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eoleolhan-a · 4 years

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relationships prompt. & levels one - three.

level one.

Jin handles most of his relationships with some level of caution. He doesn’t usually have many close friends, and his family is quite small. He is closest to his mother, having been raised by her alone after his father’s premature death. Their small nuclear family unit of two was and often is his primary source of family relationships. He saw his maternal and paternal grandparents sometimes, and other extended relatives sparsely on various holidays, usually Chuseok or the Lunar New Year. As far as friends go, his childhood friend Jae is probably the person outside his family that he’s closest to in a platonic way. Between his mother and Jae, he has few regular friends and instead keeps a comfortably distant acquaintanceship with classmates, co-workers, or neighbours.

Jin’s lack of close family or friends often feeds into a sense of loneliness and low self esteem. He often fills the gaps in his relationships with flings, one night stands, or brief affairs. He craves the praise and affection that he lacks in his other relationships. Sex becomes a way to feel close to others, as well as wanted and valued.

Romance, however, is far trickier. While he craves physical and emotional closeness with others he is acutely aware of how easy it is to lose people. Romantic intimacy requires vulnerability that he’s often not sure he can provide. He tests the waters a bit before totally committing, and hell usually do that by going on dates and engaging in sexual affairs with someone for a bit before they make a solid commitment. This doesn’t mean that he won’t rush if his partner wants to go quickly, but he fears trying to initiate things due to potential rejection. He does tend to fall for people quickly once a budding romance begins to bloom but he’s quite good at outwardly suppressing the extent of his feelings.

level two.

The easiest way to get Jin to jump into a deeper, romantic relationship is to pursue him first. That in and of itself is attractive to him, and makes him feel more secure when venturing into a new relationship. When he does confess his deeper feelings to someone he’s platonically close to it’s typically when he gets to the point where suppressing how he feels causes him more emotional harm than reassurance. There’s often not a single thing that pushes him forward, but a combination of situational factors in a given relationship. He walks very fine line between his emotional impulses towards intimacy and his fears that drive him to want to isolate himself.

For him to want to be with someone romantically, he needs to see certain traits that could foster a deeper connection. There’s, of course, the shallow physical traits he finds attractive. If he feels no sexual or physical connection with a person he can’t quite bring himself to engage in a deeper romance. Physical attractiveness for Jin is a rather broad scope of traits. He can find something attractive about most people.

He wants honesty, loyalty, and trustworthiness from his partners above all else. He hates being lied to by people he’s close to and considers it to be a micro-betrayal of sorts. Jin wants a partner who is loyal to their relationship and the mutual respect he expects from a partner. He’s attracted to people who can make him laugh and feel relaxed, so a good sense of humour is a bonus. He prefers a subtle sense of humour and wordplay over more abrasive kinds of comedy; the wrong kind of joke can be a turn off for him if it comes across as offensive to Jin’s sensibilities. Additionally he tends to be attracted to stronger, more outgoing personalities, although not exclusively. He admires and is attracted to confidence and drive in others. Personality traits are more important than physical ones for long term romance when it comes to Jin’s relationships. He still values appearances and to some may seem shallow; he does have a wide array of physical features he finds appealing, but the bottom line is that he has to feel sexually attracted to someone in order to feel a romantic connection.

If a partner cheats on him, that’s an instant deal breaker. It ties into his need for honesty, loyalty, and trustworthiness. He can forgive some white lies, but repeated dishonesty will drive him to the edge and eventually cause rifts between Jin and a potential partner. He can respect keeping some secrets, but major issues like someone having children, a violent criminal past, an STI, etc without being disclosed would be off-putting for him. It’s not that these things, depending on context, are immediate deal breakers but not disclosing them would be. They can significantly change how he feels about his responsibilities in a relationship and what his future with someone would be like.

He doesn’t know if he believes in “the right partner” or “the one”, but he does wait until he feels like there is a solid sexual and emotional interest developed between himself and another before commitment. Usually this is after he can count their dates on more than one hand and he feels he could list a few positive qualities or important facts about whoever he’s dating. Jin sometimes finds himself fighting between waiting too long to commit and committing too soon either out of fear of rejection or fear of losing the chance to be with someone he wants to be with. He too often waits to be pursued, to be asked, before jumping into things.

level three.

If Jin can fall asleep beside someone he trusts them. He’s a light sleeper and can be easily awoken if he’s tense or uncomfortable, so being able to totally relax and fall asleep with someone else around is rare for him. Any time he allows himself to be openly vulnerable he’s showing that he trusts someone. Jin finds it difficult to be vulnerable, wanting to save face so to speak. He fears damaging his reputation and the image other people have of him if he reveals too much or is too sensitive.

He tends to do things to show people he cares rather than saying as much. Acts of service and gifts tend to be the love languages he uses. He will cook a meal for his partner, do a chore for them like putting away laundry, or give them a gift like flowers or jewelry to try and show affection. Jin particularly likes to keep his living space clean, so he will do the same for a partner under the assumption that a clean and organized home is a more comfortable home. This could be something like rearranging a bookshelf to be alphabetical, cleaning out a kitchen pantry or bathroom medicine cabinet, or organizing a closet or dresser’s contents. He learned this nurturing type behaviour from his mother, as he was raised by her alone and she has been the single most important person in his upbringing.

The other love language he uses is physical touch. He doesn’t usually initiate public displays of affection, but privately he likes cuddling, kissing, holding hands and sexual intimacy as primary methods of physically expressing love. He enjoys the literal closeness as a symbol of emotional closeness; the warmth of another body near his doesn’t hurt either.

Jin does not use many pet names, and tends to be somewhat neutral on the idea as a whole. Considering he tends not to be very verbal about his feelings pet names are limited. He’ll usually use a pet name in Korean if he uses one: 귀요미 (kiyomi, “cutie”), 애인 (aein, “sweetheart”), 여보 (“yeobo”, darling or honey) or 자기야 (jagiya, “baby”). He uses 내 사랑 (nae sarang, “my love”) and 왕자님 (wangjanim, “prince”) less frequently than the others. It’s usually babe, baby, darling, or honey if the nickname is in English. If someone uses a pet name for him, he wants it to be sweet or romantic; he doesn’t like names that are too juvenile or silly sounding to him like “pookie” or “angel face” and the like.

headcanon challenge courtesy of the rpc dev server

#rpcdev #hc #ooc

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sketchynebula · 6 years

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Scribbles, Chapter 2

Chapter 1, you are here,

Scribble tag list: @mikado413 @pleasebringmerlinback @thecrimsoncodex @too-precious-to-process @skadinavien @lexi-love99 @lovisoverrated @kickthecel @rayndropsonrosez @lamp-calm-sanders @iaminmultiplefandoms @ffsas-side-account

Content Warnings: Self-hate, parental death, descriptions of anxiety and breathing, vomit, alcohol, verbal and physical bullying, neglectful adults

Pairing: LAMP

Word count: 5,049

Genre: Hurt/comfort, Angst

AU/trope: Soul-Mate AU where whatever you write on your skin, it appears on your soulmate’s.

Summary: “- That was one of these times, when he was sitting in a bathroom cubicle holding his swollen face and idly glancing into the only corner of unobscured mirror that was there. Trying to inspect the bruise that was starting. The raw-red patch of skin, that was definitely going to turn a very interesting array of colours within the next few days, had swelled to the point that his eye had been slightly obscured.”

His first day of middle school was the same as his first day of fifth grade, and his first day in day care. Kids running around with no clue what they were doing and adults standing around pretending they had a clue what was happening.

Virgil hadn’t cared that he had been late to two classes already, and they weren’t supposed to start giving out late slips until the week was up, so there was really no reason for Virgil to care to be on time either.

He had taken his sweet time walking the halls to find his classes. Sparing a second to look up and down each row of classroom doors and mentally note the new building’s nooks and crannies. At least the ones he knew he would find himself very familiar with in the next few years.

As soon as Virgil had finally figured out where he was supposed to go for history he, of course, saw Darrick and Freddie in the hallway, or he supposes it’s Ricky and Fred now. They were standing and pushing good old Jamie up against the lockers in the most cliche ‘school-bully-drama’ way that there was.

“Let go of James dumb and dumber.” Virgil stated in monotone, eyes dark and body hunched. James was the only person that could stand to talk to Virgil for any extended period of time. Of course being in even mild relation to him was enough for Ricky and Fred to decide to make James a target.

Ricky scoffed at Virgil, pulling that amused look that just made Virgil want to punch him, before dropping James and turning to him.

“Alright then Soul-less,” he said with shrug of his shoulders, “If you’re so impatient to wait your turn.” Virgil opened his mouth to retort, only to have the wind knocked out of him as Fred yanked the side of his hoodie, pulling him towards the lockers.

Fred smirked, as he pulled the collar of Virgil's hood and threw him up against the locker doors. Virgil winced, his head hitting the metal hard enough to make him see stars. The familiar pain sinking into his skin, not even making Virgil flinch. He made no move to change what was happening, his body limp and face stony.

He glanced over Fred’s shoulder, stealing a look at where James was helplessly sitting on the floor, his eyes down-turned and face pulled in a grimace. Ricky’s face was morphed into unimpressed, fury, glaring Virgil down like he was an animal that could be subdued and domesticated with intimidation alone.

Virgil braced himself, pulling his chin up as he made eye contact with Fred and in response Fred pulled back his fist.

Virgil wasn’t fit, he could only fight decently in a one against one, something he had found out the hard way at the end of third grade. The echoes of that fight still remained as two scars down his back and the memory made him smart enough, cautious enough, to keep his focus on keeping his daily beating from turning into a hospital visit and nothing more.

Fred’s fist caught in the air for a split second, and in that moment the bell rang out, signaling that all of them were late for their classes. There was a moment of silence where all parties were just staring at each other but in the end the assault stopped before it really began.

Ricky huffed motioning Fred to follow him down the hall, Fred nodded before turning back to Virgil. He pulled back his fist again, not even giving Virgil time to brace himself as he landed a good hard punch right to VIrgil's cheek. Virgil’s dizzy head slammed into the locker once more before Fred dropped him on the floor, the footsteps of both him and Ricky fading off as Virgil tried to regain his vision.

Virgil blinked as the blood in his face throbbed and he puffed out a pain filled breath. His hand moved to hold his face, the eye on the unhurt side of his face looking up just in time to see James was standing above him. James’s face was grim, and he held out a hand for Virgil to take. Virgil ignored it, heart twisting. Here he was, pathetically laying back and taking another beating and despite everything James was still offering help.

Virgil's back was ridged as he used his legs to haul up his body weight in order to lean heavily on the lockers. An exhale coming out in a pained grunt. He moved to poke at the back of his head, his heart jumping at the feeling a bump there.

“Why do you do that?” James sighed out. Virgil hesitantly forced himself to push off the lockers. His eyes glued to the wall across the room as he held his hand there, brushing against the back of his head, Virgil shrugged before walking over to a nearby water fountain. He ran the cold water against his hands before pressing them and what little coolness he could to his cheek.

“If you’re talking about first grade agai-,” he began, eyes still lowered to the metal of the water fountain.

“No!- i mean... yeah-I know i remember,” James shakily exhaled before he brought his hands up to rub his palms into his eye sockets. He dropped them to his sides again, body slumping as he bent down to pick up his backpack. His eyes were so tired when he straightened himself, Virgil couldn’t help but slump further forward. A frown creasing his face as James continued to talk. “I meant why do you always refuse my help.”

I don’t deserve help.

Virgil’s internal monologue was instant. His self-hatred and insecurity mentally answered for him, mind filling in blanks he would have been happier to leave empty. He pulled the fabric of his hoodie back into place. It was still slightly over-sized but the sleeves only came down to mid-hand now-a-days and he had filled out the collar a while back.

