was he supposed to do? Wipe away your tears gently and destroy anything that would cause those tears to resurface? Yeah, of course not. Not that he wouldn't be willing to if you asked him, but he'll try to convince himself it's only because he's a good person. No ulterior motive.
"This better be a one time thing, eh? No one wants to work with someone unreliable, and leaving was one hell of a liability."
"I know."
"Then why did you do it?"
The words got stuck in your throat; you couldn't tell him that this guy had abused you for years on end of your adolesence. You refused to let anyone see that side of you.
"It wasn't safe, and it wasn't worth risking it."
"I didn't see any threats in the security cameras, and everything in your earpiece sounded fine. What was unsafe?"A tentative moment of silence passes before:
"Him."
You spoke so softly that you thought Jimin hadn't heard you, until you heard a sigh from him.
"We work with dangerous people all the time, there's no difference here, princess."
The name had clear condecendicy laced within it, and it made the sting in your eyes return quickly; it reminded you of him, and now the memories were fresh. You turned your face out the window, hoping that Jimin didn't catch sight of them.
But he did, and great. What else is he supposed do? to destroy himself then? Being harsh is supposed to be what keeps you from getting hurt by him, so why is that no matter what he does, the outcome is always rough?
The rest of the car ride was silent, the emptyness of nightfall very clear amongst the dark.
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
"Will you stop moving so goddamn much? Some of us are trying to sleep here."
"Why are you referring to yourself with plurality? The only ones here are you and I, and your comment is directed at me so-"
"It's too late for your smartass."
"Well, it's currently 1 in the morning, so technically-"
"Less talking more sleeping."
"Okay."
You'd stopped moving, and Jimin was about to completely pass out, when the shuffling started again.
"Y/N I swear to god-" he groaned, annoyed that you interrupted his sleep again.
But when he looked over, you were sitting up on your bed, a pained expression covering your face.
Jimin sighed and sat up as well, mumbling under his breath about how 'it's always something with you'. Still he asked:
"What happened now?"
You hesitated to answer before responding.
"Did you do it on purpose?"
"Do what?"
"Send me in there, knowing who he is?”
"I genuinely don't have a clue of what you're talking about."
"I knew you hated me but I really didn't think you would go to such lengths."
"Stop speaking in riddles and just say whatever it is you want to say."
"Do you really not know about him?"
"Stop acting like you know better than I do just because you know about some rando that I've never heard of."
"I'm not trying to act like I know better, because I do know better. I know who we're up against, and I know that Seokjin and Namjoon would agree that sending me in there by myself is a shit decision."
"Why would they give us the case then if it's so dangerous, huh? Maybe you're just too much of a scaredy-cat to handle this case. Why don't you go and whine to our bosses that the task is 'too hard' if you're so set on them agreeing with you?"
Jimin's words felt like a stab straight through your heart, and all you could do was bleed out in silence.
"If I were them, I'd be real disappointed if someone I handpicked for a job as prestigious as this one called me and told me they didn't wanna do it because it's too hard."
The mention of disappointing your bosses made your stomach twist with anxiety. Just when you'd begun to learn to protect yourself, you're suddenly getting berated for it?
"Do you want me to complete this task or not?"
"Of course I fucking do. That's why I'm telling you that you need to suck it up."
"Degradation isn't going to motivate me, so you can stop trying to make me feel like shit. Are you happy? Because it sure is working."
"See? This is what I mean. For someone who acts so stoic all the time you sure are goddamn sensitive."
"Jimin, please. Drop it. I get it. You win."
"Stop whin- wait, what?"
You blinked at Jimin, before sighing and laying back down, shuffling around and throwing a blanket over your head.
For some reason, this made his heart twist in an uncomfortable way.
Jimin took a deep breath and told himself that it definitely wasn't because he felt like crying at seeing your defeated expression, he was just shocked that you didn't continue arguing with him.
Yeah. That's what it is. Totally what it is.
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
Day 2 of the event begins, and your fear is drowned out enough to tolerate it by your desperation to get this over with.
"Okay, he's in there. Go. No chickening out this time, okay?"
"Yes. Whatever."
"Good."
You find him standing by the small bar they have across the venue, and you muster up any remaining strength inside yourself as you begin to approach the man who haunts your every move.
"What kind of wine are you honoring tonight?" You use the same conversation starter as last time, and the guy jumps; you caught him off-guard.
"Oh, my dear, it's you. I am so glad we meet again." His smirk grew, and if you didn't know any better, you would think that it's one of excitement rather than perversion.
"So am I."
"I was afraid you'd pulled a classic Cinderella on me after that first night, I thought I wouldn't see you again."
"Oh, I apologize for leaving so abruptly. Something I ate gave me a stomach bug, and I decided it'd be best to go rest before it could get worse. I'm just thankful it cleared up before the event ended."
"I am deeply grateful as well, I don't think I could've bared to not see you again. Say, why don't we actually complete our tour around the venue tonight."
"That would be lovely."
You had always hated how snobby rich people spoke, as if everything was fancy and business. The formalities and outdated vocabulary made you irrationally angry, and you weren't sure how much longer you were going to withstand this entire thing.
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
Thankfully, you lasted a pretty good while. Everything seemed to be going as planned; you asked questions, he blabbered on and on about whatever you asked, he got more comfortable and started spilling more and more, and Jimin got more information.
“This floor is my favorite.” He says once you finish taking the flight of stairs you were just on.
“Oh, really? May I ask why?”
“My personal room is up here, it's supposed to be a guest room but since I spend my days here frequently, it's practically become my bedroom.”
“That sounds very comfortable. The people who own this place seem to show genuine hospitality.”
“They indeed do. And I was thinking, maybe I could follow in their steps, and extend that hospitality to you?”
“What does this said hospitality consist of?” You were skeptical, the glint in his eyes was evidently one that was ready to strike knives into your chest.
“Reconnection. Mending broken bonds. Making up for all our time lost.”
Your heart began beating rapid and panicked, afraid of what implications come with his statement. He seems to notice your expression fall, as he starts to laugh and even doubles over. Once he composes himself, he immediately makes his way towards you, the change in demeanor too quick to even respond.
"You really thought I wouldn't recognize you doll? Hmm?" He circles around you slowly.
It feels like you've fallen through a sink hole into the midst of hell hearing his words, it's suffocating, so much so that you're sure you won't make it out in one piece this time around.
"To be fair, you have changed a lot. You look much more mature, womanhood has treated you well." It takes everything in you to not break as he grabs your chin between his fingers, Jimin's voice playing on repeat in your head - 'no chickening out this time'.
You swallow and take a second to compose yourself, before speaking again.
"May we please continue our tour?"
"No need to hide from me, little one. I'd always told you, you'd come running back to me one day; and here you are. No need to be embarrassed about it, I'm more than happy to have you again."
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
Jimin's blood runs cold when he hears what the man is saying; did you know him before? What history could you possibly have with this man?
"I'm n- not hiding. I just simply wish to continue looking around."
"Oh, trust me, dear. We'll have plenty of time to look around. But first, don't you wanna go somewhere private? So we can, reconnect?"
A shiver runs down your spine out of pure fear, and you're not sure if you can back down this time.
"Um, I don't know. I don't want to be gone for too long."
"No one will notice dear." He leans in closer to your face. "I know you want this just as much as I do."
His suggestive tone has you feeling sick to your stomach, and you pray to whoever sits above that Jimin realizes what's happening and comes to help you. You aren't sure what you had ever done to turn the universe against you, but you knew your prayers weren't heard when Jimin responds through your earpiece.
"Go. If you're worried about anything getting out of hand, I have this planned out. Just go."
You didn't know what plan Jimin had up his sleeve, but his annoyed expression on your face were imprinted in your mind, his words from the previous night still heavy: ‘If I were them, I'd be real disappointed if someone I handpicked for a job as prestigious as this one called me and told me they didn't wanna do it because it's too hard.’
"Okay, take me with you."
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
He leads you to up another set of stairs, and into different hallways, before stopping in front of two big doors. You watch as he takes a key out of the inside pocket in his coat, and he opens the door, letting you step inside first and following after you. The room was spacious and slightly dark, the only light entering through the window from the lights outside.
"Ask him what part of the building you guys are in."
"This room is beautiful, what part of the building are we in?"
“It is quite luxurious, huh? This is the fifth floor. Main hallway, 3rd door. If you ever want to pay a visit, you're more than welcome to stop by.”
Jimin quickly jots down the room, and you hope he's satisfied, because you're shaken with fear at this man’s words. He locks the door from the inside, and proceeds to move toward you.
"He has a key, right?"
"Ah, yes." Pause. "I'll keep that in mind."
He smiles at you and grabs your wrist, walking towards the large bed in the middle of the room.
"Okay, get his key. Do whatever it takes, just get your hands on it."
He sits on the bed and grabs you by the hips, pulling you down with him.
"I can't believe I have you all for myself again. Even if its just tonight." You feel his fingers in your hair; the thought of shaving your head crosses your mind. If it means getting rid of any trace of him, you'd do it.
"Your features may be a little more grown, but you're still that innocent little sweetheart that I've always known."
His face seems so close; your body falls cold with fear.
"Tell me, how much have you missed me, sweetheart?"
He gets scoots even closer and cups your cheeks, running a thumb over your lips. He gets even closer, and all you can do is swallow and curse Jimin, because why isn't he doing anything to help you?
"I thought you would've learned to use your words by now." He chuckles, you wait for a hand across your cheek.
"Stupid little girl. Aren't you glad I'm so forgiving?"
He leans closer again, your foreheads touching at this point.
"I'll let you show me with your actions. Come on, show me."
Your breath hitches in dread, but he takes this a good sign. He kisses you and you do your best to "kiss" him back without actually doing any kissing. You tug on his coat, hoping he gets the message to take it off, and thankfully – you're not sure this is the right word – he does. As he shrugs it off, he keeps kissing you, and you take the chance to grab it from the inside, and flip it around so the key falls into your lap. You quickly put the key in your dress pockets and you toss the coat across the room in attempt to mask it as a move of interest.
He notices that his coat is gone, and it prompts him to begin trying to remove your corset. You realize that this is your chance to communicate with Jimin, though you're not sure if he can hear you if the silence from his side is anything to go by, while also prompting the man to get off of you.
"I've got it."
"You got the key?" So Jimin can hear you. You don't know if what fills your gut is relief or anger.
"Let me do it." He grips your hands and puts them aside, continuing to undo it himself.
"Yeah." You respond to Jimin. Pause. "I've got it, its fine. It'll be faster this way."
"Okay, we'll get him distracted now." Once again, you're torn between relief and anger.
"Don't you wanna take it slow? Enjoy our sweet time together?" His lips on your neck, and his hands getting lower and lower. You start to cry. Thankfully, he doesn't notice, because the intercom system im the building blares: "The auction is about to begin, 5 to auction." Hearing this, you take your chance to push him away, trying to get yourself back together.
"We should go, we wouldn't want to miss this." You move to get up, but he locks you within his arms.
"It's okay, you're the one thing I want."
"People will notice that we're missing."
"They won't. And if they do, let them. I'm more than glad to show you off."
He keeps on untying your corset, and panic starts to flow more prominently through your body as you realize that he isn't going to let this go easily.
"I really think we should go back. What if we miss something important?"
"Shhhh. Let this happen."
Another announcement blares through the intercom, but he doesn't even flinch this time.
"Auction is now beginning."
"Let's stop. I don't want to miss it."
He doesn't stop.
Doesn't even do a double take.
"If you want something from the auction, I'll get it for you. I'll even pay double the price. But I'm not letting anything take this away from me. I've been waiting to feel you for years. I'm not letting you go now."
You're on the border of cracking as he gets lower on the strings of your corset, not sure if you're gonna be able to get out of this unharmed. He moves to suck on your neck, and that's when you break.
"I don't, I don't want to."
"You're just nervous. I know you want this."
You shake your head, your whole body is visibly trembling now.
"I don't want to."
"Be good and stop talking."
He finally gets to the last string when his phone rings behind him.
He ignores it.
You pry him on.
"Are you not gonna take that?"
"Nothing is going to interrupt this."
"What if it's important?"
"What did I say? Be quiet. Why is it that now you're all chatter, but when I asked you earlier, not even a peep? It's like you want me to punish you."
A sob escapes you; where the fuck is Jimin?
He takes your corset off, leaving you almost bare.
"Such a pretty little thing."
All you can think is that 'This is it. This is it. What did I do to have to go through this again? Why is it tha-"
"I'm on my way up. I'll be there in a moment. I'm sorry I didn't come earlier. I'm coming."
You let out another sob at this.
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
Jimin feels like his heart flew out from his chest because of how hard it was pounding.
He's desperate to get you out of there, and Jimin didn't know what to do.
His original plan to get the man distracted by random interruptions wasn't working, and he knew going up there on his own was risky, but listening to your situation made him sick.
He knew one of the guys on his usual team, Yeonjun, was monitoring the assignment, as they always have someone on standby in chances of emergency.
With his mind made up, he lets him know that he's gonna go in, but he isn't too fond of the idea.
"No, Yeonjun. You don't get it. I have to go up. He's- he's hurting her."
"You'll get caught. Especially if you and Y/N leave together."
"I have to go."
"Jimin-"
"Sorry, I have to get to her."
The line disconnects.
He was coming now.
Getting to you was the only thing that mattered in that moment.
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
You can't bare to watch as the man takes his own shirt off, and you feel like you could throw up at any moment.
"I'm on the fifth floor. Toss the key under the door if you can."
At this, your only string of thought consisted of 'Jimin's here' 'Toss the key' 'Jimin's here' 'Toss the key'
You quickly reach into your pockets and let the key drop by your feet, and you kick it so it's by the door. An eternity of seconds pass by, your brain simply chanting 'Jimin, Jimin, Jimin'
Everything happens so quickly that you don't even have time to process what's happening before Jimin tackles the old man. He punches and pounds, and all you can do is watch in horror as both men begin to swing at each other. You have no clue what to do, but thankfully, Jimin manages to catch him off-guard and injects him with a tranquilizer.
It's strong enough to paralyze him on the ground, but simultaneously doesn't knock him unconscious.
You run to put your shirt on and rush to look for the flash drive that's meant to have all the information you're looking for. Despite your frantic state, you miraculously find it in a drawer, relieved and ready to show Jimin.
But when you turn around, he's still on top of the man, beating him like a crazed man.
"You. Fucking. Bastard. How. Dare. You. Touch. Her. I will fucking kill you." He says in between punches.
He kicks, stomps, punches, even pulls out his blade, and he doesn't stop until he feels you tug from behind him, hearing your attempts to hold back sobs from escaping you.
Even as you're trembling, you hold up the small flash drive in your hand.
Jimin stares in shock for a few seconds, confused as to how you still went to look for the files even with the state you're in.
He looks back at the man on the floor, bloodied and now unconscious.
You wouldn't be surprised if Jimin beat him to death.
A pause of silence engulfs both of you, before he interrupts it.
"Let's go. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Let's go. We'll talk later. Come on."
You moved to step towards the door, but you were filled with such panic that your legs were giving out on you.
He stepped towards you, but you recoiled.
He knew that this reaction was to be expected, but it still felt like a flame was burning his chest seeing you jump away from him, looking absolutely terrified.
You stumbled and wobbled, but you were insistent on walking on your own.
Jimin respected your boundaries, but when you almost tumbled down the stairs, he couldn't take it anymore.
“Do you want me to carry you back to the car? It'll get us out of here quicker, you're gonna hurt yourself .”
He saw your facial expressions change multiple times in that short moment before you stepped toward him and let him lift you off the ground. You were tense, any touch making your head spin but feeling how securely Jimin is holding you, you can't help but loosen up a tiny bit.
Feeling you shake in his grasp, it hit Jimin like a bag of bricks; you had been one of his victims. That's why you told him that it wasn't safe for you.
How could he have missed this?
You'd been brought back to hell after finally escaping it, and it was Jimin himself that dropped you right back into the gates of it. Maybe if he had listened to you when you said it wasn't a good idea, maybe you wouldn't be shutting down right in front of his own eyes, wouldn't be shaking uncontrollably, wouldn't be face to face with a monster you were to never see again.
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
In the car, you can't stop clawing at yourself in the passenger seat, unsure of how to get rid of all the anger and anxiety in you.
Jimin kept peeking from your eyes and back to the road, and for some reason, this made you angry; not in a scream and throw things way, but in a sob angry tears with harsh breaths until you pass out way.
“What did it cost you to listen to me? Your pride? Is your pride worth the touch of that monstrosity?"
"I'm sorry."
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
You get to the hotel and rip the dress off of you, wiping your lips and scrubbing your hands furiously, you pull your hair in desperation.
Everything feels so wrong and overbearing, it feels like its the end of the world.
Jimin feels like his world is crumbling at the same time that you are.
He goes to make you some tea, anything that will make you feel even the tiniest bit better. Seeing you in so much distress left only 2 things swirling around his head.
The first one being: He would, in fact, do anything to take back everything he's said, and to protect you from any harm that may come your way.
The second: He is so emotionally constipated.
Instead of letting himself understand and acknowledge what he feels for you, he put up a big fucking barrier, and now he’s responsible for your breaking point. Maybe if he could've been honest with himself, maybe if he had been gentler with you–
Well, there's no point in dwelling over it now, so instead he approaches you and removes your hands from your head to stop you from pulling your hair.
"Y/N? You're gonna hurt yourself."
"I don't care." You try to pull your hands away, but Jimin clasps them against his own.
"I made you some tea, it's in the nightstand by your bed. Go drink it while I put on a bath for you. And grab clothes once you're done."
You weren't sure what it was, anger? Gratefulness? Appreciation? Resentment? But something was coursing through your veins, and it all was clearly directed at Jimin. Feeling frustrated and confused, you broke down into sobs once more.
"We don't have to do anything, but I think getting washed up will help you feel better. Whatever you wanna do. Just, please don't cry, I don't like it when you cry.”
You look up and find Jimin crouching in front of you; his stare so soft that you think he might actually care. You can't help it – you launch yourself towards Jimin, neither of you are sure if it's an attempt at a hug or at knocking him down.
He wraps his arms around you and you begin to hit at his chest, your frustration and hurt showing themselves.
"Why didn't you listen to me?! I didn't want to tell you! You should've just listened to me! Then I wouldn't be hurt! It hurts, Jimin. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts."
You repeat that phrase over and over again until your breakdown begins to falter into hiccups, energy gone, and you melt into Jimin's embrace. The room is suddenly still, the only existing thing being you and Jimin on the floor, crying out hurt and apologies.
When he clutches so hard onto your shirt that his knuckles turn white, you know that he didn't mean to do it on purpose, that he's genuinely sorry for how things went down. And when you hug him back and shuffle closer to him, he knows you're willing to forgive him, you don't blame him for the decisions he made.
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
Things feel fuzzy after that. Not necessarily in a bad way, there's just too much delicacy in the air for you to process things properly.
The cup of tea is warm in your hands as you wait for Jimin to finish filling up the bathtub.
After some quiet moments, he walks out of the bathroom and throws an apologetic smile your way.
"You're all set. I'll be out here, shout if you need anything."
"Okay."
You do think initially that a bath will help you relax, maybe get rid of some of the squeezing tension in your muscles, but it becomes clear that your mind won't be able to handle something as simple as undressing and getting into the tub.
Marks brokenly painted across your skin catching your stare, you needed to be forced out of it.
Even as you slowly climbed into the tub and sat down, the only thing running through your head was the image of your scarred form.
You cry out Jimin's name.
"Is everything okay?"
You beg the words to leave your tongue.
"Stay. Please."
Your voice is small and tired, and his heart jumps in a mix of adoration and pain, because you are ever so lovely, but you're hurt, and you're hurt because of him and his pride.
"Okay. I'll stay."
He takes a seat on the closed toilet, and you stare at him for a few seconds, trying to figure out how to ask for the support you need.
"I- can y- my hair."
Finally, it comes out strangled, but it comes.
"What about your hair?"
Jimin moves closer when you fuss a little at his question, splashing the water while doing so.
You rake your hands through your hair aggressively, and he thinks he understands what you're trying to say.
"Do you want me to help you wash it?"
Your face visibly softens – similarly to Jimin's heart – and you let out a little sound of confirmation.
"Okay, are you sure you're comfortable with that?"
"Mhm."
"Okay, pass me the bottle."
The warm water is soothing on your scalp and you feel yourself relaxing as soon as the shampoo touches your head.
“Sorry if I pull your hair.”
When you feel Jimin’s fingers raking across your hair, you start to cry again.
The way he gently rubs your hair makes you overwhelmed with a warm feeling that fills your chest at being handled so tenderly for the first time in so long.
"Love, why are you crying?"
If Jimin was already panicked at your tears, he’s utterly mortified now that the term of affection slipped out accidentally.
Thankfully, it seems like you're too caught up in enjoying the feeling to notice what he just called you.
“Thank you.”
His hand movements stopped for a second to think about his next words before resuming with a sigh.
"Don't thank me. I fucked up so bad. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I should've just listened to you. I'm so sorry."
Jimin's voice cracked, and it looked like he was going to start crying too.
Once he was done, he went to grab a towel, and you stopped him by putting a hand on top of his.
"It's okay. I know you didn't mean it."
"I'm still really sorry. You shouldn't have gone through any of that."
You simply hummed as a response, and you both knew that it meant forgiveness.
The moment felt so soft, soft in the way you were looking at each other, soft like the butterflies in your stomach, it was all just really, really soft.
∘⁺✧◞₊⋅✱
That didn't last too long though, because sleep has never come easy to you, and the events of this day only worsened it.
Every time you closed your eyes, his sickening face would appear in front of you. You could almost feel the way he gripped onto your skin, bruising it.
You could feel yourself falling into a panic spiral again, and your brain's first instinct for whatever reason was 'where's Jimin?’
You sat up and saw him fast asleep on his bed, and you grew hesitant.
What if he gets mad that you woke him up? What if he laughs at you? He's gonna tell you to toughen up.
But then you think back to how he's acted ever since he went to get you.
That wasn't just temporary, right? Was it just pity? Was he only nice to relieve himself of any guilt?
Your overthinking mixed with your already panicked state, and you once again felt like things were crumbling all around you.
You showed Jimin your weakest parts, he can surely use that against you. He probably thinks you're even more pathetic now. He's gonna tell everyon-
"Y/N? What's going on?"
You were so deep in your thoughts that you didn't realize how loud your sobs had gotten, nor that they'd woken Jimin up.
You looked up in horror as you realized that he was sitting on your bed, watching you cry.
The concerned look in his eyes only made you cry harder. You wanted to fall into his comfort, wanted to believe that he genuinely cared about you, but at the same time you were convinced that he was just pretending.
"Don't act like you care."
“Huh?”
"I know you're only being nice to me out of pity, you can drop the act now."
Your words came out broken and between sobs. After you finished your sentence your breathing quickened again.
Jimin felt his heart being shredded into pieces as he saw your state. Did you really think that he hated you?
He could deal with that later, right now his main priority was getting your breathing regulated.
"Come here, we're gonna breathe together, okay? Can you do that for me?"
You were hesitant to approach him, but the offer of closeness was too inviting for you to turn down.
Jimin waited until you were seated directly in front of him before continuing.
"Hands on your belly. Now breathe in, and out."
It took a while before you were breathing again, but now Jimin could tackle the second issue at hand.
“What can I do to help you?”
Jimin sees the distrust on your face at his words and his chest squeezes sadly.
"I'm not doing this to get rid of guilt or anything like that, if that's what's running through your head."
“How do I- know that you're not just saying that to say it?"
Oh what Jimin wouldn't do to hand you the world.
"If I genuinely didn't care I wouldn't be here right now. You'd know if I was lying."
You think to yourself before giving into his offer with a small nod. Jimin smiles at your response.
“Do you need a distraction? Comfort? Water?”
“I think– I think comfort.”
"Okay. Do you want cuddles?"
Your brain short circuited, and Jimin took your silence as discomfort, so he rambled on.
"When I was younger, if I was ever scared of something, my mom would cuddle me and it always made me feel better. If you're not comfortable that's fine, I just think it would help."
You took a second to digest what Jimin had just asked you, never in a million years imagining you'd hear him asking you that, before nodding your head.
"Okay then, come here." Jimin laid down facing you and opened his arms expectantly, so you scooted closer to him and let him embrace you.
There's an inexplicable safety you felt surrounding him that had you melting into his hold. For the second time that day, his fingers gently played with your hair and you felt your walls come down a little further, warmth encasing both of you.
"You're so warm."
"Fuck do you think I am, a reptile? Of course l'm warm."
You scoffed at Jimin’s words, but stayed snuggled into him nonetheless.
"Are you uncomfortable?" You asked him.
"No. I'll let you in on a little secret of mine. I love cuddles. But only from specific people. But don't tell anyone.”
