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pikahlua · 8 months ago

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"A deuteragonist has a very different role in the MHA and that is a whole other post ."Can you please write this article? I am tired of Bakugo being constantly downplayed. There are very few people who understand his character and role in the story as well as you do.

Haha I mean hehe it's just hoho I never said fufu that Katsuki is the deuteragonist guffaw shucks haha I mean come on snort why are you putting words in my-

Katsuki Bakugou is the deuteragonist.

Katsuki Bakugou is the deuteragonist

"Of course you would say that. You're a Katsuki Bakugou stan! You are invested in inflating his importance in the story because you love him." - some people, probably

No. If that were true, I would be arguing Katsuki Bakugou is the protagonist. But I'm not.

Because Katsuki Bakugou is the deuteragonist.

It's not that I love him and therefore assert that he's the deuteragonist. I love him because he's the deuteragonist (plus many other reasons). He is an archetypal familiar shounen hero made interesting in part by the fact that he is NOT the protagonist and deliberately written in the deuteragonist role/function, and I will go into visceral detail about this momentarily.

I promise you I don't go around in other fandoms arguing my favorite non-main character is the deuteragonist. I fully embrace whatever role it is they play in the story. YOU WILL SEE THE EVIDENCE OF THIS VERY SOON, FOR EVERY CHARACTER IN MHA.

What is a deuteragonist?

A deuteragonist is a story archetype. They are the second-most important character in a story (which is a vague as hell definition). They are often known as the "secondary main character."

That's it. Everything else one might say about a deuteragonist is just a sub-archetype.

A deuteragonist can be a sidekick, a love interest, a rival, an antagonist, or even a neutral party. They are often, not always, written as foil characters to the protagonist. They often, not always, provide a different and yet similar outlook to the protagonist's. Their utility in a story can be quite varied. Sometimes they support the protagonist, and sometimes they oppose the protagonist. Often, they are used to help the protagonist complete their character arc.

Sometimes, there can be more than one deuteragonist.

What the hell is a deuteragonist?

The problem is, the function of a deuteragonist can change just depending on the type of story we're talking about. A deuteragonist in an ancient Greek tragedy (theatre), where the term originally came from, won't necessarily function the same way as a deuteragonist in a 2-hour contemporary movie. Things get even more complicated when we're talking about a TV series, a book series, or a comic book series in which the cast becomes so large we're likely to see MULTIPLE deuteragonists.

My Hero Academia, like many long-running shounen manga, has an ensemble cast. Would you be surprised if I told you My Hero Academia not only has multiple deuteragonists, not only has multiple antagonists, but also has multiple protagonists? Because it does!

Sometimes people wanna divide MHA into three or four acts and make the claim that the deuteragonist changes from act to act. I say they aren't going far enough. MHA is divided into arcs, and each arc has its own protagonist and antagonist and sometimes even deuteragonist. This is a STAPLE of ensemble cast shounen manga, where often there will be so many characters they get grouped off into trios (or more) and one among them will be the group's designated protagonist.

Sure, in most MHA arcs, Izuku is the protagonist. But he's not always. Who is the protagonist of the Pro Hero (Endeavor vs Hood) arc? Who is the deuteragonist? It's not Izuku and Katsuki; it's Endeavor and Hawks! What about the protagonist in the My Villain Academia arc? Tomura. The Hero License Supplementary Course arc? Katsuki and Shouto (who can't seem to decide if they're co-protagonists or protagonist and deuteragonist and who is which). The Overhaul arc? Izuku is the protagonist and Mirio is the deuteragonist. Some arcs really play with these roles or make it unclear who is playing which role or if the role even exists.

What is a deuteragonist in My Hero Academia?

So if we have a bunch of protagonists, does that mean the most important one is the series' overarching protagonist and the one second in importance is the deuteragonist? It COULD be, but it's not necessarily true.

There aren't that many arcs where Izuku is not the protagonist. If we look at the number of arcs where someone else is the protagonist, following the above logic, we could end up with All Might or Endeavor as the deuteragonist. Maybe some people would earnestly make the argument Endeavor is the deuteragonist--I don't know, I haven't met those people I guess. The problem with this approach in my eyes is that it entirely discounts the deuteragonists of each arc. Would it not follow that the overarching deuteragonist is the character who has played the deuteragonist in the largest number of arcs? What if that character is different from the character who has played protagonist the second-most number of times? And this is to say nothing about if the protagonist or deuteragonist are the same as the antagonist in a given arc! It's difficult to weight any one character in this fashion particularly when you have an ensemble cast.

This is getting into the question of focus and screentime. How much should we weight this metric? Admittedly this one can also be complicated, especially when it comes to long stories with ensemble casts. The question is how much does screentime actually convey how much a character is the focus of a story, and does that necessarily translate to protagonist and deuteragonist? Because for many the question is: could the deuteragonist be an antagonist in MHA?

It just gets a little harder to argue someone besides Katuski Bakugou is the main deuteragonist the more Katsuki's screentime allocation looks something like this:

Okay, perhaps that exact size of gap is hyperbole. But there is a clear, measurable gap between Katsuki Bakugou and everyone else and I don't think anyone has ever disputed that. Please check out this post by @dekusheroacademia that has compiled some of these statistics (they also make some excellent points about evaluating the elements of a deuteragonist and how various characters fit or don't fit those characteristics).

Still, this is merely supporting evidence, not conclusive. I am well aware of the concept of a false protagonist, where someone appears to be the protagonist until later someone else is revealed to be the story's true protagonist. And while I've never seen a false deuteragonist where someone SEEMS to be the deuteragonist and is later revealed in a twist not to be (as opposed to the deuteragonist just merely changing NOT as a deliberate twist where expectations were set to be otherwise), that doesn't mean it can't happen.

Tangentially related, we could also potentially look at marketing as another piece of supporting evidence. It's not conclusive that just because Katsuki Bakugou is one of the most merchandised characters in the franchise that he is more important to the story than those who aren't, but it's still notable supporting evidence. After all, based on Horikoshi's marketing of his own story i.e. who he draws in which orientations on chapter and tankoban covers, or how he lists characters on character intro pages, we could easily come to the conclusion as casual readers that Izuku is the protagonist. There are many cases where one could conclude Katsuki is the deuteragonist based on such presentations alone. But again, I concede this is not conclusive.

So, if we set aside individual story arc roles, screentime, and marketing, what does that leave us with?

What is THE deuteragonist in My Hero Academia?

Even if we can determine Izuku Midoriya is THE protagonist of MHA based on things like the number of times he's protagonist in story arcs, his screentime, and marketing, I'll set those aside for the deuteragonist and see if there's something else that can help us here.

What element are we missing? The overall story.

Sure, we can break down the story into arcs and assign deuteragonists that way, but that's not getting us to THE deuteragonist. So let's start with the protagonist. How do we know Izuku Midoriya is the protagonist of MHA without considering the previous metrics? The way the story focuses on him. It is easy enough for anyone to recognize the characteristics of a protagonist in him from a functional perspective. He is a POV character. We hear his thoughts. He narrates the story. We see the story over the timeline of his character growth. His character arc coincides with the overall story themes.

I've talked many times about how My Hero Academia at its core is a story that explores the question: what is a hero? MANY characters explore this question, but the character who compiles these answers together and rounds them all out and grows and has his perspective change and exemplifies the moral is: Izuku Midoriya.

So let's go back to the functional elements of a deuteragonist. Remember those sub-archetypes? Well, in a shorter story with no ensemble cast, what do a sidekick, a love interest, a rival, an antagonist, and even a neutral party all have in common? They are defined by their relationship to the protagonist.

You see, in a story where all the characters interact with each other and converge on the major theme of the story, ALL characters are defined by their relationship to the protagonist. But in particular, the function of a deuteragonist is to supplement the story with what the protagonist needs FUNCTIONALLY. When is a sidekick the deuteragonist of a story? When the story focuses on the adventures of the protagonist and their sidekick. When is a love interest the deuteragonist of the story? When the story focuses on the developing relationship between the protagonist and the love interest (i.e. the romance genre). CAN a story with a love interest deuteragonist focus on their adventures and individual character development too? Yes, but sometimes the result is that the love interest is ALSO the sidekick...or the rival. When is the rival the deuteragonist? When the story focuses on the clash and growth between the rivals. When is the antagonist the deuteragonist? When the story focuses on the battle between them. NOTE that when I write this, I don't mean it focuses on the protagonist's adventure that culminates in them meeting the antagonist at the end for a battle. I am talking about when the BATTLE ITSELF is the main focus of the story. See stories like Silence of the Lambs or Death Note for a clearer example of what I mean, where the focus of each is on the psychological games the protagonist and antagonist play with each other. The point is, the story on a structural level, on a meta level, has to focus on these sorts of interactions to determine its deuteragonist.

Obviously this gets more complicated with a large story and an ensemble cast because you could have bits of the story where the structure changes and seems to focus on new things. That's why I pointed out that the more immediate protagonist and deuteragonist and antagonist often change in MHA depending on the story arc.

When I try to determine who is THE deuteragonist of the entire story, I have to look at the entire story. I have to ask myself what the story is about. So what is the story about? What is MHA about?

If you said MHA is about Izuku falling in love with Ochako, I'm sorry but you're wrong.

If you said MHA is about Izuku taking on All Might's mantle, I'm sorry but you're wrong.

If you said MHA is about Izuku defeating/saving Tomura, I'm sorry but you're wrong.

If you said MHA is about Izuku rekindling his friendship with Katsuki, I'm sorry but you're wrong.

MHA is about Izuku Midoriya (and most everyone else) learning what it means to be a hero.

It's in the fucking title. MY HERO ACADEMIA. The story is about Izuku's education (as it takes many forms) to learn what it means to be a hero.

So who is the deuteragonist in the story about Izuku Midoriya learning what it means to be a hero? The character who is second-most important in how Izuku Midoriya learns what it means to be a hero.

A lot of characters do teach Izuku Midoriya what it means to be a hero or at least some piece. But who is MOST IMPORTANT?

See, My Hero Academia is LONG. If we just focus on the parts of the story in which Izuku tries to learn from All Might or take on his mantle, we lose ARCS of the story. The same is true if we focus on his love life, or his rivalry with Katsuki, OR EVEN HIS BATTLE WITH TOMURA AND ALL FOR ONE. In the case of the latter, we're basically excluding HALF the story: the school arcs!

MHA is structured such that it alternates between what we colloquially refer to as "school arcs" and "villain arcs." And while exploring the question of "what is a villain?" is an important subset of the main theme, it is not the entire story. You can't just label all the school arcs as "filler" (because they're not) and chuck them out. Each story arc contributes to the lessons Izuku learns and the theme of the main story.

I can think of something every character teaches Izuku with respect to this theme. I can think of a lesson Izuku has taken away from every encounter and every story arc. But who ELSE is present in nearly every story arc? Who represents the foil to Izuku who allows us, the audience, to learn alongside them what it means to be a hero? Who learns the bits Izuku does not need to learn because he already exemplifies those answers in spades? Who represents the other half of the hero equation that Izuku is missing? Who has his own blanks filled in by Izuku himself? Who has played all the sub-archetypes of a deuteragonist for Izuku Midoriya, including antagonist, rival, sidekick, and even arguably love interest (replace with platonic interest for the rekindling friendship angle if you want so we don't have to go into that whole thing here please, I'm talking about the generic structural elements within a story more than anything)?

Izuku Midoriya cannot possibly have learned the fundamental lessons of what it means to be a hero without Katsuki Bakugou's character arc to supplement him. Katsuki Bakugou is an irremovable, integral player in demonstrating the theme of collectivism that informs the main story, not just for Izuku to learn it but for THE AUDIENCE to see it too. He is one half of "win to save, save to win." He is the standard shounen manga archetype who has to learn the value of teamwork/collectivism so that he can teach it to Izuku Midoriya and save him from himself. The story is structured in such a way that it resembles LESSONS for the characters to learn, and Katsuki's "education" in this respect is VITAL to the story, second in importance only to Izuku Midoriya's.

P.S. Is it actually taking away from Katsuki to call someone else THE deuteragonist?

Yes. I know some people don't want to have to say it that way, but it is. Based on a number of metrics, Katsuki Bakugou is most widely recognized as the deuteragonist. If there's a default answer to the question of who is the deuteragonist but you think the deuteragonist is someone else, then in order to be persuasive you must not only argue why you think your chosen character is the deuteragonist but why Katsuki Bakugou is NOT the deuteragonist. If you want to argue someone else is the deuteragonist, you are taking on that onus, that burden of proof. You have to disprove Katsuki Bakugou is the deuteragonist.

Are there other characters who fit the deuteragonist function at times? Yes! There are multiple deuteragonists! But if in spite of the multiple protagonists we're still able to call Izuku Midoriya THE protagonist of My Hero Academia, then we are absolutely able to call Katsuki Bakugou THE deuteragonist as well.

tl;dr MHA is about learning what it means to be a hero and Katsuki Bakugou's story is second-most important to that theme, which makes him the deuteragonist

#anon ask #ask pika #my hero academia manga spoilers #final showdown spoilers #katsuki bakugou #meta #deuteragonist #now just because i care does that mean i actually CARE?#no not really #think what you want you aren't doing anything to ME

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olderthannetfic · 7 months ago

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Hey. Maybe not the place. But people treat your ask box like a forum so 🙏 I thought I was ace because porn does nothing for me and I only like erotica/doujinshi if I like the characters. But I recently discovered watching wrestling does something for me. Is this really weird? How do I know where I fit?

I will gleefully embrace the identity of basement-dwelling gremlin who prefers horny fiction to actually dating or having sex with other people.

But porn tastes aren't what defines sexual orientation.

Neither is willingness to get off the couch.

Are you attracted to people, anon? That's usually how people define the various identities on that spectrum: no attraction, very occasional attraction way below what's seen as commonplace, attraction only when you know someone well, etc. (Which, of course, brings up the question of what level is "normal" and whether someone's judging based on Hollywood nonsense or on what's actually typical.)

For me personally, mainstream porno movies have actors I find un-hot wearing clothing I find libido-killing in ugly environments with bad lighting and camerawork. The scenarios lack the psychological depth needed to interest me, and there's little sense of intimacy.

This has nothing to do with orientation and everything to do with film craft.

Doujinshi of characters I'm already familiar with have a lot more context for what's going on, and this can add a lot of zing to kinks or increase the apparent intimacy.

Wrestling has plotlines. It has deeply charismatic stars. It has different body types than a lot of porn. There's nothing odd about finding it hot but not liking the porno movies you've been exposed to.

Plenty of people prefer all of the horny film festival favorites of the 90s to actual porno movies. It seems like funding dried up for those kinds of movies for a decade or two, but they used to be common.

I preferred the kinkier ones. Crash, for example, was a staple of my teenage viewing. Not the cringey one that won too many awards: the pervert one with the eight billion scenes of people licking each other's scars like they were performing oral.

It really digs into the psychology of kink... in addition to being far more visually beautiful and starring far hotter people than most of the commercial porn I've seen. Same deal with The Pillow Book or ¡Átame! or Maurice or Bound.

I've been seeing articles lately talking about a return to 90s levels of sex in arty movies. People point to the likes of Call Me By Your Name and Saltburn.

Live action commercial porno movies do vary, obviously, but it's just so, so, so common to find them tacky or boring while liking other forms of porn, even other live action sex scenes.

Hell, even for poorly shot stuff, I've never seen even amateur porn capture the vibes of this one long-deleted youtube video of a guy giving a lecture on anal massage and treating his subject like a prop while lecturing to a big group of onlookers.

Sometimes, people just aren't very into casual sex, and horny art where they can fantasize about people who actually know each other is better than horny art about the pizza delivery guy. Sure, there are pornos that try to have more plot, but porn stars are generally good at being porn stars, not at subtle and naturalistic acting.

Wrestlers are hardly subtle, but they do do different acting from your average porno, and there's more continuing plotline. Unless you mean... like... college wrestling? (In which case, Kink.com has or had some series where people wrestle to decide who gets to top. Wrestling is hardly a niche interest.)

For kinksters, the context and psychology often matter a lot. Showing an object with a lot of cultural baggage, like shiny black leather, can be hot, but the viewer might need more, and your average porno isn't geared up to provide that.

Anyway, if you want to determine your own orientation, your interest in art isn't necessarily going to help that much.

If you're only rarely attracted to people, and you have to know them well first, you could be demisexual, but you could equally well be shy or nervous or depressed or repressed or too busy and stressed to spend much time noticing your own feelings—or just surrounded by people who aren't your type. Only your personal interpretation of your internal experience can determine which it is.

But no, being horny for wrestling is not weird.

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misshoneyimhome · 4 months ago

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His tripod would be set up right next to your dripping hole as he lifted the skirt you had on and aimed and zoomed right at it. During the time your back was leaning against his broad chest as his hand traveled down to your folds, you were sat in between his thighs. With his thick digits spreading your pussy lips apart, he was wearing his gold ring. You both felt pleasure rising in the air as he continued to explore your body.

"You're goddamn wet for me." He said, his voice low and husky as he breathed into your ear. "So greedy, huh älskling?" He asked, pressing his fingers into your pussy. As he slowly pulled it out, you gave a small whimper as he brought two fingers to dip in. The camera recorded every delicious second as you felt full, even with his digits inside.

His smile spread across your face as he gazed at your aching clit through the camera. As he rubbed it with his fingers, he saw your folds closely. Then he leaned his chin over your shoulder, spit directly down your body so it ran directly into your messy clit.

It didn't take him long to feel you clench around him, his fingers bruising your sweet spot, as he knew when you were ready to burst. "Willy," You squeaked out your chest heating up, pussy fluttering. In an instant, he rubbed the back of your clit, letting the fountain of cum squirt everywhere as he pulled his fingers out. His hand slapped your drenched cunt before shoving two fingers in deep again as he groaned against your neck. He would proudly tell everyone he was the one who made you make such a mess through the audio as he said, “She's only a squirter for me.” A little inspo for your new series.

🥵🥵🥵 as always this is so so hot!

🔥 But as much as I'd love to use this for my new series, this kind of scene just suits inexperienced!reader perfectly 😏 She's my perfect little slut for Willy, and she definitely deserves all the attention in a story like this!

Tropes & Warnings: inexperienced!reader x Willy, 18+ smut - Quite straightforward 😂

Word count: 1.1K

➼｡ﾟ

Returning to Toronto after an off-season filled with travel and adventure was both a relief and a challenge. You and William had spent blissful days soaking in the serene beauty of Sweden and basking under the sun on the shores of Saint Tropez, surrounded by his family and creating memories that felt like dreams. But now, you were back in your shared flat, just the two of you, and the comfort of home brought with it a new kind of intimacy, one that felt more personal and intense.

The first few days back were a blur of exhaustion and simple routines. You walked the dogs together, made quick trips to the supermarket, and spent most of your time lounging around, ordering takeaway, and catching up on sleep. It was a slower pace than you were used to, but it felt right—like a much-needed rest after the whirlwind of your travels.

And as the days passed, William returned to his workout routine, preparing himself for the upcoming hockey season, while you got back into the swing of your own work. Life gradually returned to its regular rhythm, yet somehow, something felt different. The spark that had ignited between you during the off-season seemed to have dimmed slightly, the excitement giving way to the familiarity of routine.

It was during one of those quiet evenings, as the golden light of the afternoon faded into the soft glow of twilight, that William suggested something new. It was an idea he’d been mulling over for a while, unsure if it would interest you but unable to let it go. He wanted to make a video—something private, something intimate. The thought of capturing your most personal moments together, documenting the way he touched you and the power he had over you, had been on his mind.

The video wasn’t necessarily intended for sharing with others; rather, William saw it as a way for the two of you to experiment and perhaps for him to use when he needed a release while on the road.

When he brought it up, his voice was soft, almost hesitant, but the intensity in his eyes showed he was serious. The idea was bold, and though it pushed the boundaries of what you had explored before, it didn’t feel strange or out of place. Instead, it sparked a thrill within you.

The night was charged with anticipation, the air thick as you settled into your shared bedroom. William had set up his tripod, positioning the camera carefully to capture the moment from an angle that was both intimate and revealing. There was something thrilling about the setup, a sense of anticipation that sent shivers down your spine. You were seated between his strong thighs, your back resting against his broad bare chest as his hand moved with deliberate slowness, exploring the soft skin beneath your skirt.

His touch was both gentle and assertive, his fingers grazing your folds with a tenderness that made your breath catch. The warmth of his body against your naked torso was comforting, but it was the way he whispered in your ear, his voice low and husky, that sent a wave of heat through you.

"You're goddamn wet for me," he murmured, his words igniting a flush of desire through your veins. His breath was warm against your skin, and you could sense the smile in his voice as he added, "So greedy, huh älskling?"