“Why does anyone do anything ever.” Virgil asked, not really directing the question at James. He shook the water on his hands off, and James quickly started walking down the hall, most likely to his next class.

The one Virgil made him late too.

“You gonna skip class.” James asked as Virgil followed in the same direction as James, and Virgil rolled his eyes. As if that was even a question. James laughed before shrugging “i mean- you know the whole day!”

Virgil paused, his thoughts too far away from him right now to make a decision.

“Probably.” He said as be brought his hand up once more to check his cheek.

“That’s gonna bruise.” James stated and Virgil’s fingers moved to hover just over the area, the tickle of the light touch against his skin was abrasive as the injury protested even the simplest contact. His face twitched, before he shrugged. Another black eye for the collection. This one was what, his eleventh one.

“How’s you’re scholarship going?” Virgil asked, his mind and body tired of talking about pain. Well, tired of experiencing pain mostly, though talking about it was starting to get monotonous as well.

“Oh- um, it’s going, I mean i have all of the requirements on time so far…” James trailed off, mentally ticking things off in his head, mouthing a few words as he nodded to himself before turning back to Virgil. “Yeah! Just about everything! If this goes right then by high-school I’ll be in France!”

Virgil smiled at James’s happiness, attempting to reflect the light back at him. Virgil was never good at doing that in the first place and his hurt eye twitched a little at the pain trying to stretch his facial expression.

Virgil knew it was only a matter of time before James left. His chest filled with sorrow at the knowledge. He didn’t really know James well enough to call him a friend, but he did know him well enough to be sad to see him go. Not that Virgil’s emotional distress is warranted by any means.

“Anyway- my class should be down that hall-,” James started unsurly and Virgil felt a fluttering in his chest.

“You wanna skip with me?” Virgil asked suddenly, his dizzy head begging him not to be left alone. He bodily turned toward James, hesitantly looking into the others eyes.

“Um.. nnnno i mean. Sorry- i have French class next and-” Virgil slouched, hunching back into himself. He waved his hand at James, nodding his head, the guilt swelling. Soulmate language barriers were an unfortunate part of being human, and who was Virgil to deny James communication with his. He tried for a wry smile as he gestured to the upcoming door.

“Yeah, yeah. Alright i hear you. Go study hard and make True-Love Travels pay for your plane ticket to meet your dream-girl.” James blushed, sputtering for a second before quickly turning on his heels and moving to round the corner. Virgil laughed under his breath, eyes sad as his lips upturned.

As James turned he left his back visible to Virgil, and Virgil’s eyes connected with three small hearts dotted along James’s elbow. The loopy lines were familiar only because he had seen them dotting James’s skin before.

Virgil’s face dropped and somehow, for whatever reason, something in the pit of his stomach turned sour at the sight. A normal image bringing devastation in its wake. All traces of a smile was quickly gone from his face and his fingers instinctively pulled at his sleeve. The head injury and emotional upset making Virgil feel sick to his stomach.

He pulled his hood up to hide his swelling face, carefully minding his bruising cheek, as he turned to make his way to the single stall bathrooms on the other side of the school. Hoping to clean himself up, or at least feel safe for a little while.

As he walked, he watched each classroom. Sometimes glancing in to see the faces he’d been passing by since forever cropping up among new faces. Faces that he’d have the pleasure of passing by every day for the next three years. The three shitty years before the next four even shittier years start.

Then, of course the rest of his shittiest-of-all life beginning after that.

As he finally got to the, thankfully vacant, stall he opened the door, eyes locking with the mirror almost immediately, cringing at his pale and lanky appearance. It seemed that puberty had just been making him scrawnier.

He wasn’t good looking by any stretch of the words, being as short and pale as he was, and he definitely didn’t need a perfect mental image of how pathetic he looked. So, as always, his hoodie came off and was unceremoniously thrown to cover up the main areas of the mirror. Standing in just his tank top, he let a slow exhale out of his nose. He Awkwardly sat on the toilet taking a deep breath before allowing his eyes to snap down and mentally connecting the different scrawls of his soulmates with each of their names.

Logan’s handwriting was printed in the same blue pen ink as always, the short to-do lists and thoughts he had during class were quickly scrawled out on their wrist or the back of their hands. The current lists were faded, some words missing entirely and others just barely there.

Patton’s handwriting was slightly blocky but he dotted all his I’s with hearts, (though Virgil is pretty sure that he only does that for them.) He always made sure to write little reminders for the others and usually writes a small quote on their shoulder area, today's quote was ‘Love yourself. It is important to stay positive because beauty comes from the inside out - Jenn Proske’ Which made Virgil smile ruefully.

“That’s probably why I’m so fucking Ugly” he whispered to himself, the words dangerously echoing back at him in the small space.

Roman’s handwriting is bigger than most but held the loopy charm that cursive handwriting has. Though he spent less time writing and more time filling the blank area of their lower arms with drawings, he would occasionally join Logan in the occasional poem.

Their own names had been the first words that had ever graced his arms, and as each of them moved through the education system those words increased in number.

Soon Virgil had been silently privy to full conversations, finding out that Roman’s favourite colour was satin, Patton loved to bake and that Logan had a strange love of Crofters Jam.

Virgil read every scrap of information a hundred times over. Keeping each aspect of them as close to his heart as he could. The days and years went on and Virgil's shame for doing so crept up his spine, brewing worse each day that passed.

Weeks and months where he would force himself to go cold turkey. Pulling and picking at his sleeves, iching for just a reminder that he was loved.

But he wasn’t really loved was he?

The light they gave off freely for each-other was staggering, and here he was greedily soaking up what he couldn’t return. It was a kind of sick stealing, where he was intruding on happy endings that he had never had the permission to see unfold.

He doesn’t read the messages on his arms anymore, or at least, he tries not to read them often. Only when he’s running on a deficit of light. Only when everything has gotten to the point that it feels like Virgil has nothing but pain left in his heart.

Only when the only other alternative seems to be death.

That was one of these times, when he was sitting in a bathroom cubicle holding his swollen face and idly glancing into the only corner of unobscured mirror that was there. The raw-red patch of skin, that was definitely going to turn a very interesting array of colours within the next few days, had swelled to the point that his eye had been slightly obscured.

A loud knocking on the door startled him, making him croak out a ‘just a minute’ before tensely pausing. He couldn’t face anyone like this, hell he couldn’t even handle looking himself in the mirror, and that’s when his face is in decent shape. Virgil pulled himself back up to his feet, leaning against the sink and running the water. He pulled a few paper towels off the roll and wet them, pressing it to his face and holding it there.

A flash of colour and a short paragraph of words on the bottom of his left wrist had him turning his attention back to his skin. The writing was fairly recent according to the vivid, unsmudged colour. The red ink meant that it was one of Roman's messages. The single light blue check-mark next to it meaning Logan hadn’t read it yet, but Patton had.

Virgil shifted his hold on the paper towels uncomfortably, pulling his right hand up to hold them as he slowly pulled his left wrist away from his face to be able to read the message.

Something twisted in his gut at each word, suddenly wishing he hadn’t read it. Wishing he didn’t have to have something else to agonize over for the rest of the day.

‘Let’s meet! Cedar Cafe 11:00 saturday?’

Virgil felt something clench in his stomach, mind turning the words over.

They were meeting, they were going to start to see each other and talk to one another and soon they wouldn’t need to write anymore.

Virgil was going to be left alone again. The brief period of time where he had nothing, no soul-mate drawings and no light had been so long ago he didn’t know how he had once survived that way. Soon the colours would stop and the term “Soulless” would suddenly become an appropriate insult. Even if he technically had a soulmate, or in his case soulmate’s, would that matter?

It would be so easy to forget that. Without the ink, without each doodle and note to remind him of the warmth the glow of happiness gave, who’s to say he wouldn't be able to just brush these last few years off as a sad hallucination.

Virgil’s breathing wasn’t coming, the shaky tipping feeling making him stumble as he turned quickly, vomiting in the toilet.

He settled on the floor, leaning against the wall next to the toilet, legs haphazardly splayed in front of him.

Watching them these last few years had been his only respite from a turbulence filled life, but he would be selfish to try and force that. What kind of soulmate would he be if he jeopardize their happiness for his? Not that he could do anything to stop them in the first place. They’ll meet, fall in love the way fate intended it, and Virgil will be alone. Also, the way fate intended it.

Pulling himself off the floor Virgil had a new resolve in his short list of mental rules, to put their happiness before his, since they have the possibility, the capacity to be happy in the first place.

He rinsed out his mouth before tugging the tap to turn the water off. He tugged his jacket off the mirror before shakily pulling it back on himself. Covering the words and notes that will soon be washed away with time, taking the only hints that there was light in the world with them. His eyes burned as he yanked his hood back over his head, opening the door.

Virgil jumped at seeing a teacher standing just outside of it, foot tapping impatiently and arms crossed.

“Well, you sure took your sweet time, what are you doing out of class?” Her strong voice irritated Virgil’s concussion addled eardrums making him cringe.

“Uuuh- bathroom?” Virgil said, shoulders hunching as he slouched further into his hood.

“Bathroom huh? Do you have a bathroom pass?” She crossed her arms and tried to hold the ‘im the adult in charge here’ power over him but Virgil only felt the helpless bubbles of resignation in his stomach. He was so tired.

“Nope.” He said, shrugging his shoulders.

Her eyes lit with a fury he had seen in many adults before her. The Indignation of being opposed, disrespected, by a ‘no-good-kid’ was most definitely rising in her chest. She grabbed his upper arm and pulled him to follow her.

“The principle might have something to say about that!”

He gritted his teeth at the contact, her hand digging into his already bruised skin in a harsh way. His mind flooded with his mother's reaction, whether or not they’d call her. Whether or not she would be forced to drive from work to the school once again because of something he did, because of his own stupid mistakes.

Of course they would call her. That’s always what happened. This always went one way and his fears only increased with that knowledge.

There was no room for hope in these situations, and as the teacher that Virgil had never met before pulled him into the office, he was able to make eye contact with the office lady with stony apathy.

“My goodness! Mrs. Higgs what happened to his eye!” She said, startled eyes raking over his face with pity.

Mrs. Higgs’s face fell to one of confusion before she pulled him to turn towards her her hands gripping his upper arms. One hand moved to grip his hood and he ducked his head as she pulled it off.

The brightness in the area hit him full force and he sighed in pain, eyes squinting against the heavy lights.

Mrs. Higgs let out a small hiss at the sight of his uncovered face before her mouth thinned into a straight line. She suspiciously looked at his eye, before taking his chin in her hands and turning his head so she could get a better look at it.

He winced, pulling away from her and stumbling back on his heels. He pulled the hood back up, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I saw this boy walking down the hallways, and found him skipping class by locking himself in one of the bathrooms.” Mrs. Higgs said, eyes shifting back to the lady behind the desk. Her face morphed into one of surprise before she nodded her head.

“Well, Mr. Tanner won't be here for a little while, I’ll get an ice pack from the nurse, you sit there alright dear.” Virgil turned to look at her as she gestured to one of the seats in front of the principles door, before quickly walking out of the room.

Mrs. Higgs left as soon as the office lady was back. Virgil pressed the offered ice pack to his face, sitting on an uncomfortable chair, and feeling miserable.

When the principle came they called his mother.

Scribbles

Virgil sat, mouth pinched trying to hide the irritated glower that he wanted to throw at Mr. Tanner. He slumped into the uncomfortable chair feeling the occasional glance of his mother burning into his side. Mr. Tanner rubbed his forehead turning pages in Virgil's file and glancing at him every now and again.