A soft giggle leaves your lips at his words, and Jimin decides that it's now his new favorite sound.
You pull back so you and Jimin are eye to eye; you want to speak but words are hard to convey.
“What's on your mind?” He's attentive, eyes searching yours for any hurt or worry.
“Do you cuddle with all your mission partners?” You try to lighten the mood and he laughs, so you assume it worked.
“No, only with the ones I like.”
His voice is soft when he says this, and it makes you melt a bit more.
“I really did think you hated me at one point.”
“I never did, I'm just very emotionally constipated. In all honesty I really do admire you, but I forced myself to see you as competition to avoid any of the weird emotional shit. Looks like it didn't work.” He finishes his sentence with a bitter chuckle; shame evident in his voice.
“I mean, I wasn't really all that nice to you either.” You try to easy his guilt.
“I wish we would've gotten off on the right foot.”
“Me too. But what's done is done.”
“I'm really sorry for not listening to you. I thought you were saying all of those things just to mess with me, but now I realize how stupid my logic sounds. Hearing what was happening over your microphone had me sick to my stomach. I can't even imagine how it must've felt for you.”
“It felt like my world was ending, honestly.” Your voice is quiet, but not enough to conceal how it cracks while tears pool in your eyes again.
“I never thought I would see him again. I'm still so scared, Jimin.” You begin to hiccup sobs, and he wastes no time in pulling you closer.
“It's okay. He's never coming near you again. I promise. You're safe, okay?” Jimin's voice was soft, feeling the way his chest vibrates against your head that's now tucked under it only helped calm you further.
You both remain like this until you've completely stopped crying and relaxed in his arms. Everything around you felt warm and tender, lulling you into deep sleep.
The last thing your brain manages to process is a soft kiss on your forehead, and words that sound a lot like:
“Goodnight, love.”
#park jimin#bts jimin#jimin#jimin au#jimin x reader#jimin fanfic#jimin fluff#spy au#enemies to lovers#bts#bts au#bts fluff#bts fic#jimin angst#bts comfort#bts fanfic#bts hurt/comfort#bts drabble#hurt/comfort#bts x y/n#park jimin angst#jimin bts#bts park jimin#jimin park#jiminbts
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some fanfic reading thoughts under the cut bc i can't keep my opinions to myself
i've been doing a little casual reread of choices lately and one of the crazy things i remember from when i first started interacting with the fandom is that ppl said that choices either 1) romanticized sexual assault or 2) depicted it "unnecessarily"
and both of those arguments were crazy to me at the time bc i didn't get that vibe at all but now on a reread i'm like WOW it was even fucking crazier than i thought bc how could the themes of sexual assault in choices be either of those things when it literally accomplishes successfully what its purpose is in the story. choices is literally a story about how the choices we make often perpetuate cycles of violence and abuse. we're literally told in the endnotes of that chapter that what regulus did to mary was written as such bc it's not supposed to be easy to root for regulus; he is deliberately making choices that perpetuate the same abuse that was done to him.
and like ?? people were literally mad bc it DID the thing that it was meant to do for the story. it made it difficult to root for regulus! he perpetuated the same abuse that was done to him! which is, in fact, how the cycle works! the story is literally called choices the opening line is "people make mistakes but they also make choices" and then a character made a Choice and people got mad about it omg that's so crazy (obviously not saying that you couldn't be upset about it or stop reading for your own sake/comfort but i'm specifically talking about people who were like "this didn't need to be in the story" it literally did??? it was a fundamental turning point for the story???? are we reading the same thing?)
#anyway. that's my silly little rant for the day. under the cut bc not everyone needs to see all that#dil.txt
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Five books of 2022
A lot has gone on over the past year, a wonderful relationship and living out the dream of becoming a married man, new jobs, being forced into unemployment due to disability TWICE, and watching the beautiful growth of the friends I love, which has given me much time to sit and read, and at the same time, not enough at all. I normally try to read at least a book a week, or something that amounts to that, to have the target of 52 books in a year. I've done this for years, ever since I had been first involved in assisting to found and operate a children's literary program in my home state of Connecticut. This year, I only recorded reading 40 books, including some manga and graphic novels as well. I'd like to list a few of the books or series I'd read, and encourage others to pick them up and experience the same.
1: Your Inner Fish (Neil Shubin) a book about the discover of tiktaalik; the first know landwalking creature and a step of evolution that brought about everything we know today. Shubin is a paleontologist and his team were the ones who found this ancient ancestor of ours, and his book is a wonderful excursion into that world of history and biology that inspires the reader to trek out in search of fossils of their own. He also gives pointers to beginners on where to look and how to search.
2: The Hussite Trilogy (Andrzej Sapkowski) The author of the Witcher series has written a second series, the three books Tower of Fools, Warriors of God, and Light Perpetual. The books were written two decades ago now but have only just been translated in the wake of the Netflix (Bastardizing) adaptation of his more popular media. While the Witcher universe and characters are bold and lush, the Hussite trilogy is doubtlessly the better written series. Main character Reinmar of Beilawa is accused of witchcraft and heresy in Christian Silesia during an era of war, and the series follows the rambunctious young alchemist and his newfound friends; a penitent and a spirit from beyond possessing the body of a giant, as they wisp back and forth through crusades and the boundaries of the physical and spiritual world. A wonderfully entertaining series that demands polylinguism from the reader, but it must be said that the book was written in a time and place without tact, and makes use of harmful stereotypes about people with mental handicaps.
3:Monotone Blue (Nagabe) a manga about two young gay men, one a cat and the other a lizard with a shining blue tail. The short one shot manga romance follows an apathetic and depressive cat who is simply bored with his life, focusing on expressing his monotonous life through partial color-blindness, until a transfer student, the only lizard he's met at this point in his life comes in, and his shining bright blue tail is accidentally exposed, garnering attention from the cat. The two act as an unlikely pair, and don't fully understand each other, but fall in love as they begin to comprehend their emotions together. The story does require a content warning of abusive behavior and sexual assault.
4:The Things They Carried (Tim O'Brien) I'm not normally one to be interested in military stories, as I've always found them to be romanticized versions of events, glorifying war or soldiers and letting the readers remain ignorant of the horrors it causes. However, this was a recommendation of a good friend of mine, and I picked up a copy with mild expectations. This is the first war story I have read that treats "Our boys" with the level of cold realism I feel is necessary for talking about war, especially real wars. The Things They Carried is about a troupe of American military men, following primarily one soldier in an auto-biographical format from just before the war and his thoughts and impulses to dodge the draft, to long after the war has ended, as a man who put the killing past him and holds no grudge- and thinks that the Vietnamese have also forgotten the ravages to their home country. This book carries the weight of acknowledgement, that our good old boys were gleeful in killing children, tying explosives to animals, burning villages and raping women. There are chapters where the biographer calmly talks about shooting every man and boy in a village as revenge for one of his comrades being killed by a sniper, and then just as calmly talks about his meal the next night. This book explains war as it is.
5: The Order of Time, and Helgoland (Dr. Carlo Rovelli) Two introductory books to quantum physics written by one of the most brilliant physicists we have today, these two books teach from a base level what the fundaments of advanced physics are, the coming about of quantum physics, and explanations about space time and the structure of the universe. While sometimes you may find yourself reading the same page again to ensure yourself, the work of this physicist in particular function as a fine diving board to get into the sciences with.
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it’s been a real long while now since i’ve seen myself. since i noticed myself. she is so far removed from my current reality but her presence is stronger than my own. i thought she had died a long time ago. perhaps versions of ourselves don’t die the way we think they do. like a phoenix, maybe you become reborn with the same DNA, flesh, blood, and bones.
“i am afraid to go back to the things that i used to love because i’m afraid to confront the old me, and what she has to do with the new me.”
i thought i knew who i was. what i became after being assaulted. i thought that all the versions and stages of me and in my life had died off, simply because i had to craft a new version of myself after the abuse. i did this proficiently, so much so that i completely lost the past in exchange for a more ‘realistic’ present.
in my crying episodes where i curse the world and the creator who made it, i often cry, asking myself where i went. “where did i go?” i normally would sob. i have asked that question more in my life than “am i enough?” which is saying a lot. i didn’t know you could come back to yourself. so many people romanticize the changing to this cold, heartless, and unbreakable persona after events. they are rewarded by doing it. however, it has only made me feel empty.
i view my past selves as memories, dreams, and ghosts, not as the mold that is Self. there are many pieces to me, and i used to think all of them died with me two years ago. i’ve come to find out i’ve just been living in a dead mindset, a dead brain almost. blocking their cries has always come easy, but when i have to stop watching films or reading books, or reading accomplished peoples life stories because i have such an intense fear i’m not doing enough or something is wrong, they choke me with their earnestness. you have to listen. some things in life, you just have to do. ignoring my needs is ignoring myself. acting gave me the clarity i needed, writing showed me the complexities of human existence and showed me i’m not alone, music guided me through my passions and self acceptance. younger me would be devastated to know i had quit acting, when i was young, i couldn’t picture my life without it.
acting doesn’t mean you have to be famous, writing doesn’t mean you have to be a new york times bestseller, singing doesn’t mean you have to compete on the voice. you make things how they want to be, because when you were a kid, you didn’t have that option. now you do, people don’t understand the potential that this brings. i have come to the horrifying and even relieving conclusion that i have let my trauma and abuse define my entire life since it happened. it’s ironic because as much as i fear people being unable to separate me from my trauma, i have in turn done the same to myself. unknowingly. yes, i got the things that i wanted, but i didn’t feed my Self. that’s why it feels like im dying inside because if you aren’t nourished, you die. just the same on the outside is what happens to the inside. the only difference is that these symptoms are hard to see, and quieter than most.
here i am, fighting tooth and nail for something that i don’t even know what i’m fighting for. i am watching life pass me by and not even participating in it. life is acting on me, i am not acting in my own life. my therapist suggested trying to find a way to seep back into the window of tolerance, to be able to face these feelings and memories without slipping into hyper-aroused or hypo-aroused state. i am constantly running away from myself, my desires, my feelings, perhaps it’s time to close the loop and face myself, all of myself. there is a lot of pain in my life, there is a lot of pain in human experience. perhaps this is where in life i must thrust myself into the unknown. trust the universe, trust the process, trust in myself. at this point, people could look at my situation and come to the conclusion that there is some divine intervention, a force bringing me to a destination that cannot even be seen by the original people of this earth. as terrifying as it may be, it’s something that i must do. maybe it won’t be so bad to have my life become more of a novel than an experience.
so now we reach the more pressing issue, to anyone reading these depraved sentences aligned by the slim aspect of my sanity. how do we come back to ourselves? how do we maintain that window of tolerance? how can i essentially fix the fuck ups of my life? i don’t know the answer to that. i don’t know what the fuck to do, but this goes beyond what therapy can help me with. it’s beyond what a life coach can give me, the only person in this situation that can help me regain my own fucking footing is me, all of me. i mean, i’ve taken so many breaks while writing this, to get my thoughts out in a somewhat coherent and understandable way. perhaps this is too much, perhaps i’m rambling now, talking into the abyss of nothingness that i identified about a year ago now.
the only thing you can do, is the essence of human evolution: to try. and to be intentional in doing so. perhaps it’s low-key acting lessons, martial arts classes, gun ranges, EMDR therapy, ketamine therapy, yoga, traveling the world, advocating for the issues that are important to me, honoring my ancestors, connecting to my lost culture, or listening to medicine men that get there when they get there. it’s something. maybe not anything i’ve listed, but it’s something. but i know one thing. after reading The Body Keeps the Score, i’ve realized one thing in my twenty years of life, and it made me fucking angry. i will no longer allow myself to watch my own life pass me by. i’d rather die a thousand painful deaths living my life than to rest peacefully with the knowledge i didn’t do what i could have, should have, would have done. that is the biggest thing i owe myself for the years that were taken from me. wasting more of them would only feed into the nothingness i have tried to keep down since that day in march 2021. it’s all i’ve got.
i went on a journey somewhere very far away that i almost lost my way. i don’t know where i went. but i hope i can steer my way back.
fine~ Wednesday, August 17th, 2022 10:42pm
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China & America
China: What the fuck have you done
America: You know the answer, let’s just skip ahead
China: How the fuck could you be so stupid
America: it didn’t feel like I was being, at the time
China: That’s not good enough, you could have literally ruined that man’s life, for what, because you were sad and lonely?
China: if he got put on a register, that’s his career over before it’s even started and it’d be entirely your fault for being such a fucking idiot
America: he should’ve 🤫😶 & deleted the pic, he decided to get the head & everyone involved
China: Or how about you don’t send fucking nudes to people who haven’t asked for them, it’s literally assault
China: never mind the fact you’re underage so it’s also CP
China: what is wrong with you, seriously
America: I’ve had this lecture from [whatever the counsellor first name is]
China: Fat lot of good she’s done
China: why do you act like this
America: nobody cares how many unsolicited nudes I’ve been sent or who from, but I do it once & everyone loses their minds
China: Nah, cut the crap
China: you could report those lads, if you wanted
China: this is a fucking teacher, oh my GOD
America: it’d be a waste of time & he’s barely a teacher
America: he’s not even that much older than us
China: You’re a child, and he’s an adult, he didn’t wanna see that shit and you sent it
China: it’s that simple
America: he was basically the same age as the guy from the club on Friday
China: you were in a club, that guy was allowed to be sure you were over 18, for fuck’s sake
America: I thought he wanted to see it, I wouldn’t have send it otherwise
China: That’s why we don’t assume shit like that
China: because why on earth would you think that
China: he’s not a paedo
America: I don’t know
America: Archie said
America: ugh, whatever, I don’t know
China: That’s the big plan, is it, trap a predator
China: Archie winds you up
America: it wasn’t like that, she’s got a boyfriend who’s wayyyy older than her, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about
China: Who, I bet she doesn’t, you just fell for the bait
China: for some damn reason
America: she does & she wouldn’t stop talking about him
China: She’s lying, if she’s anything like you, and she clearly is
America: no she isn’t, I’ve seen the messages & them together
America: they’re both 😍💖😋💫
America: everything she said made it sound 👑🏰✨ & I wanted to feel like that
China: She’s not going to tell you it’s anything but perfect
China: people always romanticize things, in the beginning, and they definitely don’t tell everyone about the bits that maybe aren’t
America: I know
America: I feel stupid now, that bit doesn’t need 🔨
America: but it’s fine, he isn’t on any register & his career isn’t over
China: You were stupid
China: but the school were very good about it
China: and no one has or will see the pictures, thank God
America: ✨💩
China: You want people seeing all that, do you
America: I don’t care
China: don’t be ridiculous
China: everyone will find something new to talk about before long, but that would follow you forever
America: I can’t think about forever either way, it literally doesn’t bear thinking about
China: Well you need to think a lot more about your future
America: what future?
China: don’t start all that
America: why not?
America: why are you the only one allowed to be 🥀☔️💔
China: I’m not
America: I’m gonna turn into them, it’s fucking inevitable, & now I realise how little I can actually change anything, what kind of future is that
America: fuckwit boys turn into fuckwit men & I’m 😍💖 until the ✂️💖
China: You’re a kid, nothing is sealed
China: your future can be whatever the fuck you want it to be but you haven’t actually given it any serious thought, that’s why you’re being dramatic now
America: I’m not a kid & I tried really hard with him
China: You are, but I know
America: why didn’t it work?
China: You’re not gonna be with the person you met at 12 forever
China: statistically
China: it doesn’t mean it wasn’t something worthwhile at the time
America: he doesn’t think it was worthwhile at the time, not anymore
China: he’s angry, and humiliated
America: & I did that for what?
China: I don’t know, Ricky
China: you’re fucked up, really
America: if just 1 of my lies was true & he actually cared about us then I wouldn’t be
China: you don’t know that
America: I do, if anyone cared about me then I wouldn’t be this fucked up
China: take some accountability
China: you have nan, mum and me and Sza, some people have literally no one in their corner, ever
America: & out of the entire list there I only have you, sometimes, none of the others are even here
China: I can’t do this with you, the pity party
China: it’s not helpful, okay
America: 🖕 you’re not being helpful
China: you just don’t want to hear it, because you’re sulking
America: everyone keeps using that word like I’m upset they ran out of my fave crisps down the shop
America: what.the.fuck
China: not once did you help me when I was ditched by my mates and Jake, there was no sympathy then
China: I know you weren’t going to be with Sean for much longer, you can be sad but I don’t need to indulge you on it
America: you were with Jake for less than a month & your friends who ditched you were dicks
America: && if Toni wanted a pity party you’d totally throw her one
China: You’re so taxing, you don’t wanna understand my feelings but I have to take all yours on
China: no, it’s bullshit, you played a stupid game and you got burnt, you’re going to have to deal with the consequences and get over it
China: && Toni is unlikely to ever want a pity party, is she
America: maybe she doesn’t want one but she definitely needs one
China: why are we talking about Toni rn?
America: cos I did you SO wrong you won’t ‘indulge’ me meanwhile she genuinely did & you’ve got nothing but time for her
China: You can ask her, that’s literally not true
China: but she was the only friend that would be seen with me, remember, what was I supposed to do, say no
China: look at how Archie treats you if you wanna address that problem
America: she isn’t my only friend, it isn’t that big of a problem
China: and you know full well Toni isn’t mine now
America: yeah 👌👌
China: 🙄 [list the others who defected to your side like remember them]
America: I wasn’t being sarcastic, I don’t need your receipts
China: you’re being childish, which only proves all my other points so yeah 👌👌
America: I feel embarrassed, maybe for the first time EVER, I don’t know how to act rn, excuse me
China: hopefully means your frontal lobe is doing some growing
China: people usually learn shame a lot faster
America: they have better role models
China: okay
China: so be a stunted, fucked up person then, blame nature and nurture, doesn’t make that future any fucking brighter
America: no thanks, I don’t wanna be that
China: So sort your shit and do something different
America: am I gonna lose people too now that it’s Sean’s side & my side?
America: I know you don’t but I like Libi
China: See if she’ll hear you out, I don’t know
America: it is different with her than my other friends, not saying I’m in love with her btw
China: Thank God, what a cliche outburst that would be to turn out closeted
America: 😂
China: Bobby might be out of the question, they’re best friends and you did fuck Sean over
America: I think Bobby’s terrified of me anyway
China: tracks
America: tell mam & daddy Gaz, if they ask, I’m [somewhere we’re absolutely not but would get in less hassle for than wherever sketchy af place we are]
America: to be helpful for real
China: sure, I have nothing better to do than be a messenger
America: you’re trying to take [again the counsellor lady]’s job, it doesn’t seem like you’ve got anything else to do
China: Hardly, it’s an absolute joke you take up her time when there’s people who have actual problems
America: social skills is a bigger joke, as a lesson or whatever failed experiment [the teacher] thought they were doing
China: Whatever, I don’t care, stop being such an embarrassment
America: your 😳 hasn’t made the list of things I care about rn
China: bye then
America: byeeee
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Speaking in Tongues: Part Two | Yang Jeongin
◤“This was how you would face the world. You would wear his horrors like the nobility did their jewelry. Proud. Unbroken. And you would see to his downfall, even if your initial plan had failed.”
After a siege goes wrong, the general hastens to remedy the disaster and find the lost victims while the rogue dancer left behind continues to fight the ghosts of her past.
◤Disclaimers: From the world of Danse macabre (no need to read beforehand). Fantasy inspired by Arabian mythology. Lots of angst, no fluff really. Includes descriptions of violence and injury, as well as murder and death. Please proceed with caution. Depictions of a human trade. Alludes to mature themes (not explicit) and recalls occurrences of sexual assault (not romanticized, obviously). This does not refer to a historical event of my knowledge, nor does it reference real life nations or people. Female reader insert. View the glossary here. Playlist.
◤Word count: 13.6K
◤Note: This idea is a 100% mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction. Please do not take my content without my consent. masterlist.
Part One | Part Two: Sword and Storm | Part Three
“Mawlati!” Jeongin crashed through the door of the elegant office, terror making disarray of his appearance.
The queen stood from her ornate velvet chair, both startled and confused. She didn’t recall seeing the general perturbed like that before. “What’s wrong?”
“We need...to send a message to the governors,” he spoke through strained breaths as though he’d run across the palace to find her.
“Of course.” she motioned for her messenger, though the frown of confusion never left her graceful features. She knew that the general had an important mission that night. “What happened at the Junayna?”
He looked at her as though it shamed him to admit his next words. “They abandoned it. I’ve dispatched several squads to find them. We need to alert the other cities and the harbor before they make it too far.”
She slid a piece of parchment toward him and Jeongin began writing his note instantly. There was no time he could waste on formalities. Important fugitives have escaped the crown city. Hold anyone who tries to leave or enter. They must not get out of Darilmalek.
After signing the note and blowing on it twice for the ink to dry, the general rolled the parchment and handed it to the messenger.
The man’s tall figure drowned in heavy green robes. He seemed to look at the world as if he saw more than the rest of them did, eyes always wandering. The messenger received the note and pounded the staff he held against the floor, muttering a short incantation.
In a blink, a creature of fire and blood materialized next to him. Its ebony horns and wicked claws made an unwelcome sense of Deja Vu wash over the general. A Jinni stood in the room.
The queen had introduced magic to the court like no one had done before. Sahara had become an integral part of the royal clinic, the Architects’ Association, and the budding team of inventors and engineers. The messengers could’ve been her most valuable addition yet. Men and women who used their knowledge of Jinn to deliver messages across the kingdom at incomparable speeds. The note Jeongin had scribbled would reach the harbors and every established city in a matter of moments.
The messenger held out the note for the Jinni to take then commanded, “Ith’hab.”
And the creature did, disappearing between one heartbeat and the other.
Jeongin didn’t dare to exhale. There was still so much work to do.
“They took everyone?” the queen asked, and he shook his head. “All of them but one.”
“One? Why?”
Jeongin gritted his teeth, something ached deep in his heart. “I don’t know. She’s receiving the care she needs right now.”
•ꕥ•
You woke to deep oud and a terrible burning sensation on your face.
For a moment, you thought that you were floating. Everything around you felt soft, light, cold.
Then a reality seemed to close in on you suddenly. Your surroundings were soft, but heavy. You were entrapped in a cocoon of sickly warmth.
You moved your head and stared at an expanse of gold and black tiles. A piece of art depicting a repeating pattern of golden blossoms against a dark backdrop. You’d never seen something like it before. It was beautiful. It was dizzying to look at.
You breathed, then pain crashed into you like a boulder. You sat upright, hissing as you brought a hand to the sore area. What happened to me?
Your fingers came in contact with a fine fabric, and you remembered.
You remembered everything.
Like plunging headfirst into cold water; the music, the burlap pouch, Hijris’ sneer, the searing iron rod. It all rushed into your consciousness.
You found that you were in a bed, bigger than any you’d seen before, surrounded by a heavy blanket and an array of pillows. You pushed yourself under the covers, scrambling to your feet. Meeting the cold floor with a careless thud, your knees buckled lousily as a fabric fell over your legs.
Someone had changed you into a comfortable cotton thawb, white garment lightly embroidered with blue lines on the sleeves.
You looked around you. You were in a strange room. Furniture of an oak so dark it gleamed black was elegantly positioned in the vast space. Similarly dark curtains were open to reveal the vibrant morning sky. Where am I?
A fraction of light caught your attention and you rushed toward it. You had spotted a mirror hung over a long dressing table.
Though, you supposed you should’ve approached it slowly. For what was reflected back at you made you inhale sharply.
The left side of your face was completely bandaged from below your jaw and over your head. The feel of the scorching iron on your skin echoed in your memory.
No sound left your throat as a stillness settled in your lungs. The sight before you was difficult to absorb. You hated to think of what lay behind the bandage.
When you raised a tentative hand to touch the cloth again, a kind voice stopped you. “Try not to mess with it.”
You swiveled around, eyes landing on a woman walking through an archway that linked the bedroom to a sitting room.
A beige thawb hugged her full figure, rich orange thread accenting the hems and the waist. Her black curls were pulled into a thick braid that fell over her shoulder. The woman smiled at you, brown eyes twinkling against sun-kissed skin. She carried a tray with rolled bandages and some ointment. “Why don’t you sit down?”
You did as she told you, gingerly placing yourself at the edge of the bed as you watched her move across the room. She set the tray on a close nightstand then came to stand before you, her hands holding your face like one would a fragile vase. “I’ll remove the bandage and you’ll be able to see it for yourself.”
You nodded and felt the layers being peeled off swiftly, exposing your skin to the air. The weight on your right eye didn’t wane when she stepped away, tossing the bundle of used bandages on the tray.
The warmth in her expression didn’t change when she looked back at you. It reminded you so much of a mother’s loving gaze. “You can go ahead.”
You stood and stepped toward the vanity again. You made sure to prepare yourself this time before lifting your gaze to your reflection. A deep inhale. An exhale.