With practised ease, his thick fingers spread you apart, the cool metal of his gold ring contrasting with the warmth of his touch. You could feel the pressure building as he slowly pressed his fingers past your entrance, filling you in a way that made you gasp softly. The camera captured every moment, every shiver and gasp, but your focus was entirely on William, on the way he made you feel.

He was patient, his movements slow and deliberate, drawing out every sensation until you could barely stand it. And as he pulled his fingers out, the emptiness was almost unbearable, and you let out a soft whimper, the sound escaping your lips without you even realising it. But William wasn’t finished. He dipped his fingers back in, the fullness returning as he continued to work you closer to the edge. Curling and twisting his digits with every pump.

His gaze flicked to the camera, a smile spreading across his face as he watched the way your body responded to his touch. There was a possessiveness in his eyes, a pride in knowing exactly how to make you feel this way. And as his fingers then found your clit, rubbing it with practised ease, you felt a wave of pleasure crash over you, your body tensing with the intensity of it.

He leaned in closer, his chin resting on your shoulder as he watched the scene unfold, the intimacy of the moment heightened when he spat, the warm fluid running down to your sensitive core. It was a gesture both dominant and intimate, sending another jolt of heat through your body, and he stuck his fingers inside you again.

You could feel yourself clenching around him, the pleasure building to a point where it was almost too much to bear. William knew your body well, knew exactly when you were close, and his touch only grew firmer, more insistent as he drove you higher and higher. His motions were merciless, actions that drove your mind wild and breaths catching in your throat.

“Willy,” you managed to cry, your voice barely audible as your chest heaved with the effort to breathe. The tension within you snapped, and in an instant, you were overwhelmed by waves of pleasure, your muscles fluttering as your body released in a rush of sensation.

But he didn’t stop there. As you came undone, he pulled his fingers out, only to slap your drenched core lightly before plunging them back in, a groan escaping his lips as he felt your body respond to his touch; your juices spraying like a waterfall. The sound of his voice, low and proud, filled the room as he spoke to the camera, his words brimming with possessive pride.

“She’s only a squirter for me,” he said, satisfaction evident in his tone as he held you close, the aftermath of your release leaving you both breathless and trembling.

The room was quiet except for the sound of your ragged breaths, the intensity of the moment leaving you both spent and content. And as you both settled into the comforting embrace of each other’s arms, you knew this was something special—an experience that would linger in your memories long after the night had passed.

#my asks #queued post #inexperienced!reader x Willy #wn88 imagine #thirst night #18+ smut #william nylander smut #william nylander imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey smut

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runningfrom2am · 11 months ago

Text

cold nights // part eight

summary: may the odds be ever in your favour.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.8k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: let the games begin!! i'm so excited (and also,, so scared)

series masterlist // playlist

The light streams through Coriolanus's window in the morning, waking him with the sun. He only has a moment of peace, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before the dread sets in; settling under his skin like a sliver.

He hurries to get dressed, letting Tigris help him with his blazer due to his shoulder injury making it necessarily difficult before he kisses his grandma'am goodbye, and they wish him (and you) good luck. They would be watching, of course, and that only served to build his anxiety as he hurried to the school.

You hardly slept for a moment the whole night. When you finally did, the sun was beginning to rise and you were woken up not long after by peacekeepers urging you back into the truck. No one had anything to say on the drive. You all knew what was coming, and the tension in the air was palpable. You felt safer with the scarf wrapped firmly around yourself and the compact in your pocket, which you run your thumb over repeatedly to try and memorize the ornate carvings on the outside. It was Coryo's, and he was with you. You couldn't forget.

As the truck slows to a stop, you take a deep breath. "The third day comes a frost, a killing frost." You mutter to yourself, turning the heads of the tributes next to you as you force yourself to your feet. "The elements be kind to thee, and make thy spirits all of comfort: fair thee well."

Your slightly louder statement is met with hateful glares by a few, ignored by others. "I can't wait to hear your last words. Freak." Coral spits at you, shoving past you as the doors of the now stopped truck are opened. You swallow thickly, catching the eyes of the little one, Wovey. You give her a smile, allowing her to walk out ahead of you. She's scared, and you can tell as you place your hands on her shoulders, soothingly rubbing them while you walk out and see the arena again.

As you're led inside, separated from Jessup, and you quickly understand what Coryo meant. Everything was different. The debris had been cleared but stacked in the center of the floor, and as you got closer, you began to see weapons littered all over the pile of rubble. The thought of what you were about to see made you sick, more so as you pushed through the familiar turnstile.

"Enjoy the show!"

Coryo is already watching as you walk out. He has been watching for you since the moment the screen shifted from the Games logo to a camera view of the entrance. And there you were. He swallowed, seeing the worsening bags under your eyes and the cut on your arm with healing black stitches. You have that much younger girl under your arms, walking her in front of you as you hold her close. You whisper something in her ear that the microphones don't pick up, which makes her smile, even just a little before you're quickly forced apart by peacekeepers.

"Stand on your marks or you will be shot!" A peacekeepers voice calls out as you feel the weapon jabbed into your back, making you wince. You find your place, looking around frantically now to try and spot the hole in the ground Coryo told you about, or maybe you should try and get up in the stands. But if you get in the tunnel quickly, even if you're being chased that will buy you a few moments where you wouldn't be seen. Maybe you could hide and not be found.

What about Jessup? Or Wovey? Your mind wanders, despite you trying to adhere to Coryo's advice. You decide that wherever you run when the bell goes off, if you saw either of them on the way you would pull them with you. If not, you would just have to keep going. You had no desire in getting close to the mess that was about to happen in the centre as soon as people got their hands on those weapons.

You thought you knew you would die in these games, but as your adrenaline starts to spike, you knew you would at least try to stay alive. Your body wouldn't let you wait for your fate to come. Originally, that had been your plan. When your name was called at the reaping, even though you had planned to run by what you wore, you intended on dropping to your knees at the sound of the buzzer and awaiting whatever fate would take you. What had changed?

Coriolanus. That's what had changed. You just regretted that you wouldn't live to know if he won his prize, and see never see him again. You had to see him again.

That's when your eyes landed on Marcus, hanging by his wrists from a beam across the room from you. "Oh..." You sigh sadly, shaking your head as you look at his state. He had tried to save you along with himself, but he hadn't succeeded and that just breaks your heart. You hear crying as tears of fear well up in your own eyes but you force them down as you hear Lucretius's voice over the loudspeakers counting down.

Only ten seconds, and you had to decide. The vent behind you was looking awfully tempting, but you weren't sure what Coryo wanted. It sounded like he preferred the tunnels, and you had to listen to him. But then, seeing the hole in the floor, you would have to make it past all the chaos and the weapons and the other tributes.

"Three... two... one..."

Then it was the buzzer, and as your heart pounded in your chest and seemingly everyone else sprinted for the middle, you were frozen. You had to move fast.

"Run." Coryo mumbles to himself, silently begging you to remember what he told you.

But you stayed still. "What are you doing, run." He says again under his breath, and it's almost like you can hear him when you start running out of nowhere.

You're already surrounded by screams and grunts as you make your way to the wall behind you, flashes of orange hardly visible under the arm holes of your dress. The vent. Apparently, you decided on the vent. As you begin to climb the debris leading up to the stands you look back to make sure you're not being followed, but among the fighting and the lifeless bodies you see Jessup. He's stumbling, then crawling, and you curse yourself for what you're about to do, but your conscience has given you no choice.

"Don't. Don't go back for him." Coryo hisses, unable to look away.

You can practically hear Coryo telling you not to in your mind, but you're already sliding back down the broken cement and looking for your safest path to the boy from your District.

His mental state had declined rapidly in the last few days, you were sure it was from infection. When you walked into the arena, he didn't even know where he was. In a sad way, that was good. At least he didn't know what was coming for him.

"Jessup!" You call out, making your run for it along the wall, sliding to a stop when something metal clangs against the cement just in front of you that someone had thrown. You don't have time to see who the source was before you keep running, determined to at least get Jessup somewhere hidden.

Coryo is on the edge of his seat as he watches the close call, unable to relax even when their next couple of attempts miss as well. You were far from safe- you were making a mistake and all he could do was watch it happen. You couldn't run alongside the wall forever, so as you departed from it in a beeline for your friend, he holds his breath.

"Jessup!" You call again, trying to attract his attention but it doesn't work. You quickly duck when you hear a scream just to your right, seeing someone's form winding up to swing at you.

You yelp and stumble back as their weapon just catches the top of your hair, pulling it slightly as your dodge just out of their reach. The dirty ground was near impossible to run on, forcing them to slide past you over the dust under their feet. You keep moving even as another flying weapon in your shared direction distracts them.

You have to keep going. You reach Jessup as quickly as you can, trying to lift him up to his feet with a grip under his arms. "Jessup, come on, we have to go. We have to run, get up!" He stumbles to his feet and with an arm over your shoulder, you're running for the tunnels. You're being chased, you can hear it- Coral and her alliance that you had tried to join at Coryo's request but never got the chance, not that they would have approved anyway. You jump feet first into the opening in the ground, not worried about what's at the bottom as you roll down the debris that previously made up the floor above.

"Come on, come on!" You urge your friend again, once again helping him up and dragging him down the hall. There had to be a place to hide here somewhere; Coryo said there would be.

"They've gone underground very quickly, but we're prepared for this." Lucky says, but Coryo isn't paying any attention to anything other than you.

"Go, go, go..." He mutters, nodding as he watches the cameras switch to keep up with you.

Just as you finally find a door, you see others running toward you from down the hall. You pull helplessly at it, hoping it will open. It doesn't. With nowhere to go you look back, knowing you can't go that way either. "Open! Please!" You cry out, shaking the handle of the heavy metal door and kicking it in frustration.

Except, you miss. Your foot seemingly goes through the door, smacking your shin against it and you hiss. There's a hole in the door, just big enough for you to fit through. "Jessup, we've gotta go through. Come on! Hurry!" You urge him, already halfway through yourself.

Thankfully, he's right behind you. You quickly turn to help pull him through when his ankle gets grabbed.

You scream in a moment of panic, desperately pulling on his arms to try and help him up. Hy is who you quickly identify as the tribute holding him back, but luckily they aren't holding any kind of weapon. "Stop! Stop!" You cry out, pulling on your friend as you look around the room for somewhere else to run.

Their grip only loosens when they scream, lifelessly dropping their grip from the boy as he gets up and their body is dragged back through the hole in the door. You don't have time to process how gruesome that was, quickly hiding behind a wall across the room.

"Hey, Lumberjack." You hear Coral whispering from the other side. "Get in there and get her out."

"I'm not sticking my head in there." Treech replies, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief. "She could be waiting with a brick."

"That softy? She's not gonna hurt you! Let's just get them out of the way!"

"Then you do it."

A moment of silence follows before she replies. "Whatever. They have to come out eventually."

Coryo swallows as he watches them walk away. For now, you were safe.

"Okay, Jessup, take a seat..." You whisper to him after a good few moments, sure the other tributes had left by now. He nods, and you help him down, leaning back against the cold wall as you crouch in front of him. "I have to go, okay?"

He looks confused. "Where are you going? The mines..."

"We're not in the mines, Hun..." You remind him, gently pulling his coat tighter around him in some effort to keep him warm. "I just have to go, but you'll be safe down here. You just have to wait it out."

He nods, but he clearly doesn't understand. "Wait... wait for what?"

"A little madness in the spring is wholesome even for the king..." You hum, smiling sadly at him. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

Jessup just nods as you stand, heading back for the door. You have to make it to those vents. Coryo would want you alone, and with Jessup safe enough down here, you had to move on. You look back at him, only briefly, trying to remember the last time you would ever see the boy from your home when your eyes catch on a hatch in the ceiling. The vents.

You walk back over, looking up and squinting to see how you could get in. There's a steady-looking pipe that runs underneath it, but you can't quite reach it.

You're reaching into your top without looking away, pulling out the tucked-in knot of the scarf and untying it. Coryo's handiwork.

"Has she... Has she been wearing that this whole time? Is that allowed?" Lucky asks, looking around but no one has any answers. Except Coriolanus, who would not be responding anyway. You pull it out from under your dress as he watches the screen, smiling to himself as you throw the fabric up over the pipe and use it to hoist yourself up and disappear into the vent. He couldn't see you anymore, but he hoped no one else would find you in there either.

It would be hours before he saw you again. Everyone's attention is drawn at first by Lamina climbing out from inside the debris, heading toward Marcus as he hung from the fallen beam. Then, to Coryo's surprise, the camera flits over to you as the vent is pushed open and you poke your head out. How you had made it up into the stands was beyond him, but the vents must have led you there.

You wince at the loud creaking sound it makes, making Lamina turn quickly toward you. You hold your hands out defensively as you step out, nodding at her in a silent promise before you climb down the wall. "I won't hurt you." You verbally reassure her as you slowly get closer, hands still held out in front of you to prove to her that you don't have any weapons. She did, but you weren't scared.

The scarf is tied around your waist, the long fabric draping down and brushing the side of your bare leg with every step. You were covered in dust and dirt, Coryo notices, as you stop next to her. "Are you going to help him down?" You ask her, and she just nods, both of you looking up at him.

"Let me help." You offer, making your way over to the side of the beam where you think you could climb up. "Marcus, Honey, we're going to help you down, okay? Just try and relax. It'll just be another minute." You call out, but you're met with no response. Your brow furrows, unsure if he's even alive as you climb the rest of the way up.

"Marcus?" You ask, crawling across the beam and leaning over him as you hear Lamina climbing up behind you. You reach down to check his pulse, and you're met with one that's very faint. "Marcus, you'll be okay. We're gonna help." You tell him again and he opens his eyes, turning his head just slightly to look up at you.

"Please..." He mutters, voice raspy and pained.

"I know, I know... Just give us a minute."

"No... Don't..." He coughs out, shaking his head with tears in his eyes. "Please..."

And then you know what he means. You look back at Lamina as she sits behind you, shaking your head as tears well up in your eyes. You can't kill him, you just can't- but if that is his wish...

She looks between the two of you, giving you a slight nod. You can't even look at the axe you know is still in her hand.

You move over to his other side, reaching out to hold his hand in your shaking one.

Coryo wants to look away from the screen but he can't. His eyes are glued to you as tears fall, and you lean down to speak to the dying boy. "Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality." You tell him quietly, a sad smile on your face. "Know that you are loved. And know that I am sorry."

He chokes out a sob as Lamina moves his shirt away from his neck, looking to you as she lifts her axe. You squeeze his hand and nod at her. "You are loved. I love you. I am sorry. I love you." You remind him over and over, wanting the last thing he hears to be a reminder of the truth, but by the end, by the time Lamina brings her axe down against his skin, you're just praying he could hear your words through your cries.

As Coryo watches your donations tick up even further, you and the girl you are meant to kill are crying into each other's arms, Marcus's body limp on the ground beneath you.

#tbosas #tbosas fic #tbosas x reader #hunger games #thg series #thg fanfiction #thg #the hunger games #thg movies #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x you #coryo x reader #coryo snow #snow x reader #snow lands on top

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regulusrules · 8 months ago

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Yo, I saw your post about orientalism in relation to the "hollywood middle-east" tiktok!

How can a rando and university dropout get into and learn more about? Any literature or other content to recommend?

Hi!! Wow, you have no idea how you just pressed a button. I'll unleash 5+ years on you. And I'll even add for you open-sourced works that you can access as much as I can!

1. Videos

I often find this is the best medium nowadays to learn anything! I'll share with you some of the best that deal with the topic in different frames

• This is a video of Edward Said talking about his book, Orientalism. Said is the Palestinian- American critic who first introduced the term Orientalism, and is the father of postcolonial studies as a critical literary theory. In this book, you’ll find an in-depth analysis of the concept and a deconstruction of western stereotypes. It’s very simple and he explains everything in a very easy manner.

• How Islam Saved Western Civilization. A more than brilliant lecture by Professor Roy Casagranda. This, in my opinion, is one of the best lectures that gives credit to this great civilization, and takes you on a journey to understand where did it all start from.

• What’s better than a well-researched, general overview Crash Course about Islam by John Green? This is not necessarily on orientalism but for people to know more about the fundamental basis of Islam and its pillars. I love the whole playlist that they have done about the religion, so definitely refer to it if you're looking to understand more about the historical background! Also, I can’t possibly mention this Crash Course series without mentioning ... ↓

• The Medieval Islamicate World. Arguably my favourite CC video of all times. Hank Green gives you a great thorough depiction of the Islamic civilization when it rose. He also discusses the scientific and literary advancements that happened in that age, which most people have no clue about! And honestly, just his excitement while explaining the astrolabe. These two truly enlightened so many people with the videos they've made. Thanks, @sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog

2. Documentaries

• This is an AMAZING documentary called Reel Bad Arabs: How Hollywood Villifies A People by the genius American media critic Jack Shaheen. He literally analysed more than 1000 movies and handpicked some to showcase the terribly false stereotypes in western depiction of Arab/Muslim cultures. It's the best way to go into the subject, because you'll find him analysing works you're familiar with like Aladdin and all sorts.

• Spain’s Islamic Legacy. I cannot let this opportunity go to waste since one of my main scopes is studying feminist Andalusian history. There are literal gems to be known about this period of time, when religious coexistence is documented to have actually existed. This documentary offers a needed break from eurocentric perspectives, a great bird-view of the Islamic civilization in Europe and its remaining legacy (that western history tries so hard to erase).

• When the Moors Ruled in Europe. This is one of the richest documentaries that covers most of the veiled history of Al-Andalus (Muslim Spain). Bettany Hughes discusses some of the prominent rulers, the brilliance of architecture in the Arab Muslim world, their originality and contributions to poetry and music, their innovative inventions and scientific development, and lastly, La Reconquista; the eventual fall and erasure of this grand civilization by western rulers.

3. Books

• Rethinking Orientalism by Reina Lewis. Lewis brilliantly breaks the prevailing stereotype of the “Harem”, yk, this stupid thought westerns projected about arab women being shut inside one room, not allowed to go anywhere from it, enslaved and without liberty, just left there for the sexual desires of the male figures, subjugated and silenced. It's a great read because it also takes the account of five different women living in the middle east.

• Nocturnal Poetics by Ferial Ghazoul. A great comparative text to understand the influence and outreach of The Thousand and One Nights. She applies a modern critical methodology to explore this classic literary masterpiece.

• The Question of Palestine by Edward Said. Since it's absolutely relevant, this is a great book if you're looking to understand more about the Palestinian situation and a great way to actually see the perspective of Palestinians themselves, not what we think they think.

• Arab-American Women's Writing and Performance by S.S. Sabry. One of my favourite feminist dealings with the idea of the orient and how western depictions demeaned arab women by objectifying them and degrading them to objects of sexual desire, like Scheherazade's characterization: how she was made into a sensual seducer, but not the literate, brilliantly smart woman of wisdom she was in the eastern retellings. The book also discusses the idea of identity and people who live on the hyphen (between two cultures), which is a very crucial aspect to understand arabs who are born/living in western countries.

• The Story of the Moors in Spain by Stanley Lane-Poole. This is a great book if you're trying to understand the influence of Islamic culture on Europe. It debunks this idea that Muslims are senseless, barbaric people who needed "civilizing" and instead showcases their brilliant civilization that was much advanced than any of Europe in the time Europe was labelled by the Dark Ages. (btw, did you know that arabic was the language of knowledge at that time? Because anyone who was looking to study advanced sciences, maths, philosophy, astronomy etc, had to know arabic because arabic-speaking countries were the center of knowledge and scientific advancements. Insane, right!)

• Convivencia and Medieval Spain. This is a collection of essays that delve further into the idea of “Convivencia”, which is what we call for religious coexistence. There's one essay in particular that's great called Were Women Part of Convivencia? which debunks all false western stereotypical images of women being less in Islamic belief. It also highlights how arab women have always been extremely cultured and literate. (They practiced medicine, studied their desired subjects, were writers of poetry and prose when women in Europe couldn't even keep their surnames when they married.)

4. Novels / Epistolaries

• Granada by Radwa Ashour. This is one of my favourite novels of all time, because Ashour brilliantly showcases Andalusian history and documents the injustices and massacres that happened to Muslims then. It covers the cultural erasure of Granada, and is also a story of human connection and beautiful family dynamics that utterly touches your soul.

• Dreams of Trespass by Fatema Mernissi. This is wonderful short read written in autobiographical form. It deconstructs the idea of the Harem in a postcolonial feminist lens of the French colonization of Morocco.