“Well, it's the first day of school, so we’re not going to be punishing you, however i am concerned about your... track record…” he said trailing off and closing the file. He pushed it up his desk, and Virgil’s eyes followed the movement, lingering on the file before snapping back to staring at a random spot on the wall of the room. Mr. Tanner made eye contact with Virgil’s mother, who was sitting tensely mouth twitching threatening to turn into a frown.

A disappointed frown.

Virgil was, once again, faced with another adult who wanted to talk about his paper trail. The principle wanted to talk about his ‘track record’ the same way every teacher, every parent, and every councilor wanted to talk about his ‘track record’. His file a thick manila folder with 20 something pieces of paper that all no doubt have ‘violent tendencies’ written across them in all caps.

Here he was again, and once again instead of asking where he got the bruises from, instead of asking his input on why he wasn’t in class, they wrote ‘unexcused absence’ down on a piece of paper adding the footnote of ‘violent altercation’ since they didn’t know where the facial injury was from. Treating it like their pieces of arbitrary paper were supposed to work magic and fix Virgil’s life.

“It seems that there are numerous cases of fighting and disruptive behaviour from elementary school…” Virgil tuned him out, he had heard all of it, every variation of this discussion that was under the sun. Mr. Tanner would talk to his mom with the judgment he had heard in the voices of everyone that didn’t know all she did for him. Would do the ‘i hope your attitude has changed for this upcoming year’ speech and handshake, but mentally they’ve all filed him away to some youth correctional facility.

There was never any point to this, nothing ever changed for good and if it changed for bad than Virgil would just have to get over it. Face it head on.

A sad pang spread through his chest, the words he had read in the bathroom burning into the back of his eyelids. Soon he wouldn’t even have them to soften the blow of bad days. As he glanced at his mother’s disheveled appearance he wondered if he would ever be able to get over that.

Soon the ‘adults’ were standing, and Virgil grabbed the straps of his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. His mom shook the principles hand, face holding indifference with a careful pinch of her lips.

“I hope that the rest of the year will go better for you.” Mr. Tanner said before he held out his hand for Virgil to shake, Virgil glanced at it, eyes hardening before he turned to open the door for his mother.

�� Scribbles

The ride back to the house was tense. Silent and eerie as the only thing that was heard was the hum of the car's engine.

When they had made it out of the nightmare of a traffic situation near the carpool area of the middle school, his mother had exhaled through her nose, finally attempting to speak.

She still wouldn’t look at him.

“What happened to your face?” She asked, voice hoarse. Virgil shrugged his shoulders, his eyes scanning over the scenery passing them by.

They spent the rest of the ride in silence before they finally pulled up to the house. It standing in all it’s half-fallen apart glory. His mom was tired and frustrated, going straight to the pantry when they got home and pulling out a beer bottle before moving to go sit on the worn couch. The garbled noise of the tv turning on and echoing around the house, drowning the empty space.

Virgil pulled himself upstairs, eyes not even ghosting over his mother as he did so. His shoulders didn’t relax until he passed the threshold into his bedroom. He left the lights off, head still crying out with the effects of his concussion, shutting the door and locking it immediately.

He threw his backpack, aiming for the bed only for it to bounce onto the floor, making him sigh out of his nose as he bent down to pick up the textbooks that fell out. He, shoved the books back into it before sliding it on the bed, staying on his place kneeling on the floor.

He sat for a moment before hesitantly reaching under the bed, pulling out a beat up composition notebook. A small overstuffed thing, full of folded loose-leaf sheets with his ugly smeared handwriting all up and down the pages.

He reached up, pushing his hand into a pocket of his backpack and pulling out a chewed up pen. Leaning back and sitting against the bed as he opened to a page. He pushed his right hand into his hoodie sleeve before daring to grip the pen and start to write.

When the echoes of the TV suddenly stopped, Virgil’s hand stilled, his face falling as he waited for a sound, a thump, any sign of the tell-tale movements of his drunk mother trying to make her way to her bedroom. The night, however, did not deliver. The house silent and still in a way that made Virgil nervous.

He, yanked himself to stand up before pulling his hoodie on, ready to face a situation he had been in a million times before.

Virgil crossed the threshold of the hallway, his bare feet going from scratchy carpet to the cold of the wood floor, making his hazy mind jolt. His mother was fading in and out of sleep too drunk to stand, and as he walked further into the room he smelt the pungent scent of piss.

He rounded around the couch, moving his hands under her shoulders he pulled her arms toward him, just managing to stand her on her feet before carefully heaving the dead weight onto his thin shoulders. He supported her weight and carefully took the first step.

His mother mumbled out a barrage of indecipherable words at the general area around him. Her voice was slurring and her body too warm to the touch. Making it to the bathroom, Virgil’s hands worked to pull off her work clothes, the scrubs and name-tag still in place from last night and this morning.

He pulled her to the shower, filling up the tub and putting the drain stop in place. He let her use his arms to brace herself and lower her body into the water but as he moved to pull his arms back her hand came to grip them tighter. Her previously vacant stare was suddenly fixed on him. His heart stopped in his chest as she gave him a meaningful look.

“I-Is- it’s a good thing that-a yooou don’t have a soul mate.” She said, nodding sagely to herself before patting the black stain, that covered just above her left breast. The colour scarring the area over her heart in a single slash. “It is- not fun.” She shook her head, eyes locking with Virgil’s.

Virgil managed a smile back to her, and when her eyes fall to the wayside again, her moment of clarity passing, all he could think about was how much more of a disappointment he could possibly be if she ever found out the truth.

He helped her dry and dress, supporting her weight when it seemed she was about to stumble and fall, and by the time she was safely tucked in bed Virgil had burned off about two hours of time off his concussion filled night.

Four more until six am where he would have to get ready to go to school and walk around the halls in a sleep-deprived haze. Joy.

Virgil moved back into the bathroom, draining the tub and re-ordering the towels when he passed by the mirror.

He paused, his memory traveling back to the school bathroom. His hands slowly going to rest at the edge of his zipper. He zipped and unzipped the top of his hoodie a few times. Going back and forth, changing his mind once then back again before making eye contact with himself in the bathroom mirror. His mouth turned down, yanking the zipper and pulling the sleeves down his shoulders.

The words were clustered in the same area on his wrist, all of them ripping into him.

‘I can go!’ From Patton

‘I am free that day as well’ From Logan

Each sentence accompanied with two check-marks. Meaning everyone had read the notes and they were all caught up on the plan.

The crushing weight of simple words like ‘let's meet!’ shattering his heart into pieces.

The bile of self-resentment and guilt turned inside of him at his own emotions.

They were allowed to be happy.

They had to be happy.

The situation was a good one no matter how it affected Virgil.

He suddenly wondered how well drinking actually worked to numb pain.

Chapter 3

#Scribbles #my fic #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #soulmate au #hurt/comfort #angst #polyamory #polyamsanders #lamp sanders

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gwendolyn-rowle · 4 years

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About Gwendolyn Rowle.

Yeah, I'm always stained and it's never coming out. Yeah, I'm always stained it's a match that's been burned down.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Gwendolyn Ramona Rowle Nickname(s) or Alias: She only goes by Gwen and absolutely hates it when people call her Gwendolyn. Unless it’s her boss or superior. Gender: Cisgender female Species: Pureblood witch Age: 27 Birthday: February 10th Zodiac Sign: Aquarius sun, Aries moon, Libra rising Sexuality: Bisexual Nationality: British Religion: Atheist City or town of birth: Yorkshire, England Currently lives: Brighton, England Languages spoken: English Native language: English Relationship Status: Single

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Height: 5′8 Hair color: Dark brown Hairstyle: She’ll either wear her hair down or in a ponytail, she doesn’t really do much with her hair. Eye color: Hazel Tattoos: The dark mark on her left forearm Piercings: Two holes in each ear and her belly button Scars/distinguishing marks: A deep vertical scar over her dark mark that’s still raised, it never healed properly. A few small scars on her chest and upper arms from getting into fights. Preferred style of clothing: Gwendolyn wears a lot of dark clothing and always keeps things business casual. It’s most common to see her in a pantsuit and a pair of heels. The only time she be in anything casual if she’s in her house for an entire day which is very rare. Frequently worn jewelry/accessories: She wears earrings all the time, usually a hoop and stud in each ear.

HEALTH

Smoker?: N/A Drinker?: Socially Recreational Drug User? Which?: N/A Addictions: N/A Allergies: Pollen and dog hair Neurological conditions: N/A Sleeping habits: It takes Gwendolyn a long time to fall asleep, she’ll usually toss and turn for hours until she eventually drifts off. She doesn’t sleep a lot only about four hours a night, five on a good night. She has almost near permanent dark circles under her eyes. If she gets a day off, which is rare, she’ll sleep pretty much all day. Eating habits: She’s a healthy eater and always sticks to her diet, it keeps her mind sharp and her body in peak condition. No excess sugar, dairy, and definitely nothing fried. However, if she’s feeling stressed out she’ll break her diet. The first thing she’ll go for Exercise habits: Gwendolyn makes time to exercise five days a week, it doesn’t matter how busy she is. She’ll usually go for a run first thing in the morning; she also makes it a habit to lift weights at least once a week. Emotional stability: Gwendolyn is extremely emotionally stable, she never lets any kind of emotion stand in the way of a decision. She actively pushes them down and away. The only emotion Gwendolyn will usually answer to is anger. Sociability: She’s not extremely social, that’s just a fact. She will talk to people but the conversation generally doesn’t last long. She doesn’t get along with most people and has a lot of difficulty even getting on an acquaintance level with most. Body Temperature: She runs warm

PERSONALITY

Label: The Reticent (not revealing one’s thoughts or feelings readily) Positive traits: Logical, dedicated, meticulous, reliable Negative traits: Abrasive, calculating, venomous, cold Character Alignment: Neutral Evil (A neutral evil villain does whatever she can get away with. She is out for herself, pure and simple. She sheds no tears for those she kills, whether for profit, sport, or convenience. She has no love of order and holds no illusion that following laws, traditions, or codes would make her any better or more noble. On the other hand, she doesn't have the restless nature or love of conflict that a chaotic evil villain has.) Goals/Desires: To have the Death Eaters be the most powerful and influential group in the wizarding world. Likes: Getting things done early, having people rely on her, winning a fight (physical or verbal), getting a chance to relax, snakes Dislikes: Losing, feeling like she’s disappointed a superior, being touched too frequently, any kind of emotional talk Fears/phobias: Gwendolyn’s biggest fear is ending up in Azkaban, even more than receiving the Dementor’s Kiss. She doesn’t want to end up in a cell where her father was then she’ll fail her purpose and she does not fail. Favorite color: Grey Hobbies: Running, pottery, and playing poker Habits: She has a habit of mumbling under her breath, a lot. Especially when she’s at work or at a Death Eater meeting. It’s almost like hearing someone monologue. Taste in Music: She likes almost exclusively women artists and girl bands, that’s pretty much her only criteria for music. Her favorite’s recently have been Hole, The Runaways, GRLwood, Grimes, and Poppy.