Your legs seemed to liquefy. You had to hold on to the edge of the table to stay on your feet.
The skin on the left side of your face was raw, a thick discolored line that stretched from the side of your jaw and over your eye to the beginning of your brow. It tingled in the air, throbbing with pain. You bit back a sob. You weren’t going to cry, not in front of that woman.
You forced your left eye to blink. It was a slow movement that sent jolts of pain through your head. It felt heavy. Wrong. You leaned closer to the mirror, examining your eye with a trembling heart.
That was when you noticed the gem-like shards in the iris. They caught the barest light and winked as though your eye was forged from precious stone. Is it...gone? You stepped away from the table as panic seized your chest, merciless in its grip.
With a restrained breath, you raised a hand over your right eye, afraid of what you might see. Or what you wouldn’t see.
It was nothing. You saw nothing.
It was as though someone had obscured your vision with a blindfold. As though you had both eyes covered.
A hand flew to your mouth as a gasp entangled with a breathless sob escaped. You turned to face the woman. It hurt to speak. “M-My eye!”
She gave you a sorrowful smile. “I’m sorry.”
“What happened to it?!”
“I could tell you, but I’ll need you to sit first.”
You didn’t want to sit. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream until your vocal cords snapped.
Hijris did this to you. He was the reason behind all your misery. You didn’t ask for this life, but he chose it for you. He created it. Did he think himself a god to pick you out of your quiet life and force you into his vision of paradise? All you did was try to survive. Try to escape.
But this was what he did. He broke the strong. He killed the hopeful. Anger squeezed its way through your anguish, fizzing, crackling.
You willed yourself to sit down. Tears brimmed your healthy eye, but you kept a firm expression, staring at the woman intently as she transferred some of the ointment to her hand.
“This will sting,” she warned before applying the medicine on the swollen flesh. It did sting. Terribly. But you wallowed in the pain. It was all you could do.
“You came with a burn across your face,” she started, a sadness to her tone, as though she was the one suffering the injury. “The Sahara and Atiba’a did their best to restore the skin and the nerves in the area. It will heal, but it will scar. Your eye, on the other hand...”
She stopped with a shake of her head. “Your eye was too damaged to heal. They decided to infuse it with a gemstone such that it doesn’t need to be removed.”
“Infuse it?” you frowned, and it hurt.
“Don’t make too many faces,” she chided gently, throwing her braid behind her shoulder and grabbing the fresh bandages. “Yes, infuse it. It’s a technique developed by the medic Sahara. They use pieces of stone and mend them with bone or other organs in order to fix fractures or faults. The injury left your eye defective, but the infusion procedure was done to restore its shape and appearance.”
“So,” your voice seemed to grow fainter by the syllable. “It’s gone.”
She gave you the barest nod.
The heaviness you felt in your right eye was exhaustion. A load too heavy for it to carry alone. A certain confusion. The reality of the situation felt like sand to swallow. You needed water.
The woman finished bandaging the burn and stepped away, admiring her work. “All done. You can rest now.”
But you didn’t want to rest. “Where am I?”
She gave you a surprised look. “You’re in the palace.”
“The palace?” you repeated, eyes wide. What were you doing in the palace out of all places?
“Na’am.”
“Why? How did I get here?”
“They rescued you from that horrible place last night,” she said, and you held your breath. The Junayna.
“What about the rest? Are they here too?”
She shook her head. “You were the only one they came back with. I hear the culprit has escaped along with the victims.”
Any relief you hoped to gain was put out like a dying candle. Hijris left you to die while he ran away with his dancers and his riches. Or maybe he left you to be found by the general and his men and become a different kind of prisoner again.
No matter where you went, what you did, nothing changed. “I see...”
“They’ll find them, I’m sure,” she assured you as she gathered her materials, readying to leave. Picking up the tray, she looked at you one last time, embarrassed. “I was wondering...”
“I know you aren’t in the best condition right now but, um,” she cleared her throat, “Are you and, well, the general...perhaps?”
Her question flew over your head. You could only stare at her, blank.
She rambled, “I just thought...since he brought you here that maybe—”
Why did everyone assume your association with this general? You diverted your gaze to the polished floor. A mutter, “I don’t know the general.”
She silenced herself, taking your answer with no argument. When your eyes flitted upwards, you saw a hand stretched out to you. The young woman was smiling. “I’m Kayan.”
You hesitated before briefly shaking her hand. “Y/n.”
She bowed her head in acknowledgment before asking you to rest and disappearing through the archway. The resonant sound of a closing door soon followed her, and you were alone again.
It were as if you’d barely been clutching the reins of your composure and they slipped out of your weak hands. A herd of anger, despair, and anguish rampaged toward you, not allowing you to pick yourself up before trampling you over, crushing your will under their unforgiving hooves.
Meeting the soft covers, you let the cry wring itself out of your lips. Tired. Hopeless. Broken.
The embrace of calming oud carried you to your slumber. The salt of your tears was still fresh on the tip of your tongue.
•ꕥ•
There was a moment when your breaths finally calmed and your eyes dried. You didn’t notice it at first as though your mind and body were both too exhausted to process anything beyond the simple fact of your existence.
Kayan had entered the room several times throughout the day, attempting to get you to eat the food she brought with her. You caught the delicious waft of lamb, soups, pastries, but nothing had you sitting up to eat. You declined each of her trays, unwilling to do anything besides drown in the covers and your bitter misery.
It was sometime late during the night when you heard a knock on the door. You were wide awake, courtesy of having your sleep schedule permanently altered by working in the Junayna, but you didn’t answer. You had no heart to eat, when will they accept that?
After a few beats, you heard the door open anyway. You didn’t lift your head from the pillows. “I don’t want food.”
But this wasn’t Kayan, you realized when a strong oud pierced your senses, inviting, it almost pulled you out of the bed. You caught a hint of yasmeen in the blend. “You must eat in order to heal properly. I’ve been told you declined all the food delivered to your room today.”
That voice.
You stilled, fingers clenching around the fabric of the blanket covering you. It was him.
The man behind the blank veil. The man who saved you and Kadi. The man who caught you sneaking around Hijris’ office. The man who lied to you.
You thought that the tears were returning, but instead, newfound anger spilled into your words. “Did you bring me here so I can be your prisoner too?”
He placed something on the small coffee table with a gentle clink. A tray, most probably. You didn’t bother to turn around, continuing to give him your back when he spoke, “I brought you here to make sure you were safe and being taken care of. You are not a prisoner, Y/n.”
That was the first time you heard him say your name. In another lifetime, you might’ve reveled at the way his voice carried each syllable with the grace of a thousand starry skies. As if serenading it with every breath.
You wanted to turn around, see the face behind the voice and the veil. Would he frown at you or smile? Would he apologize? Would he see anything besides the dancer from the Junayna?
“You lied to me.” your voice was a frail whisper, engraved with betrayal. You’d trusted him. Only because he showed you the barest, simplest decency. You’d foolishly trusted him, even when you knew you shouldn’t have.
The general was quiet before a single statement left his lips. It cut through the distressed remains of your heart like a khanjar. “I had to.”
He left the room then, a breeze of oud and anbar, adding with a murmur on his way, “Please eat.”
You didn’t want to. You wanted nothing but to stay where you were, cooped up in your turbulent sorrow. But then your stomach twisted in sharp hunger, a prickly pain that had you squeezing your eyes shut. You hadn’t eaten for a day and a night, and if you waited any longer, you would complete a second night.
You pushed yourself to sit, and your weakness hit you like a storm ravaging the sea. You rested your fidgety arms in your lap, looking sideways to where the tray was placed.
Atop the low table was a silver tray carrying dishes of lamb, rice, bread, and soup, but what caught your attention was the small plate on the side.
Fresh buqsumat lay in a pretty assortment on the plate, dusted with sukkar, garnished with crushed fustuq, and topped with a single purple blossom of rayhan.
•ꕥ•
“Goodnight, Y/n,” Kayan bowed her head before leaving your room with a tray of empty dishes in her grasp.
You gave her a small smile. She had fussed over you throughout the day, ever since she visited you in the morning and saw the tray the general had left you. You had eaten, and it seemed to fill her with glee.
She was too kind. You almost felt bad for what you were going to do.
She will forget about it, you assured yourself as you slipped out of the bed, bare feet meeting the cool floor. People like me come and go, anyway.
You needed to leave the palace. You couldn’t stay there, safe and sound, knowing that your friends—knowing that Bara’a and Kadi were out there, lost in the vastness of the desert and at Hijris’ mercy.
You were allowed to leave. Isn’t that what the general had told you the previous night? You are not a prisoner.
You were about to test that statement.
Slipping your feet into the sandals Kayan had brought in hopes of encouraging you to take a stroll around the gardens, you walked toward the archway connecting the bedroom to the sitting room. The chamber you were in was grand and a little too much for a guest like you. Or so you thought, catching a glimmer of your reflection in the mirror. The white bandaging on your face stared back at you.
You halted, fingers itching.
You hadn’t looked at your burn since that wretched morning. It hurt to think about it. It hurt to think about what Hijris had done to you, about what you’d lost.
Sadly so, you were used to pain.
With careful hands, you unwrapped the bandages that stretched across the left side of your face, letting them fall to the floor as you gazed at yourself. The burn had barely healed, but whatever ointment Kayan was applying to your skin was doing its job perfectly. In a month or so, nothing would be left of the injury but a jarring scar. You couldn’t silence the echo of Hijris’ words when the searing iron had lifted.
No one will look at that pretty face of yours ever again. And when you’re rejected across the city, you’ll remember how kind Amm Hijris had been to you before you decided to steal from him.
Your face had felt alight yet cold, numb. You spat at his crooked nose then, but he only stepped away, letting them drop you on the floor before disappearing amid the haze of your suffering.
You shut your eyes, forcefully pushing the memory away. No. He would not break you like this. Instead, the splash of Bara’a’s laugh reverberated in your mind, the painful melody of Kadi’s cries.
If he thought he could shame you into hiding, shun you from the world by scarring your outside, then he was dreadfully wrong.
This was how you would face the world. You would wear his horrors like the nobility did their jewelry. Proud. Unbroken. And you would see to his downfall, even if your initial plan had failed.
You only needed to get out of the palace first.
•ꕥ•
The two guards at your door let you pass with nothing but the merest glance. You had almost hesitated, expecting them to shout and force you back inside, but they did no such thing.
So the general’s words were true, you tasted bitterness on the tip of your tongue. If only he didn’t lie to me first.
That thought was soon forgotten when you realized that you didn’t know where to go. The palace was a huge, complicated web of hallways and doors that looked alike, and the more you wandered, the more anxious you became. You had no place in the palace. What if a guard found you and mistook you for a trespasser?
You didn’t want to wait and find out.
You decided to follow a group of servants making their way down the hallway. If anything, they could lead you to the servants’ quarters, which you supposed you could easily find an exit from.
And they did. You soon found yourself rounding the corner into bustling quarters. Men and women in shades of white and brown moved like bees in a hive, an eerie harmony to them.
You separated from the group to drift toward the night peeking through an open door. It was connected to the stables, and you ignored the stink of dung as you made your way past the sleeping mammals and curious stable hands, steps quickening with each breath. You had spotted greenery at the mouth of the stable. That must be it! You would be out of the palace in a matter of minutes.
Striding into a neatly groomed garden, your eyes trailed over the looming wall enclosing the palace and the great gate in the middle. Guards patrolled the area with sheathed suyoof and grim expressions. You hoped they would let you pass as easily as those by your room did.
But before you could take a step farther, a voice broke through the clarity of your thoughts and sent them into upheaval.
“You’re leaving.”
That alluring oud permeated the crisp air. Him again.
What is he doing here? You closed your fists on air, welcoming unforgotten anger. You didn’t want to see him. But at the same time, you did. You deserved to know the face behind the voice. You deserved to know, so you could remember him, curse him when you looked at the scar he was responsible for.
So, you turned around, gaze landing on the famed Grand General of the Darilmalekan Army.
The words melted on your tongue.
He was a shard of moonlight.
All the sharpest angles shaped his face in a brush of excellence that was almost overwhelming. The stern rise of his cheekbones cushioned the pointed blades of his eyes so elegantly, it was as though he was sculpted by the most skilled hands. An artist who had sought perfection and had clearly achieved it.
He stood there with the poise of a royal, the pride of a soldier, a combination that made you feel smaller by the moment. Rather than the plain attire he’d worn in the Junayna, he was dressed in a uniform expertly tailored to his frame, silver shoulder pads reflecting the generous light around you. The wide piece of cloth wrapped around his middle supported a belt that held two sheathed swords, one fixed at each hip. It was a battle technique, you remembered Bara’a telling you once, soldiers on horseback brandished twin swords to clear a line through enemy troops with ease.
His litham was long gone, exposing dark hair that was neatly tucked behind his ears. He was handsome in a way that reminded you of the press of a dagger, sharp, wounding.
All the confidence you’d scraped previously crumbled before you, leaving you defenseless, bare, with a burn disfiguring your features and helplessness twisting your heart. You stepped back, turning your head to the side in an attempt to hide your face. “Don’t...look at me. I-”
The words caught like rocks in your throat, rough and difficult. Bitter. Always bitter. Hot tears pricked at your one eye, angry or embarrassed, you couldn’t tell. They didn’t fall.
“You?” the general prompted, his tone measured, that one word calculated.
The ghost of a breeze kissed your cheeks, the sensation sending chills down your spine. Why did fate place you in the general’s path? A liar’s path? Had you not suffered enough?
You wanted your words to sound blameful. It was his doing after all. “I’m hideous.”
The statement didn’t hang in the air but fell flat to the ground instead, almost painfully. It made you cringe inwardly. You conformed to Hijris’ hurtful words in a breath of vulnerability. No one will look at that pretty face of yours again.
The general seemed to ponder for a fleeting moment before he spoke, unflustered by your statement, “I’ve seen men with torn arms and shredded faces, tripping over their own innards. You look nothing short of pleasant to me.”
“Don’t romance me.”
“I am not romancing you.”
You snapped your head to face him angrily, noticing that the guards surrounding the area were nowhere to be found. You didn’t think any better before hurling the accusation at him, “You lied to me! You caused this!”
He was taken aback, and you took pleasure in the sight of the crack in his composure. But it was short-lived. Understanding eased his expression, and his demeanor was recomposed in the same moment as if practiced. “I lied about the reason I was in Hijris’ office, never about our encounter. Regardless of the way he found out, it was not initiated by me. Purposely, that is.”
You hated that you heard the truth in his words, loud and clear. You’d heard enough lies to discern the difference. Yet, there was ample, undirected anger festering in your heart. You weren’t ready to forgive him yet. “I don’t need your pity.”
“If I pitied you, I would’ve given you a fortune, found you a good prince to marry and a castle far away. I do not pity you, Y/n.”
It felt as though you were slamming your fists against a wall repeatedly, as though you were trying to break a boulder with your bare hands. Every response you pulled out of the general was sure and resolute, unfazed and unbothered. You could only stare at him, having run out of harsh sentiments to utter, and he held your gaze in return, not challenging but rather patient.
You searched his face for any giveaway of hidden intentions. Trusting him came easy at first, natural despite your doubtful nature. But once you fractured that one-sided trust, you didn’t know if you were capable of putting the pieces back together. You wanted to trust him badly enough that it hurt. You wanted to feel safe. You wanted to believe that you weren’t fighting alone, with nothing but your secrets and tears, anymore.
The general must’ve sensed the troubled whirlwind of thought overbearing your mind, for he asked, “Do you want him dead?”
And you heard the silent continuation of his question. It told you everything you needed to know. Because I can arrange that for you.
Did you want Hijris dead?
You’d dreamt of the day you left the Junayna with Bara’a and Kadi, relishing the thought of his helpless anger. You’d wished he would wake up one day to empty coffers and lose the authority he cherished so much. You knew that you wanted him to suffer the same way you did, scramble to grasp any kind of dignity left for himself in the face of a cruel and unforgiving world. But dead? The possibility circled your mind restlessly.
Letting out a breath, you admitted, “I don’t know.”
He considered your words carefully then tilted his head toward the gates of the palace. “You can leave, of course. None of my men will stand in your way.
“But,” he paused, and you wondered if anyone had ever intruded into the fortress of his perfect calm, “I hear the royal garden is a great place to think.”
•ꕥ•
When Kayan entered your room the following day, she didn’t inquire about your exposed injury or the dirt on your sandals. She simply set her kit down, and you didn’t miss the relief twinkling in her eyes when she smiled at you. “Did you sleep well?”
You could only offer a hesitant nod. After your encounter with the general the previous night, you stood outside the stables alone, conflicted. You had wanted to leave the palace because you believed that the general had wronged you, and you couldn’t bear the thought of staying under the wing of a liar while your friends were lost with Hijris. But it was all a misunderstanding rooted in your shaky trust and the shock of your distress. You supposed you owed him an apology. After all, the general had helped you several times out of nothing but his untouched morality.
Or maybe it was guilt for having allowed an establishment as vile as the Junayna to thrive unnoticed for so long.
You found your way back to your rooms later that night and met the blankets with a sigh. Though it was more of an exhale of relief. What good would walking back to Al Qa’er do you anyway? You thought that maybe, just this one time, you should stand back, hand over the weight of your problem to someone else. Someone who was more than capable of handling the weight.
You had slept peacefully that night, albeit for a short while until the sun rose.
Kayan made quick work of bandaging the burn, skilled hands moving in trained swiftness. When she was done, she clasped her hands, pleased with her work before announcing, “The general asked to see you. I will let him in if you’re ready.”
“The general?” your heart sputtered, why?
“Na’am,” she nodded. “If you would follow me?”
Kayan had you settle on one of the settees in the adjacent sitting room while she made her way to the door. A murmur passed between her and the guards when she opened it, and shortly after, the general stepped into the frame of dark wood.
He looked as he had the previous night. The same elegant uniform and stoic presence. He acknowledged Kayan with a nod, “Shukran, ya Kayan.”
She responded with a short bow before exiting the room and closing the door behind her. You were left alone with the general.
Your single eye followed him as he stepped toward a long desk by the large window. He moved with a certain ease, as though he knew the place like the back of his hand.
Standing behind the desk, he pulled out a roll of parchment and a silver inkwell from one of the drawers. The silence in the room was only disturbed by your wandering thoughts. You’d wanted to apologize to the general after your encounter. Now that the chance was there, you didn’t know how to utter the word.
What would you apologize for anyway? Mistrusting him when he was a complete stranger? Accusing him of taking advantage of you when that was all you experienced? The more you thought about it, the less sure you were of the apology.
So, you decided to blurt it out instead and let fate decide the consequences, “Asifa.”
The general’s gaze snapped up from the desk to land on you, unreadable. He was quiet for a moment, as if contemplative, before he pressed his lips into a thin line. You saw the shadow of failure pass over his features. “I, too.”
His words seeped into the air and settled like warm honey in your heart. No one had ever apologized to you. Not after shoving past you in the streets. Not after shouting obscenities at you over the music of the Junayna. You deserved no apology in the minds of those who thought themselves entitled to your body and spirit.
You never realized how sweet those words were.
After a beat of silence, the general unrolled the parchment and uncorked the silver bottle, gently dipping a wooden qalam in the ink then scribing something on the paper. He sounded remorseful when he spoke, “I know we haven’t met in the most ideal circumstances...”
“Perhaps we could start anew?” he gave you a polite smile, clasping his hands behind his back as he introduced himself, “I’m General Jeongin, Commander of the Darilmalekan Army.”
You returned his smile to the best of your ability, but it felt more like a grimace. You had no title nor occupation to embellish your name with. It felt incomplete. “Y/n.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Aanisa Y/n. As you might’ve heard, Hijris has managed to predict our plans and escape with the victims of the Junayna,” he said, stepping around the desk. “I admit to having underestimated him.”
“He is a cunning man,” you acknowledged in a hushed tone, recalling how he had you trapped in his web of deceit so easily.
“We are currently on the lookout for any unregistered caravans,” the general continued after a nod of consideration toward your statement. He stopped to stand before you, keeping a generous distance in between. “However, we lack the means to accurately identify the victims.”
You saw the request glinting in his knife-like eyes before you heard it fall from his lips. “If it isn’t much to ask, we need your help in compiling a list of the runaways.”
You didn’t pause to think about your answer, determination guiding you as your posture straightened. “What should I do?”
“I need you to write the names of everyone you remember. Include the gender, age group, and major physical attributes of each if you can. Hijris will most likely have them lie, so the more details we have, the better.”
You took in his instructions with a firm nod, and he mirrored you. “Good. Once you’re finished, hand the scroll to one of the guards at your door, and he’ll deliver it to me.”
With that, you watched as the general made his way toward the door, his gait easy yet measured. You wondered if he had felt your gaze on him at that moment, for he turned to face you one last time. A certain tenacity clenched at his jaw when he spoke, “We will find them, Y/n. You have my word.”
•ꕥ•
Bara’a missed the simplicity of the past.
The days before he lost his father to the deceitful pleasures of khamr and qimar. The life before he lost his freedom to Hijris’ boundless greed. He missed a time when the weight of sorrow and helplessness wasn’t familiar on his heart.
He had traveled to Darilmalek in hopes of joining the kingdom’s famed academy for swordsmanship. There was a fire in him that yearned to build some sense of financial stability for his family after his father left them in ruins. He was a fighter after all, and wielding a sword was what he did best. But nothing had prepared him for the villainous conman and his underground empire.
In less than a month after his arrival, Bara’a found himself entangled within Hijris’ web, and his heinous job at the Junayna began.
At first, the nights were long.
Those hooded gazes and embellished veils chased him in his scarce slumber. He loathed himself and every inch of skin covering his body. His body, which was simply presented like livestock in the market and used only to be discarded like a soiled rag. It was as though he was helpless once more, watching his father spiral into madness again, watching his life fall apart before him.
That young fire in him died, heartlessly suffocated, and he had no means of reviving it.
He felt their touches no longer, mind clouding with numbness whenever the ensemble began. The nights passed, and the days became a blur of misery and despair. A piece of him died with every lying letter Hijris had him write to his family in Tallilmalek. He wasn’t sure if any of the real him would survive by the end of that damned month.
Until he saw you in that corridor, stunned and unable to fight the man forcing himself upon you.
The cold, forgotten tinder in his soul birthed fire once more, brighter, mightier than it had ever been.
He was a fighter, and Hijris couldn’t take that from him. It was the part of him that never died and had refused to quieten once it acknowledged the vulnerable souls around him.
There was always a need for fighters, and Bara’a was going to be one until all hope was wrenched out of his grasp.
“Oh, no...” Kadi mumbled beside him, frowning at the empty qurba she gripped. Almost instinctively, Bara’a reached for his own waterskin and held it toward her. “Here.”
“Shukran.” the girl smiled at him, tentatively receiving the container before taking one quick gulp of water.
They’d been aimlessly trudging across the sand for three days, prey to the cruel sun and arid desert. The man who led their small caravan was one Bara’a was quite familiar with. Museeb, Hijris’ prized punisher and lapdog. He was an omen of misfortune and torture and seemed to take pleasure in being so.
If there was one person Bara’a despised the most after Hijris, it was him.
The young man knew that they were running away, most likely from someone powerful in the crown city, but if Museeb knew anything, he shared none of it.
It was a budding night at the Junayna when Hijris emerged from his office, flanked by several of his men, and started shouting at the ensemble to stop and the guests to leave immediately. Bara’a had seen one of the guards usher you to that office a short while prior, but you didn’t leave when the men did. Dreading the worst, he managed to slip away when chaos erupted in the clearing and search for you.
Alas, his search was hindered when he neared the office and felt the tip of a saif against the thin fabric covering his back. Hijris’ voice boomed from behind him, “You will not move any farther.”
He protested then, “But what about Y/n? Where is she?”
“I’ll take care of that,” Hijris had answered, displeasure clear in his voice. “You will pack your necessities and move with the guards. Don’t create trouble, Bara’a.”
He had wanted to argue, but then he caught the sight of Kadi from the corner of his eye. She had followed them and watched the ordeal unfold, fear and confusion wrinkling the pale skin between her dark brows. Whatever was happening, he knew he couldn’t risk leaving her to fend for herself. You would never forgive him if he did.
As much as his heart screamed at him otherwise, Bara’a capitulated to Hijris’ commands and walked away from the wretched door. In no way were you weak, and he trusted in that knowledge. You could handle all Hijris threw at you, right?
Please be okay, he prayed now, squinting at the orb of fire crowning the depthless blue. Only the Aliha knew where they were headed or when their miserable trek would end.
When a chorus of murmurs rose at the back of the group, Museeb halted, raising a hand to signal the rest of them to do the same. From atop the dune they were stood, an approaching troop was visible in the distance. They were moving on horseback, and moving hastily at that, sending dense clouds of sand into the air surrounding them.
