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mercurytrinemoon · 3 years

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Me debunking astrology generalizations and misconceptions or smth idk...

Squares and oppositions aren't pure evil.

I can't believe I have to say this because I thought ya'll have learnt the characteristics of every aspect but here we are. Nothing in astrology is black and white. And I saw some ridiculous statements (not necessary here on tumblr) that said things like "if your Venus squares someone's ascendant then you don't find that person attractive AT ALL". Or "Mars square Mercury people can't speak politely and have an annoying voice". Like????? First of all, that's ridiculous. Second of all, square in not "everything bad" just like trine is not "everything amazing". Squares bring tension, which leads to motivation, they’re stimulating; sometimes excitement or charisma; sometimes they can make you overdo things. I'm not saying they're oh-so-marvelous because the challenges are still there, but they're not as bad as people paint them to be. Squares happen between two signs that are in the same modality so they have a bunch of things in common. Besides, some of them (Sagi-Pisces and Gemini-Virgo) are ruled by the same planet so there's a special type of chemistry between those (especially when applied to synastry). Oppositions work in two ways, planets either meet in the middle - opposite signs usually complete each other and fuel each other up. And worse case scenario? Natally this means being pulled in two different directions; synastry-wise, you can completely miss each other like two passing cars - so there may be some misunderstandings but I don't think that's the end of the world... And, as per usual, may be mitigated by other positive aspects.

This is me debunking other people's attempts at debunking Sun sign compatibility.

Sun IS very important but when people ask about compatibility and go with Suns... and then someone tries to be a smartass and debunk the "compatible-incompatible" and does the same thing without even realizing it. Like, "oh I actually see a lot of Aries and Pisces having amazing relationships because *insert someting that is a total stretch and refers to their Sun sign traits*"... But you seem to forget that they're neighbouring signs... which means they probably have personal planets in those neighbouring signs... which means they're compatible not because of some made-up stuff that you're trying to come up with but because their other planets are compatible with each other. But you're still feeding into the Sun sign compatibility talk. (So like, what I'm trying to also say, yes, the entire synastry chart comes into play; Also, side note, everyone can get along on some level if they’re mature enough).

Planet in a sign is NOT the same as planet in the house.

There may be some overlaps in some of the sign-houses associations (like in the overall energy; like for example, it sort of makes sense that 3rd, 7th and 11th are referred to as “air houses” because they’re the most social) but in NO WAY there are similarities between planet house position and the "ruling" sign. That association started a few decades ago and some would say that NOT linking houses with signs is a purely traditional approach. But there’s plenty of professional modern astrologers with 20/30/40-year experience who still differentiate between sign/house position... because they know (and have learnt along the way) that there’s a huge difference.

I'll give you 3 quick examples: Gemini planets and 3rd house planets both may put emphasis on communication, mental stimulation and gathering data. But Geminis are often scattered in their approach, they may be easily distracted, may be indecisive, may be jack of all trades and talkative jokesters. They actually hate routines and dullness. "Spice it up" is probably a Gemini's philosophy. Now 3rd house planets may indicate you actually LIKE doing things on the regular - like running errands every other day in the mornings or going to that one specific coffee shop to pick up a snack. You may actually work in logistics or as a postman (especially if your chart ruler or MC ruler is in the 3rd). Planets in the 3rd talk about your siblings, neighbours or school experiences - like having Venus in the 3rd may point to positive experiences within those areas - something Gemini Venus has nothing in common.

Venus in the 9th can study at an art/beauty or fashion school (or even teach there if the MC is involved); can be very attached to spiritual and religious matters; can also find love in a foreign land. But imagine it being in Taurus - rather shy, needing those stable values to feel secure, being an exceptionally great student at that art school thanks to its domicile. Venus in Sagittarius on the other hand, likes adventure, things being shaken up from time to time, lightheartedness and exploration. But what if we flip the scenario and that Sag Venus is in the 2nd house. This can denote earing money through travelling and looking for ways to expand but in a financial matters.

Continuing with the Venus examples, having Venus in Aries is completely different than Venus in the 1st. What do people usually say about Venus in the 1st? That it makes the native charming, lovely, well-put together, with great manners, maybe beautiful, graceful, maybe a bit shallow. When in Aries? None of these characteristics fit, on top of that, it's in its detriment. Our poor gal Venus is uncomfortable and confused in Aries. She's like, "conquer? Swords? Selfishness? Obnoxiousness? Sparring? You're telling me to fight people? What am I doing here???"