EATING HABITS

Omnivore/Carnivore/Herbivore (Vegetarian): Omnivore Favourite food(s): Anything spicy, Thai shrimp salad, ramen, and steak tacos Favourite drink(s): Red wine, champagne, water, and cranberry juice Disliked food(s): Anything overly sugary, blueberries, and squash Disliked drink(s): White wine, tequila, and soda

CAREER

Level of education: Hogwarts level education and trained in Obliviating Qualifications: Hogwarts diploma Current job title and description: Obliviator (A witch or wizard specially trained in the use of mental charms and employed by a wizarding governing body to help ensure that the Wizarding World is safely concealed from the non-magical community.) Name of employer: The Ministry of Magic

COMBAT

Peaceful or aggressive attitude?: Gwendolyn is definitely more aggressive but only when the time calls for it. She doesn’t go around causing fights when they’re not necessary but she definitely knows how to finish them once they’re started. Fighting skills/techniques: She’s a gifted dueler and could hold her own in a physical fight but she’d definitely prefer a duel. Her favorite spells are the kind that bring down buildings or cause fires. Special skills/magical powers/etc: She’s proficient with the dark arts and nonverbal spells. Weapon of choice (if any): Her wand Weaknesses in combat: If it came to a physical fight, she could be over powered. She wouldn’t go down easily but it’d happen eventually. Strengths in combat: Her nonverbal spells are definitely her strength that’s what she’s spent the longest time perfecting.

FAMILY, FRIENDS AND FOES

Parents names: Thorfinn Rowle and Allegra Chadwick Are parents alive or dead?: They’re alive Is the character still in contact with their parents?: Gwendolyn hasn’t heard from her father since she was sixteen since he’s been in Azkaban, she does wish she could speak to him and thinks of him fondly. She hasn’t spoken to her mother since she moved out of her house and doesn’t plan on doing so anytime soon. Siblings? Relationship with siblings?: N/A Other Important Relatives: N/A Partner/Spouse: N/A Exes: Children: None Best Friend: Other Important Friends: Acquaintances: Pets: A ball python named Montgomery, a boa constrictor named Penelope, and a Burmese python named Walter Enemies? Why are they enemies?:

BACKSTORY

Describe their childhood (newborn - age 10): Gwendolyn Rowle's, then Chadwick, childhood was filled with a lot of confusion. Her and her mother, Allegra, frequently moved from house to house but they never owned one of their own. They were always staying with “friends” or “friends of friends”. They never stayed anywhere for more than two-three months at a time, they practically lived out of their bags. Gwendolyn spent a majority of this time alone, playing with the few toys she had while her mother was out doing, Merlin knows what. All she wanted at this time in her life was her father; she never met the man or even heard anything about him but she just knew in her heart that if he was here things would be better. The first time Gwendolyn asked Allegra about her father when she was four years old; her mother gripped her so hard on the shoulders it left bruises and told her to never ask about that man again. Of course, she respected what her mother had requested of her but she couldn't help her mind from imagining a world where her father would come take her away.

When Gwendolyn was nine years old, her and her mother finally had their own permanent residence. It wasn't anything grand or special but it was a place that she could call home. Even at this time, she spent her time alone her mother was out at all hours of the day. She figured she was just working but she couldn't help but wonder what kept her out ten hours a day and why sometimes it felt like Allegra couldn't look her own daughter in the eye. Gwendolyn didn't make any friends when she was younger she just didn't know how to interact with other kids her age. Any conversation she had with one of them would usually end with the other kid crying to their parents that “Gwen was too mean” then she wouldn't be invited over for play dates anymore. Allegra just didn't understand where this mean streak would come from in her daughter it was as if she couldn't even help herself. Her mother would tell her over and over that she just couldn't talk and treat the other kids the way but it never stuck in her brain. When her letter for Hogwarts came to their door, they both viewed it as a blessing.

Describe their teenage years (11 - 19) TW: blood and parent fighting: Gwendolyn ended up being sorted into Gryffindor, she didn't really mind being sorted into that house even though she wasn't sure why she was. But she did have trouble relating to her fellow house mates. It felt like there was just a disconnect between them not that she really minded but it would've been nice to have at least someone to lean on during her time there. Although the fact that she was alone didn't exactly hinder her Hogwarts experience. Gwendolyn excelled in almost all of her classes (she never really got Herbology) and even though her mother always wrote to her about how excited she was that she was doing well and how much she missed her. She never went home for holidays, she just felt more serene at Hogwarts and just being on her own.

That was until, she made the decision to go home for Christmas break during her fifth year. Gwendolyn knew she made a mistake as soon as she reached the front door and all she could hear was screaming. She, of course, concerned for her mother's safety barged into the house without a second thought. She was expecting some sort of robbery with the way her mother was screaming but it wasn't ...it was just one man standing there who looked exceptionally calm. As soon as Gwendolyn walked into the house, Allegra, practically sprinted over to her and tried to push her back out of the door. She kept telling her that it wasn't safe and that she had to leave but there was something about the man that felt familiar as if she already knew him. It was when the man smiled, Gwendolyn could see resemblances that she never saw in her mother. That was her father.

Thorfinn Rowle, her father the man she'd been thinking about her entire life was standing there right in front her. Her mother's yelling about how he was dangerous just quieted down into white noise at that point because she genuinely couldn't believe her eyes; there was no way this man could be dangerous he was her father. Allegra, however, kept screaming and threatening she didn't want him anywhere near her daughter or her for that matter. Gwendolyn knew she wouldn't be able to talk or get answers from her father with her mother throwing this tantrum and apparently so did he. He told Allegra that he wouldn't be coming back but before he left gave Gwendolyn a tightly folded note the only thing on it was a messily written address.

After their first “meeting”, Gwendolyn began spending every break with her father. Except for summer since then Allegra would begin getting suspicious. She found out that the reason she hadn't met him until she was fifteen was because he had been in Azkaban for participating in the second Wizarding War and being a Death Eater. He told her that it was her duty and sole purpose to follow in his footsteps since he was currently on the run and it was only a matter of time before he was caught again. After Thorfinn had unloaded all of this on Gwendolyn, she couldn't help but be angry. Angry at her mother for never telling her any of this, angry at the muggleborns and blood traitors that made it impossible for her to see her father for fifteen years. Gwen swore to him that she'd follow his path and never sway. She could see how happy this made her father and he vowed to teach her everything he knew.

Two years later and multiple safe houses later for her father, Gwendolyn was in her last year of Hogwarts. She had spent every waking minute practicing her magic, she knew she couldn't let her father down because when she was finally done at Hogwarts she was going to get the mark. She was itching to get out into the real world to fulfill her purpose and not be stuck with blood traitors and mudbloods. On her final day, Gwendolyn felt as if everything had passed by in a flurry one second she was packing up her room at Hogwarts and the next she was being branded as a Death Eater. After she got her mark, she knew she had to leave her mother's house Allegra wouldn't approve of any of the things she was doing and would probably try to bind her to the house if she could. So, she marched home with her sore arm to pack up her things to stay at one of her father's old safe houses.

Gwendolyn's moving out didn't go to plan, it was actually a catastrophe. Although now if she tries to think about what happens it just comes in bits and pieces. She remembers the screaming, the anger, the pain, and the blood...lots of blood. Gwendolyn and Allegra had gotten into a horrible fight, her mother knew that Gwendolyn was going to be following the dark path that Thorfinn had laid ahead for her and she couldn't bear it. The fact that her only child was going to be swept up into this life of darkness and despair and when Allegra saw the fresh Dark Mark on Gwendolyn's forearm she simply lost it. She grabbed Gwendolyn's arm and the closest sharp object she could find and tried to cut the mark off of her arm, Gwendolyn could barely stand the pain it was unbearable. She pushed Allegra back with as much force as she could muster and casted the Cruciatus curse before she could even think twice about it. Gwendolyn stared down at her mother, curled in the fetal position screaming and felt ...nothing and that was where she left her.

Describe their adult years (20+): She stayed in the safe house for three years, trying to get her bearings together and get enough money to get a real place of her own. She did any mission big, small, or downright ridiculous that the Death Eaters had given her without a second thought. Gwendolyn wanted to prove that she was serious about being part of this group and that she was one to be trusted with serious responsibilities. They still saw her as just a kid and thought she'd try to run out as soon as things got tough but she wasn't going to be going anywhere.

When Gwendolyn was twenty-two that was she got her job as an Obliviator for The Ministry, she finally felt as if she was on the right path. She had gotten a place of her own and was being given missions that suited her best interest more. That being said, most of those missions involved torture, murder, and mutilation...she was one of the best for the job because of her almost complete lack of sympathy and empathy. Gwendolyn just got the job done and didn't give any unnecessary complaints. As she got older, she slowly moved up the ranks until she was able to reach a high rank. She's serious and driven, she's not giving up on her purpose and doesn't care who she has to step on to get there.

#bio #tw: blood

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aliceviceroy · 5 years

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There’s a moment I keep returning to, from the first episode of the new season of Fargo. There’s a triple homicide at a 24-hour diner, and Minnesota state trooper Lou Solverson responds to the crime. A truck driver meets him in the parking lot, and they walk toward one of the victims: a waitress who tried to flee the scene only to be gunned down in the cold expanse of a Minnesota night.

“I left my rig there, I hope that’s OK,” the truck driver says, motioning to the 18-wheeler behind him, at the edge of the lot.

Solverson says nothing, but keeps eyeing the victim in the snow.

“I’m the one that called it in, see?” the driver continues. “Stopped for waffles. With the blueberries -- they come frozen this time of year, I know, but…”

Solverson pinches the corner of a large jacket draped over the waitress, picks it up and peeks underneath.

“I put my coat on her. It seemed only right.”

I love this scene because even though it’s meant to drive the narrative ahead, its obsessive attention to the just-right details also works outside the episode, revealing, in just a few words, the very essence of my people: the corn-eating flatlanders of The Great Middle. There’s the deferential greeting (“I left my rig there, I hope that’s OK.”); the need to fill all moments, even grisly ones, with small talk (“Stopped for waffles...”); and at last the embarrassment and shame over anything unseemly and the compulsion to cloak it (“I put my coat on her. It seemed only right.”).

What Fargo nails, in other words, is Midwestern Nice, the idiosyncrasies of a steadfast populace that appear banal and maybe even bovine to the uninitiated, but in truth constitute the most sincere, malicious, enriching, and suffocating set of behaviors found in the English-speaking world. As a good son of the Upper Plains, I’ll tell you what I mean.

Recommended Video

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Turn Your Old Fruit Into Booze With This New Gadget

What is Midwestern Nice?

We should start with what it isn’t. It isn’t the feigned kindness of the South, where people sipping bourbons at cocktail hour reserve the right to boot-heel you when you turn your back. It’s not the abrasive honesty of the Northeast, where everyone speaks, as Don DeLillo once put it, in the same nasally, knowing cynicism. It is genuine, Midwestern Nice.

I grew up in Iowa but I’ve heard the same line repeated of people from Minnesota or Wisconsin or Nebraska, and always with the unfussy grammar of the plain-spoken: “The Midwest is a great place to be from.” It is nurturing and civic-minded, maybe due to the Scandinavian and German Protestants who settled the land, living by the Golden Rule, and its history is a continuity of compassion: the territory of Iowa in the Antebellum Era refusing to segregate schools, an idea that even Ulysses S. Grant called radical; a president from Illinois who ended slavery; Wisconsin laborers, in the early 20th century, receiving workers' compensation and unemployment insurance decades ahead of the New Deal; Iowa, Minnesota, and Illinois, in the modern age, allowing gay marriage years before the progressive movements in New York and California could do the same. The Midwest takes pride in all this; it would just rather not talk about it, you see, because that would be boasting, and boasting is not nice.