Someone seemed to vaguely recognize those people, for they shouted from behind, “Soldiers!”
Darilmalekan soldiers? Bara’a looked back at the dark silhouettes in the dusty yonder, curious. He’d never seen soldiers during his stay in Darilmalek, Hijris had made sure that his so-called staff remained hidden from the outer world.
Perhaps... A foreign hope fluttered in his heart. Perhaps they’re here to rescue us.
Museeb seemed to recognize them too, for he remained still for a beat before reaching for the ghastly knife strapped to his middle. He moved in a blur. Between one breath and the other. The blade glinted in the light when he swiveled, striking down the first person within his reach.
Kadi toppled to the ground with a noise of choked horror.
“Kadi!” the shout was ripped raw from Bara’a’s chest. All at once, terrified clamor rose around him as the defenseless men and women of the Junayna scattered. He could barely grasp the reigns of his awareness before the knife flashed again. Museeb had chosen his next target.
Dazed, Bara’a’s hands raised to intercept his aim a beat too late, gripping Museeb’s forearm and directing the knife upwards instead. It caught skin and slashed a deep line across the side of his nose. With a strain of his strength, he hurled the lanky man unto the sand and heaved a difficult breath.
Blood trickled down his face, leaving a trail of gruesome red on his honeyed skin. Sand and air assaulted the fresh cut, but the bite of pain was what he needed to bring him back to his senses.
He should have known that was Hijris’ plan all along. That scoundrel wanted to escape with his corrupt empire, and he was willing to do anything to avoid capture and retribution. He had ordered his men to kill them all if the circumstances called, and Museeb was doing just that.
All the other caravans… The realization struck him roughly. Wherever you were, he could only hope you were safe.
Bara’a didn’t wait to let Museeb stand back up, immediately launching himself at the disoriented man. There was no one there but them. No guards, no rules, no friends to hold him back. He would gladly give that bastard kalb his overdue fight, and he swore to himself that only one of them would emerge alive.
And it would be him.
Museeb snarled as his arm was pinned down, rendering the knife in his grip unusable. Bara’a was using all his weight against his gaunt figure, so clear effort contorted the man’s features when he salvaged all his strength to kick him off. It was barely a success, for the young man was back on his feet in a fraction of a second, but it got his arm free.
Bara’a wanted to laugh when he lunged at the man unsparingly. He had thought that he was a powerful name in the Junayna. Believed so. He had fear. He bred it and nurtured it then used it to break anyone at Hijris’ command. He was so lost in that false sense of superiority.
But where was that now?
Out there in the desert, nothing stood between him and Bara’a. Nothing. Not even that crooked knife.
Because Bara’a knew. He knew who he was, and he knew himself.
He was a fighter, in blood and spirit, born to a family of knights and soldiers and raised as such. Museeb, on the other hand, was a coward and a brute who leeched off Hijris and the Junayna, who knew no honor nor compassion. He undermined them all, and he would regret ever doing so. He would pay for every sliver of tears and pool of blood he’d shed. Bara’a was going to make sure that man carried the shame and guilt with him to the grave.
Their brawl was messy. Sand was obscuring his vision, blood was stinging his eyes, yet Bara’a knew that he wasn’t the one fighting to survive. It was Museeb. His punches and swings landed frantically and thoughtlessly as the obvious gap in skill became increasingly evident. Perhaps he had gotten used to the ease by which he delivered his punishments—guards holding the target down, fear paralyzing them as he had his way.
Bara’a almost relished the look of increasing panic dusting his face as he wrestled him back into the golden sand. He didn’t try to pry the knife out of his grip, instead twisting Museeb’s arm to press his own weapon against him. The latter thrashed, kicking and flailing, but it was a fruitless effort.
With the blade pressed against the base of his neck, Museeb dared to bare his teeth in a sickening sneer. They were slick with blood from his busted lip. He spoke in staggered breaths, eyes bulging with pain, “Ya nakira, ya Bara’a.”
The insult met the walls of Bara’a’s memory and faded, lost between recollections of the suffering and the unfeeling words hurled at him whenever he disobeyed Hijris. You’re nobody. You’re nothing.
He knew that Museeb was trying to fracture his resolve, reawaken the harrowing memories to disturb him, so Bara’a returned the smile, tasting blood and sand. He would play the coward no longer. “Adri.”
He drove the knife into his paper-like neck, pressuring the man’s twisted arm enough to pop his shoulder in the process.
The howl of distress that left his bruised lips came to a choked stop as he gurgled up dark blood, eyes rolling back to welcome death.
Bara’a stayed there for one labored breath, then another, hands unmoving on the now lifeless man. The scarlet liquid trickling from his neck dampened the yellow grains of sand, dyeing them in that macabre hue, letting the earth drain his tainted blood.
A certain stillness settled into Bara’a’s heart as he stared at the trauma-stricken face. He’d caused that, and somehow, he felt no remorse.
The men and women that had circled him wore the same grim expressions of silent realization. They, too, acknowledged the graveness of his doing, but they couldn’t find it in themselves to shed a tear for that man. They only watched as Death carried him in its cruel embrace. And for the first time in years, they felt free. Safe.
Bara’a dared to let go and stand up, breathing in slowly. He was aware of his grisly appearance, hands that were sticky with blood and a face that was caked with the same foul substance, but he couldn’t be bothered to tend to that. Not when there were more pressing matters at hand.
“Kadi!” he called over the sandy breeze, voice charged with a forgotten ferocity. Death had loomed over the caravan of lost travelers a little longer, readying to collect another soul on that tragic noon. Its mocking cackle reverberated endlessly in the chamber of Bara’a’s thoughts.
The girl was struggling against the face of the sahra’a, panicked, trying to push herself up and seize the life that was gradually seeping through the shallow slash on her neck. Strength was abandoning her weakened body faster than she wished.
Bara’a dropped to her side, knees sinking into the parched earth as he gathered her in his arms. Any surge of vicious energy he had felt was gone in a fearful flutter. “Kadi, speak to me!”
When nothing but a muddled noise left her lips, he pressed a palm against the wound, frantically shouting into the unforgiving distance, “Help! Someone help us, please!”
His eyes met the mourning gazes of his companions. They stood helpless there. They weren’t medics nor scholars. They were only unfortunate enough to be plucked out of the miserable streets of Al Qa’er by Hijris. There was nothing they could do to help the dying girl.
“Please,” his plea was broken, a ruptured sob. He couldn’t lose Kadi. Not after all they’d been through. Not after all her bravery and woe in the Junayna. There was still so much life ahead of her. It was unfair. To him, and to her.
Over their joyless years in Hijris’ custody, Kadi had become the closest thing to a little sister he had in Darilmalek. Her safety, her happiness, it was an oath he took and vowed to honor against all odds. It was a sense of purpose that grounded him, anchored him to reason whenever a rash thought crossed his mind. He couldn’t lose her now.
Bara’a debated carrying her to the proclaimed soldiers for aid when he felt the barest tug at his wrist. Looking down, he noticed her glazed-over eyes laboring to fixate on him. A dying moon in his arms, she strained to utter, “I w-want...home.”
He was weak. He was too weak for the universe to torment him like that. Blinking away the blood trickling into his right, he could only whisper, “We’ll go home, Kadi. I promise you.”
His answer seemed to ease a conflict in her young heart, for at that moment, she stopped grappling for breath, at rest in his weary arms. Peace smoothened the ever-creased space between her delicate brows and she bid her cold world a final farewell.
The sun whispered to the moon about the young man when day bled into night. She carried the echo of the anguished cry that tore through his lips, coarse and haunting, wrought with the purest grief. The sand would remember, and so would she, the suffering souls of that dark day.
•ꕥ•
Jeongin felt uneasy in the presence of magic, though it was a weakness he’d never reveal to his soldiers.
It was an unpredictable, tremendous power that had brought him to the brink of death many times. It also saved him, but the memories he lived to carry were meshed in fear and a desperation he never wanted to experience again.
He was too small in the eye of the world, insignificant to the giant shrouded in myth and mystery.
Yet, he would be a damned liar to deny his thankfulness for the messenger Sahara. The first report reached his desk a day after he sent out copies of the list you made. A few of the fugitives have been found and taken into custody this morning. We accounted for three men and four girls. Three persons were dead by the time of our arrival. As it appears, their leader has ordered his subordinates to kill their companions upon sensing a threat from the authorities. I believe this is critical information that must be relayed to the soldiers on duty.
The letter was signed by the general in Arba.
Similar reports from neighboring cities arrived throughout the day, confirming the capture of small groups of men and women who matched some of the descriptions on the list. And with a cruel twist of fate, the tally of the fatalities only increased. A letter from a city to the north reported that an entire caravan was found dead by one of the search squads.
Jeongin felt sick. It seemed that once he’d failed, he had no chance of redeeming himself. Hijris didn’t want to be captured alive, and he was taking his victims down with him. He’d made it exceptionally clear. Leaving you injured in the Junayna was a message to the general. A mere hint of the extremes the conman was willing to go to.
The memory of the promise Jeongin had given you began to taste sour on his tongue. Was this ordeal only a pending failure?
The answer came in the form of an urgent rap on the door of his office, to which the general responded, “Come in!”
A guard stepped into the room, bowing slightly before handing the general the folded piece of parchment in his hands. “Sir, this message has reached us from the base in Ramwah.”
Anticipating the worst, Jeongin received the note and let his gaze run over the rushed scrawl. A chill fogged his thoughts. He was out of his seat and shouting commands at his men before he could finish reading the letter crumpled in his grasp.
As of the time of writing this letter, a man fitting the descriptions of the fugitive Hijris has been captured and taken into custody by the governor’s office. He was identified while trying to enter the city with a caravan of four. The suspect attempted to take his life after murdering his companions once faced by the authorities. Your urgent presence is necessary as we are uncertain of his intentions.
Signed, General Murad.
•ꕥ•
The royal garden truly was a great place to think. A paradise in the heart of the palace with its swaying trees and glorious nakheel.
You sat in the shade of the palm trees, watching two desert birds hop across the finely trimmed grass as a gentle breeze tickled your cheeks. There was a tranquility to the place that could only leave you wandering in your thoughts. Forever lost.
A tranquility that was unceremoniously disrupted by the approaching sound of chatter. “Oh, but Dina, whatever will you do with him?”
You spotted the group of ladies who shared gossip as they walked into the garden. They moved with such a grace they appeared to be gliding over the polished pathway, swathed in rich silks and striking jewelry. Your nose itched from the sharpness of their perfumes.
A lady in the center answered, shrugging, “The general is like any man after all, is he not?”
And perhaps they understood an implication to her words, for her companions erupted in scandalous giggles and fits of teasing.
You felt your brows furrow, suddenly curious at the mention of the general. What do they mean?
But before they could settle on the benches nearby and before that lady could delve deeper into her plans, you snapped back into your senses and stood up. Whatever the general did in his personal life and whomever he was sharing it with was none of your business. You ignored that foolish intrigue and a silent twinge of hurt as you made your way out of the garden, wishing to avoid the women and any kind of trouble they may bring about. Perhaps you thought too fondly of the general’s kindnesses toward you that the revelation in those musical giggles stung faintly.
You were only his guest. Leverage against Hijris and evidence of the Junayna. Nothing more and nothing less, and those ladies were the reminder you needed.
You weren’t surprised when you found the guard that had escorted you to the garden earlier waiting for you under the palace’s magnificent archways. When you questioned him that morning for following you, his answer came gruff. “General’s orders. For your safety.”
You had been conscious of his stoic, watchful eye throughout your brief visit.
The way back to your room was one you took with Kayan twice before, passing doors and rounding corners until you reached a secluded wing of the palace. There, the vaulted ceiling reached a bit higher, and the tiled floor gleamed a bit brighter. Two impressive doors on adjacent walls stared back at you, one slightly smaller than the other, both continuously watched by a team of stern guards. You turned to your right, pushing the smaller door open and stepping into the new familiarity of the room you’d been occupying for the past week.
That wonderful scent of oud and yasmeen hit you immediately.
Everywhere you’d been to in the palace—which wasn’t much—smelled like wealth and influence and foreign spices, but you’d grown to find a strange comfort in the fragrance that seemed to cling onto the soul of that room. Ever so rich, ever so alluring, and you found its source when you poked your head into your bedroom.
Kayan had part of the heavy curtain gathered in one arm while carrying a golden mibkharah in the other hand and passing it under the fabric. The delicate tendrils of incense danced, only to be suffocated by the velvet on their rise. She noticed you standing at the archway and remarked with a quirk of her dark brow, “You’re back early.”
You could only lift a shoulder in response, lightly plopping on the edge of the bed to watch her work. If you told Kayan the truth behind your abrupt return, she would march you right back into the garden while lecturing you about not permitting others to ruin your fun. She’ll have to accept your silence for now.
Kayan passed the burner under the other side of the curtain as silence stretched between the two of you, then she moved to open the linked bathroom’s door and let the wisps of incense settle in the air for a moment. When she turned back, she smiled apologetically as though needing to justify her actions. “The general prefers to have his rooms incensed regularly.”
You were about to nod to her statement without much thought when her words dawned over you, almost heart-dropping. You echoed with a slight frown, “His rooms?”
“Na’am.” She had set the mibkharah on the coffee table and took over fluffing the cushions on the miniature divan, laughing when she noticed your vivid horror, “I thought you knew?”
You could only shake your head mutely, almost grimacing as you recalled how you spilled your anguish on the pillows after your arrival and how easily the general had walked through the room.
That only seemed to humor Kayan further. Placing her hands on her hips, she regarded you like one would a confused pupil. “See, we all assumed that the general had finally taken on a lover since he brought you here. All of that was quickly brushed off once he had the rooms cleared, the sheets changed, all to accommodate a guest while he took a guest room for himself.”
“But…why?” you dared to venture, and she shrugged. “Security? My best guess is yours. Knowing him, he has no ill intentions.”
She picked up the golden mibkharah to carry it to the sitting room and you trailed after her. It seemed as though all you knew were ill intentions. Twisted, heinous intentions. All Kayan had done so far was speak well of the general, but you weren’t ready to take her words for truth yet. “Why do you love the general so much?”
She let out a surprised chuckle. It was like stepping into sunshine. “I don’t love him. I simply admire his work and his temperament and that is all.”
“Well, then, how could you be so sure of his intentions?”
She turned to face you, an unmistakable glint of fierceness in her almond-like eyes. “He chose me to be part of his medic crew when he was first assigned general. We’ve seen him over the years, we’ve worked with him and grown alongside him. I may not know his exact plans, but you can trust me when I say: you’re in safe hands. All of your friends will be once he finds them.”
You had no response for her, and she didn’t wait for one, swiftly resuming her work of incensing the room. She was lucky, you couldn’t help but conclude with a pang of envy. To be so confident in that trust, to believe in it wholly and fiercely. She made it seem so simple. So foolishly simple.
You drifted toward the window behind the desk, letting your eyes settle on the view of the outer garden and the crown city stretching afar. Somewhere among the closely huddled buildings, the Junayna hid, abandoned after years of exploitation. Though it looked insignificant from that height.
When you spoke again, it was lined with vulnerability. Oh, how fickle was your trust. And yet, in many ways, you wanted to be like Kayan. “What is he like?”
“Hmm?”
“The general. What is he like—since you speak so well of him?”
She took a moment before answering, and you heard the rustle of cushions as she rearranged the settee. Even though you gave her your back, the truth of her admiration for him was relevant to you in the soft cadence that overtook her voice. “He is kind and thoughtful…but he delivers his justice with an ease that earned him undeniable respect across the kingdom despite his young age.”
A pause.
“He is patient, remarkably so. One could even argue that his self-discipline is unsettling. Never have I heard him make a sound as his wounds were stitched closed or ask for help afterward over my years of being part of his staff,” an amused huff interrupted her words, “Some people claim that he would never take on a partner despite the king and queen’s attempts because his only love is his job. However, I find that to be one of his admirable traits. He is aware of the overwhelming duty on his shoulders, and he is not in a rush to appease the romantics of the court. Not to say that that would be a despicable thing to do.”
Her conclusion caught your attention like a fisherman’s experienced net. “But that seems to be his nature—stern over his responsibilities both as a prince and a general.”
“He’s a prince?” you had to turn away from the window to stare at her, dumbfounded at that small detail. Suddenly, Hijris’ words made sense. You can’t even recognize a royal when you see one!
With a twinge of bitterness, you remembered Kadi remarking that he spoke like a prince. It is true that my tutor had taught princes.
“Na’am, the sole son of the former king’s youngest brother. His mother died after childbirth, and his father refused to wed another, so he was raised by the former queen alongside King Minho,” she explained. “He doesn’t refer to himself as a prince often, but it is public knowledge.”
Kayan straightened to look at you, an eyebrow raised teasingly as she added, “Which is why him giving up his quarters for you garnered a lot of attention. Not just anybody enters a prince’s rooms.”
You decided to gaze out the window again, ignoring the heat that threatened to rise up your face. “I am not interested in courting the general.”
“Yet you ask an awful lot of questions for someone who is uninterested,” she joked before clearing her throat, suddenly becoming serious. “Don’t worry, though. It seems that this misfortune is coming to an end. The general left the palace with a group of his men yesterday. Word has it that they’ve found them.”
Kayan was great at relaying news about Hijris to you, and you were thankful for the change of topic. They found them! Soon enough you’ll be reunited with Bara’a and Kadi and the nightmare will be over. You’ll be finally, truly free from the Junayna.
Keeping your voice even, you asked, “How long do you think they’ll take to return?”
“Not less than a week, that’s certain,” she replied, and a restlessness exploded in your veins.
A week.
A week and they’ll be safe in the palace. A week and they’ll be with you.
You could wait a week. You would wait with your heart in your throat, but you would wait, nevertheless.
•ꕥ•
A week it took for the clamor of soldiers to disrupt the palace’s anxious peace.
You were in the royal garden again—you seemed to spend the majority of your mornings there before retreating to bed when sleepiness overwhelmed you. This time, you had invited Kayan to picnic with you, sharing disks of soft khubz along with bowls of vibrant zaytoon and cups of warm haleeb. The sun was greedily centering the sky, not a cloudy wisp tinged the gentle blue.
The guard who had accompanied you earlier rushed to where the two of you were settled on the grass. When he spoke, it was directed at Kayan, “You must return to your rooms. General Jeongin has ordered that the palace hallways be cleared of roamers.”
At that, she immediately stood, bundling the cloth that your food lay upon and giving you an urgent glance. “Hurry.”
But you were too dazed to process her words, drifting after her like the memory of a tayf. Your heartbeat was suddenly too loud, louder than the beat of the cruel daff that was ingrained in your memory, louder than the singe of iron. Jeongin being in the palace only meant one thing.
They are here. They are here. They are all here.
When you were back within the familiar walls of your rooms, you found the nearest seat to settle into and calm the bells of distress causing mayhem in your mind. But you found it difficult to relax. It was almost impossible. You felt the unexplainable urge to move, run, find them, do anything but stay in your rooms.
So, you stood and walked toward the window, peering out in hopes of seeing them, or their caravan, hell, you would settle for any sign. Yet, no matter how you twisted your neck or raised your stature, only the expanse of the crown city and a silver of the outer gardens were visible.
For a fleeting moment there, you forgot that Kayan was in the room with you. You were startled when she said, “The general would not have them enter through the main entrance. You won’t see anything from there.”
You slowly turned to look at her, ripping your desperate gaze away from the view outside. Her statement made sense. They wouldn’t be paraded through the same door that royals and nobility step through.
You willed your lungs to expand once, taking in as much air as possible before letting it out slowly. It was not the time to lose your patience or your focus.
Soon, you assured yourself, finding the settee once more and busying yourself with the silver tray of sugared buqsumat on the low table. The freshly baked biscuits were delivered to your room on a daily basis, which you supposed was Kayan’s doing. Dusted impeccably and topped with that fragrant, purple blossom of rayhan each time.
It took longer than you wished before you were clear to move about the palace again. The guard that had relayed the information seemed to understand the trembling desperation in your eyes as Kayan excused herself. There was a semblance of apology in his tone. “The victims are currently receiving care in the royal clinic. You will be able to see them once all formal procedures are over and they are settled in their rooms. Be assured that we will inform you then, Aanisa.”
And so, you waited further, your uneasy impatience keeping you sharply awake and conscious of every passing minute. The sky’s soft blue was beginning to bleed into purple, the loss of light casting long shadows across the sitting room. Kayan would be entering to oil the light fixtures soon, and you hoped she would carry some helpful news with her.
When a knock finally echoed in the room, you hurried to answer it, swinging the door open with a question ready to fall out of your lips. Where you expected to find the young lady tasked with taking care of you stood a certain Grand General, hands folded behind his back as he regarded you with that calm, fortified gaze.
The question was pulled under the flood of thoughts violently crashing into your mind. You suddenly remembered the conversation you had with Kayan on that strange morning a week past.
“Good evening, Aanisa Y/n,” his lips stretched into a vague smile, and if you stared enough, you would have noticed the weariness tugging at his eyes, “I hope you’ve been well.”
“I have, shukran,” you managed to croak out after a beat of awkward silence, flustered by his presence. What was he doing there of all people?
But before you could carry the awkward exchange further, your thoughts snapped into focus again and you cleared your throat, urgency dancing in the lilt of your syllables. “Where are they? Are they safe?”
At that, the general closed his eyes and a silent sigh slipped out of his lips. “That is what I came here to talk to you about. If you would follow me, please.”
You obliged wordlessly, trailing behind him as he led you through the somewhat familiar maze of hallways. You couldn’t imagine him growing up behind those walls, running from room to room in the palace with a prince training to be king one day. It felt almost wrong to reduce his current guarded and calculated demeanor to that of a curious, carefree child. Then again, how much did you know about the lives of princes?
You reached an area that didn’t seem to be part of the palace. Low ceilings and dim lighting, dull walls and an unmistakable tang of steel, the general stopped before a small yet heavily guarded door at the end of the hall.
He turned to look at you, speaking carefully, “Behind this door and at the end of the tunnel is Hijris’ dungeon. I can take you there if you wish to see him. If not, I will walk you to where your friends are in the palace.”
Despite the unease that washed over you, you found yourself nodding. “I would like to see him.”
La, you didn’t want to see him. You wanted him to see you. You wanted Hijris to see you and let his impending demise sink into his skin, into every filthy fiber of his being. You wanted him to see you, standing, unbroken, alive, the survivor he tried so hard to snuff out, while he himself was chained to the ground, helpless, defeated, doomed. And it would be the last time he laid his hateful gaze on you. May it burn with scorn, you thought. You would gladly let your pride feast on that image for the rest of your life.
With a firm nod in your direction, Jeongin mentioned for one of the guards to open the door before stepping into the narrow tunnel of dungeons.
“Stay close. Hathari,” he instructed, and you did, keeping your eyes trained on the silver-bladed shoulders of his uniform as you made your way past blank-faced guards and countless cells.
Eventually, he stopped before a dungeon that was more secluded than the rest. You hadn’t the time to peer at the dark dungeon before you heard the wet noise of spit shooting out of the prisoner’s mouth. It narrowly missed your sandaled feet.
Hijris was sneering behind the bars. “Here’s your gift returned. How did you like your stay at the palace, ya—”
The guard on duty rattled the bars in warning before he got to finish, and the general’s words cut through right after, the hostility in them foreign to you. “I would consider my next words with the utmost care were I you, Hijris.”
Yet the threat seemed to affect him none. Hijris’ sneer was still present, still directed at you with relentless malice.
But you would not give him the satisfaction of your fear or the unease that you felt around him. He was defeated. He was nothing anymore and he could not do anything to you any longer. You would make him understand. You would see that smugness wiped from his face and you will relish it.
So, you lifted your gaze and let it crash on him, stone on broken earth. You would not even grant him an answer.
He was in a threadbare thawb, his expensive silk abaya and turban long discarded, presenting him as he truly was. His graying hair was matted to his head in layers of sweat and grime, and you supposed it was a splatter of dried blood that darkened a tip of his mustache. You fought to keep your repulsion in check. He was a displeasure to look at.
A memory echoed.
Do you want him dead?
Your hands formed fists on the sides of your thawb. This time, you had an answer, and it was sending tremors of fury across your tensed muscles.
And as though he could sense it, Jeongin shook his head, his tone coming out oddly gentle, “As much as I would like to let you have this, this vengeance isn’t yours alone to take.
“We should leave now.” he signaled to the guards on duty and turned toward the direction you came from. Without a last glance, without a goodbye, without a parting insult, you whirled around and followed the general out, keeping your head up. You refused to break in those dungeons.