• Scheherazade Goes West by Mernissi. Mernissi brilliantly showcases the sexualisation of female figures by western depictions. It's very telling, really, and a very important reference to understand how the west often depicts middle-eastern women by boxing them into either the erotic, sensual beings or the oppressed, black-veiled beings. It helps you understand the actual real image of arab women out there (who are not just muslims btw; christian, jew, atheist, etc women do exist, and they do count).

• Letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. This is a feminist travel epistolary of a British woman which covers the misconceptions that western people, (specifically male travelers) had recorded and transmitted about the religion, traditions and treatment of women in Constantinople, Turkey. It is also a very insightful sapphic text that explores her own engagement with women there, which debunks the idea that there are no queer people in the middle east.

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

With all of these, you'll get an insight about the real arab / islamic world. Not the one of fanaticism and barbarity that is often mediated, but the actual one that is based on the fundamental essences of peace, love, and acceptance.

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lani-heart · 5 months ago

Text

|| series masterlist || next // previously

parings -> sim jaeyun x reader genre -> non-idol au, school au, hyrbid au warnings -> neglected, running away, arrange marriage word count -> 1.4k

abstract -> everything was a lie... well... not everything

y/n’s perspective

“Asahi, please… you must’ve seen her!” Hyunsuk whined through the phone while Asahi glared at me. “Yah! How many times have I told you?! I have an internship, and I've been helping Junghwan pack. She’ll show up eventually, Hyunsuk” he said, already annoyed by our quarrel.

“I know… I'm just worried. I’m even thinking of going there myself soon… I just need to wrap a few things up so when I get there how about we hang out? After I found my sister… “ he said and I sighed.

“You’re screwed,” Jaehyuk said and I agreed. It doesn’t help that I've been getting constant messages on my phone and calls worrying about me…

“Bye,” he said as he hung up and glared silently. I smiled through the awkward silence. “Explain right now why I can tell him you're here? I understand you said you had a big fight with your parents but… you never offered an explanation?!” he said frustrated and I sighed.

“Do you know that rich family my parents wanted to connect me and Hyunsuk with? Well, they have a son and daughter. Their daughter is my age… so they wanted her to be engaged with Hyunsuk. So when he started rebelling that was his last straw. Now they're trying to set me up with their son… especially now that hybrid-human relationships were starting to become common in our socialite life” I said and he sighed.

“Why haven’t you told him then? Hyunsuk could help–" "Cause I'm still planning on going back… I just don’t want to be given an arranged marriage” I said and he nodded.

“Didn’t Niki’s owner get into an arranged marriage?” Jaehyuk asked and I nodded. “Yeah… I think that's where they got the idea from” I muttered and he sighed.

“It's only a matter of time before he finds you here,” he said and I nodded.

“I think I'm going out for some air?” I said and I noticed Jaehyhuk go by the door. “No… Asahi, you can't make him come with me every time I go out. I need… alone time” I said and he scoffed.

“Look… if this was Seoul, you could but this isn’t. If you weren’t walking around in Prada shoes and Chanel jewelry then maybe I wouldn't worry” he said and I smiled.

“And thank you for worrying… but trust me a little?”

I decided I wanted to go outside of this little town.

“Hello, I'm here to see So Junghwan?” I said and the receptionist nodded before telling me… “It seems he isn’t here, we were told he was going on a trip?” she said and I sighed.

He must’ve already checked out… I thanked her for leaving when I bumped into someone familiar. “Oh? Jake?” I said, now confused. His messy blonde hair was the only thing I recognized… he was dressed in all black with expensive clothes… “y/n!” he said with a happy grin. “Looks like you recuperated,” I said and he chuckled. “Oh… yeah, it was just a little misunderstanding,” he said and I nodded. “What… happened? If I may ask?” I said and he looked hesitant. “Ah! Sorry if I'm being rude–" "No… don't worry about it. Uhmm… I’m actually from Australia and… I lost my luggage and wallet, even my phone!” he said.

“Oh… that sucks. Have you filled in a lost report?” I asked and he nodded. “Yeah, but I luckily recuperated my wallet and luggage… well some at least. I don’t have my ID yet, nor a phone” he said and I nodded.

“I’m glad you’ve managed–” “Can I repay you?” he asked while cutting me off. I would say no… but I didn’t want to go back.

“Sure!”

jake’s perspective

I know I shouldn’t be using someone else’s money to repay her but… she was so kind to me and seemed a little down.

“So what made you decide to come here to Korea?” she asked me and I had to come out with believable lies. “Oh… well, I wanted a break. Everything right now was overwhelming back where I'm from” which wasn’t necessarily a lie.

“Oh, I see… I'm sorry. I hope everything gets better. I’m actually in the same boat…” she said with a sad smile. I didn’t like seeing that… for her.

“I’m actually from Seoul,” she said and I wasn’t surprised by that… “I’m actually a student–” I was surprised she was a student at where I took these etiquette classes. “I’ve been enrolled online for this semester though,” she said and I nodded. “It must be stressful… that's a pretty good school I've heard?” I said and she nodded.

“Yeah… but it's stressful because of… well my parents' ' she confessed and I listened to her say how pressured she felt and how her older brother was the rebelled child making her their second chance at a good kid.

“I’m sorry to hear that… It does sound stressful. Do you have good friends?” I asked and she smiled. “I do… Me and my brother actually grew up in the same friend group, weird enough. Of course, I've met other people too, but sometimes I need a break from everything” she said and I agreed.

“That hybrid… you said he was your friend right?” I asked and she nodded… it didn’t seem like he told her I was one. “Jaehyuk… he’s a lion hybrid. Have you ever had one?” she asked me and I chuckled. “No, and you?” I asked and she shook her head which surprised me.

“I always wanted one though… my parents thought it would be a distraction though,” she said and I wanted so badly to try to charm her but… she’d probably report me for theft.

“If you could have a hybrid… which would you choose?” I asked only to set myself up more. She smiled though… “I always wanted a dog hybrid… they seem so cuddly and sweet you know?” she said and I felt my heart ache.

“I get what you mean,” I said and she chuckled. “How about you?” she asked and I found this all too ironic. “I’d choose the same,” I said and she smiled. “You know… you look like you’d be a dog hybrid” she said and I froze. “You have puppy features… it's cute” she said and I felt my face heat up.

She seemed to giggle at my reaction before I could recover from that. “You really are cute!” she said and I felt my face heat up, even my tag twitch in “my” coat.

“Hey, Jake?” she said and I hummed waiting for whatever she’d say next.

“Let’s do something fun!”

“What do you mean you’ve never done this before!” she said as she held that dog plush she won. “I… haven’t actually ever been to an arcade before” I confessed and she grinned. “Then here! Yours, a physical reminder of this day!” she said as she held out the dog plush and I grabbed it.

My first… gift.

“We have to try some more! Ooh, they have figurines–” She was filled with life and I never would’ve expected it. I was jealous but she was contagious and I was actually enjoying myself for once. She was fun to be around… but I couldn’t keep the desires at bay, to tell her the truth and beg her to adopt me.

To have what Niki had… who knew I'd find the perfect stranger at the worst time?

While I was playing human… stole from someone who had a lot of money and well ran away illegally.

“A famous person is outside” I suddenly heard… famous? “Jake? What’s wrong?” she asked and I shook my head. “Nothing apparently someone famous is–” “Hide!” she said as she grabbed my wrist and hid us behind the arcade games away from the windows.

“That’s Choi Hyusuk!” I heard and she looked nervous. “Are you okay?” I asked and she smiled nervously. “Of course!” she said but I couldn’t believe her terrible lie. “Did he do something to you? I can–” “No… he’s a friend I guess' ' she said but it only left me more confused.

“Hyunsuk, she’s not going to be here” I heard and saw the lion hybrid by the side of someone else. “Fuck… Jake, we have to run” she whispered and I nodded worried for her. “Ready?” she asked and before we could run. “You really wanna run towards paparazzi? Stupid little sister” I heard… sister?

“Hyunsuk!” she suddenly said in a fake cheery tone while turning around to her supposed brother. “It’s great to see–” “How dare you ignore all of my messages?! I called like what!? 100… no 200 times?! I even filled up your voicemail!” he scolded.

“Still pretending?” I heard and I looked at the hybrid… I needed to leave.

“You interrupted me… uhmm” she wondered… “Who is this guy? Did he threaten–” he suddenly grabbed my collar. Who was he?! “–you? Do I need to kill him?!” he said and I shook my head silently begging for my life “Let him go! He knows nothing about this…” she said and the guy let me go. “Ah, sorry about that. I’m Hyunsuk!” he said as he held out his hand for me to shake. “Jake,” I said and he nodded and went back to scolding her.

He was… scary.

“Where’d you even get that…” the lion hybrid muttered. I felt my eyes widen. “That smells familiar,” he said and I chuckled. “y/n, it was an honor everything really but I need to go!” I said and she was going to protest before being scolded by her brother.

I ran… I soon saw paparazzi suddenly swarm outside taking photos from inside.

“Hello! Do you miss y/n’s lover?” “Are you the reason she ran away?” “Who are you?”

y/n’s perspective

After getting away from the paparazzi and back to Asahi’s apartment.

“You lied to me,” he pouted to him. “She asked me to keep it a secret” he defended and my brother glared at me. “Why didn’t you answer?” he asked genuinely worried and I was guilty that I worried him.

“I’m sorry…” I said and he patted my head. “Just tell me the truth,” he begged and nodded.

“Mom and Dad want me to marry Junghwan…” I said and his eyes widened. “Junghwan?! He would never agree–""His parents agree to it… he’s currently in Japan hiding away” I said and he sighed frustrated.

“They can’t force you… they couldn’t with me” he said and I smiled. “You’re a boy,” I said and he sighed. “I know… maybe this will convince them. They called worried for you, but they haven’t mentioned at all about canceling any marriage plans. No wonder mom was looking at a wedding dress catalog” he said and I whined frustrated at this.

“This is unfair! Why am I even in school then learning business for Dad?!” I asked frustrated and he sighed. “They want to have you marry someone competent I guess?” he asked and I sighed.

“Uhm… y/n who was the guy you were with?” Asahi asked and I was confused as to why that was important. “Yeah! Did you get a boyfriend?! Is that–” ”NO!” I yelled.

“He’s a runaway hybrid from the Seoul Hybrid Adoption Center they’ve been looking for,” he said and I was confused. He was a human I was… I was sure of it until I saw Asahi show me articles and posts on Twitter comparing Jake to the missing hybrid from Seoul.

And how apparently I kidnapped him…

taglist -> @ilovecheese09 @gudkc @nikisvanillaccola @blossominghunnie @mheretoreadff @k1ttylvr @starzniiky @kibs-and-bits @b3tt7boop @in-somnias-world @lol6sposts @xiaoderrrr @jihyosgfremade @b-a-nshee-blog @mimisamisasa @katsukis1wife @eggomi @thunderous-wolf @tinyteezer @lilactangerine @starfallia @sousydive

please don't be a silent reader !! reblog, comment, and like <3

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covenofthearticulate · 3 months ago

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Ash I’ve been bitten by the Louis!Simp bug, I need your headcanons about his romantic side please and thank you 🥹 (with specific partners or in general or both, dealers choice!!!)

JESS!!!!!! hello. in all forms but physical i am squeezing your shoulders and kissing your cheeks. welcome to the louis!simp club i am so glad you're here

anyway YEAH i think in terms of fanon, folks tend to underestimate Louis' interest/capacity for romance because he always has a bad time whenever anyone tries to show him a Grand Romantic Gesture but i just adhgdskfbhsjbfvdjhbf I think Louis is one of the most romantic characters in the series!!! he just shows it in ways that aren't obvious to those who don't know him well, but I know for a fact that this man is down so bad for Lestat and Armand and just wants to see them happy.

He strikes me as the kind of person who puts a lot of time and effort into the love he gives— whether that's spending actual time with his lovers (I always HC that his preferred love language is Quality Time) or hunting down a specific gift, or even taking the time to better himself!!

Like I know we talk about it a lot, but I think all the times throughout later canon where Louis dresses nicely for Lestat and Armand is such a great example of the type of lover Louis is. That's the closest thing to any Grand Love Gesture he'll get. We know if it were up to him, he would wear the same clothes for centuries. He doesn't care about his appearance, but he knows that Lestat and Armand do. He knows that they like to look at him, that they like to see him in fine things, just as he used to like seeing Claudia in fine things. They gift him clothes because that is their way of showing affection, and he knows he can ease Lestat's or Armand's anxiety just a little bit by accepting that affection and allowing them to fawn over his beauty, even if it makes him uncomfortable. Louis is someone who thrives with the comfort of the familiar; to step out of his comfort zone is a BIG DEAL to him, and I think we really see that reflected in Lestat and even Armand's narration any time they do see him all dressed up, like they always seem so surprised and awestruck LOL

ANYWAY yeah he cares so deeply for his loved ones like really truly, I think that Louis is the kind of lover who is just so thoughtful. Gift giving isn't necessarily his preferred love language, but he's ALWAYS thinking of Lestat and Armand, and it manifests in different ways. Some nights he'll barge into the room and read aloud an article he thinks they might find interesting, and he'll ask them questions and soak in every one of their opinions. Other nights he simply graces them with his presence and reads silently beside them.

And other nights still, Louis will revisit arguments that occurred a century ago, or even an hour ago, and will pick at old wounds not because he is truly upset, but because Louis is genuinely the kind of person who is constantly thinking about the things Lestat or Armand have said to him. He's constantly picking their words apart in his head, trying to find new meaning, and I know it's absolutely infuriating for Lestat, but there's something about Louis where, even as he's rebutting an argument from two years back, there's a passion in his eyes that's just so exciting and almost kind of sweet. You just KNOW that Louis loves to debate, not for the sake of winning (though he loves to win) but because he loves to hear his lovers' ideas and understand their psyche. Honest to god, I think Louis' ideal date night would be debating beside a cozy fire LOL

Okay sorry this is getting long! I don't have a lot of individual headcanons BUT one favorite headcanon that I've had in my back pocket and do want to turn into a fic one day is that Louis teaches himself to speak Armand's native tongue, so he can tell him he loves him with a language Armand has not heard for centuries.

Another headcanon I've been thinking about as well is like, in a similar vein to the clothes thing, Louis understanding how insecure Lestat gets at times, especially about how their relationship is perceived. So like, again with the comfort zone thing, I think Louis tries very very very hard to swallow his discomfort in order to occasionally hold Lestat's hand in public. Maybe even kiss him, who knows. He loathes being perceived, but he'll do it for Lestat.

#this feels completely incoherent but. fuck it we ball.#THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK THOUGH. GOD I LOVE HIM.#;answered #headcanon #headcanons #louis de pointe du lac #Louis has two hands #<- my tag for louis/lestat/armand LMAO #loustat #loumand

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heygerald · 6 months ago

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Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 4

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. When he starts being less of an asshole, and more of a person, Parker finds that he isn't so bad. Not that she would tell him that, though.

read the story here: prev / next

Parker doesn't get much sleep. Not necessarily because she's so busy that she doesn't have time, and not definitively because of the sleep disorder she has self-diagnosed off of a sketchy website she found while browsing her symptoms one day.

In truth it's because she thinks too much.

She overthinks what her to-do list for the following week should be; overthinks the plot of her favorite tv series and whether or not they are going to kill off her favorite character in the mid-season finale; overthinks whether she should spend more one-on-one time with her brother while they're both in the same city, able bodied (with his career, there was no guarantee), and with the time to waste on stupid memories. On the really bad nights, Parker overthinks whether or not she made a mistake in purchasing an old, dilapidated bookstore that has drained her bank account over the last couple of years. She worries that her life is going nowhere, that she'll soon have failed at her dream venture, and that when she dies, she'll have no accomplishments to her name.

On those nights, she ends up washing down a handful of melatonin gummies with two boiling cups of sleepy time tea.

It helps, but it also leaves her floating in a state between unconsciousness and squirrely dreams that is hard to shake off in the morning.

Harder still to shake off when her phone lights up the room in the middle of the night, the shrill song of her ringtone bleating through the pitch black of her bedroom shocking her awake in delirious fright.

You gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get home before the...

Parker swings her hand towards the nightstand in such a rush that she ends up knocking her cellphone onto the ground. It bounces on the hardwood floor—she doesn't even care if it breaks, the damn thing—before skidding underneath her bed. The light from it casts shadows in all directions.

What if I'm late? Gotta big date, gotta get home...

It takes her half crawling out of bed, sheets tangled around her bare legs, elbow braced on the cold floor as she blindly grapples for the device to find it. Colt always made fun of her ringtone—if you're going to pick a song, at least pick a good one, he would taunt while listening to Taylor Swift on replay—and while Parker had adamantly told him where to stick his opinion, at the moment, the song blaring in the middle of the night has her half-prepared to scratch out of her own eardrums in frustration.

The stanza continues: before the morning comes...

She grabs the phone and wrenches it—and herself—back onto the bed. The number isn't saved in her phone, and panic wells in her chest. She's gasping as blood rushes back down to her toes. "Hello?"

"Jesus, finally. I thought you weren't going to fucking answer."

Whether it's the tea, the overdose of melatonin, or the fact that she had just been woken up in the middle of the night, Parker can't seem to make sense of much. The only thing she can think about is how she has a brother who does stupid stuff for money, and has called her from the back of ambulance three times and counting.

Once on her birthday.

"Oh my god," she mutters, a hand already clutching to her chest as she can feel the cavity caving in. Clarity has no place in her spiraling panic. "Oh my god, he's finally dead, isn't he? Oh my god, Colt is dead!"

"What the fuck are you on about?" the voice interrupts her panic with a modicum of disbelief. It sounds familiar, but Parker is far more focused on regulating her breathing before she throws up than placing a voice through her half-broken speaker. The room, pitch black and without anything to see, is spinning. "I'm not even with Colt."

"Fuck," she curses, before recklessly scrabbling with her nightstand. It's a total fucking mess, and in her haste, she knocks a lamp and stack of books onto the ground. The least of her problems if her idiot of a brother is already fucking dead. "Fuck! Where are you? I didn't even know he was on a job right now. Um, what hospital is he at? Wait—shit—I need to find a pen and paper..."

"Parker, Jesus, Colt's fine. Stop spinning out for two seconds. Are you on drugs?"

She blinks, unsure if she just heard what she heard, and slowly withdrawals her hand as she tries to compute what is being said.

"He's... not dead?" she croaks hesitantly.

"He's fine. I mean, well, as far as I know," the voice drones on; it's clearly annoyed now. A scoff. "Why in the hell would you assume that he's dead?"

"Because—it's—" she wipes a hand over her face tiredly, sweeping tufts of hair off her forehead to peer at the clock in the corner. Large, red numbers blink at her showing that she had only been asleep for two and a half hours. Worse still when she makes sense of what she's seeing. "It's two thirty in the morning! Why the fuck would an unknown number be calling me in the middle of the night if it wasn't for Colt?"

"Are you—wait—are seriously his emergency contact?" the voice goads, teasing and judging all in one tone. She hates it. "That's a little pathetic, honestly."

Her left eye twitches. "Who the fuck is this?"

"It's Tom."

Parker doesn't know a Tom, she's never known a Tom in the entirety of her life, and as she struggles to clear her thoughts, the idea that some asshole with a stupid name like Tom would call her out of the blue at this time of night starts to really piss her off.

"Tom who? I don't know a fucking Tom!" she shouts into the receiver.

There's a thump against the wall, a muffled call of "shut the fuck up!" rings out from her roommate's room. Too many things are happening though, and Parker clutches her head between her hands while trying to stay on topic.

"Fucking Tom Ryder, smartass," the voice chides. "Who else?"

And—

Fuck.

Yeah, alright, maybe she did know a Tom, and, yeah, now that she thought about it, he was a raging, grade-A asshole that would call someone up in the middle of the night for no reason other than to ruin the first good sleep she had in a week. All while getting upset at her for her negative response to the impromptu gab-sesh.

You know, in the way that all assholes did.

"Why—?" she starts, before realizing that she is shouting. Parker clears her throat with a glance towards the wall and tries a second time in an angry hiss. "Why the fuck are you calling me at two in the morning, Ryder?"

"I finished the book and I want to talk about it."

The words don't compute for half a second, but when they do, Parker can feel a migraine spiraling behind her eyes. She sort of feels like she's having a seizure before realizing that it's just pure anger spiking in the bottom of her chest.

She's pretty sure this is how someone feels right before committing a violent crime.

"Are you—? I was fucking sleeping!" she hisses. "Good—fucking—bye!"

Hanging up the phone certainly isn't as satisfying as it used to be when flip phones were in fashion, and you could slam the top down to end a conversation. But pressing the big red END button on Tom Ryder does grant her a small moment of satisfaction. Even more so when she imagines the shocked furrow of his eyebrows or the crease of his mouth as he frowns.