That humility permeates everything, helping to create the most remarkable facet of Midwestern Nice: the restraint from speaking ill of others, even if others should probably be ill-spoken of. I remember sitting at my grandmother’s table, in the hour before supper on a summer afternoon, watching her read the newspaper. I must have been 10 or so, in the last years before I learned to fully appreciate her -- a woman who grew up in the Depression, survived TB, raised six daughters alongside her farming husband, collected eggs from the chicken coop every morning, and read voraciously each night. She was always cheerful, which isn’t remarkable in the Midwest, but it is worth mentioning because reading one article that afternoon, I remember her eyes narrowing and her lips pursing themselves into an ugly knot that I never saw. She was upset, so upset that she soon read aloud that there had been, if memory serves, a murder in a nearby town. Police had arrested a suspect. She walked over to a dining room window and seemed to almost shake; she occasionally shopped in the town. Staring out at the bright afternoon, she looked in a trance, and even I could see the thoughts racing through her mind. But she just turned back to the dining room, and the one thing she said she half-muttered to the floor, in that flattened-vowel lilt of hers:

“And on a day like this.”

I scoffed, and for a while the afternoon stayed with me, as one more example of Grandma’s earnest, almost Old World simplicity. But as I got older I began to see it differently. Her reaction was about mastering fear, about stoicism and restraint, about not saying something caustic simply because you can, even if it’s about a person who has literally just murdered someone. Grandma’s six words, I discovered, were an anthem of sorts for Midwestern Nice.

And yet...

Of course, the duty to be nice and consider the feelings of others has a downside: the whole universe of things we have to repress. As a kid, there was an almost tactile pressure hovering around the Christmases, Thanksgivings, and birthday parties at Grandma’s house -- so much stuff we maybe wanted to say but couldn’t, even though we were family. The tension beneath the vanilla chitchat exhausted me, and I often left her home relieved that I could relax and be myself.

Here again, though, I was wrong, or at least only half right, and as an adult I discovered the fun of old-fashioned Midwestern innuendo: the way my aunts, say, could achieve the perfect degree of half-smile when extending their barely dead-toned goodbyes to my sister’s boyfriend, which told her how very much they disliked him. In fact, people from outside the Plains think they can mimic us by elongating some O's, but in truth we communicate far more in what we half-say, or fail to say entirely. To live in the Midwest is to experience two realities: the first, all sunshine and bland pleasantries among other potluck-suppering churchgoers; the other, a red-lit underworld where people relay vulgarities through the learned second language of euphemism, eye rolls and loaded silence.

We are the alpha and omega of passive-aggressiveness. It is, like the corn we plant, our contribution to society, and our art. In his hilarious book, The Midwest: God’s Gift to Planet Earth!, Mike Draper, a Des Moines-based retailer who writes under his company’s pseudonym, Raygun, shows how no form of passive-aggression is as finely honed as our own:

"The Northeast Jewish mother takes the most direct approach to her passive aggressiveness: 'Oh, you’re going out tonight, even though you’re only home three nights from school? No, I understand, you’re Mr. Popular. So if you want to leave your poor mother, that’s fine…'"

"The Southern Baptist mother brings Jesus in for backup: 'Going out tonight with those boys? Do you really think that’s what an upstanding young Christian man should be seen doing?...'”

"A Midwestern mom plays it very passive: 'Going out? You sure?'”

Every Midwestern mother is like this. During my junior year of college I decided to grow my hair out. When I called my mom with the news, she said, simply, “Oh.” But the word carried a lot of tones, a note of surprise and then a second beat, which sustained the first while she parsed the news, followed at last by a slight dip and then a leveling out in a lower register, so the "Oh" ended in more a statement than a question: Ooouuwwaah. That one word showed how she both processed my decision and rendered her verdict on it. She was not pleased with me. And she didn’t say anything else.

Two things explain that kind of subtlety. The first is a guilt over our lame attempts at bluntness; even our passivity pains us. Midwesterners never want to be malicious, and so we swallow our great loogies of venom, until the whole viscous thing gags us and forces from our lips, like a reflex, tiny spittles of displeasure, whose trajectory we struggle to control. I saw this most recently when Jonathan Franzen, a product of St. Louis’ suburbs, was asked how Midwestern virtues shape his life and writing. Skip ahead to roughly 3:15 and watch till the end:

The dramatic silences, false starts, and in particular the “Midwestern values” repetition: oh my God does Franzen despise these questions. But the good Missouri boy never says that -- can’t bring himself to, even 30 years after he left St. Louis. Instead he sputters through a state of near verbal paralysis until he finally lands on something that seems bland, but is actually loaded: “It’s no different than anywhere else,” he says. “And yet we all feel that there is something there.” And then, mercifully, the video ends.

Which leads us to the terrible beauty of Midwestern Rage

The thoughts about how our thoughts will be perceived lead me to the second point about our repressed anger: the refinement of its eventual expression. Not for us, the gauche heavy-handedness of Long Island mothers. No, our patois is about saying only what is necessary, and actually even less than that. The Midwestern dialect is so subtle that people not immersed in it for decades can’t hear it. I’ve lived outside Iowa for 12 years now, and two weeks ago, though I felt guilty as I said it, I insulted one of my Connecticut neighbors. I got tired of her preening about her oh-so unique life and job, and I told her -- again, against my better judgment -- that not everyone can make it as a snowflake. She thanked me for the kind words.

This happens a lot, which is ironic because the people who miss the subtlety often consider themselves far sharper than big, dull, flown-over pig-eaters like me. In his book, Draper describes how the Midwestern phone etiquette of, “Well, I better let you go,” a euphemism for “Leave me alone now,” is consistently misread by people outside the region as a way to beg more time out of the conversation. David Letterman, a gap-toothed kid from Indiana, dined out for years on a post-modern comedy that mocked comedy itself, but only became famous when East Coasters picked up on the joke.

Hollywood, it almost goes without saying, almost always misses the duplicity built into our pleasantries and the guilt we feel over our ever-so-slight slights. The one movie that captures it all, of course, is Fargo -- and a single scene in particular, with an emotional range so full and yet so very understated that even the late, great Chicagoans Siskel and Ebert questioned why the Coen brothers included it, though they loved it anyway.

I just never get tired of it. The nervous earnestness of “Ya, you know it's a Radisson so it's pretty good.” How Sheriff Gunderson’s brief moment of displeasure -- “Why don’t you sit over there? I'd prefer that” -- is apologized for in code: “Just so I can see ya, ya know. Don't have to turn my neck.” And then as Mike Yanagita begins to atone explicitly, her “Nooo, noo, that’s fine,” shows that it is anything but.

I could go on -- the way Gunderson reveals her shock over Linda’s death and then immediately masks it because the waitress is there; or the breakdown of Mike Yanagita itself, a gross violation of the tenets of Midwestern Nice, which makes the scene both hilarious and mortifyingly hard to watch. But the point is, with that scene, the Coen brothers, products of the Twin Cities, give away the Midwest’s secret -- something President Obama, of Kansas and Chicago, knows, too, and something that Johnny Carson, of Norfolk, Nebraska, knew every night the stage lights shone on him, and what David Foster Wallace, of Urbana, Illinois, knew in each of his “maximalist” stories, capturing all the conflicting truths of any moment, and then the infinite iterations beyond that: we may seem slow, or at least intellectually sated, but we live on a heightened plane of consciousness that few of you can comprehend. To be from here is, quite simply, to read a room better than fucking anyone.

And also, yes, to be nice.

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lets-talk-about-yoi · 7 years

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YOI/Captive Prince Crossover aka Evidence that I have no self-control

Based on this test post

Nicaise gazes up at the tall building with the words “Skate Central” attached in a tackyily aggressive font just above the entrance. He decides. “I don’t want to go in.”

“Nicaise…” Laurent begins.

“No, I’m not going in.”

“Nicaise, you are the one who begged us to take you here.”

Damen, quietly, speaks. “If he doesn’t want to go in, we can’t make him.”

“He’s going in, Damen. We drove all the way here for him to go ice skating and he’s going ice skating. He’s just pretending he’s scared because he knows that works on you.”

“What? No it doesn’t.” Normally, there would be eye-contact and a tense moment followed by Damen accepting Laurent’s statement as truth, but Laurent has no time for such games. Nicaise is trying to distract them.

“Nicaise,” Laurent begins. “Your father and I are going in. You can either come with us, or stay out here until we are finished.”

Nicaise narrows his eyes at Laurent in a surprisingly effective attempt for a thirteen-year-old to look intimidating. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” Laurent meets Nicaise’s glare with his own look of icy goading. The two of them love to push each other’s limits and Damen has learned to stand back and let the two of them silently duke it out. It’s safer than trying to intervene.

The moment stretches on.“Fine,” Nicaise breaks first. “But we’re leaving after twenty minutes.”

“An hour,” Laurent counters.

Nicaise tries again. “Thirty minutes.”

“Forty-five,” Laurent says with an air of finality.

“Deal.” Nicaise spins around and walks briskly to the entrance, leaving his parents behind.

Damen decides it is safe to speak. “I think he needs to spend less time with you.”

“Don’t worry, he has your over-developed sense of pride.”

“I have an over-developed sense of pride?”

Laurent leans up and quickly pecks Damen’s smiling lips. “Let’s go in before he verbally eviscerates someone.” Laurent reaches for Damen’s hand before they both walk towards the entrance, grinning.

They reach the rink after apologizing profusely to the young lady behind the ticket counter for Nicaise striding in without paying and take seats on the bleachers. Not too close, of course, but close enough that they could reach Nicaise in case something happened. Ice skating could be dangerous, after all. They sit and watch Nicaise valiantly try to skate around the perimeter of the rink, holding onto the wall most of the time for some time until it happens.

There are other people at the rink, of course, of varying skill levels, but one of them has taken interest in Nicaise. A young boy, about Nicaise’s age, skates towards him. Damen and Laurent both tense, awaiting the verbal altercation in which Nicaise is often involved. The second tick by. The boys exchange words. Miraculously, there are no punches swung, not even tears. The boy appears to be instructing Nicaise on how to skate properly, his own figure skates gleaming white next to Nicaise’s rented ones.

“I’m getting a snack. Do you want anything?” Damen whispers to Laurent. Laurent shakes his head. Neither of them take their eyes off their son.

Damen does manage to tear his gaze away long enough to make it to the snack bar, though. There’s only one person in front of him and he’s speaking rapidly to the cashier in another language. Damen pulls out his phone while he waits. There’s a text from Nikandros about plans for next weekend. He’ll have to talk to Laurent, of course, but if today continues to go well he has a feeling they’ll be back at the ice rink. Damen is broken from his ponderings by a body hitting him.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!”

“No, no. It’s fine.” Damen’s shirt is wet. The man is holding a now half empty cup.

“It’s just water, I promise—“

“It’s okay, really—“

“That was so clumsy of me, I didn’t even—“

“I shouldn’t have been standing so close. It’s my fault.”

There’s a slight pause where they both consider what to do now.

“I have towels—in our bag—please, let me—“

“All right.”

“Good.”

Damen lets the man lead the way to a spot on the opposite set of bleachers. There are three gym bags lined up on the lowest bench. The man reaches into the one closest to them and pulls out a crisp white towel.

“Here.”

Damen takes the towel with one hand and untucks his shirt with the other. “Thanks.”

“I’m Yuuri, by the way.”

“Damen.”

“I haven’t seen you here before.”

“My husband and I brought our son here for the first time today.” Even after all this time, Damen still felt a little thrill at the words: my husband, our son. It was still surreal at times. “He loves watching ice skating and has been begging us to take him here. We thought it was just a phase, but after two months of nagging we finally caved.”

“Which one is he?” Yuuri asks, genuinely, not in that obligatory small-talk way other people did.

Damen looks up from where he’s wiping down his torso. “That one.” Nicaise is on the other side of the rink from them, still with the other boy. They’ve made it away from the wall now, which is progress.

“Oh, he’s the one with Alexei.”

“Yours?” Damen asks even though he assumes the answer is “yes.”