Only when the heavy doors creaked shut behind you did you dare to let out a single wavering breath. Hijris was there. That fact did not dawn over you lightly. It crashed over you violently, stealing the air from your lungs. You almost buckled under its weight. As if previously oblivious, your insides churned, threatening to spill the day’s food at the revelation. Panic clawed at your chest, sudden, cold, relentless. He’s here. He’s here. He’s here.
“The trial will commence once interrogations are finished,” you heard the general say, but he felt distant, imagined.
What was happening to you? You tried to grasp onto any piece of reality, but it was all too slippery. The walls seemed to close in, both those of your surroundings and your mind’s. The brown and black of the guards’ uniforms swirled like washed away paint, dizzying, a blotch of silver seemed to bloom in the mess.
The world tipped over, and you were a drowning sailor, flailing for any raft to hold on to.
Then…
“Y/n.”
There! You threw your arms over that voice, grasping it as though your life depended on it.
“Breathe.”
But you were, so much that the rapid succession had muddled your thoughts.
“Slowly. He will not harm you now, nobody will. I swear it.”
Something prodded at you to believe the voice. There was a reason buried at the back of your mind you couldn’t retrieve.
“There, slowly, Y/n. You’re safe. You’re all right.”
You had a reason to be safe around him. It was clear as a crystal for a breath, bright, then gone the next. A shudder rattled your ribs. You were suddenly all too aware of your palms pressed against the cold floor, your knees uncomfortable against the hard tiles.
“You’re safe here, Y/n.”
A murmur, gentle, intimate, the words meshed together with a thread of deep empathy. Slowly, you encouraged yourself. Slowly.
You blinked. The world began to clear.
“Safe… There you are…”
No, it wasn’t empathy. You caught the raw tinge of painful memory in his tone. Something personal. Vulnerability, a weakness he seemed to understand differently.
You inhaled, and it felt like your first real breath in a tortured decade.
“Aanisa Y/n?” the general was kneeling beside where you were huddled on the ground, eyebrows knotted in concern as his gaze searched your face. Decision settled on his countenance when he spoke, “You should return to your rooms and rest.”
Your breathing had finally calmed, and you shook your head. Despite that excruciating fit of panic, you could not rest. Not without seeing your friends again. Your voice was a mere whisper. “La. I need to see them.”
The tender understanding that soothed the furrow of his brows engrained itself into your mind. He was beautiful in a way that made you let your walls down, lay down your vulnerability freely. Maybe it was your conflicted state, or your unease, or your silent fear that made you see him with such unprecedented affection. He understood, and he didn’t fight your wishes. It meant more to you than it should’ve anyone else.
You shook your thoughts away, unwilling to dwell in those intrusive feelings further, and pushed yourself to your feet. The farther you were from the dungeons, the better you would be.
The general followed you, righting his posture and smiling softly as though you were a bird he didn’t want to scare away. “I’ll walk you to your friends.”
•ꕥ•
All throughout the past two weeks, you had imagined your reunion with Bara’a and Kadi, turned the scene over and over again until it became a muddled mess in your drowsy mind. It was a lullaby that drove you to sleep every night, one twisted with timid hope and bitter guilt.
They would understand, wouldn’t they? Bara’a would understand the decisions you had to make, right?
They were gone by the time you had awakened. Whether or not you stayed at the palace wouldn’t have made a difference.
They would understand.
Now, as your steps quickened after the general’s sure strides, the reunion panned out in your mind again, lush, vivid, yet clouded by your anxiousness. You thought of what you would do once you spotted them. Would you run to them? Call out? Would you pull them into an embrace or stare wordlessly? What could you even say when you finally met their gazes? I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re here. I missed you. We’re all safe now.
Then, an unease settled at the bottom of your stomach, killing the swarm of butterflies. What if they weren’t as excited to see you again as you were to see them? What if, instead of relief and joy, you spotted hurt and betrayal in their eyes?
La! You pushed those thoughts away forcefully, hurrying such that you were a step ahead of the general. La, that won’t happen…
But that wasn’t enough to calm the restless buzzing in your heart. It didn’t help that the palace felt like an endless maze right then. You walked with Jeongin, passing through long hallways swarmed with guards and under magnificent archways, holding your breath in anticipation whenever you rounded a corner or spotted a cluster of people. It was almost driving you mad.
You glanced at the general, preparing to ask about your destination when you found yourself walking into a crowded hallway. Like second nature, your eyes found him among the people instantly, and you forgot your pointless agitation.
His back was to you as he spoke to a passing guard, but you would recognize his frame anywhere, anytime, void of all your senses if you had to.
“Bara’a!”
He turned at your voice, and it was a flicker in his eyes, like a spring breaking through rock—recognition, relief, joy. You were stood there for a breath, running the next, then in his arms finally. Cool air rushed past you before melting into pure warmth, and you drew in a shaky breath as you held him tight. It felt like your first real breath in weeks.
You pulled away, just enough to see his face, and your eye welled with tears again. Everything that happened up until that moment came rushing to you, ready to spill out the moment you dared to blink.
You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to do anything that would distort your sight of him, grasping onto every thread of his being as though to reassure yourself of this being a reality.
There was your friend, and you could finally exhale. There was Bara’a, with his ocean-like gaze and breezy smile. A cut ran across the side of his nose, haphazardly nearing his eye and dipping into his brow. It didn’t look new, the healing ends were only interrupted by delicate stitching. Concern bloomed cold in your heart.
You wanted to ask, but then you saw the set of your friend’s eyes darken, the stillness of water hiding awaiting perils. He beat you to the question, his voice coming out hoarse, “What happened—who did this to you?”
Somehow, amidst that day’s events, you’d forgotten that your burn was bare for any and all to see. Kayan had undone the bandages that morning, stating that there was no further need of covering the injury. Perhaps, in another lifetime, you would’ve grimaced and attempted to hide it. But you only shook your head as a tear slid across your right cheek, choking out, “It doesn’t matter,” before the words came tumbling after, the syllables tripping over one another, “I was so worried when I woke up and learned that he took you all and ran away. I thought— I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. There was nothing I could do. I’m just so relieved that you’re here and that you’re safe—”
You paused, hiccupping a breath before you realized, “Where is Kadi?”
You’d been so relieved to see Bara’a that you nearly overlooked the fact that he was alone. Kadi would always trail after one of you. The more you thought of it, the odder her absence seemed.
He was silent for a moment, and you watched the turbulent waves of conflict twist his eyebrows and moisten his eyes. Sorrow, so immense and raw tugged at his every feature you almost berated yourself for not noticing it earlier. It seemed as though he could barely muster out the will to whisper, “Y/n…”
No… Something was wrong, terribly so. Uneasiness weighed down your feet as you stepped away from your friend, turning around unthinkingly to find Jeongin. He was standing a short distance away, conversing with one of his soldiers when he caught your look of distress. A frown, so slight you would have missed it, seemed to ask, what’s wrong?
You looked around, searching and failing, before you frowned, “My friend Kadi… She’s not here…”
There was a tug at your wrist, and you moved to see Bara’a shaking his head. “Y/n, don’t.”
“What’s going on, Bara’a?” you didn’t like any of what was happening. His worn expression, his anguished tone, you had never heard him sound so broken. A different kind of panic began to rise in your chest. Where’s Kadi?
You were suddenly aware of all the eyes trained on you, the familiar faces of your friends that were morphed into expressions of mourning and woe. You hurled your gaze back to the general and found him pursing his lips in solemn remorse. You turned back to Bara’a, desperate for anything to soothe the unease threatening to pull your heart apart. “Why isn’t Kadi with you? Where is she?”
His next words came strained, as though each letter were a khanjar thrust deeper into his chest, as though he were admitting a truth he’d denied for so long. Any joy you felt moments prior was washed away in a harrowing instant.
“Kadi is gone, Y/n.”
Part One | Part Two: Sword and Storm | Part Three
If you have read this far then you are contractually obligated to tell me your thoughts! Well, not really, but do drop by sometime! Please anticipate the final part in 2022. Thank you for reading and I hope you have a wonderful day! ♡
#stray kids imagines#yang jeongin imagines#jeongin imagines#skzwritersclub#yang jeongin x reader#jeongin x reader#yang jeongin x y/n#yang jeongin x you#jeongin x y/n#jeongin x you#yang jeongin angst#jeongin angst#stray kids x y/n#stray kids x reader#stray kids x you#skz x reader#skz fanfic#skz x you#source: -kyutips chaninfused#speaking in tongues#yoooo 🥳
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Wonder Egg Priority Episode 4: Boys’ and Girls’ Suicides Do Mean Different Things (But Not in the Way the Mannequins Want You to Think!)
So, let’s talk about this for a second. After I got over my initial knee-jerk reaction, I realized I wasn’t sure how to make sense of exactly what the mannequins were arguing for here. So let me rephrase their statements to make the argumentative structure more explicit: Because men are goal-oriented and women are not, because women are emotion-oriented and men are not, and because women are impulsive and easily influenced by others’ voices and men are not, boys’ and girls’ suicides mean different things – girls are more easily “tempted” by death, and therefore, more likely to require saving when they inevitably regret their suicide. While Wonder Egg Priority, so far, seems to agree with the vague version of the mannequins’ conclusion, namely that boys’ and girl’s suicides mean different things, it refutes the gender-essentialist logic through which that conclusion was derived.
The mannequins choose a decidedly gender essentialist approach in explaining the difference between girls’ and boy’s suicides; they argue that the suicides are different because of some immutable characteristic of their mental hard wiring (in this case, impulsivity, emotionality, and influenceability). Obviously, this is a load of bull, and Wonder Egg Priority knows it. The mannequins are not exactly characters we’re supposed to trust, seeing that they’re running a business that is literally based on letting these kids put themselves in mortal danger. As faceless adult men, they parrot and possibly represent the systems that force these girls to continue to be subjected to physical and emotional trauma (it’s probably more complicated than this, but four episodes in, it’s hard to say more). So, we’re probably supposed to take what they say with great skepticism. Also, the director, Shin Wakabayashi, has recently said that in response to these lines, Neiru was originally going to object, “When it comes to their brains, boys and girls are also the same,” (which unfortunately is not exactly true and is somewhat of an oversimplification, but the sentiment is there). While that line ultimately did not make it in, Neiru does reply with a confused and somewhat indignant, “What?!”, a reaction that gets the message across. Neiru is not a fan of gender essentialism, and as a (more) sympathetic character, we’re supposed to agree with her.
That is, the differences between boys and girls is not something inherent to their biology or character, but something constructed by culture and experience. This rejection of gender-essentialism is apparent in Wonder Egg Priority’s narrative, which takes a more sociocultural perspective on the difference between boys’ and girls’ suicides. It says, well of course boys’ and and girl’s suicides don’t mean the same thing, that’s the whole reason why we’re delving into the experiences specific to being a girl (cis or trans) or AFAB in this world – to show you how girls’ suicides are influenced by systems of oppression perpetuated by those in power (ie. the adult, in this specific anime).
And all the suicides we’ve seen up until now tie into that somehow. For instance, Koito is bullied by her female classmates who think that Sawaki is giving her special treatment. This is a narrative that comes up over and over again, in real life as well: that if a young girl is being given attention from an older man, then it’s her fault – that she must want it, or at least enjoy it somehow, and that it signifies a virtue (eg. maturity or beauty) on her part. And if Koito is actually being given such treatment by Sawaki, an adult man in a position of power over her, that is incredibly predatory.
And we all know that child sexual abuse is something that overwhelmingly affects girls, with one out of nine experiencing it before the age of 18, as opposed to one out of 53 boys (Finkelhor et al., 2014). Regardless of whether Sawaki was actually abusing Koito or if the students only thought that he was, Koito’s trauma is ultimately the result of this romanticized “love between a young girl and adult man, but not because the man is predatory, but because the girl has some enviable virtue that makes her desirable” narrative. Similarly, in episode 2, Minami’s suicide is driven by ideas related to discipline and body image in sports, which while not necessarily specific to female and AFAB athletes, is framed in an AFAB-specific way. For instance, take the pressure on Minami to “maintain her figure”. Certainly, male athletes also face a similar pressure, but we know that AFAB and (cis and trans) female bodies are subject to closer scrutiny and criticism. We know that young girls are more likely to suffer from eating disorders. And Wonder Egg Priority situates Minami’s experience as decidedly “about” AFAB experience when her coach accuses her change of
figure due to her period as a character failing on her part.
Likewise, episode 3 delves into suicides related to “stan” culture, this fervent dedication to celebrities that is overwhelmingly associated to teenage girls. And Miwa’s story, in episode 4, explicitly shows how society responds to sexual assault. When Miwa does have the courage to speak up about her assault, she’s instantly reprimanded by basically everyone around her. Her father is fired because her abuser was an executive of his company. Her mother asks her why she couldn’t just bear with it, telling her that her abuser chose her because she was cute, as if that’s supposed to make her feel better about it. Wonder Egg Priority shows that this sort of abuse is a systemic problem, a set of rules and norms deeply engrained in a society and upheld by all adults, regardless of gender, social status, or closeness (to the victim). Wonder Egg Priority says that, yes, girls’ and boys’ suicides have different meanings, but it’s not due to some inherent difference between the two, but the hostile environment in which these girls grow up. Girls are not more easily “tempted” by death, they just have more societal bullshit to deal with.
But Wonder Egg Priority goes further than just showcasing how girls’ (and AFAB) experiences are shaped by sociocultural factors. The story also disproves the supposedly dichotomous characteristics that the mannequins use to differentiate girls and boys (i.e. influenceability/independence, impulsivity/deliberation, emotion-orientation/goal-orientation). If the mannequins are indeed correct, and that girls are just influenceable, impulsive, and emotional, you’d expect the girls in the story to be to be like such too. Except, they aren’t. Rather, they’re a mix of both/all characteristics. This show says that, certainly, girls can be suggestible, but they’re also capable of thinking for themselves. For instance, when Momoe asserts her own identity as a girl at the end of episode four, she rejects the words of those around her who insisted that she isn’t a girl. If she were as suggestible as the mannequins believe her to be, that would never have happened – she would have just continued believing that she wasn’t girl “enough”. But, she doesn’t because she is equally capable of making her own judgements. Likewise, Wonder Egg Priority shows that girls can be impulsive, but they can also be deliberate and pre-mediating. When Miwa tricks her Wonder Killer into groping her to create an opening for Momoe to defeat it, she’s not doing it out of impulse – it’s a pre-mediated and deliberate choice unto a goal. And Wonder Egg Priority continues, girls can be equally emotion oriented and goal oriented. Sure, the main girls are fighting because they have the goal of bringing their loved ones back to life, but those goals are motivated by a large range of emotions, from guilt to anger, grief, compassion, and love.
Being emotion-driven doesn’t mean you’re not goal-driven, and vice versa. In fact, in this case, being emotional drives these girls toward their goals. In other words, none of these traits that the mannequins listed are either “girl traits” or “boy traits”. Being one does not mean you can’t be the other, even if they seem dichotomous at first. Wonder Egg Priority’s diverse cast of multi-dimensional female characters allows it to undermine the mannequins’ conceptualization of gendered roles, refuting the idea that these (or any) character traits should be consider gendered at all.
As an underdeveloped side thought, I think Wonder Egg Priority’s blurring of gendered roles is also well-reflected in its style. There’s been a lot of talk about whether Wonder Egg Priority constitutes a magical girl series, and I think that’s an interesting question deserving of its own essay. Certainly, it does follow the basic formula of the magical girl story: a teenage heroine ensemble wielding magical weapons saves the day. But it also throws out a lot of the conventions you’d expect of a magical girl story – both aesthetically and narratively. Aesthetically, it’s probably missing the component that most would consider the thing that makes an anime a magical girl anime: the full body transformation sequence, complete with the sparkles and the costume and all that. Narratively, the girls are also not really magical girl protagonist material – they’ve got a fair share of flaws, have done some pretty awful things (looking at Kawai in particular; I still love you though), and aren’t exactly the endlessly self-sacrificing heroines you’d expect from a typical magical girl story. On the other hand, the anime also borrows a lot from shonen battle anime. We get these dynamic, well choreographed action sequences full of horror and gore, the focus on the importance of camaraderie between allies (or “nakama”, as shonen anime would call it) exemplified through all the bonding between the main girls during their downtime, and in the necessary co-operation to bring down the Wonder Killers. That said, this anime is not a shonen; the characters, types of conflicts, and themes are quite different from those that you’d find in a typical shonen. The bleeding together of the shonen genre and the magical girl genre, at the very least (and I say this because I think it does way more than just that), reflects Wonder Egg Priority’s interest in rebelling against conventional narratives about girlhood and gender.
#wonder egg priority#wonder egg priority analysis#wep#w.writing#my writing#anime analysis#analysis#anime#w.analysis
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The main problem with the whole mal vs the darkling thing in regards to being possessive (or really when it comes to any of their traits) is the fact that throughout, the darkling is clearly framed as the villain and his actions reflect that, whereas Mal as supposed to be the good guy and best romantic partner for Alina, and yet he has all these awful character traits and tendencies. So its less about how awful the Bad Guy is (since he's supposed to be), and more about how awful the person that we're supposed to believe is the best option for Alina is. I don't ship either, just my two cents.
Okay well... two things. First, your comment about "its less about how awful the bad guy is, since he's supposed to be", takes every comment I've made about Darkles out of context, which seems fitting since everything Darklina's spout about Mal is out of context. Him being the Bad Guy is fine, and if you like him AS A VILLAIN, and acknowledge all the bad shit he does, then my posts aren't for you. I think he's a very interesting villain, and a lot of the terrible shit he does that I have to keep making posts about make him a good villain, the problem is when the terrible shit the "Bad Guy" does is romanticized and viewed as the reasons why Alina SHOULD have picked him. So, don't assume everyone gets that "hes supposed to be awful". The point my post was making is that Darklina's love to call Mal possessive, but then turn around and act like Darkles literally enslaving her in somehow sexy and romantic. It's fucking not, and it's transparent as hell that y'all romanticize and sexualize the actually possessive character, and then project false character traits onto Mal. It's so transparent, it's almost funny.
But, more importantly, to your second, very wrong point, I wonder how much of the narrative about Mal having "awful character traits and tendencies" is actually a commentary on Mal as a character, or is it just Darklina's lying about things Mal has done and everyone accepting that misinterpretation as canon. Because, if were making a list...
Fuck boy - False! Mal was not a fuck boy! He was an attractive teenager who hooked up with consenting girls his age when he could, and he was not in a relationship during that time. Alina had never told him how she felt, so he is not beholden to her. (Also, nobody seems to have an issue with the fact that Darkles hooked up with Zoya in the show, that doesn't make HIM a fuckboy... interesting) (also also, nobody seems to discuss Darkles literally sexually assaulting Alina, and lying and manipulating her to get her to be physically intimate with him so he can use her... double interesting).
Slut Shames Alina - FALSE! The ever favourite callout line from Darklina's "He's all over you" isn't him slut shaming her. First, he has no idea what their relationship is like at that point, but more importantly, he is making an observation of her status in the little palace and how she has become his tool. He has dressed her up in his colors, made her put on a show for his benefit, and has created a situation where Alina appears to be his. Mal is noting that after months of searching for her, believing she was being hurt, tortured, or worse, when he arrives to save her, she looks like the Darkling's pet. (and, even if he WAS angry because he perceived them to be romantically involved, boy just spent months fighting for his life, lost multiple friends, and almost died to find her, all while coming to the realisation that he was in love with her, and then he shows up, after not hearing from her for months... I'd be pissed as hell too.) Important Note: He even acknowledges that what he said was wrong and tries to apologise, before Alina tells him that he was right. (Shadow and Bone, pg. 286). He also then apologizes, completely unprompted, for what he said. (Shadow and Bone, pg. 297).
Fat Shames Alina - False! This one is particularly laughable to me, because its one of the Darklina arguments that falls apart the second you actually read the scene. They are running for their lives in the forest, and Mal has to hunt and gather to feed them. He is noting that Alina's appetite has increased since he last saw her, and he makes a joke (ya know, how you do with friends) about how it would be easier to keep her fed if she still had her more meager appetite from before. He makes no comment on her weight, or her size, and he is not actually commenting on her appetite in a negative way, he is just acknowledging that it's a lot more work for him now that she eats more. Right before he says the line, the quote even proves that he isn't shaming her or thinking badly of her: "With a bemused expression, he watched as I gobbled down my portion and then sighed, still hungry". He is noting a change in her, and complaining that its made more work for him. If you think thats the same as fat shaming, well... thats a you problem.
Hates Alina's Powers - FALSE!!!! How to begin... do we talk about it was Mal's idea to hunt the stag in S&B, because he knew she needed it to be more powerful so she could stop the darkling? Do we talk about how he vowed to find the firebird for her, even though he was terrified of what all that power would do to her? Do we talk about how he literally died so she could achieve the power she needed to save the world? Or maybe we could talk about how he believed in her power more than anyone else, like when everyone was making bets about her abilities with the Cut and he knew she'd go further and better than anyone else expected her too, or when he tells her that he was never afraid of her powers, only what seeking all that power would do to her (which is literally the theme of the books, that power corrupts and seeking unmatched power can destroy you)? Mal being afraid of what is going to happen to Alina, being protective of her and worrying over her, is not the same as him hating her powers. He exists to help remind Alina of the themes of the story, and to guide her into maintaining her humanity.
Abusive - ... Do I even need to explain this one? Must I deign an explanation as to why this favourite Darklina lie is so fucking stupid, and also totally hypocrisy? No? Because we all know Darkles is actually the abusive one and they're trying to project their own shit onto Mal to further their abuse apologist agenda? Cool. Moving on.
Possessive of Alina - False! Throughout the entire series, Mal is quite literally the opposite of possessive, but yall just cant read. Not only does he quite literally step out of the way and allow Nikolai to court Alina without argument, which is the most direct example of him not being possessive, he also spends two full books believing, and repeatedly saying over and over and over, that they can't be together because he is not good enough for her. Mal believes, fully, that Alina deserves more than him, better than him, because he's just a tracker and a soldier, just a regular man with nothing to offer her but his love and his protection, and she is a Saint and should be a Queen. Possessiveness is the wish to own and control someone, it is literally the opposite of Mal believing that he's not good enough and doing everything he can to ensure that Alina achieves everything and gets everything he believes she is owed. A possessive character would not tell her to tell him to leave because he has nothing he can offer her, no title or land or country or crown. A possessive character would not promise to be the blade in her hand, because he believed he had nothing but the blood he could spill to offer her.
Angry - True! Yeah, omg, you caught us, Mal is ANGRY! Heaven forbid a teenager who is traumatized beyond belief and has to give up everything in his life, his position in the military (he deserted for her), his friends and the job he loved (Mikhail and Dubrov died for him, and he can't be a tracker in the army... because he deserted... for Alina), and, most importantly, he has to give up Alina (she should be Queen, he believes, and he has to give up the future he imagined with the girl he loves, who he was pretty sure loved him back, because she's a saint and queen and he's just a man), and more, is ANGRY. He has to be the one to find the amplifiers that he knows will end up hurting her, because thats what she needs to save the world. He has to sit by while Nikolai treats him like the dirt on his shoe and tries to woo Alina for his own personal gain (because Nikoalai did not love Alina. Maybe he came to care for her, but he proposed and spent all of S&S trying to get her to marry him when it was obvious they were not in love. He straight up says its so that the next King of Ravka can be married to the Sun Summoner. It's a power grab.) and he can't do anything about it. So yeah, Mal is angry. And yeah, sometimes he's even angry at Alina, just like sometimes she's angry at him. But they always find their way back, always apologize and try to be better for each other, and if you think anger is a toxic trait, and not simply a natural human emotion, might I suggest touching some fucking grass?
Idk why you thought I'd stand for Mal slander on my blog, cuz I will not. So, I'm gonna stop there, because I have shit to do today, but I really do wonder how much of Mal's 'toxic' or 'terrible' traits, that make him such a 'bad' love interest for Alina, really comes from Darklina's who refuse to actually read the text critically at all, and instead take everything he does and says out of context to further their agenda that Alina should have ended up as the Darkling's fucking slave forever, because thats the "girl power feminist" ending somehow. Mal supports her, loves her, sacrifices for her at every turn, and does everything he can do, to the point of literally dying for her, to ensure that she can defeat Darkles and save the world. He protects her, and when they end up happy and safe together on the orphange that they've rebuilt to help the children that were victims of Darkles war and genocide, he spends his days bringing her tea and cakes and flowers, kissing her silly under the stairs in the view of all the teachers, and calling her names like beauty, beloved, cherished, my heart for the rest of their ordinary life together, if love can ever be called that.
#Malina#anti darklina#malyen oretsev#mal oretsev#shadow and bone#if yall could just learn to fucking read... i am begging you
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Disclosure
Summary: How did Rick end up locked in a closet handcuffed to Rylee? How did the simple recon mission take a nosedive off a cliff?