Good, she thinks sourly while flopping back onto her pillows with a sharp huff, maybe Tom Ryder could use a few wrinkles in his life.

Her peace lasts all of twenty seconds.

You gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get home before the morning...

Parker grabs a pillow and smushes it against her face hoping that it will drown out the noise. When it doesn't, she hopes that maybe suffocation will knock her out for a couple hours of sleep. But then there's another thump against the wall and she realizes that if she dies right here and now, the last person she would have ever talked to would be Tom fucking Ryder, and she's not so sure she's okay with that.

So, she removes the pillow to take a deep breath. Then she answers the phone.

"Did you just hang up on me?" he asks incredulously.

"It is two-thirty in the morning, and you want to talk about a book?"

A huff. "Yes. Why else would I ever call you?"

If she was more awake, Parker might have taken offense at the insult. She's much too groggy to do that, though. Besides, almost everything out of his mouth was some sort of judgement. At this point, she didn't think he would be able to speak without being rude.

"Couldn't you have called me during a normal hour?"

"My audition is on Friday," he said, as if that was any sort of excuse for his behavior. "I still have to read the other two books by then."

"Wait, I'm sorry," Parker interjects with a mean laugh, pausing to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Have you been up all-night reading?"

"You could sound a little less judgmental about it," he snarks. "I do read, you know. Bad scripts and the like."

She huffs. Not quite a laugh, but not just an expression either. It's a little hard to take anything serious when she's sleep-deprived and delirious. And, certainly, he can't be serious. That's her justification for giving up, anyway. "Okay, alright, fine. Which book did you finish?"

"Contact."

"That's a good one to start with," Parker murmurs, shifting on her mattress so she can cradle her PillowPet.

It has lost of all of its stuffing, an eye, and any joy it once had, but the penguin was a gift from Colt that she can't convince herself to trash. It mirrors her frown.

"No, not a good one. I didn't understand it at all."

"What didn't you understand?"

"Any of it, all of it. Why the hell did you tell me that Dune was too complicated and then hand me this shit?" he complains. There's something odd in his tone though. Something she can hear creeping through the syllables somewhere between annoyed and confused that reminds her of their conversation weeks prior at Gail's—you don't even sound like yourself, she had said. It's only now that she realizes he hadn't sounded like himself because he was doubting himself, which was the most un-like Tom Ryder thing anyone could ever do. She frowns at the thought as he continues. "It's all about math and pi and something called a transcendental number. I should have just watched Altered Carbon."

Parker sighs. "You're getting yourself all worked up over things that don't matter."

"Don't matter? It's all the book fucking talks about!"

"That's sci-fi," she says. And while it's a piss poor excuse, it's the truth. A moment later and Parker realizes that if he really had never read anything sci-fi before, he likely wouldn't realize the rules of reading it. Sighing, she takes some pity on him to explain, "okay, look. You know when you watch an action film and there's some ridiculous sequence that makes no sense; like when the ground is crumbling beneath their feet and the character jumps at the last second and is totally okay?"

"Like in the Fast and the Furious."

"Literally every single scene in those movies."

"Okay...?"

"Right, well, you watch those scenes and tell yourself not to take them seriously. They exist because it's an action movie, right? It doesn't have to be realistic."

"Sure," he agreed, but she could tell he still wasn't getting the point.

"It's the same thing when you're reading sci-fi. Okay? All the math and theoretical physics and calculations they do—whatever it is—they throw that stuff in there to build up a universe that feels real. The audience doesn't have to understand quantum mechanics to know that Chris Pine can fly a really big spaceship in Star Trek."

"You really have a hard-on for Chris Pine, huh?"

Parker ignored his comment entirely, barreling on. "The point of the book is not that the audience is stupid and needs to take some math classes even if that's how it feels sometimes. The point is that Ellie is a genius that no one else understands or believes in. When she talks about transcendental numbers and you have no idea what she means, that's exactly how the other characters in the book feel. They don't believe her because they don't understand her."

"So, it's... like an attempt to make the audience sympathize with her but also so the author can explain how everything happens."

Parker smiles. "Right."

"That's stupid," he says, and her smile immediately disappears behind a groan. "I just don' think the author needed to spend so much time trying to sound smart."

"It's a book about interstellar travel and the existence of intelligent life," she deadpans. "It's supposed to sound smart."

Tom mulls that over, and while he does so, Parker shifts once more in bed. The red numbers blink at her are only going up, but now that her heart rate has returned to a normal level, she finds it's far from the worst conversation she's had with Tom. Especially since she gets to talk about one of her favorite books.

Even if he is an ass.

"This would have been better as a movie," he finally settles on. It's not a sophisticated opinion by any means, but it certainly is him.

"Actually, it was originally written to be a screenplay. The movie got cancelled, and Sagan adapted it into a book."

"Seriously?"

"Sure," she shrugs. She spares a glance towards her nightstand where a copy of the book lays in tatters from how often she has read it. "Ironic considering the book became so popular that it got a second movie deal a few years later."

"...you're telling me that I could have watched this instead of reading it after all?" he barks. But, well, his tone isn't so annoyed as it sounds impressed. Parker hears the taping of buttons on a remote, before he's yelling. "Jodie Foster! Seriously?"

She can't help it. Parker laughs. "It's not a bad movie, but the book is way better."

"I have to watch this now."

"I have a copy you can borrow if you don't want to rent it."

"It's three dollars. How poor are you, exactly?"

She scoffs, an eye roll that has become habit when talking to the prick even though he can't see it. Snootily, she tells him, "I just rolled my eyes at you, asshole. In case you were wondering."

A harrumph. "I do think I caught something from your bookstore. I've been sick all day. It's disgusting—it's making my mouth all dry and it practically ruined my breakfast. I couldn't even eat my avocado."

"First the cappuccino, and now the avocado. Is there anything you don't blame me for?"

The teasing got the exact reaction she wanted, and as Tom starts complaining on the other end of the line, Parker smothers a laugh into her penguin. "It was a flat white! And—"

"I'm going to hang up on you now," she sing-songed. "And fair warning: if you call me again before eight am, I'm going to post your phone number on Reddit. Gail can eat shit with her lawsuit."

"Don't you fucking—"

Parker finds a lot more satisfaction in hanging up on Tom Ryder the second time, and when the phone screen stays dark, she plops it down onto her nightstand with an amused hum. It's past three am now, something she will be regretting come morning.

Then again, it seemed that Tom Ryder was all about regrets.

Right?

----

"Do you think I'm cool?" Parker ponders two days later, a glance tossed to her brother as she idly tries on a pair of sunglasses that are in the shape of trout. They're overpriced, but she's also incredibly bored, and about five minutes away from throwing a toddler-style meltdown in the middle of the bait and tackle shop.

"Of course you're cool," he says as he models a rash guard that he's been trying on for the last half hour. He twists in the mirror, left and right, before giving himself two thumbs up. There's something dangerous about the way he grins at her. "You have me for a brother, after all. Coolest kid on the block. Always have been, always will be."

"Right. Didn't they call you Shitpants in high school?"

A passing employee coughs into their hand to hide their laugh, and Colt turns a bright red.

"She's totally joking. They didn't call me that, my nickname was something totally different," he calls after the retreating sales associate, always attempting to save face but never quite succeeding. A moment later and he's glaring at his sister. "That was one time, and it was an accident. The potato salad was—"

"Bad," Parker finishes for him with an eyeroll. "Yeah, I know. I've heard the story."

"Then why do you insist on bringing it back up all the time?" he hissed.

There isn't much activity in the oceanfront store beside the pair wandering from aisle to aisle. It's a small shack that they've frequented for years. Colt pretends to be good friends with the owner, and Parker never minds because there's a great lemonade stand right down the block. It's usually the first stop of the day when they decide to hang out on the beach. Just a place to buy ice and snacks before moving on to better things.

Which is good considering there being little to no airflow when sitting inside, and the radio seems to be on a constant loop of Justin Bieber in his pre-puberty phase. It's not so good, however, when they spend more than five minutes inside.

Today, it seems to be the first and final stop given how long they've been there. She feels her bones getting weary from all the pandering her brother has done, and she's starting to suspect that his reasons for picking her up that morning weren't as innocent as he initially claimed.

Deprived of breathable air and sleep, Parker isn't all too enthused when she props the kiosk sunglasses onto her head with a pleading look towards her brother. "Because I'm bored!" she whined, in a way that was far too little-sisterly like for someone her age. Decidedly though she doesn't care when he makes no move to leave. "I thought we were just going to buy some sunscreen before heading towards the point. That's what you said, anyway."

"We are!" he says, arms thrown wide in exasperation. Parker doesn't buy that for a second, however, and her brother folds under her stare. "Just... in a minute. I need a new rash guard. Maybe some new board shorts."

"You don't even surf."

"I... do," he argues, his head bobbing up and down as if trying to convince himself of such a bold statement. "It's just been a couple of—"

"Decades?"

"Years," he corrects her with a glare. "It's like riding a bike. You know. Probably."

"Just with water and waves and the possibility of drowning or death by shark."

"You're not helping."

She shrugs. "I never said I was here to help."

Colt's response is a melodramatic pout, pausing in his nervous shifting to wave a hand in her general direction. "Well, this would be a lot quicker if you just helped."

He punctuates the statement by performing a full spin for her, hands stuck out before realizing that's awkward. To fix that, he props them even more awkwardly on his hips, but it only makes him look like he's a Ken doll pretending to be a real person.

Parker elects to keep that to herself sensing his anxiety was getting dangerously close to his own toddler-style meltdown.

"What do you think of this? Cool? Not cool?" he continues on muttering, head bobbing in every direction as he smooths the material down over his puffed-up chest. It deflates just as quickly as he turns back to her to ask, "pink's cool, right? I'm going for a laidback look, you know. But not too laidback. Somewhere right in the middle."

Parker returns the sunglasses to the rotating stand before plopping onto a stack of buckets. He seems awfully concerned with this particular task all of the sudden, despite spending the last three years avoiding the idea altogether. Every time he was offered a chance to get back out on the water by one of his stunt buddies, he miraculously came up with an excuse not to.

It all feels weird. And when her brother got weird, there was usually a girl involved.

Ah.

"You told Jody you still surf, huh?" she puts two and two together.

His peacocking in the mirror stopped entirely. A wince. Then a smile. Then a wince again in a ball of pent-up nerves. "That's... maybe one of the—she doesn't—you don't have to hang around here while I try these on. Don't you have something better to be doing?"

"If I had literally anything better to be doing, I would be doing it."

"Okay, ouch."

Parker rolled her eyes at her brother's whining. But really, she didn't have anything better to be doing at the moment than hanging around while her brother tried to impress a girl.

Not to mention she liked this girl.

Sighing, she decided to throw him a bone. Because, what else would she be doing? Parker peered at the rack behind him for a moment before pointing to the top. "Try the blue one instead."

Colt glanced down at his chest with a frown. "But... Jody likes pink."

"Yes, but blue will match your eyes better. Make you look tanner."

"And make me harder to see if I start drowning," he huffed. But, after a moment of consideration, stripped off the pink rash guard to pull on the blue one. Always a fucking argument with him, she thought with a bemused eyeroll. Especially when a moment later, "oh, this one does look better..."

She laughed as he spun in the mirror, attempting to get a three-sixty perspective of the potential garment. Only for the moment to be interrupted by a buzzing in her back pocket.

You gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get gone before...

Her phone's ringtone broke through her relative boredom, and as Colt ran a hand through his hair and squared his shoulders in the mirror, she plucked the device out of her back pocket.

"You really got to change that ringtone," he said half-heartedly.

Parker stuck her tongue out at him and swiveled on her bucket, so she now had a view of the empty beach outside. It wasn't even that early—nine in the morning—but this particular spot was far enough removed from LA that people didn't tend to populate it unless it was a holiday weekend.

Phone pressed to her ear, she answered with a casual, "hello?"

"Was it not possible for you to give me a book from this century to read?"

A smile teased her face, and Parker returned her attention to the sunglass rack at her side just for something to do. Testing on an oversized pair of cat-eye sunglasses, she asked, "who is this?"

"Jesus, just save my fucking contact in your phone, already."

"Why would I do that when you could just stop calling me to talk about books?" she mused, stifling a laugh when there was a load of huffing and cursing from the other end of the line. He deserved it, though. Especially after ruining her sleep the other night and practically giving her a heart attack. "There are reddit forums for that exact purpose, you know. Maybe you could ask the nerds what they think. Go right to the source."

"You're such an asshole."

"Mhm. Takes one to know one, right?"

"Earthlight isn't a movie, is it?" he barreled on. She could tell from his tone that he was annoyed, and selfishly, Parker hoped that she was ruining his morning coffee and avocado toast. "It'd be a short movie."

"No, not a movie. Could be, I guess. You feel like self-funding?"

"You're hilarious," he deadpanned, and through the phone line she could hear the distant whir of a coffee grinder working. Knowing Tom, the thing probably cost more than her car. "Maybe you should quit your little bookstore and go into stand-up comedy. Probably make more money doing that. Granted, you'd have to sacrifice your dignity, but you don't have much to start with, do you?"

Parker tutted, but the overwhelming failure of her bookstore came back to mind full force at the comment, and so rather than keep up the joke, she moved the conversation on. "So, you liked it?"

"Well don't go sounding too smug about it," he chastised. "I liked it better, but still not much. They're both so outdated."

"Too much science for you?"

"This author really fucking loves the technical bullshit just as much as the last one. Pricks, all of them."

"Arthur C. Clarke is a prick?" she snorted. That was definitely a viewpoint she had never heard before. Leave it to Tom to dislike one of the best sci-fi writes in history because he spent too much time writing, well, sci-fi. "That's a hot take. He cowrote 2001 you know."

"A Space Odyssey?" She hummed. There was rattling and banging noises—the image of a hungover Tom stumbling around his kitchen came to mind—before the sound of a milk frother cut across the line. She jerked her phone away from her ear with a wince. Muffled, his voice returned. "Alright, that's not a bad movie. I'll give him that."

"It's only one of the highest-rated films of the genre," she retorted dryly.

More banging continued on the phone and as Parker tried not to let him blow out her eardrum, a hissing sound of its own came from her end of the line. She glanced up at the airshaft above her warily, but, if the sweat pooling on her back was anything to go by, it wasn't working. She glanced around in search of the noise before a rubber pool toy bounced off of the back of her head.

"Hey," the hiss returned. Pool toy in hand, she turned to find her brother waving a hand at her. The blue rash guard had been replaced with a yellow one. Worse still, he was now wearing a matching bucket hat. He gestured to himself as if he hadn't just assaulted her with a whale shaped toy. "What about this?"

She covered the phone speaker with her hand. "What happened to the blue?"

"This one is on sale!"

"Jesus, Colt. No girl has ever been impressed by that logic."

"I—" he started, then paused, and frowned at his sister like she had just burst his bubble. She might have felt bad if she hadn't been brushing off his puppy-dog eyes for the entirety of her life. The lip wobble was a new touch, though. "...is that a no to the bucket hat too?"

Parker responded by chucking the toy back at him. It bounced off his chest with a squeak.

"Yeah, alright..." he muttered, shoulders drooping, as he snatched the hat off of his head. It left his hair sticking up in tufts.

She kept that to herself.

"—are you even listening to me right now?" Tom's voice crackled back to life. If the incredulous lilt of his voice was anything to go by, he was not used to being sidelined for other people nor did he like it. "Who the hell are you talking to?"

"There was a bucket hat situation I had to deal with."

"...are you with Colt right now?"

She laughed. First, at the fact that Tom Ryder equated a bucket hat with her brother. Second because he sounded so disgusted by the fact that she would willingly spend her Sunday morning's helping her brother shop for bucket hats.

"You mean my brother?" she corrected.

"Did you tell him that I'm auditioning for a sci-fi roll? What does he think about it?"

"Why the hell would I tell him I'm talking to you?" she asked, echoing his sentiments from their last phone call. Parker was only teasing though, while she was pretty sure Tom had meant to be mean. Regardless, she moved on as she stood from the bucket to stretch out the kinks in her legs. "A bucket hat is a bad idea, right?"

"Is this seriously more important than what I want to talk about?"

"This may come as a surprise to you, but my world doesn't revolve around things that you want to talk about," she explained exasperatedly. Not necessarily because of what he said, but because she was fairly confident that he actually believed those sentiments. Worse still, she bet no one had ever told him that before. "Particularly not at two in the morning—thanks for that by the way. My roommate is pissed at me for waking her up."

A pause. Then, "you still have a roommate? How old are you?"

"I was serious about posting your phone number online you know," she threatened idly.

Colt disappeared into the changing booth, and Parker slowly started perusing the now abandoned hat rack. Despite her disapproval, she was bored. Plus, it actually had a fairly impressive selection.

Plopping an oversized sunhat atop her head, she ignored his insult to press on more important matters. "But seriously. Bucket hats. They're out of style, right?"

"Bucket hats have never been in style."

"Fashion is all made up anyway."

"That's just what poor people say who can't afford actual fashion."

She tutted, scrunching her nose up. Derisively, she asked, "did Gail tell you that?"

"Alright, that's it. I'm hanging up."

"It was a joke—!"

Joke or not, the dial tone was the only response that she got from Tom. She stared at the phone in her hand for a moment before huffing.

So that's what that feels like, she thought.

Something bright and ugly popped into her line of vision, and Parker glanced in the mirror to find her brother sporting a cheetah print body suit paired with a trucker hat that said Wine Made Me Do It in big, cursive lettering.

"Now, not to step on any middle-aged ladies' toes, but this is fashion," he clapped his hands with a goofy grin on his face. He gestured to the hat with a crooked thumb. "Get it? Two dollars!"

Parker laughed; couldn't not even if she wanted to.

Her brother was so innocent and idiotic and awful that while she once used to be embarrassed in public by him, now she just appreciated the fact that he was, always, unashamedly himself.

"Here, wait," she poked her tongue out of the side of her mouth while angling her camera at him. "Say cheese."

"Asiago," he cooed, making a Blue Steel type face that looked ridiculous when paired with his clothes.

The picture was even better, and Parker felt tears gathering in her eyes as they giggled. The employee from earlier shot them an annoyed look, but he was promptly ignored. If she didn't care about Tom Ryder's opinion, she certainly didn't care about his.

"That was good, right?"

"Oh, definitely. Jody won't know what hit her," she teased. Colt nodded, looking all too smug with himself, despite the fact that she was joking.

This smug version of himself reminded her of someone else that he looked a whole lot like.

An idea struck Parker, and as Colt started putting back the clothes where he found them, she quickly saved Tom's number in her phone before attaching the picture to the contact. Parker hesitated when she saw his name typed out.

Asshole, she typed in big letters. It was funny for half a second, though, before she realized it didn't quite feel right.

She deleted his name. Thought about it. Then replaced it with nothing more than a simple puking face emoji.

"Are you getting that?" Colt asked, drawing her from her reverie, and when she glanced up, she remembered that she was still wearing the ridiculous sunhat. "Because, you know... I'm not so sure that's something a cool person would wear."

Parker shoved her brother towards the cash register with a laugh.

They left the store with a blue rash guard, a pair of sunglasses, and matching bucket hats.

Twenty minutes later they realized they had forgotten to get sunscreen.

---

Paker had heard a lot of stupid and surprising things in her life; things that were so shockingly idiotic that she often wondered if they had been spoken as a joke. Most of the things on that list were quoted from her brother; a man she loved, but that didn't entirely think before he spoke.

When they were kids, he had argued that fish didn't need oxygen to survive. That's why they live under water, dummy, he had said with far too much confidence that she, younger and far less educated, could only blink at him. Then there was the time in his twenties that Colt had brought up the topic of furries at the dinner table in front of their grandparents. They're not, like, really having sex... are they? he had asked while trying to figure out what costume part would go where if they did do the dirty. And of course, there was the infamous baking soda as a cure all for wounds debate, but she tried to block out the sound of his skin literally sizzling as he screamed.

Tom, in the short time that she had known him, had also said some pretty shocking things that wound up on the list. He was, after all, an unapologetic asshole/idiot that didn't care if the world was flat or round so long as it revolved around him.

But out of shocking thing she had ever heard, it was fifteen-year-old California born and bred girl that topped the list.

"I want a job," Melissa proclaimed.

Parker's pen scratched an ugly line across her poor excuse of an accounting notebook as she glanced up wildly, big eyes blinking slow and dumb, as static hummed in between her ears.

"...what?"

"I want to apply for a job," she reiterated.