Yuuri laughs. “Yes, Alex is mine.” Damen can sense the pride and wonder in Yuuri’s tone. He understands the feeling. They continue watching the two boys. Alex skates around for a bit and does an impressive jump for someone so small.

“He’s very good.” There’s no flattery. Damen can recognize skill and hard work when he sees it.

“Yes, he is. He’ll have his Junior debut soon.”

“Oh, you compete?”

Yuuri flushes. “Yes, well—“ They are interrupted.

“Yuuri! Did you see Alexei’s triple axel?” A new man is approaching them. This one taller with platinum hair.

“Yes, Viktor. It’s getting cleaner.”

“He’ll be doing quads in no time.” It takes a moment for Viktor to register the unknown new person. “Hello, I’m so sorry. Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov.”

“Damen Theomediades-du Vere.” The two shake hands.

“Damen’s son is the one with Alex.”

“Yes, I was wondering who that was. He looks new. Are you new?”

Damen laughs. “Yes, we’re new.”

“Wonderful! Your son…”

“Nicaise.”

“Nicaise! He is doing very well for his first time. Hardly falling at all!”

“Yes, well, all the ballet probably helps with his balance I guess.”

“Ballet?” Viktor seems intrigued, but he doesn’t get the chance to continue.

“Papa! Papa! Did you see my triple axel?” Alex slides to a graceful stop right at the edge of the rink.

“Yes золотко. It’s getting very clean. Uncle Yuri has been helping, hasn’t he?”

Alex laughs, bright and flute-like. “Yes, he has.” He turns to Damen. “You’re Nicaise’s dad, aren’t you? I know because he didn’t want me to come over here with me.”

“Yes, I am. And you’re Alex,” Damen answers.

“Alexei Toshiya Katsuki-Vikiforov,” the boy says proudly, pronouncing every syllable precisely.

“You’re a very talented skater Alexei Toshiya Katsuki-Nikiforov,” Damen also pronounces every syllable precisely and Alex beams.

“I’m going to go to the Olympics and I’m going to win even more gold medals than my Dads combined!”

Damen almost asks what that means, but it is at that precise moment that Nicaise, apparently bored with being left alone on the ice, glides next to Alex. He has to hold onto the edge of the rink to stop himself.

“Dad, it’s been forty-five minutes, but—“ Nicaise’s eye widen, almost comically. He frantically glances between Yuuri and Viktor’s faces. “Katsuki—Viktor—Yuuri—oh my god.”

Damen, concerned at his usually eloquent, if not abrasive, son’s apparent lack of communication skills, brings his full attention to his son. “Nicaise, are you all right?” Nicaise doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“You’re living legends Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki.” He then rounds on Alex. “You didn’t tell me your dads were famous!”

This wound up being very long but I am not sorry.

золотко [ zolotko ] means “my gold” (apparently. please correct me if I’m wrong)

#yuuri on ice #captive prince #lamen #laurent of vere #damianos #damen of akielos #viktuuri #viktor nikiforov #yuuri katsuki #yoi #my post #fanfiction #yoi crossover #captive prince ice skating #captive prince crossover #nicaise

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propshophannah · 7 years

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Wings & Embers analysis [1/2]

So @dreaming-about-somewhere-else sent me a message asking if I would explain how I read Nesta’s behavior in the ACOMAF extra chapter, Wings and Embers (provided here by @bookofademigod). So I started this post as an answer to that ask. It quickly became a lot bigger, and I realized I couldn’t leave out and lines because they were all so important to Nesta and Cassian’s behavior. So I’m posting my answer to the ask here!

It’s two parts and goes into some details about the clues to Nesta and Cassian being mates, but that was not the focus. So it’s not a comprehensive analysis of my thoughts on that.

To @dreaming-about-somewhere-else I can certainly try to explain that scene the way I see and read it, and then you can decide what you think. So here goes!

When I read that scene, the first thing I think about is that Cassian spends the first few minutes having a fake, internal argument with Nesta in his head. So right off the bat, that signals to me that he is expecting to have a verbal sparring match with Nesta when he sees her.

But also, this makes me think about a concept in social psychology called The Self Fulfilling Prophecy. And without getting too technical, this idea has been proven to show (time and time again) that when we think people are going to act certain way, or to fall in line with our stereotypes of who we think they are (whether that’s based on our past experiences with that person, or by their appearance, or skin color etc.) they do. And that’s because our own unconscious actions toward people actually make those people act in accordance with how we think they’ll act.

An example would be: John, a teacher, meets his new 2nd grade class. But before class started, another teacher told John that one of his students, Lizzy, is a bad student. So when John is introducing himself to the class, and is getting to know the students, he unconsciously acts toward Lizzy as if she had already demonstrated to him that she is a bad student. This is turn, makes Lizzy act like a bad student because she picks up on how John is acting toward her. (It’s crazy how this works in the real world. It’s worth a google if you’ve never heard of it before.)

Moving on!

So Cassian walks into that house expecting Nesta to be argumentative and abrasive. So he unconsciously acts toward her as if she threw the first punch.

And he does.

When he reveals himself to her: “A blink is her only tell of discomfort or surprise—and he may or may not have let his wings spread a bit wider as she looked him over.”

I think he does this:

To physically puff himself up.

It’s also a male posturing behavior. Because in Illyrian culture, the bigger wingspan means the bigger penis. He’s peacocking for Nesta. (Cassian is an overgrown peacock.) He wants her approval.

And I think Nesta is smart enough to have read his motion and body language and to have figured that out. She sees everything. And she sees that he has just walked into her house and is puffing himself up for her.

So the first thing out of her mouth is, “You’re ten minutes late.”

Maas tells us that Nesta said this while she was moving to the fire. So the implication is that moving to the fire will hide their voices, but she’s also blowing him off a bit. She says this to him with her back turned. Which I read as her response to him puffing his wings up. She’s letting him know, in so many words, that he’s wasting his time trying to impress her. That this is not what they’re there for. It’s also a power move, same as him puffing his wings up is.

Cassian says: “I do have other duties, you know.”

And Maas writes that he does this with equal quiet and that he flashes a grin. To me that implies he he’s trying to goad her. He fails to realize that she was trying to shut whatever this flirty/male posturing thing he’s doing down. But he’s also implying that he has better things to be doing that deigning to visit Nesta.

Then we get another insert where he tells us he was flying around the house thinking up comebacks to hurl at her (Self Fulfilling Prophecy).

Nesta says: “Here I was thinking I heard you flapping around for ten minutes. It must have been a pigeon stuck in one of the chimneys.”

The implication of her response is that

She knows that his “other duties” line is a lie because she heard him flapping around above the house, and

She equates his flapping/indecisiveness to come into the house—to a pigeon.

And what do we all know about pigeons? They never move! You’re about to run them over with your car and the damn things don’t move until the very last second.

And that’s HILARIOUS because it’s exactly what Cassian was doing. And it matches his dismissive insult to her (the line before) when he basically said he had better things to do with his time than come to the human lands and to see her. So insult for insult. Fair game.

Being compared to a pigeon pisses him off. And I’d say this is the moment when he escalated the situation, not Nesta.

“His temper rose with dizzying speed at the words, the absurd perfection of her. … He smiled, slow and vicious, precisely in the way he’d learned made her see red. A smile that he knew instantly unsheathed those lovely claws of hers.”

He is mad because he is super attracted to her, AND because she called him out. So he gives her a smile that he knows will piss her off. He wants to piss her off. He makes the first move here.

And Nesta doesn’t give him the reaction he wants. She remains unmoved by his goading. The only reaction is “the delicate flare of her nostrils” and Cassian doesn’t not it as aggressive. It could just be her taking a deep breath to calm herself. (Or scent him, but that’s a theory for another day!) Instead Nesta asks how Feyre is. And all Cassian says is, “Busy.” And this is the saddest part of this whole scene because the next thing Maas tells us is that Cassian saw “A flicker of her throat.”

I’d argue, that’s Nesta steeling herself. Physically swallowing back her emotions. She’s worried about Feyre, and I think her feelings are hurt that Feyre didn’t come to bring the letter. Nesta shows, she doesn’t tell. And I know she was hurt because the very next thing out of her mouth is, “So busy she cannot deign to visit, it seems.”

That’s the kind of comment we all make when our feelings have been hurt, and we’re trying to cover it up. It’s easier, and safer, to hide than it is to admit that our feelings are hurt. Especially in front of strangers—especially in front of strangers we’re attracted to.

And Cassian fails to realize that. He goads her again by saying Feyre has a lot on her plate and adding a visit to the human lands, and by default a visit to Nesta, is too hard/unimportant for her to be bothered with.

[Pause here for a moment: One of Nesta’s biggest insecurities, is being left behind. Her mother left her, her father mentally left them. Then Feyre was taken, and she couldn’t get her back. And I think I might argue that she is letting Elain marry this hatful dude because she maybe wants to keep Elain close to her.]

And after Cassian says Feyre can’t be bothered to come visit, we get the first big moment of “Predator Nesta” (PN). Cassian says he can tell she is sizing him up. And she asks Cassian what his role in all of this is. And Cassian braces his feet apart (he’s posturing) and says he commands Rhys’s armies. THIS IS SOOO different than when Cassian told Feyre at dinner nonchalantly that he commanded the armies. At the Inner Circle dinner, Cassian blew it off as if it were nothing. As if it meant nothing about him.

But here he says it like it makes him important. And this tells me three important things.

Cassian cares what Nesta thinks of him. He wants Nesta to be impressed by him and all of his accomplishments. And “I command Rhys’s armies” is probably his BEST pickup line at Rita’s. There is no way that line has not gotten women into his bed.

Cassian has it so bad for Nesta he can’t see straight. Because what his moment of posturing/peacocking did, was put him in a vulnerable spot because it gave Nesta all his power.

He blindly, in his need to impress her, showed her his hand/cards. Meaning, she knew immediately that he was trying to impress her, and she took that and ran with it.

She asks if he leads all the armies, and he says he leads the important ones. (And let’s be fair, there was no right answer to her question, she had him by the balls either way. And he failed to see it.) And then she takes the opportunity he gave her, to completely dismiss him and his accomplishments.

And I’d argue that she does this for two big reasons.

Because she has it bad for Cassian and can’t figure out why. And I bet it scares her. It would scare me if I could sense a dangerous Fae male flying around my house. I wouldn’t know what to do with that. He’s the enemy. Even if he, Feyre, Rhys, Azriel are the exception to the rule. They’re still dangerous. And Clare Beddor was taken from her bed and murdered. (Ironic that Elain brings that up, when she and Nesta both end up getting taken from their beds and drown.)

She does not want him thinking he has a right to try to impress her. She is human, he is Fae—what’s the point? She does not want a relationship with the Fae outside of stopping a war. She does not want to associate with them, to be in danger—all of that. So she shuts him down at every turn. I would honestly do the same.

[Pause for a moment: I’d argue this is a moment of Maas throwing in a little 3rd wave feminism. Because we are very aware in the 3rd wave, that it’s inappropriate for men to give us their unsolicited opinions about our appearances, AND that they are in no way entitled to hit on us just because we’re in the same room. So Nesta’s actions here are very in line with the 21st Century. And she’s not wrong to want to shut him down for trying to impress her.]

And Cassian, who is pissed at the dismissal (cuz let’s be honest, that line “I command Rhys’s armies” has without-a-doubt gotten him laid. That’s probably one of his best lines, and when it doesn’t work—he’s not happy), so he insults Nesta, by coming right back at her and implying that she does nothing of importance.