TRIGGER WARNING: sexual assault described, thoughts and feelings surrounding the assault discussed. I am not glorifying/romanticizing sexual assault; the events described are from life experience.
Warnings: canon type injuries, field triage, sexual assault described, bullying described, frenemies to lovers.
W/C: 3.9k
Rating: E (explicit - 18+) - simply for the described sexual assault.
Characters: Rick Flag, OFC. Small Part: Harley Quinn
Pairing: Rick Flag x OFC.
Notes: I came across this Dialogue Prompts List by @skriveting, and some of them were pure gold, and this fic kinda wrote itself. I used 20 of the prompts and adjusted a few to make them fit.
Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // @cockslut-padalecki - all mistakes belong to me.
Graphics: pics found on google, dividers by me.
Master Lists: Main // DC
Disclosure
“What’s going on?” Rick asked, coming to. His mind was foggy, and his body ached from the earlier fight. The cold seeped through his thin suit pants from the concrete beneath him. He didn’t know where he was, but he did know he’d be sore tomorrow. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the musty-smelling room, which consisted of metal shelving that held nothing much but dust, filling three walls and the door.
“Be quiet,” Rylee answered, panting for breath. Without seeing her, he knew she’d rolled her eyes closed in the way he was sure would give her an Aneurysm one day.
“Why?”
“I’m grieving.”
“Grieving what?”
“My dignity.” She sighed, and Rick felt her weight droop against his back. She hissed, and through gritted teeth, she said, “I need your help.”
“No shit!” He scoffed. She had always been so bloody dramatic, but today took the fucking cake. “What the hell was that out there? We’re supposed to be low-key. Stealth operations mean anything to you?”
“I was at the debriefing; I have some idea.”
“Apparently not.”
Her fingers brushed his hand, but she wasn’t seeking them; she was picking the lock of the cuffs that tethered them together behind their backs. “Keep talking, Flag, and maybe one day you’ll blurt out something intelligent.”
“Here’s something intelligent,” he growled, “you’re a liability.“
He should have fought Waller harder. He knew Rylee wasn’t ready. Clearly, whatever had been going on with her lately wasn’t resolved, and she shouldn’t have been in the field. She’d been so hot and cold recently Rick never knew if he was going to need board shorts or a parka. Rylee hadn’t aired her misgivings about being on a mission with him. That alone should have been enough for him to know something was wrong. Amanda had always had to play referee between the two of them, forcing one or both of them to back down with the threat of discipline if they couldn’t find a way to work together. It wasn’t that they disliked each other, the opposite actually, but they were constantly pushing for control. Neither of them was willing to give it up without a fight. But this time, Rylee waited until Waller left the room, and then all she’d done was throw him a dirty look across the table.
“Look, I’m not any more thrilled about this than you are,” Rick said, “but can we pretend to like each other for one night?”
He did like her, so much so he’d asked her on a date the month before. To his delight, she had accepted but canceled at the last minute without explanation. Since then, she acted as if he were her sworn nemesis.
“All right, fine,” she sneered. “But just know that I’ll be wanting to throw up the whole time.”
“Likewise.”
She usually had more than a childish retort for him. That was sufficient evidence, evidence he’d missed, to tell him she was off her game.
“I’m the liability?” she yelled. “You’re the one who cuffed us together!”
“To make you stop whatever fucking crusade you were on that was gonna get us both killed!”
“Yeah, well, one of us still might die.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, taking it as an idle threat but a threat nonetheless.
“Shut up. I’m trying to concentrate.” She tugged the cuffs, and it cut into his wrist.
“How did we end up here?”
“Harley! After you cuffed us, she decided we could use a time out; said we were gonna fuck up the operation if we kept yelling at each other. So she double cuffed us, and next thing I know, I woke up stuck to you!”
Rick wouldn’t accept the blame in her tone. “This one’s on you.” The cuffs released, and the metal bracelet fell away. He rubbed his wrists, continuing his remark, “If anyone were ever to write a biography about you, it’d be called The Life of a Dumbass. And situations like this are the exact reason why!”
He turned to look at her, ready to rip her to shreds about protocols and following his lead as her superior, but she was slowly dragging herself away. Her sluggish movement and lack of snarky response fizzled fear in his gut. Then he saw the smear of blood that followed her. She reached the wall and turned to rest her back against it. Crimson painted her lower stomach and soaked the top of her pants.
He met her eyes, and she smiled mirthlessly. “It’s not a big deal,” she winced, applying pressure now that her hands were free. “Don’t worry about it.”
Oh, this was the moment she chose not to be dramatic. Great. Just fucking great.
“You’re literally bleeding out!”
“It’s fine-”
“No, it’s not,” he exclaimed, quickly crawling toward her. He took off his jacket and rolled it up as a makeshift pillow before he lowered her to lie flat.
She grimaced and held her breath as she adjusted herself against the cold floor. “Like I said, I need your help. You’re gonna need to cauterize it. You got your lighter?”
He pursed his lips but nodded. “Fuck.” He jumped to his feet and checked the door, locked. Pointlessly, he kicked at it to alleviate some of his aggravation. He searched the room, looking high and low on the shelves. He needed something metal to heat up. Rick grumbled, “we’re stuck in here, and you’re bleeding out!”
“I don’t know. It could be worse,” Rylee said, in between heavy breaths.
Oh, she was optimistic now. That was new. God, she infuriated him. If she didn’t die in here, he would have her ass on the chopping block for fucking up so bad.
“But it could definitely be a whole lot better too,” Rick countered.
“You have a point there.”
“Wait,” he said, pausing his search to look at her over his shoulder. “Did you just agree with me?”
“Blood loss,” she suggested, “won’t happen again.”
Rick’s search was fruitless; they were in a supply closet with no supplies. Paper towels that looked like they’d crumble as soon as he touched them and cleaning products that had a thick layer of dust on them.
“The cuffs,” she told him, “it’s all we got.”
He dropped to his knees at her side. “Let me take a look.” he hoped it wasn’t as bad as the blood suggested as he peeled back her shirt. A two-inch-long wound blemished her stomach, just above her left hip bone. There was no telling how deep the knife had gone. “The team will be back for us soon,” he said, assuringly but couldn’t be certain if it were more for himself or to comfort her. He grabbed the cuffs and fished the lighter from his pocket. “They’ll get us out. You just need to hold on till then.”
“Wait, are you worried about me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I just don’t want to have to deal with your corpse. Too much paperwork,” he said, heating the metal.
She chuckled at that. Whatever humor she found in the situation was lost on Rick. “Now I kinda wanna die just for you to have to do extra paperwork.”
“Live for me instead. Think of how much more you can annoy me when you’re breathing.” The silver metal glowed red. He wasn’t ready to do this, so he stalled, “Harley would kill me if you died on my watch. So please don’t.”
“Are you scared of ol’ Harley Quinn?”
“Yes, absolutely,” he said. “So, helping you is purely selfish self-preservation.”
There was no point in a countdown. It would hurt whether he did it immediately or on the count of three. He ripped his tie off and unceremoniously stuffed it in her mouth. She grumbled around it, shooting him an incredulous look, but it was short-lived as in the same instant he pressed the heated metal to her skin. She cried out, and he heard how the compressed scream scratched her throat. She coughed and choked but bit down on the silk in her mouth. Her skin sizzled, and Rick had to shut his eyes, unwilling to watch her in such excruciating pain.
After what felt like a lifetime, he felt her relax under the pressure of his hand, and he risked taking a peek at her. Her eyelids drooped. “No, no, Rylee,” he said, tapping the side of her cheek. “Don’t pass out on me. You gotta stay awake.”
She struggled, eyes fluttering closed with relief when he removed the metal from her burnt flesh, but she fought the fatigue, spitting his tie out of her mouth. “You forget how to count or something?” she asked, punching out at his arm. She had so little strength left, he barely felt it and didn’t bother moving out of range. “Asshole!”
“Sorry,” he shrugged.
He waited for her breathing to return to normal and made sure no more blood leaked from the seared wound before he continued his search of the room, looking for a way out. When it was finally clear there was none, he ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the short strands as frustration threatened to make him howl.
She watched him from her position on the floor, pale skin glistening with sweat, and he worried she was going into shock. But she smiled softly, “Don’t worry, Flag. Everything is going as planned.”
“That’s because you have no plan.”
“Exactly!”
Frustratingly he growled, but it was infused with worry. This was not how the night was supposed to go. A fake date, a few drinks, a nice dinner - at the expense of the tax-paying Americans - and Rylee ‘accidentally’ falling drunkenly against the target to plant a tracker. The Suicide Squad would follow him, wait for him to be in a less populated area, and take him down. Simple. Easy. A fucking cakewalk, with literal cake. Until Rylee had gone and lost her shit over seemingly nothing.
“What happened out there?” he asked.
Her contemplative expression met his eyes, and for a moment, Rick thought she was finally going to open up, tell him what the fuck had been going on lately. Instead, she dropped her gaze and shut him down with a curt, “Nothing.”
“According to my sources, that’s a load of bullshit.”
“What sources?”
“How about my common sense?” He cocked his brow, challenging her to disagree, but she gave him nothing. “I know you like to act like you got nine lives, but you're never normally reckless.”
“First time for everything, right?” she said and struggled to sit up. Though she panted and winced through the pain, she was still stubborn enough to bat Rick’s hand away when he tried to help her.
He watched her drag herself to rest against the wall, shaking his head; she was vexing. She made him feel like his head was exploding. “Here are my final thoughts: You are stupid, and this plan was dumb.”
“So you admit I had a plan?”
“Changing the subject or trying to joke your way out of this isn’t going to get me to back down. So I wish you’d stop trying.”
“And I wish you’d stop being so annoying. Guess neither of us is getting what we want anytime soon, huh?”
“Rylee,” he warned, “don’t make me pull rank.”
Her lips set in a tight line, and her nostrils flared as she heaved deep breaths. “Why are you so annoying?” she sneered.
“Why are you so mad about it?” he asked. “Something’s going on, something has been going on, so what is it?”
“Please, Rick, just leave it alone.”
He strode over to her with purpose and lowered himself to sit beside her. He rested his head on the wall behind him, blasting out a sigh at the ceiling. “I know annoying each other is one of our favorite past times, but I’ve gotta be honest,” he smiled slyly, “lately, you’ve been lacking in the annoying column,” he said, waiting for her to comment, but she remained silent.
Quiet shrouded them for a long moment. Rick chanced side glances at her, only to make sure she hadn’t fallen asleep.
He needed a new strategy, a softer, kinder approach, to let go of the rejection he felt. He nudged his shoulder gently against hers, “You’ve already lost your dignity and asked me for help,” Rick joked, “so might as well let me help some more.”
She turned to look at him, and he held her gaze, sincerity, and willingness softening his features. “Talk to me, please,” he begged.
“A few months ago, I was,” she paused, picking her next word carefully. “Attacked.”
Attacked. He knew exactly what she meant before she continued, and he had to look away from her to bite his tongue to keep from unleashing an explosion of seething words.
“I was happy, carefree; the sun was shining. Life was sweet. I was walking back to my car, not paying attention. I’d had a good day, y’know. I’d caught up with a couple of friends, did some shopping, and I was headed home to get ready for a date.”
“Shit,” he groaned, knowing precisely what day she was talking about. “That’s why you canceled on me.” Finally, he understood her hot and cold moods toward him. With the enlightenment that information brought also came the anguish of knowledge. “What happened?” he asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“He came out of nowhere, knocked me on my ass before I knew what was happening. I fought back,” she said, eyes clouding with tears. “Until he pulled a knife, put it to my throat. I…um…I froze. My mind went blank, just this one voice screaming at me to survive, whatever it took.” Rick wanted to reach out and take her hand, but he wasn’t sure that was what she wanted or needed. “Apparently, survival meant compliance, so I kept still, stopped fighting. He didn’t get far, ripped my shirt, groped me a little, and he got my pants open. But then there were voices, people approaching, and he ran.”
“Rylee, I…”
“Don’t apologize. Please,” she said, “don’t pity me. I don’t feel sorry for myself, and you shouldn’t either. I’m angry! How dare someone have the audacity to think they can just take whatever they want. How dare he make me feel so, so, fucking helpless and weak!” she huffed a breath, swallowed an outraged growl.
Her tears slipped down her cheeks, and Rick couldn’t help himself; the instinct to comfort her was overwhelming. He caught hold of her hand, ignoring the stickiness of dried blood, and dragged it into his lap, squeezing as tight as he dared. To his surprise, she squeezed back, both their knuckles turning white.
“If you asked me to describe him, I wouldn’t be able to,” Rylee continued, “but I heard him tonight.”
“Then he saw you,” Rick concluded, remembering the deer in headlights look that froze one of their target goons to his spot.
Rylee nodded. “He saw me, and I saw red. I went after him, you came after me, and all hell broke loose. I got stabbed, I don’t even know how that happened, and now we’re stuck in here. There, all caught up.”
“You did nothing wrong, Rylee,” Rick implored, knowing she wouldn’t believe it. “Not today or when you say you stopped fighting.”
She sniffed back tears. “Please don’t tell me I did the right thing. If those people hadn’t come along,” she shuddered, unable to finish the thought. “I should’ve done more or not given in so easily.”
“You can disagree all you want, but that doesn’t make me any less right,” he said, “survival was your goal, and you accomplished that.”
A sob choked her and Rick scooted closer, putting his arm around her to tuck her into the shelter of his shoulder. He let her cry for a long moment, let her get out the emotions she had clearly been clinging to.
“Have I ever told you why I became a soldier?” he asked, he felt her shake her head, but she wasn’t yet able to speak. “I got bullied in high school. At first, I fought back, struggled as much as I could, shouted for help, kicked up a storm till they left me alone or someone intervened,” he explained, and felt her vibrating sobs subside. “It just made them come after me more, so I stopped fighting back. I gave up. Let them do whatever they wanted to do to me, and believe me, it was bad. Really bad. They’d leave me alone for weeks, and I’d think they were finally bored of it, but then they’d appear when I was walking home or were waiting outside my house on the weekend. They taunted me mentally and physically. I ended up in the hospital a couple times, and of course, I lied to everyone about it. I needed a way out, so I studied my ass off and graduated top of my class a year early so I could escape them. I kept my head down and did what I had to do just to survive one more day.”
She took a shuddered breath, and he heard the jesting smile in her voice, “This isn’t a competition, you know.”
Rick tutted, a grin of his own breaking out, “Spoken like a true loser.”
She jabbed him in the ribs. “What’s your point?”
“My point is, we’re not victims. We’re survivors. Okay, you’ve been a little distant lately, a little too quick to anger, but it means you're processing; you’re not shutting it out. Deal with it however you need to. Just don’t bottle it up.”
She whispered, “I won’t.” and he heard the struggle for her to stay awake.
“You can’t go to sleep,” he panicked.
“There you go again,” Rylee teased, “making me think you actually care about me.”
“I already told you, I’m just scared of Harley’s wrath. You’re her favorite ‘good guy’,” he mimicked Harley’s accent.
“Oh, please,” she scoffed, but she sounded a little drunk. “You and I both know the truth. You’re just too much of a coward to admit it.”
“I’m not a coward,” he refuted, “I’m just afraid you’d cut my balls off if I did admit it.”
Slowly her head raised to look him in the eye, and his stomach dropped to his feet. She was so pale and looked so tired. He cupped her cheek; her clammy skin formed a barrier under his palm.
Her pupils constricted and widened again as if he were out of focus. “Rick,” she whispered.
Her eyes moved from his to his lips and back again, and he did the same, trading lonely glances. The Devil, riding in the backseat of his mind, called out desperately to taste her, to see if it would help him figure out her motives. Was it Rick she wanted or just something real after someone had tried taking it from her?
He wasn’t sure what was happening, but she was getting closer, and then the click of the lock disengaging echoed around the room, and they both pulled apart.
Rick scrambled to his feet, took a step to stand in front of her, and waited for the door to open. Nothing.
He waited another minute and then inched closer to the door.
“Careful!” Rylee whisper-hissed.
“I’m always careful.”
“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard.”
“Rylee, is that you?” Harley called from beyond the closed door.
“Harley, yes, it’s us.”
“Oh, thank gawd,” the blonde said, as the door pulled open, “this is like the tenth closet we’ve checked. All these corridors look the same!”
Rick knocked gently on the door and waited. There was no response. Maybe she was sleeping. He should leave her alone, let her rest, but he needed to check on her for his own sanity. He knocked again, easing the door open a crack to peek inside.
“Hey,” Rylee said, groggy with sleep as she pulled herself to a sitting position.
He gave her a small smile and took the greeting as an invitation, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
She frowned when she met his eyes again. “Something wrong?” she asked, “Waller came by for my reports earlier. Did I miss something?”
“No, no, it’s all good,” he said, hovering by the door, hands shoved into his pockets. Typical Rylee; laid up in a hospital bed, and of course, she was still all about business.
“So why’re you here?”
“I…um… I just wanted to check on you.” He sounded as awkward as he felt. “See how you’re doing?”
He was treading on dangerous ground. They weren’t exactly friends, a little less than enemies. But not by his doing, Rylee had shut him out. Her smile was jesting, and her eyes shone with mischief. “And here I was thinking you only cared about me for your own selfish self-preservation.”
He rolled his eyes as he pulled a chair up to the side of her bed, smirking, “Only you would be stupid enough to think that.”
She shied away from his gaze, looking down at her hands in her lap. “Don’t worry, Flag. Doc says I’m out of the woods. Harley has no reason to kill you,” she smiled ruefully. “Thank you for today. For having my back when you had no idea what I was running into, and for your medical skills. I’m forever in your debt, my friend.”
Ouch. She’d never called him a friend before, and it stung more than he liked. Then again, she’d never thanked him either. They’d shared a moment back in the closet, but it seemed that’s where she wanted it to remain. “Just buy me a burger, and we’ll call it even, okay?”
“As soon as I’m on my feet, I’ll buy you all the burgers you can eat,” she confirmed.
He was back on that dangerous ground again, but he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. “It’s a date.”
“A date?”
“Yeah, y’know, a date,” he explained, “that thing two people that like each other go on to get to know each other a little better, enjoy each other’s company, spend time together.”
She laughed, but her grin was happy, relieved almost. “Don’t you have to be stupid somewhere else?”
“Not until four,” he said, rising off his chair to place a kiss on her cheek.
She grabbed the collar of his shirt as he started backing away, holding him in place. “That's all you got for me?” she asked, smirking, “I almost died, Flag.”
Rick scoffed, rolling his eyes. The drama queen was back. “Always so dramatic.”
She shrugged. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a real kiss?”
He smiled, bright and wide, his stomach doing somersaults. “She’s just gotta ask.”
“I swear if you don’t, I will tell Harley you were the one…”
Rick cut off the threat with his lips pressed against hers, and he felt her hold her breath. He gave her a second, and when she didn’t relax, he tried again to retreat, but she tugged on his collar, keeping him close. She teased his mouth open, and when their tongues met, they simultaneously moaned. It had been a long time coming, and Rick berated himself for not making a move sooner. For maybe the first time since they’d met, they weren’t at loggerheads, battling for control. He could taste her motives, and for once, they were aligned with his.
End.
#Rick Flag#rickflag#trigger warning#tw#colonelrickflag#colonel rick flag#rick flag x ofc#ofc#original female character#harley quinn#tss#ss#suicide squad#the suicide squad#dcu#dc fic#dcu fic
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(tw: breif talk of suicidal stuff/depression/self-harm, past sexual assault, venting) My life is so stressful right now and like- it's activating the [redacted bad thoughts that arise whenever I want an easy way out of heavy life events] my brother home and shit, and my grandparents are talking about redoing my whole house so that they can live in our basement so that they can avoid living in my aunt's house- who has a completely done basement just because my grandmother doesn't like how my uncle talks to her. That's literally the only reason.
and they don't have any money, and my mom and my brother only have a little bit and my grandfather has my brother believing some of this like- extravagant shit that they're going to do with our house which is basically tare it apart and redo it for nearly half a million dollars which is just- so untheasable and ridiculous and they just yell at anyone who calls them ridiculous and it's so fucking frustrating to deal with a bunch of men who really have no common sense.
and as much as I know my house is a piece of shit it is also my home that I've lived in for my entire life and my brother keeps saying that because I don't own it and I'm living with my mom I have no say in what happens to it and like the layout of the rooms and- fuck.
my sister and I were talking about it and I was getting overwhelmed this weekend and like- I literally had an intrusive thought that became an intrusive word out my mouth sort of situation and I just said like "yeah I need to die already" when I meant to say, "I need to move out already" and she looked really shocked but she didn't say anything and we just kinda glossed over the moment and moved on.
As much as I want to live on my own and be a fully-fledged human being, i know I couldn't cope with having no support system right now. and the only way i'd be able to move out is if i went to another country where like- the cost of living was cheaper, and while I do wanna go teach in South Korea, I really do, but the last time i lived there like- things weren't as good as I always make them out to be like
i know i romanticize the fuck out of the time i lived there- but literally the first week i bought a razor and was like internally "if i feel like i can't go home i won't make it home" and of course, alot of things changed and my life didn't suck as much by the time i actually left. I met my soulmate and i really became myself, But i still almost threw myself off a fucking bridge when i lived there and was raped and drugged by two separate men.
i really feel like now, especially with how things are in the world, i don't want to live away from my mom like She might be shitty to me sometimes but she really is the only person who loves me at all besides my one friend. and my brother is making me feel like I have no right to the home we've both lived in our whole lives. and I have no way to buy into the house even if I wanted too- which I'm not sure I do
i mean, i was raped and abused and sexually assaulted here too. i still shower in the same bathroom where I had to clean up my own blood after trying to kill myself. I want the house to be redone and I want things to change I just don't want it to happen this way, i don't want to feel pushed out of my own home before i can stand on my own two feet and like- what am i even trying to do with my life anyway.
#vent post#i'm not sure i have enought energy to respond so if you send me an ask about this I'm sorry if I don't answer#i just have no one to talk too#i wouldn't consider myself activly suicidal right now#it's just more passive#more of the usual#most of the time i think that I don't really need to know what my life is gonna turn out to be i'd be just fine with never knowing#my body barely belongs to me anyway I might as well reclaim it with one final act you know
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Thoughts on the ship Rosalie/Bella?
While it’s a nice thought, sadly, I don’t think either Rosalie or Bella are what the other would ever seek in a partner.
Indeed, I think the other would be too close of a reminder to what they see in the worst of themselves. So, even in better circumstances, I don’t think they’d choose each other.
Let’s break that down.
What is Rosalie Looking For?
Rosalie’s past is one filled with brutal trauma, betrayal, and heartbreak. She has been violated by men in the worst of ways, betrayed by the man she thought would be her husband, and then has the surreal experience of being turned into something that, while alive, is not human.
She romanticizes the human life she could have had, clinging to it, never acknowledging that circumstances were such that she never would have had it.
Rosalie never was going to get that simple future of being a humble, good, simple man’s wife with beautiful children and a comfortable life. She was raised in society, uncommonly beautiful and charming, and was set to marry the wealthiest man she could. It might not have been Royce, she could have married a good man, but she would have married into this wealthy world and not ended up with someone like Emmett.
I think this is very telling.
For very understandable reasons, Rosalie has never confronted nor truly gotten over her trauma. Oh, she murdered her rapists and murderers, and put their deaths behind her, she married Emmett and has a (fairly) good relationship with him, but she hasn’t taken her full final steps to recovery.
I think this in part shows in her ending up with a guy like Emmett.
Emmett’s not bad, don’t get me wrong, but it’s very telling in what he loves of Rosalie and that Rosalie loves him for it.
He worships her beauty above all other things and is described as a very simple but pleasant and laidback guy. I think Rosalie is at the point where she wants to be worshipped, especially for the quality that was most valued in her human life, her beauty.
She wants to be with someone safe, someone who loves her, and that someone is definitely Emmett.
I think in the short run this works out very well for the pair of them and perhaps even in the long run. I think both could have chosen a better partner.
Rosalie is complicated, she’s not the shallow vain bitch Edward complains she is nor is she what Emmett seems to see her as. Emmett doesn’t really get his wife, or defend her all that much, he’s in love with her beautiful cheerleader persona. Rosalie, similarly, is in love with this man whose greatest attribute is his love of her. I’m sure there are moments she finds Emmett rather boorish and slow on the uptake.
What Do I Think Rosalie Needs?
To be honest, of all the characters where I raise my eyebrow at Meyer putting them with someone of the opposite gender, Rosalie’s one of the ones where they raise the highest.
Even Carlisle, when Rosalie drags in this man’s bleeding carcass, goes, “Oh, is this your cousin?” And has a “Him?!” moment when Rosalie explains this is her new husband.