The bookstore was empty save for a pair of retirees that were slowly perusing her small selection of bird watching books. An oversized fly buzzed overhead, whizzing an uneven path between the two, as an irritable car stuck in traffic laid on the horn outside.

"Like—like here?" Parker asked. There was nothing fun or young or hip about her store. Just dusty bookshelves, a musty smell she could not get rid of no matter how many Bath and Body Works' scent infusers she plugged into the corner, and a ratty reading chair that had a Melissa-sized depression in the middle. She arched a brow. "You want to work... here. In my bookstore."

Melissa rolled her eyes, shrugging. Duh, the gesture said.

"Yeah, sure, obviously," Parker hummed, despite the fact that there was nothing yeah, sure, or obvious about the current conversation. Specifically given that Melissa, on more than occasion, had complained that her store was boring. "Just... why?"

"I need money."

"Suuuuure," she drew out the syllable, wooden stool creaking as she shifted in her seat behind the register. "But wouldn't you prefer to work somewhere a little more, er, fun?"

"This place is plenty fun."

The fly from earlier buzzed between them before smacking into the windowpane. It spiraled to the floor with a depressing zzzz.

Parker raised a second brow.

Melissa, in response, threw her hands up with a huff. "Okay, so, maybe I've been rejected from Jamba Juice and Target already. Which is so, totally crazy."

"That is crazy because I thought Jamba Juice went out of business—"

"And I can get my driver's permit in three months, and I want to get my license as soon as possible. But there's no way that I'm going to have Mom drive me everywhere, so I need to get a car. And to get a car I need to be able to afford a car—which, like, the economy is awful right now if you didn't know—so I need a job. Mom and Dad said they'll match whatever money I can put towards it. And as of today, that is a fat zero."

Woes of teenage girls, Parker thought.

"That's nice of them," she said instead. Not that she envied a teenager in the twenty-first century, but for her sixteenth birthday she had been given a bike. Not even a new one. It had been Colt's old one that he outgrew, and it still had flame stickers and duck tape wrapped all around it. "But, seriously, there has to be at least one other place a kid your age would want to work."

Melissa, having been slowly circling around the center of the room, paused in her ambling to cast Parker a suspicious look. "Do you not want me to work here or something?"

"No, of course I would want you to work here—"

"Great!"

"—but I have no money. Why do you think I'm the only employee here?"

Melissa considered that. "I just always assumed you were a little uptight and didn't like other people messing with your shelves."

"Uptight?" she cried. "Why does everyone keep calling me that?"

But Melissa didn't seem to notice that she had just quoted her celebrity crush, and so she instead turned her attention to the bookstore. She cast a critical eye over everything; though there was no smoke, Parker could smell the wheels turning between her ears, and slumped further onto the counter in preparation for what was to come.

"Don't get me wrong, Park, I love your store," she started. "But it could definitely use some updating."

"Updating?" she deadpanned.

"Some new paint for starters. I think it would be so cute if you painted it, um, maybe a soft blue. Then you could paint the bookshelves in different colors—pastels, definitely—and even some flowers here and there wouldn't hurt."

Parker made a face. Pastels weren't really her thing. "You want to paint the shelves?"

"It's just so brown."

"The natural color of wood, yes."

Melissa rolled her eyes, and with a waft of Vanilla perfume, trotted behind the front desk to examine the string of posters tacked onto the wall. Most of them were salvages from the dollar store, and while Parker thought they gave the store some character, Melissa clearly didn't agree. "These totally need to go too."

"Excuse me—"

"You could still keep them," she huffed half-heartedly. Clearly, she wasn't sold on the idea, but Parker would be damned if she pitched her Jane Austen posters based on the opinion of a teenager. "Just cut them down to a smaller size, put them in some picture frames—you can get them super cheap at the thrift store—and they'll make it look less packrat-like and more eclectic."

Parker glared, an argument on the tip of her tongue.

But, well, when she thought about it, it wasn't such a bad idea. And, well, maybe giving the store a new coat of paint wasn't either. It still looked like it had when she bought it from Larry. She had spent so much money on the loan payment, that she never considered really updating the place—mostly because, duh, she had no money—but paint and some dollar store frames weren't so expensive.

"How do you know all of this?" she asked with a quizzical look.

Melissa smiled, phone waved in hand as she tossed a plait of perfectly curled hair over her shoulder. "I spend a lot of time on Pinterest. What this place needs is a total cottage-core makeover."

"That sounds so made-up."

The girl frowned. "Well, duh. Everything is made up."

Parker opened her mouth, thought it through, and then promptly snapped her mouth shut. When did kids become so philosophical?

"So," said kid leaned onto the front counter with a conniving smile. She was a pretty girl with a clear complexion, bright white teeth beneath blue braces, and a deep closest of cute, but age-appropriate clothing. When she wiggled her eyebrows, Parker couldn't help but notice how well shaped they were. "Can I have a job?"

It was a tempting offer...

She glanced at the balancing worksheet she was doing, scores of numbers and ugly handwriting sprawled across her notebook, before taking a proper look at her empty storefront.

"I'll... have to think about it," she finally hedged.

Melissa's shoulders sank in disappointment.

"I don't have a ton of money right now," she explained, not at all liking how sad she looked. Colt's puppy dog expression had done nothing to prepare her for Melissa Abernathy's professional one. "So, I'll need to look things over first."

"But...?"

A sigh. "Are you free on Sundays?"

"I thought you were closed on Sundays?"

"I am," Parker nodded. "Which means it's about the only day of the week that I could try to paint this place. If you're serious about wanting a job and wanting to help, I'll consider bringing you in on the weekends to start helping me renovate."

A grin broke out on the girl's face, and she started bouncing on her toes. "Really?"

"Just temporarily," Parker threatened with her index finger. She wasn't sure how much was being heard and how much was going over the girl's head, however, and suddenly this was all feeling like a bad idea. "You can help me paint and decorate, and then I'll look at my finances."

"And you'll hire me?"

"If I can afford it, then... yes, we could work something out."

"Yes!"

"Just a few shifts a week!"

"That's perfect."

"And I'm not paying more than minimum wage."

"Totally fair. This rocks!"

"I said if—"

Melissa was already on her phone, texting and typing away as she bounced around. Parker felt a migraine start whirring between her temples, but—well—the kid was so excited that she couldn't feel too miserable about her decision. Tourist traffic was dying down as the season's changed, and she really needed to do something if she still wanted to be in business come the new year.

There was the sound of a camera clicking, and Melissa grinned from her corner of the room. "Oh my god, Park, you're so not going to regret this. We could totally do a beachy palette—blues and greens and, oh, orange—throw some rugs down, add some little details to the bottom of the shelves that you have to look for to see. Like easter egg, stuff. Oh, this is so exciting! I'm going to get Miranda and Abby to come, they have a great eye for detail."

She watched Melissa disappear down the MYSTERY aisle, all the while chatting to whoever she had already gotten on the phone.

Parker steepled her head between her hands with a sigh.

But, well, the enthusiasm was contagious, and after a moment she was laughing to herself. Maybe a fresh coat of paint would cheer her up.

Speaking of, how much did paint cost?

She was in the middle of a google search when her phone started to ring. The caller ID only showed an emoji and a picture of her brother modeling a ridiculous outfit, and she let out a childish snort in response.

A small smile in place, she answered. "Three books in a week. I have to say that I am a little impressed."

"Hm. I'm impressed you finally saved my contact. I was starting to think that basic technology was beyond your skill set."

"Hardy, har, har," she deadpanned, rolling her eyes. Melissa was somewhere in the back of store now, likely scaring off her only customers, and she decided to give up on her accounting for the day. Twisting in her seat so she was watching the street outside, she propped her elbow on her knee. "What did you think of Nemesis?"

He seemed hesitant to answer. "I... liked it."

Parker grinned. "Oh, you did, did you?"

A sound halfway between a groan and a whine. "You're fucking infuriating, you know that?"

"For recommending you good books?"

"You don't have to be so smug about it."

"I'm not smug," she said smugly.

He scoffed, and Parker couldn't help but grin even further. The idea that Tom Ryder, pain in her ass, was admitting that he liked her recommendation was the metaphorical cherry on the top of her cake. Even better, she got to be smug to him about something.

Parker continued on to say, "I guess I'm just happy that I recommended something you like. Especially since I didn't think you liked anything other than looking in a mirror, hair gel, and hot lattes."

"For fuck's sake, it was a flat white, and it was one time."

"Was it?" she teased, enjoying the conversation far more than she should be. This was the asshole that drove her brother insane every day at work, after all. But then again, what Colt didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. "You're just so memorable, I guess. Can't stop thinking about it."

"I would hope I'm memorable," he shot back, a whole lot of huffing and puffing from his side of the line that didn't fit the whole "perfect human being" sort of vibe he tried so desperately hard to give off. A dog barked in the distance. A second, more put-off and annoyed huff argued back. "Putain, calme-toi, Jean Claude."

Parker curled an eyebrow, impressed. "Was that French?"

"Impressed?" he said, taking a page out of her book to sound unnecessarily smug.

Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the window—a stupid smile in place, lip pulled between two teeth, eyes twinkling in a way that didn't suit the sleep-deprived bags beneath them—Parker straightened in her seat. "Hardly. It's an ugly language," she said, overcorrecting just a little by insulting what some considered to be the language of love. Not her best move. "Moreso wondering why you're imposing a foreign language on your dog. Seems cruel."

"He's French," Tom said, certainly rolling his eyes.

"Ooh, a French bulldog? I love those."

Something about the insinuation that Tom Ryder would own a bulldog managed to insult him, and she heard the scorn in his voice when he responded with a scathing, "I would never own a fucking bulldog. They can't breathe and can't run thanks to decades of improper inbreeding. What use are they?"

"...they're cute?"

She heard him mutter something in French, before another bark—as if his dog, the French bastard, was agreeing with whatever complaint he made against her—and Parker was so elegantly reminded of what a pain in the ass he could be.

Chin in hand, she rolled her eyes. "You want to tell me about the book or not?"

There was noise from his side of the line; music in the background kicked up, the sound of dog food being slung into a metal bowl, a faucet running, before things quieted down a bit. "I thought the idea of moon colonization is a little overplayed, plus there's the whole bit about the telepathic organism that is so fucking stupid," he said.

Despite his tone though, somehow Parker just knew that he was only complaining so he had something to complain about. She didn't wonder how she knew that.

"The book is from the eighties. I don't think moon colonization was overplayed when he wrote it," she protested anyway, sipping on her watered-down cold brew as she did so. "And the bit about the organism is fascinating to me. Everyone always writes about ET-style aliens, but I thought it was brilliant of Asimov to create something new."

"Brilliant is what I do. Not writing a short story about a family being separated in space," he grumbled. A moment later, "you're awfully hot on these writers. You've never called me brilliant before." Sore about it, obviously.

"That's not true. I think you're brilliantly self-centered and egotistical."

"Elle pense qu’elle est une comédienne, celle-ci," he muttered, much to her English-speaking chagrin. He switched back to say, "I'm the reason your brother has a career, you know. You could give me a little credit."

"Are you?" she mused, knowing it was a load of horseshit. Self-centered and egotistical horseshit that only further proved her point. "Interesting. I thought he introduced you to Gail."

A moment of silence. "He told you that?"

"We tell each other everything," she said. Though, that wasn't exactly true, was it? "Well, mostly everything, anyway."

"Hm. I could argue that's breaking our nondisclosure agreement. I could probably fire him for it, you know," he threatened, idly, though, and without any real heat to his words. There was the sound of water running in the background, and Parker really hoped that he was spontaneously washing some dishes and not talking to her while in the shower.

"Please. We both know that Colt is the best stunt-man out there. And you only work with the best, right?"

His lack of response proved that she was right; Colt was the best at his job, and he just so happened to look a whole lot like Tom Ryder. Not to mention that Tom's entire career was built around bragging how good he was, how talented the people he worked with were, how he didn't settle for anything but excellence. In fact, Parker was half-sure she could break Ryder's nose and the only backlash Colt would get would be a whole lot of bitching.

Granted, she might get arrested, but at least her brother would be relatively fine.

"When's the audition, anyway?" she asked just to be nosy.

"Tomorrow morning."

Parker raised a brow, idly watching as some idiot failed to parallel park out front. "Cutting it a little close, huh?"

"I'm Tom Ryder," he said, in his typical sense of self-importance that she loathed. Though, this time, Parker didn't loathe it as much as she found it amusing. "I know what I'm doing and don't need your fucking opinion about it."

"Do you have that written on a motivational poster somewhere?"

"No," he said immediately. A little too quickly, in her opinion, and Parker narrowed her eyes with a sneaking suspicion that his house was just plastered with photos of himself. "Whatever. I have to go. Unlike you I don't just have all day to talk."

She scoffed incredulously, reminding him that, "you called me!"

Unsurprisingly, however, he didn't care. "I need to practice some more before the audition. Unless you want me to fail."

"I didn't think Tom Ryder could fail."

"Yeah, well," he hesitated for a moment, all that bravado he'd been displaying moments earlier gone in a flash. Parker wondered if he ever talked to anyone without it, and if he didn't, then what sort of friends he had in his life. He cleared his throat. "It's a big deal. Not just for me, but Colt too. This would be our biggest movie yet. Some extra practice doesn't hurt anyone."

Pride swelled in her chest; her brother had always impressed her with how he built his own career, moving to LA without knowing anyone and not leaving until he accomplished what he wanted. And while she was his biggest fan—number one, as she liked to joke—his success was his alone, not Tom's.

Still, without Tom it may have been less consistent, and without Colt, Tom may have been stuck doing rom coms. Parker kept that to herself.

Instead, she said, almost sensing that he needed to hear it, "yeah, well, I know you don't need it or anything, but—you know—good luck on the audition. I think you'd be really good in a sci-fi film. Despite what Gail seems to think, I might actually want to, er, see that movie. Pirated, of course. I don't go to the theaters for just any asshole."

The sound of water cut off, and for a long moment it was silent. Then, a scoff. "You're right," he said. "I don't need it."

Parker hummed, rolling her eyes, and biting back a smile at his blatant audacity. Gail was right about one thing; there was no one in this world quite like him. Maybe that was a good thing, too.

"Sure. You being Tom Ryder, and all. Guess you're a shoo-in, huh?"

"Well," he cleared his throat, "I do have the blonde hair and blue eyes."

A laugh bubbled up her throat, and she only managed to keep it to herself when the door jingled with the sound of new customers. A pair of teen girls strode inside with sweet, but nonplussed looks on their faces, and mindlessly Parker waved them towards the back where Melissa had disappeared to.

Watching them amble with her phone tucked against her shoulder, she asked, "did you just make a joke? Forget sci-fi, someone should call SNL right now and get you an audition with them."

"You're just as bad as Colt. You know that?"

"And now you're just handing out compliments," she teased. He laughed in response, wasn't quite quick enough to disguise it as a huff or a cough, and Parker bit her lip to keep from smugly grinning like a total idiot. "Just don't forget to send me that agent's fee when you get the part. I accept checks and DutchBros gift cards."

"Jesus Christ, you're pathetic."

"Am I? Because I just so happen to be popular enough to have the one and only Tom Ryder calling me three times in one week."

"Good-fucking-bye, smartass."

The sound of a dial tone came a second later, and when Parker glanced at her screen she was greeted with her own reflection. She didn't mind that he hung up on her. If anything, she almost wished that he had more time to talk. If only because he seemed to be in a rare, friendly mood.

Not because she almost actually liked talking to him. Asshole-ish tendencies notwithstanding.

"What are you smiling about?"

Parker turned to find Melissa and her two friends staring warily at her across the counter. Clearing her throat, she set her phone aside with pink cheeks.

"Er, nothing."

She harrumphed. Teenagers had never seemed so intimidating before, and with a self-conscious smile, Parker smoothed her hair down as subtly as she could.

"Need something?"

"Do you have any John Green books?" one of the girls asked.

Parker nodded, shaking off the conversation to switch into work mode, and smiled a little more genuinely at them all as she stood. "Sure, loads. Come on, I'll show you," she waved them after her, and as they browsed, they filled her in on what paint colors they thought would look best.

Melissa, she mused two hours later with disheveled hair, sweat-tacked curls on her neck, a stack of notes in one hand, and a long email chain of Pinterest posts on her phone, could rule the world one day.

She just needed a car first.

#plot bunny #the fall guy #tom ryder #original female character #tom ryder x ofc #tom ryder imagine #series?

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the-lone-writer94 · 5 days ago

Text

Wanted Dead or Alive

Dean Winchester x (You) Female Reader

*Contains Supernatural season 5 spoilers*

Summary: Set in late season 5 after Dean finds out he is the vessel for Michael which he tries to not think about. Hoping that a new job will keep his mind off things. He journeys to Texas where there had been a series of attacks. There he runs into an old flame (You - female reader) the thing is you haven't heard from Dean in four years... and you're pissed. Just how will this little reunion go?

Age rating: 18+ mature content *Warnings: rough sex (sort of), guns and violence*

Word count: 4,248

Crouched down behind a cluster of trees, my finger on the trigger of the flamethrower gun as my gaze scanned the perimeter before me. I had been tracking this fucker for five days now, which had finally led me here. Perhaps, there were worse ways of spending a Saturday night than sitting in the dirt. At this rate, I wanted nothing more than to gank this thing, call it an evening and return to my cabin where I could throw back several bottles of beer.

Suddenly in the distance, there was a faint sound of shuffling. My jaw clenched, as my hold on the flamethrower tightened. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I slowly ascended from the ground. Gently, I stepped forward, my eyes glued to the shadows before me. The sounds of shuffling grew louder, as I knew I was closing in.

My heartbeat quickened, and the adrenaline pumped through my veins. The shadows before me formed, and I raised my flamethrower and just as I was about to press down, my heart lurched forward. It took me several seconds for my mind to recollect what was before me, and I gasped.

The figures before me did not belong to the monster I had been hunting, but two men. The familiarity of his face returning back to me, as I had once upon a time gazed on.

“Woah, woah…” He said, as he raised his hands in the air.

“Dean… Dean Winchester?” I questioned.

Dean’s face softened, and a smile flashed across his face. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Behind Dean was man that I did not recognize, he was taller than Dean, with long shaggy hair. Even under the night sky, I could make out the dark shadows that laid beneath his eyes.

“Friend of yours.” The other man commented, his lips pursed as if he wasn’t necessarily pleased.

Anger suddenly shot through me, as I lowered my flamethrower. My right fist extended, as I swung and my fist connected with Dean’s face.

Taken aback, Dean fell to the ground, and the man who stood behind Dean’s eyes widened. “Not a friend, I guess.”

Dean remained on the ground as he groaned in pain. “Still got that mean right hook.”

I shifted in my position, and rested my hand on my hip. “That is what you get for never calling me.”

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

We reached my cabin in Lake Worth, as I pulled up and removed myself from my truck. Behind me I watched as Dean’s Impala came to a halt. After I had a moment’s breath, I had felt a slight sliver of guiltiness after punching Dean in the face, that I decided to swallow whatever anger I had in me and invited him, and who I had learnt to be his brother Sam back to my place.

I stalked towards my front door as I jammed my keys into the lock and pushed the door wide open, with Sam and Dean on my heels. My hand patted against the light switch, which immediately lit up the room.

“I’ll get you some ice for that nose,” I said to Dean, then added, “and don’t touch anything.”

I watched as Sam’s eyes narrowed into something in the distance. “Is that a… stripper pole?” He asked uncomfortably.

“Dude, don’t call her a stripper-” Dean immediately interjected, “believe me.” He warned.

“I teach pole fitness on my days off… girl’s gotta eat.” I answered, before I stalked off, and returned with a bag of ice and three beers.

Dean and Sam had both made themselves comfortable on the couch. I flinched at the sight of Dean’s muddy boots on the couch, as I gently slapped his legs. He removed his feet from the couch and leaned forward, then I shoved the ice pack and beer towards Dean, which he immediately took it, then pressed the ice pack against his nose.

I crossed towards Sam and handed him the bottle of the ice cold beer. “Thanks.” He said.

I took the seat opposite them, in a single chair nearby the window, a stack of classic rock vinyl records just adjacent to the chair, where I had been sorting out for days now, I cracked open the beer and took several long gulps.

“What were you doing out there in the woods?” Dean was the first on to break the silence.

“Hunting.” I answered nonchalantly, as I pulled my duffel bag full of weapons into the center and opened it up.

Sam’s eyes widened, as he inspected my weapons. “These are all military grade stuff- where did you get all this?” He questioned.

“What are you a cop now?” I shot back, then shrugged, “I have my ways.”

Dean chuckled, and then asked. “You’re hunting now?”

I shrugged. “I kill whatever disrupts the town… But I guess, now that you’re here, we’re after the same thing.”