And it works. And Nesta’s reaction, gives Cassian back all the power he’d lost a moment ago. Nesta says:

“Why should I bother defending myself to a male who is so puffed up on his own sense of importance there’s barely enough space in the room for his enormous head?”

This is her articulating how she saw Cassian acting when he was peacocking to her a moment ago. She calls him arrogant and says his ego is huge—which is 100% correct in how he acted toward her. He thought he could impress her. He failed. She called him out on it. That’s fair game.

BUT what Cassian does next, is NOT.

And this is where I sometimes get defensive about Nesta in this scene, because I’d argue Cassian unknowingly acts like a dick. (so if I come off a little strong, it’s not you! It’s me!)

“Then he was stalking toward her, his long stride eating up the ornate carpet between them. She did not recoil, did not yield one step back. Only lifted her chin to meet his stare as he towered over her, spreading his wings slightly, and said through his teeth, ‘Do you have news from the queens?’”

AH! AAAAHHH! Not okay, Cassian!

Cassian—a HUGE, ancient, muscular, Fae warrior—stalked across the room in an angry moment toward a human woman with the intention of intimidating her. He let his feral-male-fae-primal-size override his better judgement, and the scene went from a normal verbal sparring match, to male intimidation based on size and the use of space.

Cassian takes Nesta’s space. And if anyone has ever done that to you, then you know how that feels. He physically gets too close to her on purpose. He towers over her on purpose. And he spreads out his wings to make himself appear even larger and more intimidating. THEN he commands information from her through his teeth.

So the visual is: Tall male, muscular, wider than necessary (cuz he’s using his wings like any animal does to appear bigger in the wild), he came up to her too fast, he’s standing way too close, and he is showing his teeth. He is doing everything wrong here, and Nesta is 100% allowed to react like an assertive badass to shut him down.

*Side note: I don’t think Cassian did this like Donald Trump does this. He didn’t want to assert male dominance to make her feel less than, or weak (although, if you want to argue that, I can’t refute it, because the evidence is there). I’d argue he did this because Nesta got under his skin, and she is just as much an apex predator as he is. And had he gotten a whiff of fear off her, he would have backed off immediately and probably apologised/let her know he didn’t mean it to scare her.*

BUT the fact remains. He escalated the situation. Not Nesta. We’re talking about The Rock Dwayne Johnson (Nesta is the dog?) standing less than a foot from you and looking angry. Props to Nesta because I would have pissed myself. (Personal moment: I love The Rock, I grew up in Hawaii, and Illyrian’s, especially Cassian, have always looked like Hawaiian boys to me. The tattoos, the body, culture—everything!)

And the next thing out of Nesta’s mouth is that she knows exactly what he is trying to do. She tells him, “Leader of the High Lord’s armies, and yet the brute remains. You cannot cow me with words, so you seek to intimidate me through your hulking size.”

That’s not an insult. That’s a cold hard fact. Nesta just called him out. (Shots fired!) So much of what Nesta says in this scene is her plainly explaining what an idiot/ass Cassian is being. And it’s easy to read her as just being rude because we all know Cassian, and we don’t really know Nesta (Nesta’s character is in the nuisance of her actions. She requires a lot more attention to figure out). But she is not being rude, she’s 100% within her right to call him out and explain his behavior. I think as readers, we tend to side with the characters we like most, and for us in this scene, it tends to be Cassian. And when he gets offended, we do to—even if we don’t know why.

Cassian’s response here to Nesta is GOLD. Because his entire takeaway from what she said was not that he was trying to intimidate her, it’s that she thinks he “hulking.”

I’m laffing rn! Because what an adorable, winged idiot! Cassian has it so bad for Nesta that he is concerned about how she sees him. And if that ain’t the cutest damn thing about that bat then idk what is! Especially cuz Mor (Amren?) told him he ogles his muscles in the mirror! Like, Cass is concerned that maybe he is too big! Or that Nesta does not appreciate his physique—which he clearly spends a lot of time on. XD (UGH. I’m so dead rn! This is probably the funniest moments in the whole series to me.)

And after his “hulking” line, Nesta continues with, “You need me far more than I need you. So I‘d suggest you merely agree, tuck in those bat wings, and ask nicely.”

She’s explaining how he is acting, how she is not going to be intimidated by him, and how he needs to give her some respect. Again, not mean at all. Because she owes him nothing after how he acted.

And just to reiterate: She’s being assertive, not bossy, or bitchy. And she’s absolutely right. Cassian and them do need her far more than she needs them. (At this point they haven’t met with the queens/gotten a firm no on the Book of Breathings, and Cassian has not brought Nesta his book on military strategy.) It’s hard sometimes to see women, especially ones like Nesta who are abrasive in many situations, as being assertive and not bossy. But in this scene (as opposed to others) she is well within her right to say what she says. He got into her space, he challenged her. Fair game.

And Cassian’s response to this, is to “take a step closer, bracing a hand on the mantle, and leaned in close enough to breathe in that scent of hers.”

Excuse me while I slam my head down. Because he has just taken up more of her space, closed off more of her space by putting his arm on the mantle, and now they’re breathing on one another. Not okay to do to any female. But really not okay to do to a female who is a stranger ESPECIALLY when you’re clearly larger and more powerful than her. And considering Nesta’s past with Tomas…

BUT! This poor behavior is rewarded by Cassian getting a bite in the ass. Cuz, he again loses his power to her. Why? Because he scents that mating bond between them. (I’m on that ship even though it’s not yet canon). Her scent hits him so hard he can’t focus, and he tells us that it “took five centuries of training” to not allow his eyes to roll back in his head, as if her scent puts him in a trance. We get a few lines of his primal/instinct wanting to take over, and the POV ends with Cassian saying to Nesta, “There are other ways I could play nice, Nesta Archeron.”

To recap, Nesta’s last line to him ended with, “You need me far more than I need you. So I‘d suggest you merely agree, tuck in those bat wings, and ask nicely.”

To which Cassian says, “There are other ways I could play nice, Nesta Archeron.”

He takes her truthful, assertive words and makes them null-and-void. He discredits and undermines them by making a sexual innuendo.

Shame on you, Cassian.

And again, we all know Cassian, and we know that he is being a playful ass/goading her, right? We know he isn’t saying those things to be gross, or to objectify her, or to make her feel less than, but Nesta doesn’t know that about Cassian. She can only gather so much information. And we also have to remember that her life long biases as playing into how she is able to read him (again Self Fulfilling Prophecy).

So to some degree, I think we can argue that Nesta “sees too much” to not know where Cassian is coming from when he says this to her. But it doesn’t make it okay to say these things to her. It doesn’t make it okay to let them slide—even if they’re said from a place where the line between enemy and lover are blurred. And what I mean by that is, in this scene, they’re both attracted to one another. They’re both unsure what this “thing” is between them. And they both want the upper-hand.

So they are not only arguing in a real verbal-sparring-match kinda way, they are also testing the water. Seeing where they can push and pull one another. They’re testing one another’s boundaries. So sexual tension, and bias, and annoyance/anger are playing into their actions and responses.

So again. We get Cassian being an ass. And in response to him, Nesta dished out the same medicine. It’s a fair fight.

POV Switch to Nesta!

The beginning to Nesta’s POV makes me laugh because homegirl is all business saying Cassian is dangerous (which is true!), but the third sentence she says is, “Then there were those enormous wings…”

She, on some level, has gathered that Cassian’s/Illyrian’s wingspan means something about penis size in their culture (I’d argue the first time he puffs them up in this scene is when she gathered this info), and she is likely mystified by his wings for their rarity and power (she’s never seen them until Feyre brought the boys), and because she’s attracted to them. On some level Nesta is into those wings. They mean something to her. Whether it is purely sexual, or the idea of freedom and escape, or if the power they exude (cuz they’re huge and must be muscular and incredibly impressive to behold) is somehow being tied to safety, she’s picking up on that. That need.

Cuz then she goes right into talking about how powerful Rhys is, that Cassian serves Rhys, and the love between Feyre and Rhys. These all could be argued to speak to Nesta’s insecurities and life wants.

Then she tells us Cassian is dangerous, “Not the handsome face, but those hazel eyes … They had a way of assessing everything and everyone.”

She gives us three gems here:

She’d been thinking about how pretty Cassian is, and

She is scared that he will see who she really is beneath the walls.

*More of a side note* She knows he can see beneath her walls. Mates anyone? Mates are equals on some level, so why would Nesta’s mate not be able to see through her walls?

Are you crying yet? UGH. Insecure Nesta breaks my heart. Then Maas lets us all know about that “snapping fire” that is “blazing” between them. Not an accident—that’s a physical representation of the sexual tension between them.

Then Nesta hints at her magic power (yes, there are a bunch of great posts floating about how 1 or all the Archeron sisters are demi-fae) when she writes that Nesta, “Held that gaze, willing him not to see too far, too deep. Better to keep him distracted with the barbed words, the utter dismissal.”

She’s telling us that she is putting all her energy into hiding herself. Hiding who she is. And why do we hide? Because we are insecure or ashamed or because we don’t want to be found. Nesta and Cassian are similar in this regard, but I’d argue Nesta does it on a level Cassian can’t touch.

Then Nesta calculates the “offer” (sexual innuendo) Cassian threw her way. She tells us she knows he threw it out there to “test” her and “find another weakness.” She’s acknowledging the game they’re both actively playing, the verbal sparring match they’re both actively participating in.

Nesta decides to go with, “If I wanted a male pawing at me, I’d sooner ask one of the hounds.”

She’s equating his skill in the bedroom to a clumsy, thumbless dog, and she’s saying an actual dog would probably be better than him.

Cassian responds with, “Have you ever been with a male, Nesta?”

He is implying that she can’t possibly know what she’s talking about (he’s rubbing up on that mansplaining line), and he means to insult her no matter what her answer is. If she says no, then she shouldn’t speak about what she doesn’t know. And if she says yes, then obviously the men she’s slept with have no skill, and he, Cassian, could teach her a thing of two about her own body and pleasure.

Cassian has her by the balls with this question, and she knows it!

So she answers his question with a question to buy time. “Have you?”

To which Cassian answers her question with a question. “I asked first, sweetheart.” (Yes, I think this ‘sweetheart’ was meant to be condescending because I think Cassian knew she was a virgin when she didn’t answer, and that he had her by the balls no matter how she answered.) He then adds, “Unless you prefer females?”

Nesta responds by placing “a brazen” hand on his chest—taking back the space between them/claiming the space as her own (she is a lot smaller than him, this is the only real way she can do it)—and leaning into him. The whole time her mind goes from thinking about how nice his body is, to how hot he is (use of the word “fire” just another non-accidental way to point to sexual tension and them being mates), to how much smaller she is, and BOOM!

With that thought, Nesta’s mind immediately goes back to thinking about how dangerous Cassian is and how arrogant. (We find out when she tells us about Tomas, just why her mind went back to defense mode.)

So Nesta leans in, and now Cassian is the one straightening his posture aka backing up and away from Nesta. HA. HA. She wins—

BUT no, because then she denies the question with her answer, and Cassian pounces to regain that upper hand.

Cassian: “You haven’t answered my first question. Or are all these other questions a diversion?”

Nesta: “What is it to you?”

Cassian: “More questions.”

Then he gives her a cocky grin because he knows he’s got all the power and that she is avoiding the question. Which means he knows she’s embarrassed or insecure about it.

And that’s when Nesta has a light bulb moment. She realizes that Cassian thinks she is inexperienced and embarrassed to be a virgin. So she gives him the answer that will wipe the cocky grin off his face.

She leans into him more, brushes her body against him (cuz her body is what this is all about/what he wants to know about), she sees it working cuz his pupils expand, his body stiffens (LOL), and she says no, she’s a virgin.