And I'll leave you here with that cause those examples weren’t that quick lol and in fact, I could give you a 100 of those. Besides, this actually inspired a 3-page rant that I've already posted not so long ago that you can read HERE.

There's no such thing as "more accurate" astrology.

Both western and vedic are valid. Both can show you the same things. JUST KEEP THEM SEPARATE AND DON'T MIX THEM WITH EACH OTHER. And don't say things like "sidereal shows your soul" - omg I saw this statement soooo many times, who the hell even came up with this?! Actually, if anything, it's the modern western approach that "psychologized" (yea I just made up a word, you mad?) astrology while Jyotish still sticks to the very real "here and now", sometimes fatalistic predictions of how exactly your life is going to roll out... But hey, reach for hellenistic methods and they can tell you the same things, just with different tools. So no, they do not show different things, it's just their language is different.

If you say you don't identify with your chart then you're just reading it wrong.

This partially connects to the last one in some ways... Switching to a different astrology or different charts is not a solution. Learn how to read your natal. If you say it doesn’t describe you, I can guarantee you that you haven’t studied it properly. (Now this hasn't turned into a rant yet but I may actually do a whole-ass post on this because if I start elaborating on it now I'll end up with another 3-page essay).

Learn how and when to generalize. Also learn how to take generalizations.

I understand that you have to pick up on every single thing separately in order to put everything together. It's like learning a new language: first you need to learn individual words and then you need to know the proper grammar to create a full sentence. This is 100% understandable and necessary, but it's important to take the entire thing into consideration. And this goes for all branches of astrology, but I guess it's especially annoying with synastry. This, again, comes down to the very black and white approach. You know, like when you see those long paragraphs where people elaborate on all the intricacies of Venus-Pluto aspects or whatever as if that one thing was determining the entire relationship between two people. (Side note, no shade but some of ya'll should start writing fiction or poetry cause the amount of fluffy speech and waffle that I see floating around here on tumblr is insane sometimes). Why are you wording everything as a make it or break it type of situation? And on the receiving end - learn how to take *properly phrased* generalizations constructively. Example: it IS a rule that Aries is a competitive one, maybe you're not one of them (for many reasons) but don't make a fuss about someone saying this. It IS a basic rule that energies of the same sign in two people are going to get along (well that depends on the planets involved but I digress), if that, for some other reasons, doesn't apply to you, don't go yelling that it's bullcrap because you hate people of the same sign. You know? Like, learn the difference.

DON'T SCARE PEOPLE WITH ASTROLOGY.

I had a mini-rant on this one a while ago, but I think this deserves a constant reminder (and refers to the last point), I don't want to see any more posts that would say things like "xxx house placements will bring you suffering" or "stay away from people with planets in your xxx house" or, even worse, making a (completely untrue btw) prediction based on one single thing like "someone with so-and-so aspect is going to harm you". And you're so casual about it??? You know there are sensitive people in the world. Learn some ethics. Learn some counseling skills. Don't be ignorant. Don't throw these random stuff at people just like that. And learn some actual astrology cause most of these aren't even closely describing that particual aspect. LIKE WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

Ok now I'm pissed again.

Studying astrology and believing in free will doesn’t go well together.

It's not just psychological and spiritual. It's useful to know that western astrology made it like that because there were still people threatening astrologers for using it as a divination tool. So they moved away from the predictive/deterministic aspect of it. Now, I'm not here to change anyone's beliefs cause that's a very personal thing that everyone should develop on their own. But once you start diving deeper into astrology you'd notice that there's a heavy emphasis on fatedness and things being predetermined. That includes both the good and the bad stuff and you should learn to accept that. And with the bad things specifically, let's not excuse it with some "oh that was an opportunity for growth". Like yea, maybe, occasionally??? But just acknowledge that sometimes things happen not because there was a deeper meaning in them... but because you have a Pluto-Mars conjunction in the 6th that makes an applying square to your chart ruler and you were going through a profection year where Mars was your time lord and it transited that chart ruler while making a conjunction with Neptune so you were attacked by a baby crocodile while swimming and it bit off your toe and you got a nasty infection and that’s it (I just made that up btw, I don't actually know anyone who was attacted by a crocodile). So like, sometimes shit just happens and there's nothing psychological about it. Also, I bet your free will didn't want to be attacked by that croc.