“We read in the paper that there were a string of animialistic like attacks.” Sam added.

I nodded. “The locals thought it was wolf attacks,” I scoffed, “wolves in fucking Texas. Give me a break.” I removed myself from the chair, and crossed towards the living room where I had my guns, and computers scattered on the dining room table. It was evident that I hardly had any company around. I grabbed my computer and handed it to Sam. “I didn’t think too much about it at first, but I saw these videos posted by the victims just before they disappeared. If any random person watched them, they wouldn’t think too much about it, but with a little digitally enhanced programmes, it’s obvious that something was there with them.”

Sam inspected the videos on my laptop, as his eyes widened. “Wow.” He commented.

“God bless people for documenting every inch of their life and posting it onto Myspace.” I added.

“What’s Myspace?” Dean asked.

Sam and I shot him a stare, as we both ignored his remark. “Well, with what I can see in these videos and that flamethrower you had earlier, I can only assume that you’re dealing with a-”

“Wendigo.” I said, cutting off Sam.

Dean cleared his throat, and removed the ice pack from his face. “Sammy and I dealt with a Wendigo couple of years back in Blackwater Ridge, but the one we killed only surfaces every twenty-three years. These killings, seem to have never occurred in Lake Worth before now?”

I shook my head. “This one must be new, and it’s getting busy.” I said, then added, “I don’t know- things have been whack recently, it’s as if every monster out there is getting bold, and coming out from the darkness.”

Dean and Sam stared at each other momentarily, an anxious look painted across their faces. “Yeah, I guess I know why that is.” Dean said.

“What?” I asked.

“The Apocalypse.” Dean answered.

“The what now?” I choked.

Dean glanced down at his feet, “we may have-” he muttered beneath his breath, and then peered up at me. His gaze locked with mine. “We may have had something to do with the Apocalypse.”

I exhaled, remained silent and downed the entire contents of my beer. “Well, that’s just super. I guess there’s nothing else to do but to eat, drink, fuck and gank any evil sons of bitches that crosses my path.”

Dean smirked at my remark, whilst Sam on the other hand didn’t seem to pleased.

“So, what now?” I asked, trying to change the subject. It isn’t everyday that you hear the World is ending, yet, after the shit I had seen, nothing really seemed to surprise me anymore.

“If it’s a Wendigo, then I guess Sam and I will take care of it.” Dean instructed.

“Why do you get to take care of it? I’ve been tracking this thing for five days now.” I shot back, and added, “plus why should I sit back out of the action.”

I knew that Dean had always had a savior complex, wanting to protect everyone around him. I didn’t necessarily blame him, given the way he had been raised and his life. Suddenly, my jaw unclenched and I cleared my throat. “Anyway, that thing didn’t appear tonight, it must have known we were closing in on it. I say we go back there, but this time I’ll play the role of the damsel in distress to smoke it out.”

“Use you as bait?” Dean hissed, “hell no! It’s too dangerous.”

“Dean, I can take care of myself… plus I know you will be there backing me up.” I argued.

Dean’s brows furrowed, he was lost for words. Knowing deep down that I was right, as he tried to conjure up the words to fight me back.

Sam cocked his head to the side. “She’s right, Dean,” he spoke, “we were so close tonight to killing it, but it never appeared. Monsters don’t take day offs. If there’s a bait, I’m sure it’ll take it.”

Dean’s lips pressed into a thin line, and his nostrils flared. “I don’t like this.”

“Of course you don’t,” I commented.

“One bad move… if I see one thing that is too risky, I’m jumping right in.” Dean said in a stern voice.

“Naturally.” I commented, and then added, “well, I’m hungry. How about I make us some food?”

The expression on Dean’s face softened, as he shifted in his position. “I could eat.” He said. My gaze jumped to Sam’s, as he simply nodded.

“How about a bacon cheeseburger with fries, and I’ve got some cherry pie.”

A smile flashed across Dean’s face, he was like a child in a candy store. “Awesome!”

“Hmm… you have maybe like a salad or something?” Sam asked.

I cocked an eyebrow as I stared at Dean. “Is he for real?”

Dean shrugged. “I’m afraid yes.”

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

The following morning, Dean and Sam had driven into town for some extra supplies that they needed in order to hunt down the Wendigo. It had been a while since they had been in Texas, and Dean had forgotten just how much he had missed the local cuisine.

Sam waited in the car, whilst Dean picked up a couple of things in a convenience store. Whatever it was, Sam hadn’t asked, in fact, on some level he’d rather not know.

Moments later, Dean returned into the car with a plastic bag full of stuff. His hand extended back as he dumped the bag into the back seat.

“All done.” Dean commented, and added, “let’s head back.”

The Impala roared to life, as they continued down the road. An awkward silence filled the car, and Sam’s gaze bounced from the window and then to Dean.

From Dean’s peripheral vision, he noticed the constant looks Sam was giving him and his jaw clenched. “What now?” He said with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Are we not gonna talk about her?” Sam began.

“What’s there to talk about?” Dean said, his eyes remained fixated on the road. “I was in town, read in the papers that there was a series of strange deaths. Turned out it was a nest of vampires that was taunting the cabins down in Lake Worth, one of them being hers. I ganked the sucker, and there’s that.”

Sam scoffed. “I remember that, Dean. It was when I was in college-”

“So what, Sammy?”

Sam leaned forward. “I remember that, that job only took you about two days. Dad said you were gone for a whole week.”

Dean smirked, “Exactly.”

Sam pulled a face. “One week to you is the longest relationship you’ve ever been in. Clearly, this girl meant something to you.”

“What? No, she’s cool,”

“She’s literally you, Dean.”

“We have a lot in common, yes- oh man, you know she does this thing on the pole-”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t wanna hear this.”

“Like it’ll ever work… we can’t afford attachments in this job,” Dean shot back, “and now with all this crap about the Apocalypse, and Michael wanting to wear me like a meat suit.” He sighed, “I got bigger shit to deal with.”

Sam held his gaze with Dean’s. There was no denying that ever since they had unleashed Lucifer from his cage, and brought upon the end of the world, that the word complicated wasn’t even enough to describe everything. Sam knew that Dean was too hot headed and stubborn to see what was in front him, but Sam couldn’t help but ponder what would happen to Dean if Sam were to give up himself to Lucifer, trapping himself down in Hell, if they failed to retrieve the rest of the rings from the Four Horseman.

“Look, Dean-” Sam began.

“I don’t wanna hear it Sammy!” Dean shot back, “let’s just do what we do best, kill this thing and move on.” He ordered.

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

Time had certainly stood still, as I sat uncomfortably in my tent awaiting for the Wendigo to come and claim me. Beneath the tent, we had drawn Anasazi symbols, hoping for an advantage on my behalf. The flamethrower gun laid beside me, concealed underneath a blanket. I wasn’t even sure if the Wendigo would take the bait, but after all, this was the only way. Knowing that the Winchesters were only a mere distance away.

Suddenly, a faint sound of rustling reached my ears. My hand immediately threw away the blanket over the flamethrower gun as I held it and unzipped the tent. Annoyance had found me as my vision fixated on what the noise had belonged to. Before me was a wild rabbit that hopped across from my tent.

I groaned, “Seriously, dude,” as the impatience was growing on me.

All of a sudden, whilst I was lost in thought, in the speed of light claw marks had appeared on the side of the tent. Taken aback, I felt a force grab onto my legs as it pulled me away from the tent, causing my hands to slip away from the flamethrower. Everything had happened so fast, and in a blur, that it took my mind several moments to recollect what had just happened before me.

I stared up, and looked into the eyes of the creature that had taken me. It’s venomous glare latched on and gawked deep into my eyes, the folds on its face, and the razor sharp teeth gleamed underneath the moonlit sky. It growled as it watched me like prey. How was it possible that this thing had managed to cross over the Anasazi symbols that I had etched on the ground?

The Wendigo was fast and I knew we were now a while away from the tent and the boys. I was utterly on my own in this one.

Backed into a corner, the Wendigo towered over me. Immediately, I reached for my knife concealed in my boot. I knew that weapons were useless against it, but I hoped that it would somehow slow it down before I thought of my next move. In one swift motion, the knife glided across the Wendigo’s arm, it hardly flinched before I shot aside and tried to make a run for it.

The action was useless as the Wendigo grabbed onto me and cast me aside as if I had weighed a feather. My back collided against the tree and I hissed in pain.

I reached for the gun in the waistband of my jeans, as I fired once, twice, and again, and again. It did nothing on the Wendigo, and it continued to stalk towards me. With its large hands it pushed aside the gun, immediately it wrapped his hand around my neck as I felt the air disppearing from my lungs. It hoisted me up, as I tried to claw its grip away from me. My vision began to blur, as I was trying my hardest to hold onto the sliver of life in me I had left.

With the small amount of strength, I managed to pull another knife from the breastpocket of my leather jacket. I plunged it into the Wendigo’s neck, pulling it out and then stabbing it repeatly. It was finally enough to irritate the thing, as it roared in annoyance.

Unexpectly, a shot emerged in the distance, followed by an orange and yellow ablaze. The Wendigo was caught off guard, and shrieked as it tried to conceal themself from the light. The hold over my neck had been released and I slumped to the ground, coughing violently as I tried to catch my breath.

I watched as Dean and Sam appeared, it wasn’t long before the Wendigo charged towards them. Just when Dean raised the flare gun, the Wendigo had knocked it out of his hand and cast him aside. Immediately, Sam raised the flamethrower gun and aimed it towards the Wendigo, but within seconds the Wendigo had pushed Sam down.

The Wendigo stalked towards Dean as it towered over him, he lowered himself down onto the ground, and growled. His razor sharp teeth exposed as he was about devour Dean.

Dean stabbed the Wendigo in the eye, which caused it to stagger backwards, as Dean immediately rolled over to the side.

I crawled over towards the flamethrower, as I reached for it and pushed myself onto standing. “Swallow this, asshole.” I said, as I pressed down onto the trigger, and it sent a fiery ablaze straight towards the Wendigo as it ignited, followed by the screeching sounds of pain as we watched it burn.

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

After I had taken a shower, immediately feeling like a brand new person, I put on a tight white tank top that read Hooters a gag gift from my friends one Christmas, and a pair of black short shorts. I stalked out into the living room. I watched as Dean packed up his belongings, and all of a sudden, a sense of melonchony washed over me.

Dean zipped up his duffel bag and cleared his throat as our gaze met. “Sam’s just out getting some stuff, but once he’s back we’ll be out of your hair.”

“So you’re just going to leave like that again, huh?” I hissed.

Dean shook his head and pressed down onto his temples. “Please, don’t-”

“Listen, Dean. I’m not the kinda girl that dreams of the perfect white wedding, and wants to fucking slow dance to Lady in Red. But four years! I don’t hear from you in all that time. I thought you were dead!” I argued.

Dean exhaled, and closed his eyes. “I can’t-” he began, and then paused.

“Fine. Go!” I snapped, as I stepped towards him and pushed him.

“Come on, don’t-” he said.

I shoved him again hard. His jaw clenched, and he grabbed a hold of my wrists. Our gazes locked, and my breathing quickened. Dean’s hand reached up and his fingers became knotted in my hair. He tugged at it, as he closed the gap between us, his lips crashed down onto mine. My lips parted as his tongue slipped inside. I felt the urgency behind his kiss, and I pushed him against the wall. He groaned, but he didn’t seem to care. We continued to kiss, but it wasn’t long before his hands reached down to my hips and turned me around, my body slammed against the wall. He hoisted me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist, as we continued to make out. My fingers found its way in his hair as I pulled onto it hard. He grunted, and I felt the bulge forming in his pants.

He placed me down, as his hand slithered towards my crotch. With his other hand he pulled my hair and drew back. “Is this what you want?” He said, and I felt his hot breath caress my skin.

I nodded.

“Say it.” He ordered.

“Yes.”

Dean’s hand found its way behind my underwear, almost immediately I felt two fingers inserted into me. I gasped, and wrapped my arms around his neck. His fingers went in and out, then out and in again, as I grew wetter. I threw my head back and bit down on my lower lip.

His fingers continued to thrust into me, as my nails dug into the back of his neck, plunging them deep into his skin. I quivered, and moaned louder, just then Dean removed his fingers from me.

“You don’t get to come just yet.” He whispered in my ear.

He then carried me to the bedroom, and threw me down onto the mattress, before he climbed on top of me. Immediately, my hands reached up to him as I grabbed onto the ends of his shirt and ripped it open, revealing his chest. It was then that I noticed the tattoo on his left side of his chest, which was new to me. My hands caressed his broad shoulders, before they drifted down to his muscular biceps.

I felt Dean’s hands on my body, as he tugged at my top, hoisting it up. His hands cupped my breasts as he lowered himself down, his wet tongue caressed against my now hardened nipples and I moaned, and felt a wetness down between my legs.

I sat up and my fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans, hurriedly, I unbuckled his belt and undid his pants, as I stroked his bulge, before I pulled down his briefs. My hand gently gripped around his length, as I stared up at him through my eyelashes, before I lowered my mouth onto his cock. My tongue glided across the head of his cock, and then I took it all in, and tasted him. I heard Dean moan, as I felt his fingers running through my hair as he pushed my head deeper down into him. He thrusted into me, as I allowed him to fuck my mouth.

He pulled away and raised his hand towards my face, as his tumb grazed over my mouth and he smirked, knowing that my lips were stained with his precum.

Dean kicked away his pants, as he climbed onto the bed, he grabbed me by my shoulders and spun me around, pushing his body into my back, as his hand cupped at my throat and pressed down. Enough for me to feel his force but not hard enough that I was actually choking, and gasping for air.

And then I felt him enter me, his thick and long cock inside of me as I moaned, almost immediately he began to thrust into me, fast and hard. I quivered, and my hand slithered down my body as I was about to touch my clit. Suddenly, Dean grabbed my hand and pulled it away.

“Not yet, sweetheart.” He said, as he took both of my hands behind my back, holding down onto it.

I squirmed beneath his touch, as his other hand was draped across my chest holding me up, knowing that at this moment I belonged to him.

Dean continued to thrust into me hard, as he buried his face into my neck, I heard his low and deep grunts, as I called out his name in pleasure, which seemed to excite him, as I felt him thrusting harder and harder into me, my tits bounced up and down, as Dean’s hand grabbed down onto my breasts, squeezing onto them, hard.

I felt myself wanting to come, as my body quivered. Dean moaned in pleasure, and I knew he was nearing his release.

“It’s okay, shoot your load in me.” I said in a breathless voice.

Dean released the grip on my hands, as I reached up towards him and pulled his face close to mine, my fingers grazed along the stubble on his jawline and my lips found his. My lips parted and he stuck his tongue down my mouth.

Dean grunted as he released into me, and I felt his cum pumped into me. He heaved, and I tried to catch my breath, as he pulled out. I slumped down onto the bed, as did he, and we laid beside each other gazing up at the ceiling.

Once, Dean and I had cleaned ourselves up. I walked him towards the front door, we paused by the threshold, as Sam sat in the Impala in the distance.

Dean turned towards me.

“So,” I said awkwardly. “I’m sorry I was too hard on you earlier, I get it… your line of work, attachments are-” I paused.

Dean shook his head. “You had every right to be mad.”

“Still, I’m sorry for punching you in the face,” I said and smirked, “and for shoving you earlier.”

“I sorta deserved it… plus that was some sweet lovin’” He said, and laughed, then cleared his throat, “well, let’s just say when I’m on the road, I’ll find some time to call, and check in. And if I’m ever in town… this will be a stop, and you can do that thing you did on that pole.” Dean said, and raised his eyebrow.

I smiled, and playfully slapped him across the arm. “I wouldn’t protest to that.”

Dean towered over me, as I tiptoed to kiss him on the lips. He lowered himself down, as his lips found mine, we had lost track of how long we had been making out, and no doubt that Sam was probably growing irritated.

We finally pulled apart, as I watched Dean turn on his heels, and step into the Impala as I watched him drive away into the distance.

#supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #supernatural fic #dean winchester fic #fanfiction #fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you

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lime-bloods · 1 year ago

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Homestuck's Gnosticism: The World / The Wheel

Everyone knows Homestuck is "a Gnostic story".

Wait, why does it feel like we've had this exact conversation before...?

AH. SO NICE OF YOU TO JOIN ME.

If you followed along with the first post in this series, you'll be familiar already with the Gnostic nature of Homestuck's central conflict between the spirit world and the flesh. And even if I say so myself, I think that post is pretty definitive; if you're ever unsure what a particular character's motivations or end goal are, the Conflict will tell you. But what's conspicuously absent from the post is any explanation of what actually happens in Homestuck. We've covered the why, but very little of the how.

I left us off on the "synonymous goals" that spring naturally from this conflict between flesh and spirit; attaining ultimate knowledge, and escaping the confines of Homestuck itself. Eagle-eyed readers probably spotted what was lying between the lines, there: the comic is called Homestuck because it's about being stuck in a house, so the ending is about escaping the house. But what does that really look like? And how did they get in that house in the first place?

Let's return very briefly to a quote I used in the previous post. "[Y]our ultimate self [...] unlike god tiers or bubble ghosts or whatever, it really IS immortal". Two assumptions naturally grow out of this fact. First, and probably most obvious: when John dies, he's not really gone. The idea of him still exists out there, somewhere, and in our minds, so he still exists. Second, though: if the idea of him is eternal, John obviously didn't start existing when he was born. So again we ask, where did he come from?

How did John get here? Where does he go? The answers to these questions are like the four sides of one hypercoin, in that Homestuck is a time loop... of a sort.

To begin to understand this, we need to reiterate what was basically "the point" of the first post: Homestuck operates on two distinct levels, a spiritual plane consisting purely of ideas, and a "literal" physical dimension. What happens on these two planes often mirrors each other, and because Homestuck itself is a work of fiction which operates in the realm of ideas, they can even intersect. But ultimately, what "literally" happens to the characters in Homestuck is not the same as the ideas the comic is expressing in its spiritual metanarrative.

The fact that a physical time loop is impossible is something Homestuck inherits from real-life physics: to put it simply, John being born can't be the physical John from the end of his timeline, because that John would be way too old to be a baby! But ideological time loops are not only something sanctioned by Paradox Space, but essential to its very being; they are where it gets its name, after all! To repeat another lynchpin quote from the comic: there is essentially nothing new in paradox space. Any idea that seems new necessarily must have just come from somewhere else.

"SbaHJ has the distinction of being the symbolic language of [Dave's] subconscious." (Homestuck: Book 3: Act 4, p. 282)

Frequently we see this expressed in the rooms representing characters' dreams, which, as discussed, sort of transcend the character's physical form and represent the broad ideas that characters are made of. Dave's dreams (pictured above) are covered with drawings of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff, characters he seemingly invented as a child after being inspired by a drawing Terezi sent to him. But Terezi's drawing was based on Dave's own illustrations she saw later on in his timeline; so which of them truly "invented" Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff? Neither of them did; SBaHJ exists as pure subconscious ideological matter floating through Paradox Space, only sometimes being picked up by a character's conscious mind. Similarly, Gamzee tries to manipulate this subconscious realm when he uses his psychic powers to place a terrifying effigy of Jack Noir in John's dreams, as punishment for the destruction of the trolls' session. But as we know, Jack Noir only took that form because of the nightmares this doll caused! So again; neither John or Gamzee thought up the demonic clown "first". It existed in the realm of ideas before either of them ever had the chance to invent it.

These kinds of ideological loops are the bread-and-butter of jujus. We're told their origins are untraceable and that they can't be destroyed, but neither of these things is really true; these superstitions exist only to obfuscate the true rule that jujus "emerge spontaneoUsly from the void." Rather than be erased from existence, a juju can only be banished to that same void of nonexistence where disembodied ideas live, and then pulled back into the world of dreams by a prospective psychic.

With these rules established, now we can really delve into with appreciation the ideological time loop that underpins all of Homestuck. And like all good time loops, the best place to start is at the end.

ACT 7 (Are you tired of seeing it yet?)

Let's not insult anyone's intelligences here: you know and I know that Caliborn's little house juju looks like the Homestuck logo because it is Homestuck; when he wins it from Yaldabaoth, he takes control of it, and when he sucks the heroes inside, he's trapping them in the confines of his material world.