I always would have expected, especially after her experiences, for Rosalie to be with a woman. That said, I do think her society’s prejudices and expectations would be a huge barrier for her and she’d have to do a lot of character growth before this would ever be possible. And I mean a lot of character growth, as in, Rosalie hasn’t reached this point even post Twilight saga.
Right, regardless of gender, I think Rosalie needs a partner who a) understands her b) does not value her looks c) accepts the good and the bad parts of her.
Like all of us, Rosalie is flawed. She’s a very impressive, down right intimidating, woman who has an iron clad will and gets what she wants. She has a deep love for her family and a great capacity for compassion. However, there are times when she’s the sixteen-year-old girl who has very much not escaped her society’s mindset. She fully advocates Bella Swan’s murder so the family won’t have to move, not realizing until Carlisle points it out that this is a heinous thing to do. Rosalie says vicious, racist, things to Jake likely never realizing exactly what it is she’s saying. She’s stubborn, proud, and as Edward put it a bit pig-headed.
Emmett tends to just go “Yeah, she’s a bitch, but she’s my bitch”. Which... great, thanks Emmett, that’s very helpful.
Bella Swan is Not That Person
Bella per the start of the series is a seventeen-year-old girl with cripplingly low self-esteem, huge parental issues, and a dangerous inclination towards depression.
Bella shows serious interest in women sexually (her relationship with Alice has some serious homoerotic undertones) but she’s also very intimidated by them. Rosalie, especially, makes Bella evaluate and feel worse about herself as she knows she will never be as beautiful as this teenage blonde goddess.
In other words, this Bella is not in a position to be the kind of person Rosalie needs. She’s too caught up in figuring out who she herself is, cares very much about Rosalie’s appearance and using it to compare against her own, and isn’t stable enough to be what Rosalie needs.
And by the end of canon... Well... Bella’s left the planet and will soon join Esme in being a hauntingly strange person entirely divorced from reality.
What if we’re in a slightly AU world?
Well, we’re banking on a lot of character development for Bella that I don’t believe can happen with Edward around. Either Bella shows interest in Edward or, well, he eats her. (No, seriously, this is canon, both Alice and Edward confirm as much.)
And if the family packs up and leaves during New Moon and never comes back... Well, of all the people Bella might end up with after that, I think Rosalie might just be the least likely (not to mention Rosalie would not be down for hanging around Edward’s stupid human girlfriend).
What is Bella Looking For?
Bella’s looking for validation of her very self. She wants to be loved, more than that, she wants to be worth something.
Bella has such a low opinion of herself that, at this point in her life, she needs this feeling to come from elsewhere. She finds this in both Edward and Jacob.
And it doesn’t matter how scary they are (and both are, indeed, very scary towards her), it doesn’t matter what it is they value, just that they both seem to want her even though she’s a foolish, clumsy, pale, ugly, human, nobody, loser.
That’s all Bella wants.
Edward’s a perfect storm in that he’s inhumanly perfect, beautiful beyond all comprehension, and completely obsessed with her. In Edward’s eyes, Bella is not just perfect, she’s fascinating.
And then, of course, she’s not and it utterly destroys her.
Basically, Bella’s is a very sad life.
What Does Bella Need?
Bella needs time to grow up and find out who she is and how to value that.
Bella is your very typical teenage girl. She’s precocious, has a lot of issues growing up with her mom, but she has a lot of issues many teenage girls do have.
I think, before Bella can find a truly good partner, she needs to learn how to value herself.
This will be painful and take a lot of time. In New Moon, I think Jake actually sets her back as she uses him to find value in herself for her (essentially replacing Edward).
Only after Bella discovers who she is, reaffirms why she is important and worthy of love, can she find someone.
What does that person look like?
Well, it sure as fuck isn’t Vampire Patrick Bateman, otherwise known as Edward Cullen. Nor is it Jake Black who sexually assaults her, tells her to kiss him or he’ll kill himself, then tells her that her dying is pointless as it means he and Edward fought over nothing.
It also isn’t Alice, who treats Bella a lot like she would a life-sized Barbie Doll rather than a friend and a human being.
I’m not sure who it is, to be honest.
Someone who recognizes who Bella is, certainly, the good and the bad. Someone who is able to... reconcile her with the world she truly lives in. Maybe, circumstances changing around a bit, it’s Carlisle Cullen? (Though that would certainly be a dumpster fire of divorce and despair with Edward and Esme) Maybe it’s Jasper (also a dumpster fire of divorce and despair with Edward and Alice)?
I really have no idea here. Unlike Rosalie, I can’t even tell you what this person would need to be like.
What I do know is...
Rosalie is Not That Person
Just as Bella views Rosalie as a threat, as something to measure herself against and feel unworthy of in every way, Rosalie does the same.
Bella is a pretty human woman who captures Edward’s attention in a way she never can. Rosalie, at the time we start canon, for all her accomplishments and all she’s done is still insecure enough that she needs to be the prettiest woman in the room.
Just as Bella’s not secure enough to be what Rosalie needs, Rosalie is not secure enough to be what Bella needs.
Rosalie also doesn’t see Bella for what she is. Rosalie sees, at first, a normal boring human teenager and dismisses her. She falls into the typical Cullen trap (for all but Carlisle) that they forget humans are people too. Later, Bella discounts Rosalie’s very earnest advice and Rosalie never forgives her for it. This is understandable, Rosalie lays her soul bare, but she forgets Bella’s a teenage girl and more can’t see what Bella herself is battling with.
Bella thinks being human is worthless because Bella thinks being Bella is worthless. Children and a human future mean nothing to her.
It would take a lot, A LOT, of character development for Rosalie to be someone that Bella needs in this situation and even then... Well, they’d have to deal with the horrifying shit show that is Edward. Because if Edward/Bella isn’t happening...
It’s lunch time.
TL;DR
I’d say pin your hopes on Alice/Bella, except that one’s not happening either for all that they do have their very homoerotic friendship.
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Why Cullen?
Today I bring you a post I’ve been in the process of mentally drafting for a while, a post that essentially analyzes the age old question in the Dragon Age fandom: Why is there always something with Cullen?
To do this, I am going to go through different “phases” of Cullen discourse. My thesis and answering the titular question: It’s complicated, and I don’t think I can answer “Why Cullen,” but “there’s sometimes recycled discourses made about his character through the years, maybe there’s a pattern.” When it comes to Cullen’s detractors, I understand the fact that it might be frustrating to see much content for someone so “boring” when there’s more “interesting” and “well done” characters (though interest is of course relevant) so it leads to a lot of vitriol from both new and old fans who think the man had too much screen time already. Furthermore, he is highly complicated man dressed as a Disney prince, and the “Disney-esque” feel of his romance creates a dissonance between coming to terms with his problematic past and reveling in the romanticism. We can have a happy medium everyone, but because of what I can only describe as “tik tok thought” it’s become looked down upon to have problematic favorites, which leads to guilt in liking something problematic, or outright revisionism.
But liking things with problematic elements doesn’t make you a bad person.
Alright, let’s begin:
The first phase truly began of course with DAO with Cullen’s crush on the female Circle Mage Warden. Some were endeared, others not so much. I cannot speak to this phase too much as I was around 15-16 and pretty preoccupied with my high school drama instead of fandom, though I played both DAO and DA2 upon it’s release and followed updates for DA2 before it came out. Despite not being an active fandom member I was what they would call, a lurker. I knew some people liked Cullen and thought he was cute, wishing for more screen time after the game and hoping he’d be in DAI through IMDB message boards (remember those?) and YoutTube comments. When news broke he’d be an advisor in DAI and a romance option, I remember seeing a lot of people in those same spaces rejoice. I’m sure there were also people who weren’t so pleased, but from what I saw, people were happy. When Inquisition did release, I actually did quite a bit more lurking on tumblr despite the fact I didn’t have a blog, because I played the romance route, really gravitated toward it, and wanted to see fanart and such. People liked the romance, liked his arc and how Bioware handled his struggles with lyrium; and found it realistic. Even in my lurking days I did see some blowback on Cullen from detractors, those who didn’t think he should have been the military advisor (which canonically it makes total sense to me why he’s where he’s at, but I won’t get into it here however.) But likely because I wasn’t fully “in fandom,” my surface level understanding of how tumblr felt about Cullen was relatively positive and there was only standard fare discourse.
Phase 2: I can speak about this phase better because I established this blog in 2017. Two years after DAI was released, you still had a lot of fans who loved his romance and character, but you also saw a lot of those fans really dive into his flaws, insisting even that just focusing on the Disney Prince aspects of him reduced his character. There were also more internal debates. Would realistically Cullen be a good father was one. One thing however was for sure, there was a strange them and us line between detractors and fans, and to many fans, myself included, oftentimes the Cullen blowback would extend beyond the valid, “hey I don’t think his characterization was handled well” or “his redemption arc isn’t that great” to outright vitriolic hate that blatantly ignored his PTSD and lyrium addiction, and even sometimes “you just like Cullen because he’s white.” As a POC fan it was a fantastic thing to be accused of. I used to be more involved with discord during this period and I remember a few discussions about this as well. Even those indifferent to Cullen didn’t get it.
Overall, I have to say the air was one where people in Cullen fandom enjoyed all aspects of him, from delving into this troubled past to indulging in the Disney prince aspects of him. It was a happy medium I think, even if occasionally I would see a Cullen fan feel bad for liking him, and feel like they needed to justify it. Heck I even did and still do feel that way sometimes, like I need to justify what I like. But we all come into fandom for different reasons. I come into fandom some days for different things. Sometimes I want smut with my favorite character, other times I want more intense thought pieces and challenging fics. Great thing about fandom is that it’s a bakery that has cherry tarts, cinnamon rolls, or all kinds of pie depending on your mood. Craving a different sweet treat, you can make your own. Or you can commission an artist or writer for something you fancy.
*(sexual assault mentions here late in the paragraph****)And now I’ve been warped back into Cullen/DA fandom through what I am calling phase three, where the general air on Cullen reads as….very different. After having one foot outside DA fandom for a while coming back and reading the air has been different. There was the bizarre nuggetgate and other things with Cullen. Now, instead of accepting his flaws and exploring him there seems to be a lot of revisionism going on, as if his past never happened or we’re supposed to ignore he was a templar. A sexually active Cullen is looked down upon but in a different way from before. Instead of smut works with him “reducing his complicated character.” it’s distasteful to write smut with him where he’s sexually dominant or even just a lot of smut because he was sexually assaulted. (***Now, it is implied that he was, if you are a female Circle mage in DAO, with “sifting through my thoughts, tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have” but this is an implication. I will be honest, it is what I have implied. However, it’s not there if you’re not a female Mage. He was however canonically sexually harassed in the Winter Palace, something I will always argue, even if canon treats it like a joke, even if Leliana tells him to “just look pretty.” Just because he is a man doesn’t make it funny that someone grabbed his bottom, and if you take Cole he flat out says “Cullen is afraid.”***)
So here I am, wondering what changed and what’s going on. Here’s what I believe: Cullen is a complicated character and his flaws and his past make him interesting to me, and they are interesting to explore. However there is nothing wrong with wanting to just explore a romantic, sexual Cullen. He’s a character with many facets. He’s romantic, determined, nostalgic, stubborn, unrelenting, loyal, driven, all things that made him seem so real. Here we get to my theory: in today’s media “criticisms” I see people—particularly younger people—beat themselves up for liking something problematic. It’s like every time you engage with media that’s potentially problematic you have to write essays to yourself why it is so and hold yourself accountable. I see this on tik-tok a lot and why I refer to it as “tik tok thought.” Look at the way some young Hamilton fans talk about the musical, or heck even here, and you may see what I mean. It’s like if you don’t acknowledge the problematic aspects of the historical figures behind their fictional portrayals in the show you’re a bad person. Same thing with nostalgic Disney fans my age in younger, if you don’t clown on Ariel for “choosing a man over anything” (SHE LIKED THE SURFACE WORLD BEFORE SHE MET ERIC) you don’t get your brownie points.
I want to make it clear: being critical of media is good. I am glad I see young people and people my age think about the messages we are given in media, but somehow this is turned into ANALYZE EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME. Ya’ll I’m a grad student. I’m critical most of the time, when I come to my tumblr blog’s lawn I’m here mostly to have some fun, and hey sometimes my fun is being critical. But sometimes it isn’t. You do not have to always be critical. You do not have to beat yourself up for liking something that’s problematic or write an essay about why it is as if that’s your due diligence in stanning a fictional character. I’m going to be honest I used to kind of think I had to justify my likes once, especially because of the Cullen vitriol on tumblr. I worked overtime in my early fanfic efforts to try to prove to the world I knew Cullen was problematic for fear I’d be perceived as just an idiot horny fangirl. Well, let me tell you: I largely don’t think that way anymore. If I want to just enjoy writing some smut or reading some smut with him, I am. But I think there is a second part of this in Cullen fandom currently, a revisionism of his problematic elements. Now, if you have to do mental gymnastics with a character in an effort to ignore problematic elements, perhaps you don’t like the character that much. That’s totally okay. DA has many awesome characters to write about and stan.
So, why Cullen? For so many reasons a bit of a shit show has always followed this character. There’s a divide between fans and his detractors and sometimes there’s a divide within the Cullen fandom. What I can extrapolate for now is the need to keep him squeaky clean and safe and away from anything “problematic” because his of past, his templar roots, or the fact that he’s white when there are POC characters with less content. It reads as a guilt associated with liking him. But please, do not be guilty. He’s not real. Templars aren’t real, mages aren’t real, Cullen isn’t real. Here’s my advice, something I learned while in my directing class in college. What my teacher always said was direct what turns you on, direct a story that gets you thinking, gets you excited. What gets you thinking and excited in a fictional world may be tons of conflict and dramatics, or it may be peace and love. Sometimes it can be both or more. Don’t shame others for coming to a bakery and wanting blueberry when you want cherry, and the baker has both, especially if the baker labels each pie, especially if the recipe for the pie has some salt in it and people like the salt. We can have it all and enjoy it all. What we want in our fiction doesn’t always align with something we may want real life. Lots of people write Modern girl in Thedas stories. Ya’ll if that actually happened to one of us it would probably suck. I’d probably get killed and not even get to meet Cullen and pose around the desk to get things going, so I’d rather it not happen. However, it is fun to read about.
Again, don’t be guilty for liking Cullen, please. But if you have to do a lot of mental gymnastics to like Cullen, maybe you don’t like him at all. To that I say, there are many other amazing characters, or perhaps you could write your own.
#fandom critical#I spent too long on this#deleted a lot#but now it's written and I can move on#Cullen rutherford
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The Unkiss
TW: discussion of sexual assault
The purpose of this post is to explore how and why the Unkiss came to be, and speculate (poorly) on what purpose it may serve in the future. Read under the cut (thanks @esther-dot )
So, I’m going to tell everyone right away that I’m not a very big fan of the pre-existing theories surrounding the Unkiss. Specifically, I tend to disagree with the “how”. This is partly because I think all the explanations offered are too Freudian (*shudder*) and partly because I’ve had a similar instance myself so I tend to project (sue me).
THE HOW
First, let’s look at the pre-existing theories:
The Unkiss is actually a sexual fantasy that Sansa has confused with the real events that happened (exactly what Freud would say. Creepy fuck.)
Sansa invented the Unkiss to romanticize an otherwise traumatic event so she could cope with it better.
Is there any other theory I’m missing? These are the ones I know.
I’m going to jump straight to the second theory. The issue (for me) in this theory is that it sort of assumes that Sansa herself would consider that kiss “romantic” or that it would somehow help her cope the BoB night.
He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. - Sansa VII ACOK
This is the moment. She is expecting a kiss, but wanting it to be over. It’s very clear that the kiss would have been non-con. More importantly, it looks like Sansa herself would consider the kiss non-con.
Why on earth would Sansa invent a kiss she didn’t want in the first place to make coping with an already traumatic event easier?
He kissed me and threatened to kill me, and made me sing him a song. - Sansa II ASOS
This is the first time we are introduced to the Unkiss, and it shows that Sansa’s memory of that night is perfectly intact. The Unkiss is an addition. It isn’t replacing any other, more traumatic memory (like the threat to her life).
Now this is what I think happened:
Her emotions were running high that night, and her mind muddled up real events with the memory of that mounting (practically tangible) terror.
Yeah, it’s that simple. You know how you get really angry in a fight and then later you can’t recall the exact the words? Memory is unreliable. There are plenty of studies to show the varied effects trauma has on memory. There are plenty of studies to show how easily memory can distort. There doesn’t need to be a great, complex reason for Sansa to misremember a traumatic event. Also remember that Sansa may not be entirely sober for this encounter, since Cersei did make her chug that wine before.
Being stuck in a situation where you’re terrified and anticipating some sort of assault any second? Having a single moment where the emotions peak, where you’re sure the assault is going to happen right that moment? Misremembering if the assault did or didn’t happen later? Yup. Been there, done that. I still don’t remember what happened, and it’s been years. I sure as fuck wasn’t romanticizing shit, so it never occurred to me to think that Sansa might be. So when I heard the theories I went back to her chapters and honestly, I don’t think she is either. Not yet.
Then this happened:
She could still remember how it felt, when his cruel mouth pressed down on her own. He had come to Sansa in the darkness as green fire filled the sky. He took a song and a kiss, and left me nothing but a bloody cloak. - Alayne II AFFC
Now this is Sansa romanticizing the Unkiss. She romanticizes the kiss she remembers. That does not mean she invented the kiss to romanticize the BoB, it only means she remembers a non-con kiss from a traumatic night and chose to romanticize it to cope. See the difference?
The kiss isn’t a way for her to romanticize her trauma to cope, she romanticizes the kiss that was a result of her trauma- to cope.
I won’t be so sure of this theory though, because (no offense) but GRRM does seem like the kind of guy who would read Freud and incorporate his ideas in his story. There’s already a shit load of incest and let’s admit it, Sansa canonically has daddy issues. How far or in-depth did GRRM think about the “how” of the Unkiss? We don’t know.
THE WHY
Well, this one has been explained by GRRM himself:
You will see, in A STORM OF SWORDS and later volumes, that Sansa remembers the Hound kissing her the night he came to her bedroom... but if you look at the scene, he never does. That will eventually mean something, but just now it's a subtle touch, something most of the readers may not even pick up on. - GRRM
He also said:
File this one under "unreliable narrator" and feel free to ponder its meaning...- GRRM
So, it’s safe to say that the Unkiss is basically being used to establish that Sansa has an unreliable memory. Of course, other characters probably have unreliable memory too (for example: Arya misremembering the name of Joffrey’s sword) but this is still most likely about Sansa.
Sansa has always been considered an unreliable narrator by the GA anyway, since so much of her narration in the first book was at odds with the narration of Ned and Arya, who were both fan favourites at the time. This should probably indicate to the readers that the other characters are unreliable narrators as well, but it doesn’t. People carry on reading simply assuming that only Sansa’s POV is unreliable, or at least the most unreliable. So using Sansa’s POV to lay the groundwork for memory issues in someone else’s POV is...not gonna work.
This doesn’t necessarily prove that the pay-off of the Unkiss is going to come from Sansa’s POV only, but it makes it seem likely. So I’m going to restrict myself to looking at the possibilities of misremembering stuff from Sansa’s POV.
One more thing we need to look at before we start looking at future possibilities:
"It's not the same," Sansa said. "The Hound is Joffrey's sworn shield. Your butcher's boy attacked the prince." - Sansa III AGOT
On the surface, this looks like another memory edit. The situation is remarkably similar; it was a traumatic event for Sansa, she was not entirely sober when it happened, and now she is misremembering what happened. We know that Mycah did not attack Joffrey, Joffrey attacked Mycah. However, it’s not quite the same. For one, we don’t actually know if Sansa believes that, or if she’s just trying to be contrary to Arya.
Also-
"Sansa, come here." Ned had heard her version of the story the night Arya had vanished. He knew the truth. "Tell us what happened." - Eddard III AGOT
Sansa had told Ned what happened. But then she said-
She blinked at her sister, then at the young prince. "I don't know," she said tearfully, looking as though she wanted to bolt. "I don't remember. Everything happened so fast, I didn't see …"- Eddard III AGOT
So.......is she lying or did her memory actually get fuzzy afterwards? What exactly did she tell Ned? Considering that he’s the one who asks her to “testify”, I’d assume she told things as they really happened (as in Joffrey attacked Mycah). Did her memory of the events slowly fade...and then reverse (as in Mycah attacked Joffrey)? Or is she just taking the neutral stance here, and later the opposing stance (Joffrey’s side) in her fight with Arya? We don’t know.
PURPOSE IT MAY SERVE GOING FORWARD
First, let’s assume that the Trident accident really does count as a memory edit. This would mean that Sansa has edited her memory twice now, which makes it very likely that a third memory edit is coming. There are two directions this can go-
The third memory edit has already happened pre-canon (so technically it would be the first edit)
The third memory edit is going to happen sometime in the next two books.
Warning: this is where I get back on my Jonsa bullshit. Turn back now if you don’t wanna watch me make everything about Jonsa.
Pre-canon Jonsa crush
If the first option is true, and Sansa has already edited her memory once that we don’t yet know about, then a pre-canon crush/moment between her and Jon is...a pretty strong possibility.
I’ll admit, I’m very very skeptical of the pre-canon crush, simply because I think there isn’t enough evidence or foreshadowing for it. On the other hand, the groundwork has already been laid, if GRRM were to go in this direction..it would be believable. Shocking, but believable.
We have numerous mentions of kissing games in the godswoods. We have a pre-canon conversation between Sansa and Jon about How To Hit On Ladies. And much more. The possibility is there.
Sansa having a crush on Jon and being so traumatized she replaced Jon with Waymar Royce?? Sansa getting tipsy on watered down wine and giving Jon a blue rose-
There are other possibilities though, for example, a fight between Sansa and her father and/or Arya that she’s not remembering correctly. It would explain her daddy issues (even more) and work to create conflict between her and Arya (why though). But I don’t THINK there’s any evidence for that..? I don’t know I’m just throwing out ideas.
Moving on to the second option- a third memory edit to come
These memory edits are not likely to be nearly as innocent.
One possibility I’ve heard about is Sansa forgetting her identity and sinking into Alayne. No. Very Unlikely. Sansa’s Stark identity appears to be going strong even in the TWOW preview chapter.
Second possibility- Sansa memory edits Lysa’s death.
She was mad and dangerous. She murdered her own lord husband, and would have murdered me if Petyr had not come along to save me.- Alayne I AFFC
It’s...possible? But it looks like she does remember what Lysa said and how she died. She’s just suppressing/dismissing the parts that implicate Littlefinger, which is not the same as a memory edit, where the memory is changed somehow.
More possibilities- Littlefinger will do something and that will lead to a memory edit. She’ll flee from the Vale and run into Ramsay (I dearly hope not) and bam trauma -> memory edit. The possibilities are pretty much endless.
Now let’s assume that the incident on the Trident was not a memory edit. This means she’s only had one memory edit yet....in which case the pay-off is probably something kiss-related, or it is something she remembers, but which didn’t really happen. A pre-canon kiss, or some serious Freudian shit that I’ve been trying desperately to avoid, a Sansa-Sandor faceoff....yea I’m not actually good at speculation.
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You can say what you want, but Feyre will always be better than your sisters, starting with the fact that if Feyre hadn't forgiven you, you wouldn't have a book of your favorite to piss off. Preferring something is really subjective, you don't have to like a character even though he is the main character in the book. I've liked a lot of backers, Feyre is an exception and I've liked a lot of defective characters, I have no problem with that. But I never romanticized Nesta. I admit that she did some positive things, but I always found this badly built, as if Sarah didn’t know what to do with it. And honestly, if you think this character is complex you urgently need to expand your reading skills. She may be a different character, but to say that Nesta is complex in the first place is wanting to not recognize how abusive she was to Feyre, something that Sarah herself seems to have backed off in the end. Nesta's relationship with Feyre was not just a fight between sisters.
Nesta left a negative mark on Feyre that even the Feyre fighter needs to overcome. When you feel humiliated by someone to the point that it makes you feel less important, then we are not talking about a healthy relationship. Most cases of abuse occur among family members. So I will always say that Feyre would be more than justified in not wanting anything more with his sisters. Is Feyre a perfect character? No. She is far from being. But she is not obliged. It shouldn't be. She should not be forced to forgive people who have always taken good advantage of her and who have never done anything for her. The fact that Elain and Nesta helped in the war is a good thing, but the war was everyone's duty. They could have refused and died in the end. And it is necessary to highlight the role of Elain here, because if it weren't for Elain, Nesta would not have accepted to help Feyre even knowing what that meant. So I'm going to go back to my point to justify why I think Nesta is a character who actually suffers from a bad build and that Sarah tried to save at any cost in the end.
1- She spent the whole life sitting, 10 years, hating Feyre and waiting for her father to do something. But the narrative itself states that her father was crippled and that he developed some kind of trauma that made him apathetic. So, why do you expect such a person to go into a forest to hunt? Could he have tried other things? Yes. But you should also understand that it was limited.