Then digs her hand into his leathers and says, “Why should I have bothered? By the time I came of age, I was surrounded by low-born brutes and bastards.” And says she’d rather masterbate then “sully” herself with them.

And she gets the reaction she wanted. He’d planned to make her feel inferior regardless of how she answered the “are you a virgin” question. Fair fight in my opinion. And just as exploitative of him and he was planning to be of her. And Nesta knows she has him by the balls here. She practically heard that arrow strike the target.

And pause for a second. She threw the word bastard in there for him, not gonna deny that. But she then tells us it was designed to wound him “if he thought too long on it.”

So, yes, she used the word bastard as a dig at him, but it was veiled. She implies here, that she said it with the same inflection and cadence that she would say, “By the time I came of age, I was surrounded by low-born brutes and assholes.”

The dig was not that she said he was a bastard, or that he is lesser because he is a bastard. The dig is that she, herself, is implying that bastards and brutes are not good enough for her. Because she recognizes that Cassian’s whole macho arrogant-ass act in this scene has been about him trying to get her to pay attention to him.

Well no one intimidates Nesta Archeron into paying attention to them. No one demands she pay attention to them. She is not an object with which men/males should posture and peacock to get attention from. That’s not how this works (and it’s actually pretty true to life). If Nesta (or any girl) wants to give you attention, she will. So in an equally inappropriate, yet significantly more cunning way (again she doesn’t have the hulking size to do it like he does), Nesta lets him know that he is wasting his time peacocking for her.

And good for her. She is a strong, assertive woman. And he came into her house, looking for a fight. He got into her face and tried to intimidate her. She’s working with what she’s got. And she is responding to what he dishes out first. She is not the aggressor here. He is.

But also, Nesta is hiding. She is trying to push him away because (as we find out later in this scene) she knows that Cassian can see who she is beneath her walls. And I don’t even think Nesta likes to see who she is beneath her walls. She is insecure, and hiding, and so horribly broken by what happened to her mother. That’s where her whole act comes from (as far as we know). That and the fact that her *cough* magic *cough* is that she feels everything too deeply. She doesn’t want to feel somethings, so she pushed them down and buries them beneath walls of fire and steel.)

Moving on!

Then Nesta starts thinking about how she hasn’t been with a man and why. We get a line about her knowing she had no future with Tomas (I’d argue it was her magic/ability to see too much. She knew he was a dick. But also, she has a mate out there.).

“She swallowed, shutting out the memory of what he’s said and done. The sound of her tearing dress. No—it hadn’t gone that far, but… The blind terror in those moments he’d tried, before she’d screamed and clawed her way free. And never told anyone.”

And now we get another reason why Nesta kept coming back to why Cassian is dangerous. She had a horrible history with men. She in no way wanted Cassian to think he could intimidate her, or take her space, or even come on to her. And this is a big part of why.

Then she see’s that Cassian has recognized, to some degree, what kind of memory she’d become lost in. And I think she’s 100% right when she ways it changed her scent. I think that’s part of her magic. Memories and control over memories can camouflage her.

But Cassian sees. And rage stills his face. And Nesta has a very VERY visceral reaction to see this. It says, “It robbed her of breath, of any sort of sense that she might indeed have the upper hand as he ground out, ‘Who.’”

Notice, Cassian did not say “Who?” he said, “Who.” It was not a question. It’s more a command/a statement. He knows someone hurt her and he wants to punish them.

She blows him off, oddly enough, to protect Tomas. (So when people say Nesta is heartless or a bitch—I’m standing over here pointing to the fact that she didn’t was Cassian to punish a man who tried to rape her because death-by-Fae-male is too much even for an asshole like Tomas. A fact Nesta and I disagree on. LOL) Then Nesta tries to move away.

And Cassian grips her hand, pinning it to his heart:

“He gripped it, faster than she could detect, and pinned it there. His heart was beating at a gallop now—a thunderous, mighty gallop. Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous, this male. If only for the fact that he made her feel so out of control. That she had no idea what he’d do—what she’d do—if he found her vulnerable for even a moment.”

This passage is GOLD! We get so much! I hope I don’t miss anything. HERE WE GO!

He grips her hand over his heart. We don’t know if physical contact makes their bond stronger/makes him more able to read her. But I think it probably does. Proximity. Ya know?

His actions (holding her, rage, asking who, galloping heart) tell her all she needs to know about who he is: Cassian is the EXACT opposite of her father (Tamlin and Tomas). Cassian is a man of action. He will not sit by and let her starve (or let her mother die), he won’t sit on his ass while she is tortured UtM, and he would go with her to the wall to save her sister.

This makes him to be dangerous. Not because he is not the type to sit on his ass, but because he is the type to do it for her. To make a promise he will keep. To be there for her. (something her father and Tomas never do. Can you imagine someone tries to rape you and you can’t even count on your own father to do anything about it?)

She tells us she HATES not being in control, and cassian makes her feel out of control.

This is all another visceral reaction because this turns her on. In a sexual way, but in a “this is all I’ve ever wanted” way. And that makes Cassian (and what he offers her) dangerous. Dangerous because she likes it/him and that makes it a vulnerability. This is a longing she has been stuffing down and hiding. The last thing she tells us is that she has no idea what she would do if he found her vulnerable.

Because the one thing she can’t be is vulnerable. If she openly loves, then people (her mother) can die. If she openly asks for help, then people (her father when she begged him to find a cure for the mother) can let her down. If she’s in a relationship (Tomas), then men can try to hurt her. If she isn’t strong, then people can take her family (Tamlin takes Feyre, twice). The list goes on.

Cassian asks if someone hurt her, and she notes how guttural his voice is. Meaning he is having a visceral reaction (fussy-fae-bullshit, she’s his mate and someone hurt her).

And her answer is basically, would you find me vulnerable if someone had tried to hurt me?

Nesta: “Would it change anything if someone had? Would it make you see me differently, treat me differently?”

Cassian: “It’d make me hunt them down and shatter every bone in their body.”

This is an honest interaction between them. There are NO walls up here, no game of words being played. Nesta is FLOORED that this male is so willing to “fight for her honor” and no one has ever done that. And so she asks a heartbreakingly honest question that is: would you see/treat me differently/see me as vulnerable if someone had hurt me.

And Cassian’s answer is everything she’s ever wanted to here. He says: No, I would not treat you any differently, but I would murder the son of a bitch who tried to hurt you.

And Maas tells us that the truth in his words/promise sends a shiver down her spine and that she is not scared of him. Dare I say he has maybe won her trust here?

(UGH. Nesta Archeron, my heart!)

Nesta: “You don’t know me. Why bother?”

“Cassian snarled, inching closer, his hand gripping hers—then paused. As if the question sunk in. As if reality sunk in. He blinked. ‘I’d do it for anyone.’”

This is stone cold proof, that Cassian is having a more than friends/I’m a good guy moment. He is so lost to his almost bloodlust at the thought of someone hurting her (his mate), that he growls as if insulted that she would ask him why he would bother for her sake. Then he snaps back to reality and says he would do it for anyone—which is 100% true. Cassian is a stand up guy.

(there is also talk of keeping promises, and I think since mommy dearest roped Feyre into making a promise (that could have very likely been a binding Fae-deal if the mom was Fae or Demi-Fae), I think she might have made Nesta promise to protect Elain. It’s a thought.)

Then Nesta digresses about why his sincerity makes her angry—because it forces her to look at her own lack of it. She mentions how he sees and speaks the truth. We know Nesta can see the truth, but she doesn’t often speak it. Not like Cassian does. And she talks about how he saw her the day they met and “weighed her … actions when they’d lived in that cottage.”

She talks about how she acted like her father when they lived in the cabin. She was so consumed with her hate for him and for him letting her mother die, that she was willing to let them all starve just to prove a point and to punish him.

Punish him, because HE WAS THE FATHER. It was HIS RESPONSIBILITY to take care of his childrens. NOT NESTA’S.

This is a big issue for me, when people get on about how Nesta let them all starve. NO. Nesta was a CHILD. She was as much a victim of a lazy father as Elain and Feyre were. It’s such a micro-aggression. I can’t stand it. The idea that a woman, and the oldest daughter, is supposed to care for the family when there is no mother present. UGH. Leave your gender norms at home.

And far more importantly: We must be careful not to shift the blame away from the perpetrator and onto the victims. It’s like saying Nesta deserved to be almost raped because of what she was wearing when she broke up with Tomas. No.

People use the argument that they’re an older sibling, or they would never do that to their siblings—not valid arguments. Life experience dictated how we act toward one another. The Archeron sisters come from a messed up family, and Nesta was likely the only one old enough to really grasp that the father sat on his ass and let the mom die. He murdered her in Nesta’s eyes.

And when Feyre went out into the forest (because she’d made a promise and not out of the goodness of her heart, let’s be clear) to find food for them, she was as good as enabling the father’s laziness and complete lack of parental responsibility.

And that pissed Nesta off. And instead of seeing how she had become just like the father (okay to sit on her ass and watch them die), she buries that truth about herself and uses her self hate/cowardice/selfishness to hate Feyre. Feyre as good as brought booze to an alcoholic in Nesta’s eyes. And it’s not a wrong interpretation either. Because it’s 100% correct. It’s just a different lens with which to examine the situation. People enable alcoholics and addicts and lazy people, and bratty kids every day. Just because Feyre helped her sisters doesn’t mean she wasn’t by default enabling a father who gave up on his responsibilities.

And Nesta tells us that “she didn’t know what to do with it, that rage.” She tells us it still hunts her and makes her want to rip the world apart. Then she tells us:

“She felt it all—too keenly, too sharply. Hated and cared and loved and dreaded, more than other people, she sometimes thought. Could sift between them all in a matter of moments, like she was trying on different sets of clothes, and no one could tell or care. Except him. He could see it, feel it.”

So this gives us two gems:

Nesta might be some kind of empath. Or at least be able to able to use emotions in a magical way similarly to that idea.

She knows Cassian can tell. And she hates being vulnerable. Him being able to tell, makes her vulnerable.

She goes on to explain how she knew Cassian had seen the real her the first time they met, and how she’d wanted to hurt him for it. That’s a natural reaction to being found vulnerable. You eliminate the threat/the thing that makes you vulnerable. She doesn’t want to get hurt. She doesn’t want him to hurt her.

AND HOLY SHIT! Cassian, in that exact moment, reads her mind/her emotions. He sees that she is thinking about how she wanted to hurt him for seeing who she was beneath the walls. He rubs the back of her hand with his thumb. He’s consoling her.

And then a log shifts in the fire—AKA Maas is telling us that something between them shifted. Fundamentally shifted. Because the fire is a metaphor for the fire between them. It has been all scene.

And embers explode and light flares into the room—the scene has literally been illuminated.

And Nesta Archeron realizes that she has been staring at a beautiful, fae male who is holding, and rubbing, her hand. And she notes that Cassian blinked and that his mouth parted, meaning he’s doing that breathy inhale we all do right before we kiss someone/when we want to kiss someone. ALSO, this is a moment where Nesta (and the reader) is aware that Cassian’s lips are parting/he blinked because suddenly there’s Nesta. Nesta the woman behind the walls and the anger and the emotions she can try on like dressed. He sees her, and they both know it.

And then they both get lost in this moment together. Somewhere in the calm eye of the storm. And that’s when Cassian leans in and Nesta tips her head to expose her neck.

POV Switch to Cassian!

[onward to part two!]

#Nessian #Cassian x Nesta #Wings and embers analysis #Wings&Embers #Wings and embers analysis part 1 #ACOMAF #ACOTAR #Nesta Archeron #cassian #illyrian #nessian mates!

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