What's essential to keep in mind here, though, is that the power of a juju is the power of the idea itself. It's easiest for us to think of the word juju in Homestuck as a concrete noun, referring simply to a magical object. But the word's real-life origins, referring more abstractly to magic or enchantment, are still relevant in this fictional framework. Lil Cal isn't just "a juju", but is "FILLED WITH BAD JUJU." Magic in Homestuck has always really been about the idea that believing in something can make it real, and the purpose of all Homestuck's dealings with chucklevoodoos and jujus is to evoke the anthropological concept of the "fetish"; an item whose power comes from human beings ascribing supernatural qualities to it. Jujus are all part of the "game" the cherubs play, with all its rules and quirks; breaking an enchantment is like breaking a rule, in that it changes nothing about the real world: you've just infringed upon an idea. The juju isn't the object; the juju is the power, good or bad, ascribed to the object.

All of this is really just to say one thing: Caliborn's home juju can't trap the flesh versions of John and his friends; as we established, you can't send old John back in time to become young John. But what a juju can trap is something far more important; the ideas of John and his friends. This is why it doesn't matter if the heroes who travel back to the beginning of everything to beat Lord English while he's still a kid are the "main" timeline versions of those heroes from some point in the future, or if the Epilogues' version of events is truth and they're some "irrelevant" offshoots: because all of those characters are represented by the same idea, and that's what Caliborn puts in the box. No matter what timeline John is from, he's from Homestuck, to Homestuck he must return, and as such Homestuck is what he must be forced to escape. Refer again back to the previous post: Caliborn can't create or destroy, only take pure ideas and alchemise them down into a form he can control.

And that's why Act 7 so enigmatically features two different white home-doors (above), seemingly so interconnected yet effectually unrelated. Because Act 7 takes up the hefty role of concluding two storylines simultaneously: allowing the "real", flesh-world versions of John and his friends to escape Lord English's reality through one door, while also concluding Homestuck's metanarrative by setting the ideas of John and his friends free of their prison through another door.

So far, most of this is probably stuff you'd have either figured out on your own or at least heard from someone else already. And if we set aside such distractions as run-ins with radioactive imps and omnipotent dog-gods, the "whats" and "hows" of the heroes' story are probably the easier parts of Homestuck to figure out. What's more difficult to fully comprehend on a first pass is how Lord English himself fits into all of this.

If you've been following me for any stretch of time, you'll notice in my analysis of Homestuck I've returned to the topic of black holes frequently. I've lost track of how many versions I've published of what I call "Black Hole Theory". And I won't link to any of them here, because ultimately Black Hole Theory was a corkboard to which I could pin the evidence that would eventually, piece by piece, lead us to where we are right now:

If the home juju is a white "hole" leading out of the confines of Homestuck as a story, then black holes are the doors that lead back in. An early clue to this comes in the form of Calliope's stage in the heart of a spiral: these spirals are Calliope's visions of black holes, which she uses as "dark pocket[s]" from which "no information can escape" - a literal description of a black hole - and that stage is the very same one Caliborn stages his story on when he takes full control of Homestuck's narrative. The meaning here should be clear: Calliope creates black holes, and it's the center of these black holes where stories can take place.

But for all the evidence we need to suggest that Lord English's fall into a black hole leads to something more complex than just his destruction, we need not look further than conventional science:

In the quantum world [...] information cannot be created nor destroyed.

Lisa Zyga, on the conservation of quantum information.

This rule that "ideas" are truly immortal, and that any time an idea seems to be destroyed it must have merely been transported somewhere else, holds true even in the scientific world of black hole physics. This has been played with in MS Paint Adventures before; theoretical physicist Stephen Hawking's take on black holes was that some stuff could in fact escape a black hole, contrary to Calliope's assertions, in the form of Hawking radiation. But Hussie's own version of the story was always a lot more to the point: something gets sucked into the center of a black hole, it gets shot out somewhere else. In hypothetical physics this is called a white hole - no doubt you can see where this is going.

So Lord English's final moments in Homestuck see him not destroyed, or killed, or defeated in combat in any traditional way, but sucked right back into Homestuck. What exactly does that mean?

Homestuck, p. 8105

As long as we're talking the power of ideas and symbols, possibly the most blatant a symbol can get is in the form of a gesture; and the thumbs-down is possibly one of the most ancient gestures there is. Dave gets one, Tavros gets one, and, so they say, even the Roman gladiators got them. This precedent makes the meaning of the gesture clear: "you're going down." And it makes sense, too, that Hussie, the "good author", would signal the "evil author's" demise in such a way. But some might question the effectiveness of the power of gesture at such a pivotal point in the comic. Are we really to believe that English's defeat was, even in part, the result of another author merely willing him away like a tyrant doing away with an entertainer who has fallen out of favour? Or did the Hussie-character actually have some kind of plan to deal with his Hulk-like alter ego?

Of course he did.

...now Caliborn has hijacked the property of his experiential continuum which he has reason to believe is called "the narrative". Little does he know you recently made the shrewd decision to purchase(?) the ACT 6 ACT 6 SUPERCARTRIDGE EXPANSION PACK! Just plug it into any in-universe console port to unlock a variety of exciting new gameplay features and proceed through remaining canon unfettered, while Caliborn muddles through six new sub-sub-acts of infantile "subversive parody" targeting the very tale he inhabits, none the wiser!

To allow our heroes the chance escape their narrative prison, English isn't just to be trapped in their old cell; it's to be trapped within an infinitely-recursing cell, not just reliving one story over and over again but forced to live out infinitely many different stories. Not just a narrative loop; a narrative spiral. That's what being sucked into the black hole means for Lord English.

When Roxy - the Hero of Void whose very symbol is that of the black hole - banishes Caliborn-as-Cal into the void, he becomes one of the very wandering ideas with which English plays like dolls. "Instances of [Doc Scratch] have spawned in countless universes", and they have "never once failed to complete [their] objective": whether he wants to or not, Lord English will always be born again. In a new universe, perhaps, maybe even in a different shape, but his role always the same. Caliborn thinks that by filling the supercartridge with special stardust and corrupting the story, he's won, but looking at the bigger picture the truth is clear: he's only playing by somebody else's rules.

Just as Skaia uses lotus "seeds" to store items away for later use, and employs meteors as "Seeds" to send important elements back in time to set up the beginnings of new stories, so too are English's cue ball "seeds" only a means of transporting his essence from one place to the other; the black hole and the Rapture are, after all, only Skaia and the Reckoning sized up to a truly macrocosmic scale. The cue ball is able to be a font of endless knowledge because it is the "white hole" at the other end of the black hole! No information can escape a black hole, and therefore there is no information that escapes Scratch's attention -- he is limited only by his "pockets of void", which exist only to, in time, be filled, as more and more falls into these black holes like a multiversal game of billiards. Not only is this a transparent allusion to one of the most fundamental representations of the paradoxical time loop as a concept, but it is also the ultimate insult to injury: despite having lived an infinite number of lives, and being cursed to live out an infinite number more, Lord English cannot know what his fate will be until he literally falls into it. This is what forces him to lose, over and over again for eternity, while our heroes triumphantly escape Homestuck onto greener pastures.

#homestuck #analysis #lord english #black holes #metanarrative

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semthescientist · 1 year ago

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so this is a part two to my lil entry and here i merely wanna talk about what actually clicked for me and how everything has changed since then. part one is right here (:

as i said before, it was until september of 2023 when i was on around the fifth or fourth day of my cruise did things begin to dawn on me. if you're familiar with 4d-barbie, (i believe her name is Ada), she has a google drive filled with book resources and some of them are already annotated (which came in clutch). well, actually before the cruise i had began reading the book One Truth, One Law: I Am, I Create by Erin Werley and i resonated with things so heavily. i kept reading bits and pieces of the book but also was determined to be present and just enjoy my cruise. as i read, i became so interested in the way Erin would have full blown conversations with I AM. especially the part where Erin told her husband and then was afraid if he'd judge her but I AM simply told her to relax and let it do the talking--and that's what happened!

so i'm sitting there and i'm like "yo! how cool is this!" and of course, it's explained how to do this yourself--how to really tune in and trust your own wonderful intuition. i wanted to do it because i didn't want to reread Erin's(I AM) answers to questions to form my own answers. i had my own specific questions and no one else could answer them for me besides me. so i put the book down and i asked my own question and trusted that the answer would come to me whenever; even if he didn't come now, it was bound to.

and i had fear...i feared if it would actually happen or not. sometimes i'd be tempted to look things up or keep rereading every answer given by I AM in Erin's book. i would kind of just do self-talk when that happened, i don't know how i got through that to be honest. i can't seem to remember. but what i do remember is the little deposits that would drop into my head randomly. i was lathering up in the shower and was like, "why would i hate my persona?" [persona, ego, Vanessa--all the same, i just like the word persona better!] and i kept going with that line of thinking, asking myself a series of questions like: wait...why do i think there's something wrong with her?

isn't the persona how i'd experience a multitude of things? things that don't necessarily exist to I AM?

and i realized i was onto something because i felt so expanded. like my heart began filling up...my chest began fluttering. i know you've felt that feeling before and that feeling always comes when you're listening to yourSelf. there wasn't much else i did after i realized this because a new way of thinking just took over me. i had so much love for everything...i mean literally everything. i started to question everything i read from others.

again, something a lot of realized masters would say is "you suffer because you think you are this body" and while that's true...it just didn't feel right in my soul. none of it felt right--at least not something to remember all of the time. i didn't feel like it had any sort of longevity and the only reason i felt that way was because it didn't feel loving enough. i really wanted to know what was so bad about taking this persona into consideration...what was so wrong about loving her and holding her hand? why did i have to become aware of what she was thinking/feeling and suddenly say "oh but that isn't Me! let her cry and whine, she isn't Me."

i go into depth about this here. it's just a diary entry so the beginning i had a different outlook on my persona than i do now, hence the different header titles.

the bottom line is i had no reason nor right to hate my persona. after all, she found Me again--she found her True Self so that has to count for something. i simply started to look at the world differently and realized that it was never about fighting anything. we all know there is no "out there" and all there is is consciousness but how many have you actually put that to the test? have you stopped fighting shadows? fighting the seeming opposite circumstances? if you know there's only the will of God (which is you), why do you keep fighting everything else? have you stopped fighting your persona's fear, Vanessa's doubts--belittling her because she can't believe in herself...not yet at least?

i quickly gathered that if i love Myself, then i would have to trust Myself. i know someone probably has the fear of going "out there" and falling asleep again--losing faith or going back to believing in the world. but that could never happen. why? because of trust. You have to trust yourSelf enough to know only your will is imposed. and what builds trust? action.

personally speaking, there was a circumstance that i'd been ignoring for the longest in the name of manifestation. but lately, i've realized that whatever can happen "out there" and not only do i not have to form an opinion on it but i can watch how it crumbles when i stand ten toes down in trusting myself. i can trust Myself so much to stand tall in what i prefer and watch as Self carries me up and over the seemingly opposed...and then i glance back and they were nothing but cardboard cutouts. like that scene in coraline where she walked away and the world started crumbling--'twas only because it never existed too.

i don't fight anymore because i know My will is only ever imposed. i know that when something dares to throw a punch, it won't connect because it has already disintegrated. and most of all, i know that i can care about whatever the hell i want. hey, if you don't care about being a realized master than cool--find something that makes your heart sing and you can't help but burst from the seams when you think of it. for me, it was shifting. (do not come for me about the terminology, human mode rn so i gotta put a label). i found that shit to be so cool and to be honest, it's helped me discover my sexuality too which is a bonus. but none of this could've ever happened if i didn't start operating out of love for my persona.

just think of it, everything you desperately want you'd need a persona to experience anyway. you can take this and make some shit shake, and really define what you want or no labels at all. you can fully be I AM and have zero needs or you can be I AM with a persona, or you can just be a persona! there's people who look to an outside god but their god is rooted in so much love!

like you know a lot more than you're giving yourself credit for and only if you'd be so determined to listen to yourSelf the way you've listened to others, then shit would really start clicking. everything is perfect in its likeness and it is because I AM is all-encompassing that everything is possible--even the things we think are "bad". i promise, every question you'd ever have there's an answer for it and it's within you. you can find what matters most to you--you'll know. it's a feeling of pure confidence that cannot be described, you'll move without thinking and take chances and do whatever else and it'll feel like you're under a trance. That is You. there is no other...fall in love with Yourself and your human form too because it's nothing but a vehicle to bring you back to Self. your persona's fears and doubts are nothing but an opportunity to rely on Yourself...to trust Yourself and i speak of the infinite You.

lol i'm sorry if this seems all over the place, i was just saying what was heavy on my heart. i've been feeling a lot of love for everything lately and i want somebody else to feel that too. i know this will reach the person who's looking for it. so because of that: hi hi! you've done well, my love.

also, one last thing. there were a couple of people who helped me come to this realization and i wanted to say thank you! heavenlythea here on tumblr, iam_love.co on instagram, and Betinho Massaro for his book Super Accelerated Living (dude's mad funny, like i legit would smile reading it) oh and Ada! she came in clutch with the resources and annotating! and really everyone else for simply existing. know that you are perfect because you exist and the only reason you can't shake Self is because You (the real you) knows you'll be just fine.

love you all!

#non dualism #spirituality #nonduality #loassumption #neville goddard #law of consciousness #realization #success story #love you all #quantum jumping #reality shifting #4dbarbie

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selarina · 1 year ago

Text

Out of Style

-> Suna Rintaro x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1: The Night of the Party

Summary: At a band's afterparty, the protagonist's protective instincts kick in when their younger sister encounters Suna Rintaro, the band's guitarist.

Content Warnings: celebrity au, rockstar!suna rintaro, actress!reader, reader has a sister, afterparty scene, alcohol, implied/referenced drug use, fluff, tension, eventual smut

Word Count: 2.9k words

Author's Note: Yes, the title is from Taylor Swift's 1989. Anyway, @renardiererin asked and I had to deliver <3

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Moodboard

Your eyes take in the scene, a bunch of people sprawled on the couch, empty bottles of alcohol lined up on a pool table, and said pool table is adjoined to a torn net. You see a couple on the verge of getting to places you didn’t necessarily want to witness alongside your sister so you decide that going upstairs might be more than ideal, especially for your sister. You might even meet a bunch of people on the balcony above where you can find sober people to talk to.

Your sister is due to go college in a few months and this scene isn't exactly one she is familiar with. You decide that this scene is alarmingly akin to a college party, except you’re all wearing fancier branded clothing this time.

You look up towards the stairs leading into a calmer environment and upon getting a closer look, you smile. You can't help but notice the high chandelier that looks rather misplaced in the center of this scene, but again so does most of the modern decor clashing oddly against the inherent gothic features of the house.

The two of you find yourselves a drink first. You settle for orange juice, since you’re tired enough today as is. Plus, you’re with your sister this time. She doesn’t usually accompany you to these parties, and honestly, you don’t either, not if you don’t already know a person or two who are sure to be attending. That way you can piggyback off them, using them as a social lubricant.

“I’ll be back,” you tell your sister since you want to pee, and you swivel through the crowd. A few of them recognize you, and you have to stop to greet them. You keep it briefly because you still really want to pee.

While you're washing your hands, you hear a distant sound of commotion. You can't tell what’s happening, but you decide it's better to hurry up than leave your sister to witness whatever may be taking place, all alone.

You're not usually this on edge or this protective, even if your sister suggests otherwise. But, you only brought her here to attend some band's album launch afterparty because she begged and begged and begged, and so you relented like you always do. And it's her birthday, you think. Who would you be if you didn't make your sister happy on her birthday?

You sigh, discarding the tissue as you walk outside.

The people have gotten relatively quieter since the two of you walked in. The crowd seems to be more populated towards the secluded area from earlier that seemed to have a bunch of trophies of some sort on a shelf.

You cinch your brows, not wanting to stay down any longer as you start searching for your sister.

"I'm so sorry!" You hear, and you immediately swivel your head towards your sister's voice, heavily concerned about it coming from the center of the crowd.

It takes you all of 5 seconds to move through the bodies before you take in the scene.

She's holding her cup, and a man, who upon a second look seems to be the guitarist from the band, staring down at his shirt. His wet shirt.

You hold your breath, and you talk yourself up in all of the two seconds you have — that you will defend her, that you will fight off the urge to quiver before this man, whoever and however powerful of a connection he might be, that you can go home and have your sister's cake and sleep in your comfy bed if you feel like crying. It's okay.

But all of it crumbles to the ground, the moment he looks up, and he smiles like he's forcing himself to, a clear distaste for the way the wet t-shirt sits on him is visible on his face, the way it frowns ever so slightly. The way his eyes blink a bit too quickly for it to be natural.

"It's alright, don't worry about it," he says, saving his hand off as a gesture for everyone to leave.

"It's not okay, that costs a lot." A lady who was standing right behind him walks in between your sister and him.

It urges you to stand by your sister's side, who upon your arrival, immediately reaches for your hand, almost out of instinct she squeezes.

She's scared, so you're not, you decide.

"We'll pay you back," you speak up, firm but neutral. You won't back down and defend her but there's no need for you to be hostile yet.

"You won't be able to afford this sweetie," she turns her attention to you, her eyes moving up and down your body, in a way that's supposed to demean you but you feel anything but demeaned. Just a bit amused, really.

"Oh! Then I'm sure you guys can manage to pay for this yourself. Apologies for having the drink on you in the first place but we'll be leaving now," you say, and you can admit that the smile on your face is meant to be anything but sweet, cordial at best.

"And if you change your mind, feel free to let my manager know," you say.

Your assistant, you were not aware she was in this crowd really, but she immediately finds herself beside you.

"Of course, here's my card," she reaches her hand out to the lady, who snivels it away from her hand. You look at your assistant and can't help but be caught off-guard by how unlike herself she looks, her hair is down and strewn about, and her clothes are different, more colorful. You smile, you suppose she's more her now than she will ever be around you.

You can understand her frustration really, you would be a bit put off if the clothes you are wearing were something you had to pay for. You only mean that you would never actively wear what you are wearing today, but in all honesty, anyone here can pay for that t-shirt without even breaking a single sweat.

"Oh, you will be hearing from m—" the lady starts, but is stopped when the man puts his hand on her shoulder and puts himself in front of her.

"There's no need. This is my house, I can literally change upstairs." He says he's not smiling but you feel a sense of kindness from him, even if he's modeled to look like the antithesis of it. Or perhaps, you’re just judgemental. "Guys, go back to drinking, or… fucking apparently," he eyes the couple who's part of the crowd, seemingly to view what's happening, but also entirely too invested in each other mouths for that to be true.

And at that, the crowd dissipates. You're about to leave too, before you feel the urge to thank him.

You turn to him, "Thanks," you muster up.

"Thank you so much, and once again, I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was expensive," your sister says, sincerely.

"Don't worry about it. Was my fault anyway," he says as he quirks his lips up in what could only classify as a half-smile but you feel that it, whatever it is, is genuine before your eyes flit up to his face. in all fairness, he — he's really beautiful.

He's got good bone structure, you conclude.

You smile, and he looks at you this time.

"Hi, I'm Suna Rintaro,” he says. “I like your movies," he says, and you smile a bit too visibly harder at that. He almost sounds a bit too much like a sincere fan, but all people in this industry are actors, off and on screen, so you gauge this out as you usually do.

"What's your favorite one?" you say, and he frowns. You knew it. A cocksure smile can’t help but sit on your face.

"The one where you kill a group of men," he says.

Your eyes widen, "Hm, that doesn't narrow things down." You laugh, "But wow, you sound like a decent fan. Want my autograph?"

"Maybe just your phone number for today?" He's quick, and you realize it's only been a short exchange but he's standing really, really close to you. His eyes are narrowed down at you, so intently, and it makes you want to look away, but you peer back at him, focusing on the yellow in his eyes as you talk yourself into not looking away. There’s a soft tinge of gray in his eyes, and you think you can only see that because you’re so close to him. You can’t help but think he resembles a predator, strikingly similar to a cat. A pretty one, regardless.

"Maybe… I'll give you my Instagram for today," you say.

"I could live with that.” A compromise and a soft smirk on his face.

"Also…" your sister's voice comes from behind you, and it comes off soft and meek. You feel embarrassed, you forgot she was there for a moment. You look at her and she looks back at you, as though she's asking for something. Your eyes widen, and it strikes you.

"Oh! Yes. Um — In the interest of being transparent, I'm here for her really," you pull her from behind you so she's standing right next to you.

"And I think she'd really appreciate a picture with you. Only if that’s okay with you?" You don't want to push it, even as much as you love your sister. There are days when taking a picture with a fan makes you want to pull your hair out and run naked across the city's most paparazzi-invested zones.

"I don't mind. If you wait for a few minutes, I can get the rest of the band actually," your eyes flit to your sister's face, and it's gleaming so bright, you’re afraid they’re going to pop right out of her head.

You smile. "That would be great," you say before he takes off, his hands fiddling with his top.

You bring your hand in front of your sister's face, giggling, "Hello, I'd like my sister back. Could you please un-possess her for a quick minute?"