2 - She lived with Feyre for 10 years without realizing that Feyre did not know how to read, but calling her ignorant and savage. How's that? You are built as a character who likes to read. Do you have a sensitivity for that and you didn't understand the basics? How old was Feyre when you were poor? How many years was your education considered complete and satisfactory when you were a few years older? Justifying that you didn't notice it to make you look better had the opposite effect, as it only showed how negligent you were. You weren't obliged to teach Feyre how to read, but you at least could have realized that she couldn't. She would have shown that at least you cared. It wasn't months or years of poverty, it was a decade. So you spent years calling Feyre ignorant and filthy and you never realized how bad she felt about it? So you are so good at discovering people's weaknesses and using it against them?
3 - Elain tries to justify the way she and Nesta were negligent with Feyre with: we had no skills and we didn't receive adequate training just for us to find out in addition that Feyre taught Nessa how to use a bow and even then she didn't move.
4 - it is useless to want to justify that the three were children. They were, in fact, the fault of the father of the three, but as I already pointed out, not without a reason. However, you and I know that Nesta's characterization would take you to that forest if it were for Elain. There would be no age, his mother's shadow or his father's hatred. She would have gone. She always prioritized Elain, including leaving Feyre alone with her father while he was assaulted and she hid with Elain
5 - Repentance? do not. She spent the rest of the years hating Feyre and spending her money on ribbons and boots she didn't need, again ignoring the rags her sister wore. And the narrative implied that Feyre really tried to argue about that, but her opinion didn't matter, there was always an urgency between Elain and Nesta for their futility to be attended to
6 - Don't try to discredit Feyre's point of view about Nesta when you are the first to isolate the positive points that Feyre spoke about his sister, for why show how much "complex" Nesta is
7 - Nesta's justification for Feyre about spending her money (stealing Feyre), was that she knew Feyre could get more. Nesta completely ignores how Feyre needed to risk his life in the forest every time she felt she could spend her money on new boots because "Feyre could get more". And how were you upset with her to the point of treating her badly because she was doing something when her father didn't and at the same time you stole her because you knew she would get more ?????
8 - It is sad to know that Feyre always needs to die or be kidnapped in order for Nesta to show how he feels about her;
9 - Feyre never did anything to make Nesta hate her other than being a better person than she is, even though Nesta feels entitled to hate her;
10 - Feyre is not to blame for Nesta's problems and failures, yet Nesta always finds a way to hurt her because she is angry with other people. She did this for 10 years while feeling angry at her father, she did it by telling about Feyre's risk of pregnancy in the most irresponsible way possible just because she was angry with Amaren. Don't come to me to say that she was concerned for Feyre's well being because she wasn't. If she had really been worried, she would have called Feyre for a chat and would have told her. But she just agreed with Rhysand and left the responsibility to save and support Feyre in his hands. Then she only remembered the danger that Feyre was in to destroy her relationship with Rhysand and Amaren. Seriously, your sister's pregnancy was risky and you couldn't think that she could have fallen dead right there just for you to have your victory over Amaren;
11- "You chose Feyre" Seriously Nesta, how dare you?
12 - It is very easy to build a character like Nesta and then resort to trauma to try to justify her and awaken the empathy of the reader. We got to the point that if we don't like Nesta, we are called misogynists and insensitive. However, before being abused, Nesta was abusive. Her mother was never an obstacle to protect Elain. So her mom is not a good excuse to try to explain why she never did anything for Feyre. Her attempted sexual assault does not give her the right to use people's trauma against them, as she does with Cassian. In fact, she always did this to Feyre before Thomas, Sarah just justified it with "I didn't really know that you couldn't read". Pathetic.
13- in most parts of acosf I couldn't say whether Nesta had a trauma to be cured by her father that she always mistreated for "being sick and traumatized" or if she was just a spoiled and selfish person who resented Feyre's happiness. I'm still confused;
14 - Sarah gave her impossible powers that she clearly didn't know how to develop. What was Nesta after all? A witch? A puppet of the Mother or death incarnate? I am confused about what her powers really were and I was not surprised by the lazy resolution that Sarah invented to get rid of them. I think we all agree that Feyre's pregnancy plot line didn't need to be there or it could have been developed without us having to see Feyre dying again. What a "creative".
I don't think Nesta is a bad character, I just think she is badly built because all of her justifications for behaving in a certain way are not satisfactory or open up holes in the narrative (her relationship with Elain is an example).
To make up for these construction flaws, Sarah tried to justify Nesta out of emotional issues. Establishing a toxic relationship with your mother in the past, an attempted sexual assault in the not-so-distant past, and the recent trauma caused by your father's death. Behind Nesta's decisions, there is always a purely emotional issue and that, in my view, takes away the complexity of the character.
She would be complex if she just admitted that and she was wrong and that was okay. Nobody is perfect. I got to see a good progression from Nesta to book 3 and I was fine with that. I thought that her whole issue with her father was worse than positive. But I think Sarah understands what Nesta was (abusive) and she wanted to ensure that she would be understood by opening up all of her feelings. I think it worked for some and for others it didn't. I found it appealing. I still don't like her, but I'm glad she is no longer allowed to be toxic. But for me she just needed to really explain herself and apologize to Feyre. I never thought Nesta really hated Feyre. The problem was not whether Nesta loved her or not, but the years when she was abusive to Feyre. She should have just recognized what it was and apologized for it.
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𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐰?
TW: Mentions of Anxiety and Sexual Assault
Request: tw; jj imagine, angsty, fluff, yk that jazz. but specifically touch on topics like sexual assault (while having jj as boyfriend but not breakup after gf is assaulted)? idk i don’t ever find much of those and it almost makes me feel sometimes like it’s not that valid which it needs to be shown that it is. totally ok if u can’t write that! sorry if this doesn’t make sense
A/N: This is a topic that is very serious and I did not want to romanticize it anyway. This is very heavy, sensitive, and something that I know, sadly, a lot of people can relate to. If you are struggling with anything please reach out to anyone, you don’t have to go through it alone. As always, my inbox/ requests/ messages are open:) PLEASE let me know what you think. I am so nervous about this one. Shout out to @softstarkey for helping me read over this fic and giving me amazing feedback <3
Full Masterlist
Y/N had been acting differently, she knew it, her friends knew it, and her boyfriend knew it. Their once outgoing, life of the party friend had shifted to stand by the wall, hidden by the shadows instead of dancing on the countertops. Their fashion-forward friend had exchanged her on-trend summer wardrobe and colorful bikinis for black, oversized attire. Their once touchy friend had now become completely closed off, not letting anyone come close to her. They thought that maybe it was a spout of insecurity, or maybe just an off week when it started, by it had lasted about a month now.
Everyone was worrying, but JJ could not stop worrying about her. She had become withdrawn from him, every time he would rest his hands on her, he could feel her tense up. When they would kiss, it would be short and chaste, never long or emotional. JJ thought that it may have been something that he had done. The other pogues were trying to help him rationalize that it wasn’t his fault, she was being distant with all of them.
JJ texted Y/N asking her if she was coming to the bonfire that night. He assured her that it would be small, just the pogues and a few of their other friends. The kids from The Cut had other plans though. When Y/N arrived it was anything but small. She was terrified that Josh might be there, he was the last person that she wanted to see, but more importantly, she didn’t want JJ to see him. She shifted uncomfortably looking at the mass of people covering the sandy beach. She took a deep breath before walking forward, knowing exactly where to find the other pogues.
On her way through she was trying to politely squeeze by the other party-goers making it so that she can get to the keg. Once she found her friends she would hopefully have a sense of security in the large crowd. Certainly, he wouldn’t bother her when she was around all her friends. Her eyes lit up as she waved to her best friend Kie through the crowd. Kie was quick to grab Y/N outstretched hand, pulling her out of the sea of bodies and over to the pogues, who were serving alcohol. JJ was quick to wrap his arms around her from behind. He felt her stiffen as she had been in the past few weeks. He held up a red cup in front of her. “For you my lady,” He said, faking a posh accent and bowing, causing both of them to laugh. Y/N reached over to kiss JJ, but just peck before turning back to Kie. JJ noticed the way that Y/N wrapped her self up with her arms while sitting next to Kie though, and the way that her eyes scanned the sea of people in front of him. Something was off, but he just couldn’t bear to ask. He was scared that it was him, that Y/N was different because of him.
Y/N and Kie sat on a piece of driftwood for most of the night, talking with other pogues and a few tourons. Kooks would sometimes walk by on their way to the keg, causing Y/N to tense up. Kie was talking to some touron about the issue with single-use silverware. “You mean to tell me that everyone was like, yeah, I’ll use this fork for 15 minutes so that it can then sit in a landfill for 500 years just so that I don’t have to do the dishes.” She ranted. “Ridiculous.” She finished, obviously worked up by the tourons lack of interest. “Y/N here agrees” She nodded towards Y/N.
Y/N laughed nodding her head. “She got us all bamboo toothbrushes for Christmas last year,” She stated, causing the group to erupt in laughter.
Kiara laughed with them. “What? It’s practical.”
Y/N tensed as she heard a voice behind her. It was Josh and his group of underclassmen groupies. Her skin went cold. He was talking to JJ, she could hear their banter from the fire. Josh was a Kook which meant that JJ already despised him.
“Y/N!” Kiara waved at her as she moved beside Y/N from her spot a few seats over. “Earth to Y/N” She laughed, but when Y/N looked back over at Kie, she saw the way that she was drained, the laughter that was there before was gone. Kie followed her gaze to Josh and JJ, watching the two as Josh walked away, opposite JJ but towards Y/N and Kie. Y/N quickly turned back to Kie trying to start a conversation desperately.
“So you and Pope yea? That’s uh different.” Y/N said. She was interested in Kie’s life, but she knew that Kie would gush about it.
“I mean yea. Who would have thought Pope, you know, he’s got his head screwed on right, and he’s–”
She was cut off by Josh sitting down beside Y/N. She instantly tensed at the closeness. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to make herself as small as possible while he spoke to Kie.
He held his hand out over Y/N’s lap, causing her to flinch, to shake Kie’s hand. Kie’s eyes were filled with concern as she watched Y/N. She had never seen her act like this before. Kie cautiously took the man’s hand as he introduced himself. “My name’s Josh.” He said bringing her hand up to kiss it, just as he had done with Y/N’s that night. Y/N zoned out feeling her breath become unsteady but tried to calm herself so Kie would not become suspicious.
“Kie,” She said pulling her hand away quickly, shocked by the upfront affection.
Josh snaked his arm around Y/N’s shoulders, as she could feel the vomit in her stomach rising, wanting to get rid of all the beer in her stomach. “Y/N didn’t tell me she had another Kook friend.” He said flashing a smile at her, but Y/N’s eyes were trained to the ground and she was frozen under his arm. Kie sent a worried look over to the boys by the keg, catching Pope’s attention.
“JJ, somethings up,” Pope said tapping JJ on the shoulder as he was pouring a beer.
“What are you on about?” He laughed looking at Pope.
Pope pointed to the fire that Y/N and Kie were sitting at. “Kie gave me a look, and if I’m not mistaken, that’s a Kook, cozying up to Y/N, you’re girlfriend, right now.” JJ felt the heat rise to his face as he shoved the cup that he was holding into Pope’s stomach before storming over to the three of them. JJ was quick to shove the guy from behind. Due to his grip around her shoulders, Y/n was sent tumbling too. Josh got up quickly, standing defensively, both hands clenched at his sides. Kie quickly moved to help Y/N up and over to the side and away from the fire as the two began fighting.
“What the hell bro?” Josh asked JJ, throwing his hands up.
“Don’t touch my fucking girlfriend. You may be a Kook but I’ll kick your ass all the way back to Figure 8.” JJ said moving toward him.
Josh snapped his head in your direction, with a quick smirk. “Your girlfriend, huh?” Josh said starting to patronize JJ, seeing how far he could push it. Y/N knew what was coming. Kie noticed her change in breathing, it felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. “She didn’t mention anything about you the last time that we were here.” Josh paused a smile on his face. “Ya know when we were making out, over there in the woods.”
Josh barely finished his sentence before JJ’s hand connected with his face. All they could see was blood. Josh stumbled back making his way toward the road. “Whatever, she’s not worth it man.”
By now there were tears streaming down Y/N’s face as she turned to walk down the beach. She couldn’t breathe, it felt like her lungs were on fire. Kie followed after her, trying to console her while the boys were trying to keep JJ from starting another fight. Somewhere along the way, Sarah came over with a bottle of water, asking Y/N to try and drink it.
Once Y/N and JJ settled down, the fight seemed to have dispersed the party, the pogues sat down on the dark beach silence falling over them. JJ thought about it more and more, what Josh had said. He was convinced that she had cheated on him, but he didn’t want to believe that Y/N could do that. He didn’t think she could, but her actions recently all seemed to mirror that. He hadn’t seen the way that she stiffened up around him as Kie had, or how she had tried to curl up and disappear when she heard his voice.
JJ was the first to break the silence, he wanted to get it over with, even if it meant in front of his friends, who didn’t seem to wanna leave. “Did you do it? Is he telling the truth? Did you cheat on me?” JJ’s words came out angry and aggressive, causing Y/N to pull her knees further into her chest. Kie shot him a death stare as she continued to run her hand up and down Y/N’s back to comfort her. After what she had witnessed over the past month, pieced together with tonight’s information, she had a feeling that she knew what happened.
Y/N took a deep breath and looked at JJ, but his head was turned, looking out over the dark ocean. “Yes, he was telling the truth but I didn’t-” a sob escaped from Y/n’s mouth as she coughed, Kie leaning down to try and help, even trying to shush me. JJ thought I cheated on him. He thought I would do that to him. “I didn’t cheat on you. At least I didn’t want to.” I said dropping my head into my knees crying. “I was going to the van to get a jacket, he stopped me, and I was drunk so I was weaker and couldn’t get him off me and-” Kie wrapped her arms around Y/N, who was trying to justify herself, holding the girl as she shook.
A look of realization crossed JJ’s face as he stood up. Anger boiled through him, making him want to hurt Josh even worse than he had. He let out a grunt as he kicked the sand in front of him.
“Look this is the last thing she needs right now ok.” John B said as he looked over and pointed at Y/N practically crumbled in Kie’s arms. “That should be you.” He said before backing away and standing next to Pope and wrapping an arm around Sarah leading them back towards the van.
JJ took the short few strides to where he could kneel down in front of her. He looked at Kie, silently asking for a moment alone with her. “You okay?” Kie asked as she slowly removed herself from around the girl. Y/N sat back up nodding at Kie, before using the sleeves of her shirt to wipe away the tears on her face. Her eyes met JJ’s as Kie walked towards the van, joining the others. JJ slid his arm around her watching to see how she reacted, pulling her close when she fell into him. The short silence that fell over them seemed necessary, as they both sorted through their thoughts.
Y/N was the first to speak, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was scared that you would be mad or wouldn’t believe me. I mean... “ She trailed.
JJ turned, putting his hands on either side of her face. “No No, this isn’t on you. This wasn’t your fault ok?” JJ said, shaking his head. His eyes started to tear up as he began wiping even more that were falling down yours. He took a deep breath, “I know why you didn’t tell me, but moving forward, don’t hide something from me, okay? Nothings gonna come between us, I don’t want that fear to stop you from getting better, or getting the help that you need, okay?” He pushed his forehead against hers, letting them both breathe for a moment. JJ’s thoughts wandered to all the changes that had overcome Y/N’s character over the past month. He felt guilty for not being alarmed enough to ask.
“I should have noticed, I’m sorry baby,” JJ said, pulling her closer to him.
“I did want anyone to. I am ashamed of it, I feel like, like it’s my fault.” Y/N choked out, she felt like she couldn’t catch a breath.
“This is not your fault.” JJ repeated as he ran his hands through your hair. “Me, the pogues, Sarah, and whoever else you need are here for you. We can get you a therapist, or talk to the police, we’ll be with you every step of the way.” He let his hand rub up and down her back. He knew that whatever steps came next were going to be hard, but he wanted to help Y/N in every way that he could.
“Thank you JJ” She pulled her head up, looking into his eye. “I’m glad I have you, really. While I didn’t get to choose to tell you, it feels better to have it out there. This all feels a little bit more manageable with you by my side.” She leaned forward and kissed JJ before pulling back. “I love you JJ.”
“I love you too Y/N,” He said as they both smiled. JJ pulled her into a tight hug again. “Oh, and I’m not letting you out of my sight from now on.”
“Oh boy” Y/N laughed, making JJ feel a little better.
#jj outer banks#jj maybank#jj fic#jj imagine#jj x reader#jj x you#jj x y/n#obx#obx imagine#obx netflix#obx masterlist#outer banks#outer banks imagine#outerbanks imagine#outer banks netflix#john b routledge#outerbanks#outerbanks netflix#outerbanks masterlist#john b imagine#kiara cerrera#sarah cameron#rafe imagine#rafe cameron#pope heyward#pope imagine#pope fic#pope heyward imagine#topper#topper thornton
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Asian drama female lead passivity
I feel like a lot of aspects of female lead (FL) passivity is discussed (the fish kiss being the most famous example), but I wanted to systematically analyze each trope under the theory of female passivity and its feminist implications.
This topic has been stuck in my mind ever since I read a blog years ago (literally like six years ago so I’m sorry I have no idea where it is, I can’t link it) talking about how intimacy in Asian dramas is always portrayed as something women relent to giving up half-heartedly, and men one sidedly pursue. Women are chaste, men are lustful, and women are yielding to men, that is the essential message.
This dynamic plays out in Western media as well--the movie Don Jon is a super interesting analysis comparing how women are indoctrinated by romcoms, to how men are indoctrinated by porn. So women attach grand romantic gestures and romantic commitment to their self worth, because that’s what the girl gets in her happy ending, while men attach it to sexual prowess/having women do kinky sexual favors.
This dynamic is super harmful because it works to suppress female sexuality, as well as male emotionality. People are always surprised when a woman would rather just want sex (or a career) over a romantic commitment. And men are applauded for having the bare minimum of emotional awareness because it’s so rare.
I think a form of Asian drama female lead (FL) passivity that is most talked about is the infamous “fish kiss.” See exhibit A:
The guy initiates the kiss on the usually unsuspecting girl, as if the girl ever going in for the kiss herself would be too sexually aggressive. And as if even enjoying the kiss would be too much, they have her just stand there eyes wide open. It’s awkward, and even slightly funny to watch, but our critique often ends here. But I think the fish kiss is a symptom of a much deeper problem.
You will notice that female lead passivity is present in all physical interactions between the romantic interests.
The pull in hug:
Which sometimes the FL looks uncomfortable to frightened in:
I even found a meme, so I know I’m not the only who thinks this is weird:
(meme/photo credit: https://goliath1357.tumblr.com/post/27115253892/kdramareasons-awkward-one-sided-hugs-k-drama)
What I don’t like about this trope is first of all, it makes female consent seem less romantic. It romanticizes this idea of male pursuit/female passivity, the man will protect her, the man will pursue her (basically like an object), the man will do all the work in making the relationship progress, etc., and it romanticizes this dynamic to women--this is easy to romanticize for us, because to the most of us that aren’t being constantly pursued by two hot men, this pursuit dynamic seems like a dream boat. Often the kdrama female lead (due to the Initial Misunderstanding trope) will even dislike and push away the male lead--and yet he still pursues her, how romantic! -_- Except in real life, the guy aggressively pursuing you and ignoring you disinterest is not romantic.
And the issue is on both sides, because it teaches women to just stand there, not express consent, and not express sexual/intimacy enthusiasm when we’re feeling it (that would be ~unladylike~). And on the other side, it teaches men to do all the pursuing and to assume that a girl standing frozen, wide eyed, and often looking scared as you kiss her, is consent. Sometimes the guy even interprets a clear “no” as consent. (Honestly I’m not even sure if these Asian drama writers are thinking along the lines of “xyz is consent,”...like I’m not sure how often they even think of the concept of consent tbh.)
But anyways, passivity. is not. consent!!!! That’s why we have the slogan “Yes mean yes,” meaning both parties must have enthusiastic, clear consent, for respectful intimacy. Asian dramas discourage women from expressing an enthusiastic “yes,” and it teaches men not to expect this “yes,” so they can steamroll past passivity and even rejection.
And I know some people will be boohooing me on this. “But sudden kisses and hugs are so romantic!” people will say. But what is “romantic,” like many things, is a social construct. We think things are romantic because they’ve always been presented to us as romantic, with swelling music in the background and the implicit understanding that anything is ok because they are Soulmates(TM) that end up happy together. We construct our idea of what is romantic largely out of media.
But that is not real life, and carrying those messages over to real life (as we inevitably all do), is dangerous. I just moved to Japan so this especially hits close to home for me: I dress conservatively by American standards, but I couldn’t bring a quarter of my clothes when I moved because I worried men on trains would interpret them as revealing, and therefore I would be “asking for it.” I, and I’m sure many women will feel me on this, think about and fear sexual assault very often. And when we don’t enshrine active consent, we perpetuate rapist culture.
Since “romantic” is anything our society constructs it to be, let’s romanticize enthusiastic consent! (like this NCT song!!) I think sudden kisses can be cute when you’ve established boundaries that it’s is ok, but it scares me that men and women are watching this and thinking suddenly kissing a person you haven’t discussed boundaries/intimacy with at all is cute. It’s all fun and games when it’s the hot male lead kissing the girl you know he’s going to end up with, but it’s not cute when it’s real life men thinking they’re entitled to women’s bodies.
Other examples of female passivity:
I stopped watching Moonlight Drawn over the Clouds at precisely this scene:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X6I0WXeD-dc&ab_channel=KBSWORLDTV
because it was so painful to watch her sitting there like a fish as the guys got these cool fight scenes. Like girllll literally do anything, throw a rock, something! First dramas routinely disable the female characters by making the male characters the able fighters, but even if you’re not an able fighter you can do more than just sit there like a lame duck -_- Especially the parts of these scenes where someone is standing over the girl with the sword and the writers don’t give the girl the presence of mind to simply run away, but they give the guy the presence of mind to somersault into the room, jump over ten monkey bars, slash the antagonist, and catch the girl bridal style on his way down. I guess the damsel in distress trope is as old as the book, but just the complete passivity so many female characters show in fight scenes as they need to be saved is really annoying and disempowering.
I think the worst part is their faces, they’re all like omg! this is so sad!
well girl you could have done literally ANYTHING other than sit there as he took ten bullets for you lmao. Women don’t exist to stand by and be saved!!! This is a historical drama but the modern drama version is when the guy is getting beat up by bullies or whatever and the girl just stands by and does nothing but look upset.
Another good trope that is under this passivity theme is the double wrist grab, where we not only have ONE male lead (ML) manhandling the FL, but TWO MLs. Ahh yes the only thing better than forcibly ignoring consent and the FL’s wishes is TWO men doing it.
I heard this recently even happened in True Beauty...which...that drama...truly I thought Kdramas were progressing until I saw how much people were hyping up that mess of misogyny (not to mention how boringly predictable it was).
I can’t quite express this next trope in a screenshot, but something I also see a lot of is the ML professing his love to the FL and she sort of just stands there like O_O. Like she’s just sort of this object that sits there being admired? It’s just such an unnatural way to react to someone professing their love for you, and these scenes drag on for many minutes of just the ML’s dialogue so the female actress, having no lines, has no choice but to sit there O_O. Like give her lines! Give her reactions! Give her anything other than being wide eyed!!!!
And these physical interactions represent deeper emotional passivity in the female lead.
I’ve noticed it’s almost always the trend of the male lead falls later, but falls harder, and ultimately he puts more energy into making the relationship progress. Again, this buys into female fantasy, but it is an unhealthy fantasy that is grounded, I think, in our insecurities, and our fear of putting ourselves out there (so we would rather have someone pursue us than put ourselves out there and meet someone halfway).
This emotional passivity is why, weirdly enough, sometimes I will really like the drama because the girl is very stubbornly, openly, and aggressively pursuing the guy. A case of this is Itazura na Kiss, or Mischievous Kiss (there’s a Jdrama, Kdrama, and anime--I only watched the anime). Now the guy is downright meannnnn in Mischievous Kiss, this was not a healthy relationship at all, but there was something refreshing about the girl. Sure her aggression was in pursuing a man, but at least it was aggression, and I’d always only seen any hint of female sexuality/actively pursuing as something very stigmatized.
I think a sister trope to the passivity trope is the innocence trope. The guy will literally take the initiative to profess his undying love to the FL and she’ll be like “what?? omg stop teasing you’re joking ahahha.” Why do FLs need to be so oblivious/innocent? I think it caters to the way media is seen through a male gaze but that’s a trope to deconstruct another time.
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