"This… is going to be the best birthday ever," she says. "I can't wait to tell Allie about this," she quickly pulls out her phone.

"Am I the best sister in the world or what?" you sigh, feigning tiredness, feeling anything but when your sister’s this excited.

"Yeah," she says, a hint of realness, although you presume she's more preoccupied with processing what just happened. "Thank you for today," she says, her hands coming to engulf you in a tight hug.

You pat her head, "Aw, you love me so much," and at that she backs away, scowling.

"Ruined the moment," she deadpans, sticking her tongue out, and right before you know it she's standing with the band.

Suna's wearing a different top this time and Atsumu brings his hand up, to hold her shoulder, and you think your sister looks constipated almost. So still.

You take a few pictures for her before you pocket your phone, walking over. "Thank you for this," you say. "I forgot to introduce myself, I'm—"

"The very pretty actress who kills men," Atsumu Miya swoops himself in front of you, and his hand is already taking yours to leave a kiss on it. Odd, you think. You didn't realise that was your reputation, despite all the recent influx of love interest roles.

"Charmed," he says, making sure to embellish it with a cocksure smirk.

You smile, a bit less genuinely than you have all evening. "Nice to meet you, Atsumu."

"Ouch, sweetheart," Suna walks towards the two of you, his hand coming up to his chest to feign hurt. "You know his name and not mine?"

"Well, h-he's more — reputed? I've heard about you before is all."

You look towards Atsumu. The onslaught of people in his dating history, the drug cases (even if it's just weed), and the obnoxious energy he radiates are enough for him to make some headlines that even you could catch.

"Only good things I hope," he says with a smile.

Definitely not, you want to respond but instead, you just smile back at him.

"We should get going," you say and that's all it takes for the band to disperse, you're sure they were told to form connections today as much as they could, even if they are a pretty popular band. Events like this are meant for that.

"Of course, I'll drop you out," Suna adds.

—

"It was nice having you," he says. His eyes leave your face to see your sister, "And you especially, ma'am."

Your sister smiles, a bit shy this time, "Thank you," she says.

His eyes find yours, and you look away. "Nice interior," you say, not knowing what else to say. You turn back to him again.

His eyes narrow and his head tilts in confusion, “Oh, most of the stuff in there is not really mine. Just recently bought the house," he says. "With the decor and stuff," he adds like he's aware that your odd comment was a consequence of odd interior choices.

"That explains a lot," you say. You feel odd, you didn't really know him before today either but you thought your observations could fill in the gaps to make up a person, but maybe not all the time.

The three of you wait in silence, a soft wind blows and it's enough to send a chill up your spine.

"Cold?" he asks, and you think he's talking to you. You’re ready to answer no because you know how this goes, he asks for the hoodie, you meet him again and really, you didn’t want to fall for the oldest trick in the book. But when you turn to look at him, you see that he's asking your sister. And at that, you smile.

She loops her hand through his jacket, her hands engulfed by his long sleeves. She thanks him, and he merely brushes it off, his eyes focused on the waterfall adjacent to where you stand.

His eyes looking at yours after a few moments, "I can get another jacket from upstairs if you can wait," he says.

"Nah, the car should be here soon. I'll manage," you say, and talk of the devil, and the devil arrives. Your car swoops through in front of the three of you, and before your driver could even rush out to open the door, Suna steps in. He opens the door, and your sister ducks into the car almost immediately. Maybe she felt colder than you thought.

"Thank you again," you say. "And congratulations on the album."

As the car door closes, Suna gives you a nod and a small smile.

He closes the door, but you press down to open the window. "It was nice meeting you both. Have a safe ride home," he says.

Your car revved before it takes off.

"He's not my favourite from the band, but he's so cool! I want his eyes," she gushes, almost morbidly. Your eyes widen before you break into laughter as you send her the pictures you took of them together.

"I can't wait to post this on my Instagram! You should have taken one too.” She frowns.

Back at home, you take a hot shower, carding through your hair, as you gently massage your scalp. The sole of your feet hurt as you stand, and you think maybe you would have chosen a different pair of heels for tonight. Not that you really had that much of a choice.

You walk to the kitchen, turning the dim yellow light on. You preferred having dimmer lights on in the evening or night, everything else was too bright, and it leaves you unmoving on the couch, as you fall into slumber.

You pull out two plates and two spoons.

Walking over to the fridge, you bring out the small pink box that sits on the top shelf, carefully pulling out the box so that the accompanying items don't fall out of the shelf.

You place it on the kitchen counter before you go to your sister's room.

Your sister's face front on her pillow, and she seems asleep.

You call out to her.

Nothing.

You turn the lights off after tucking her in.

Walking to the kitchen, you put on some cake, and walk to the living room.

Your hands, almost of their own volition, pull out Suna Rintaro's Instagram. It seems to be handled by him rather than his management by the looks of it. It's not as curated as yours.

Just as you're going through his photos, one that's entirely curated to be enticing, his hands on an untagged woman as your eyes flicker down to the caption.

Promotional photos for a music video.

Something urges you to watch the music video, it's a fairly common music video but leaning more on the provocative side, everyone's half-naked, and comfortable in their own skin.

But your eyes draw towards Suna and the untagged woman from earlier, as she tugs at the chain around his neck as he's looking up at her with something so fabricated, yet so primal and fascinating, to say the very least. Something in you twinges just a bit.

It's been less than a second since you're reeling but you hear the Ping!

suna_rintaro: it was veil of vendetta btw suna_rintaro: the movie of yours i liked suna_rintaro: rewatched it last night

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deafsignifcantother · 4 months ago

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if music be the food of love chapter 11

♥ here you go lovies, it’s series time | chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight, chapter nine, chapter ten ♥ summary: the two of you go on an outing and find a familiar place, but everything is different. he is different. ♥ relationships: aroace Alastor x deaf female reader (now purely romance) ♥ word count: 3.2k ♥ pinterest board ' it has outfit inspo in it now ♥ notes: they argue for like 60% of this chapter, reader cries and gets angry at him, is he gaslighting or is it true but even he doesn't know, they lie back and forth, this gif has been setting the tone this entire time and now it's obvious

Without death, there would be no warmth, no motivation to live a long life.

That's what you had told him many decades ago.

He thinks about that now as he buckles his sock garters, hiding his hooves. Did he once have the motivation to live a long life? He wanted to make mama proud, but he never imagined himself as an older man. Raising kids was out of the question, and he had never met a person he'd pictured himself being with for years on end. Plus, imagine how funny it would be if he'd encountered his partner in the afterlife, too.

He scoffs and laughs to himself. What a nightmare that would be.

And then he thinks about you. You can handle your own, and you're not any weakness of his. Not necessarily.

But his giving into emotional affection throws a wrench in it all. Alastor loves you, that's true. But his love is a drawback, and his deal requires him to overcome any liability that can doom the Hazbin Hotel.

He called upon you to defend the hotel; that much is true. What is he going to do now? Will he send you away or make you fight?

He could make you fight. He has the power, the authority. He could, if he must.

He has yet to decide.

Meanwhile, you're trying to calm down your purposely bunched fabric to one side, but it's overlapping in a way that seems clustered. He shouldn't mind the disorganization. It's his shade of red. You couldn't help yourself. It feels almost mandatory.

With one tiny jump, the fabric cascades in the way you intend. The dress is longer than you predicted, but the beauty of it is worth whatever guts and sticky substances will end up staining the ends.

Thankfully, once you two start walking, you elevate the gown enough to get by. Alastor knows these streets by now, yes, but you only vaguely recognize the new structures. You've been outside twice: walking to the hotel and visiting the overlord meeting. These buildings are much taller than you remember; even the bars have at least three stories. In this day and age, it appears people can live above bars. How distasteful.

Nothing is more distasteful than the eyes Alastor gets once you cross the threshold into Cannibal Town. Young ladies swoon over him, and he'll smile and wave. You almost want to smack his hand. He even ignores your music, how some violin strings audibly snap whenever you make eye contact with some of the girls. Don't they see the ascot? It's unmistakable that he's yours.

"Now, now, now," he wiggles a finger at you, his body tilted towards you as he walks. "Don't be like that, darling."

All you do is roll your eyes with a frown and place a hand on the small of his back, a casual touch that makes him cringe in place. His body is gone within the second but reappears by your opposite side, offering his elbow for you to interlock into.

You pull him a bit closer. "Is there a place here you like? I wonder if that old cafe is still open. Do you remember which one?"

He looks down at you with a wide smile, his lips curving into a sweet oh ho ho. "That tacky old place? I doubt it's still here. Why don't we go check?"

Before you can respond, he makes a b-line to the sidewalk across the street, stepping onto the road without a care. Red buildings, most lined with white pillars, pass by, and dead trees litter the gardens, proof of how rare flowers are. The only flowers that can be found are roses covered in too many thorns to grab onto. You eye them as you come by, the blood-stained petals reeking of a fresh kill. Maybe you'll ask Alastor to snap a rose into fruition. Or, hopefully, he'll do it without being asked.

A small two-story building with broken windows comes into view, tucked between two much higher stores. It's dim even under the red streetlamps.

Still, Alastor perks with excitement, dragging you along, not caring for the slight oomph your mouth lets out at his yank. He points a clawed finger towards it, eyes flickering across the wooden tables inside the rusted gate. Paint was chipped on the sign proclaiming the shop's name, and as expected, the place has been long abandoned.

"Marvelous!" He removes himself from your touch to sign with both hands. "Look at it! Oh, what a sight!"

You stare up at the sign; you can't take your eyes off it. You used to explode with happiness whenever you saw that sign, but now it's rotted with time.

Alastor takes both of your hands, pressing them to his lips before letting go. "Darling, here we are!"

"It's different," you state the obvious. But one glimpse at Alastor's cheerfulness reminds you to be grateful. You lift your head. "I suppose it still has its charm."

He watches your face, not following your eyes when you look back up at the sign. There you go, thinking about the past again.

He grabs your wrist and pulls you along as he opens the door, pulling it rough enough to break it from its hinges. But he drops it to the ground and uses it as a stepway over glass; he even slips his grip on your wrist to your fingers when he gracefully helps you step across it.

The flowery wallpaper is still up; some panels are torn but most wholly salvaged. The cash register, however, has been stolen from its place. The glass in front of where the pastries would be is cracked open, with shards scattering across the floor. Each step is crunchy under your shoes; you can feel it.

He pulls out a raggedy wooden chair for you and helps you sit before seating himself across from you. A relatively soft tablecloth remains.

"The ambience here certainly isn't what it used to be!" He signs, eyebrows raised. His facade is evident, but you're unable to see through it. Is he as saddened as you are, or did he predict this much? Is he even happen to be in this building again?

He summons a cup of coffee, sipping it without hesitation—a more genuine smile forms on your lips. You even laugh.

You raise your palm, motioning for him to summon you a drink. But he just waves a finger at you.

Alastor puts down his mug slowly.

"You've been behaving strangely today, my dear. This might be the first time I've seen you smile."

Your eyebrows contort into surprise before you can stop them. The tilting of his head has your brain stumbles over itself. His challenging eyes can only make you speak honestly, but your goal is to avoid as much trouble with him as possible.

"I've just been a bit anxious. You know," your fingers can hardly form the shape and motion, "the extermination."

His face darkens. As much as he'd like to sidestep that topic, he can't ignore how painfully you reacted to his question.

With one hand, he taps his nails against the tablecloth. "Anxious, hmm?"

It's an invitation for you to continue, and it's not an invitation you're accepting.

"Charlie and the others are preparing, yes? I see them scurrying around sometimes."

He nods slowly, eyes narrowing. You both share a similar thought, this will be interesting. Ever since he's led you to the hotel, you haven't gone a week without a disagreement. Things didn't used to be like this. He wasn't like this.

He prompts again, "Yes, they are. And Charlie is making progress, surprisingly. What are you worried about?"

Your mind races, but you're a quick thinker, as an Overlord should be. "Exterminations are always scary, and if you remember, I haven't been involved in one. If Charlie has it under control, then good for her."

Alastor leans forward, resting his elbows on the tabletop. "They are scary, yes, but I asked what you're worried about."

"Confrontation, simple."

Neither of you continue to sign. He leans back, bringing the coffee to his lips, eyes darting to the floor in thought before flickering back up to you. He lets out a slight, hidden hum. Your body language isn't showing any sign of stress, your hands are still, and your face has returned to neutral. Your shoes are planted on the ground, and your body is in a regular posture.

"Fighting," he says the word for you, "is a very fair thing to worry about."

"Yes it is."

Something gives you away; he notices it more deliberately than he'd prefer. Your eyes hide a bitterness towards him. You stare at him intently as if trying to figure out his intentions. He has to admit, it is a bit unnerving. He can tell you've brought up the topic for a reason, but he decides to give you the benefit of the doubt for now. Did you find out his original plan? Ah, he realizes. You know.

He pieces together your thoughts quicker than you had conjured them. You've been let in on a secret, making you doubt him entirely. But you know he cherishes you deeply, so your head is battling your heart. You're wondering if love is clouding your judgment; that's it, isn't it?

What can he do about it?

And at this same table, you had made the joke, one he still thinks about. "You're someone I should fear, aren't you? But you're such a sweetheart. How lucky am I?"

He holds your gaze, keeping his face calm, signing gently as if you'd scurry away if he made sudden movements.

"You're not... scared of me, are you, my dear?"

"Scared?" Your fingers barely flicker, the signing equivalent to a whisper. Your heart pounds in your chest, but it doesn't stop you from lying. "Scared is not the word, I'd never be scared of you."

His smile grows. You're hiding something, still fighting him, refusing to admit what he wants to hear.

"Not scared? I suppose that's reassuring, somewhat." And then he pauses, not taking his eyes off of you. He tilts his head to the side, the smile on his face never faltering. "Just... cautious, sweetheart?"

"Always cautious." You determine that to be an acceptable thing to admit. "You wanted to kill me when we first met. Losing cautiousness would be ridiculous."

But there were times when you let him drag you off to who knows where whenever he pleased. There were many times he could have killed you, and you would have had no defenses.

He lets out a bark of a laugh, placing a hand on his chest. He knows that very well, it's something you both joke about, but now you're bringing it up with seriousness.

Unintentionally, he bares his teeth. "Very true, I did want to kill you. Can you really blame me, though? But that's in the past!"

He takes time to fiddle with his jacket sleeves before continuing. "You know, dearest... you trust me. Don't you?"

This is more an interrogation than a conversation. You huff, eyelids falling, evidence of how annoyed you are with this discussion, the emotion building up. "Do you really want an answer to that?"

He raises his eyebrows, a subtle hint of irritation. He drums his fingers against the tabletop. "Hm, no need to get smart with me, darling. I was simply curious is all."

"You know, this was supposed to be an enjoyable outing but everything with you feels like an interrogation, so don't mind me if I can't seem to not be cautious around you." Your cheeks heat, and you gulp, still trying to push down your bitterness, your defensiveness. You're aware of how irrational you seem, but you're tired of Alastor trying to pick you apart piece by piece.

His smile grows as he squints at you, his irritation slowly building into annoyance. He leans forward, signs clustered because of his tense claws. "So it's my fault this outing is turning sour? My, my, you seem to be quite upset because of my harmless questions."

"Enough with that! You know fully well what you're doing!" You point a finger at him and lean closer. Your breathing gets heavy, and your eyes start to water. This is absurd, foolish, laughable, but you can't stop yourself. "I hate when you talk to me like this, why can't you let go of this persona you put on? Who's watching? There's no one else but me, and you're talking to me as if I'm just vermin!"

You drop your hands, dig your nails into the tablecloth, and shred it, destroying the only homey object that remains in this omitted cafe.

All the negative feelings in his chest mix to produce anger. He scowls at your frantic hands before glancing up into your firey eyes, eyeing the tears forming in them. They don't bother him at all. His smile tightens as he tosses the coffee across the room, letting it splatter against the flowery wall. His usual cheerful demeanor is long gone as he rips the speaker from your chest and drops it to the ground. "Watch your tone, love, or you're going to regret it."

"What are you going to do to me? Tell me. Are you going to send me off into battle to watch me die, because I know for a fact that that's what you want to do to me!" The moment you say it, the moment you shatter.

He grinds his teeth together. He should get a trophy for his patience with you. His eyes go black, and his arms get longer and thinner. "I'm going to warn you, my dear, to shut your damn mouth." He blinks, and the radio dials appear, but he blinks again, and they're gone. It's a cycle. "As for your little theory, you're wrong."

When he gets a good look at you, it finally hits him how desperate you seem. You have tears running down your face. Wrinkles have formed on your dress, which you picked out just for him. He had found it in himself to proclaim his love for you, but you still hold this distrust within you. Has he not proved himself to be loyal enough? He will not allow you to think of the extermination as a means to an end.

You wipe the tears away, taking a moment to stare at his chest as he takes deep breaths. He's calming himself down for you. He can rip you to shreds, but he isn't. It would help if you focused on that. He's not going to kill you with his own hands; that's apparent. For the best, you hone in on that. You also hone in on how ridiculous he looks in an ascot.

The pause in responses lets you gather your thoughts. Being mad means Alastor wins. You need to be more precise with your words, but you've consistently failed to do that around him. He can see right through you, he's always been able to.

The two of you breathe in sync, calming down. Alastor's sadistic smile fades into a thin line, anger dissipating, a look of concern falling upon his features. He knows you are wrong in some way. He has no plans to kill you or send you to your death, not like that. But you don't trust him, which hurts more than he cares to admit. His eyes glaze over with contemplation. What's worse, confirming your beliefs or lying and denying them?

Even more, what is the real truth?

"You know, dearest, it's disheartening to see that you'd think I have some nefarious plan for you. I'll have you know, I have no intention of letting you die."

It's the most sentimental thing he's said all day, and you cling to it, logging his words into your memory. Everything in you wants to keep the truth close, but it fades away by the second. Truth? No, he's changed. He loves you, and you shouldn't forget that.

For a second, you consider an apology, but all you can muster is a simple, "I believe you."

He returns to the man you know so well when he laughs, waving you off. "Believe me? That's a start, at least! Don't try to lie to me, I can tell you're still suspicious, my dear."

You roll your eyes, sniffling and ignoring his attitude, your hand falling to your empty chest. Your hand dips into the gap, feeling your slowing heartbeat. Deep breaths. Everything is okay now. "I'll get over it."

"Good. I much prefer a calm, happy you instead of the accusatory one."

It's another jab, a small one, but you let it go. Some parts of him are never going to change.

"Oh my," your still-watery eyes avoid his, falling to the rips in the tablecloth. "I certainly hope no one will notice."

And you look up at him with a weak smile.

His smile forms into a wide smirk. "In this deserted, forgotten, excuse of a cafe? The whole town will notice!"

"I'll have to go on the run."

"Oh yes, the owner is just around the corner, waiting to throw you in the slammer for destroying the precious thing."

"I can only imagine." You chuckle, the last of your tears wiped away. You fidget with the end of the tablecloth. "I'm sorry for yelling."

You miss his gaze softening. You're apologizing?

He knocks on the table to get your attention. You look up at him, his widened red eyes, open smile and upward eyebrows.

"My sonnet, my agony," one of his hands grabs yours, stilling it. "There's no need to apologize. I pushed a few too many buttons. I hope you're not still too cross with me, hmm?"

You squeeze his hand, accepting his poor attempt at an apology. Surrounded by dust and broken glass, the atmosphere couldn't be more peaceful, slowly repairing itself.

"I'm not, it's okay."

He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand softly. "Good. I honestly can't stand it when you're upset with me, darling."

"And yet-" you stop and bite your lip, pausing your movements. With your hand in the air, you change the movement, leaning forward and pinching Alastor's cheek with a mother would a son. Before he would be able to swat you away, you pull back, "How can I stay mad at you?"

His smile widens, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You can't! I'm afraid you love me too much, isn't that right?"

"Yes," you agree. You try to match his expression, mimicking the lightheartedness, but in the corner of your eye, glimpsing your speaker, which lies on the floor, evidence of his aggression. "Evidently."

"Evidently, indeed." His gaze never leaves yours. He enjoys the sound of the town's ambiance and the pleasant sight before him, how gorgeous you look after the tears. He can't stop himself. "You know, it's quite endearing to see those doe eyes look up at me instead of the anger from before."

"I'm sure."

Even though his smile is bright, it cannot conceal his sharp teeth. You think of what this has accomplished. He picked you apart at the seams, yes, but you also got a semi-confirmation that his plans have changed. He's not going to let you die, that's acceptable news. He got mad at you, more mad than he's ever been. He's never threatened you before, either. That's not something you're going to brush off. But most importantly, he smiled when you pinched his cheek. That's new.

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