#thank you for coming to my ted talk #that was supposed to be short #i can never keep it short #you know how many ideas i had for that house-sign differences?!#i could write an entire book #also i may do a part two #some day #astrology #mercurytrinemoon

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feralaot · 4 years

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AOT characters and their interests/hobbies 💞

been thinking about these a lot and wanted to share :]

no warnings

eren

collects vintage electronic things like gameboy cartridges, ataris, old nintendos, etc. I feel like he would also collect caps from energy drink cans, not for any particular reason, he just thinks they look neat

mikasa

I've mentioned this before but I'll die on the hill that she loves embroidery and sewing and makes things like scarves, hats, and gloves to donate

armin

has no shame whatsoever about being super into flowers and gardening. also likes rambling about marine biology, he was always fascinated by the sea and y'all already KNOW he'd geek about the stuff that's actually in it

connie

really likes insects! he has had several bug collections and some of his favorite decorations are framed bugs. tried to get into pc building at some point but couldnt really figure it out

jean

old music, old movies, vinyl records, etc. has several guitars both acoustic and electric and only knows a few songs on each but he just really likes collecting things and is a bit of an artist so he has sketchbooks laying everywhere. the first song he learned on electric guitar was seven nation army and he got really good at it so he played it repeatedly for weeks until connie begged him to play something else

sasha

y'all mfs already know this girl would love cooking. I also think she would really enjoy being an archery instructor and learning about various hunting methods in her spare time. she has always wanted to try catfish noodling but connie is her impulse control to not do so

historia

literally so good at makeup. doesn't even do it on herself most of the time because she likes putting it on other people. considering how tiny she is she tends to insist on sitting in someone's lap to do their makeup and y'all already know ymir is a volunteer. other than this she's also super "green" and infodumps about environmental sustainability to whoever will listen. once again, ymir

ymir

linguistics. my friend said that ymir would really enjoy studying and learning languages and honestly, hard agree. she would familiarize herself with the dialects of a language and also learn about ancient languages as well

hange

absolutely enthralled by animal biology and the way things work. takes every chance they can get to dissect something. has a collection of various animal skulls and always feels the need to tell people that no, they did not kill them themself, even though nobody asked

levi

this man would be so good at interior design. everything has a perfect aesthetic, is symmetrical, neat, has good palettes, the right furniture, everything. he'd totally talk shit about what you've done with the place

erwin

I cant explain it but he has the vibe of someone who'd be really into mythology and anatomical painting. would also probably taste test wine. a very sophisticated kind of man

reiner

once again I will die on the hill that he doesnt play sports himself but he probably really likes watching ice hockey. only bert knows this but he's also pretty good at carpentry and has built several shelves by himself that he was really proud of. a very hands-on kind of person

bertholdt

bird nerd. bird nerd. he loves birds and always feeds them. is also quite the artist and has lots of little scribbles all over his belongings. likes writing too but hasn't told anyone he writes except reiner

annie

she thought it was dumb at first but armin got her really into gardening and now they manage a garden together. he tends to the flowers and she tends to the vegetables. she also enjoys painting nature scenery, so there's a nice painting of their flower and vegetable gardens hanging up

porco and pieck

putting them together because they're pretty much the same. they both love watching unsolved true crime documentaries/videos together then infodumping to each other about their own theories. porco also really likes history and rambles about it to her whenever it comes up e.g. pointing out historical inaccuracies in films. also porco does yoga don't @ me

zeke

anthropology. I refuse to elaborate but just know I'm right. he goes to anthropology museums and absolutely geeks about everything

yelena

religious studies. need I say more

niccolo

yes he absolutely is into cooking but consider: he's also an absolute champ at pottery. he makes his own pots and jars and little mugs. in fact a lot of the indoor plants armin and annie have live in pots that niccolo made especially for them

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whiterosebrian · 3 years

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Letter To Democrats

I felt the need to do something besides raising awareness of environmental, indigenous, and socio-economic issues. I’ve decided to compose and then mail multiple printed copies of a letter to multiple politicians across the USA. I did wonder if I should copy-and-paste the letter to social media profiles like I did for the one that I wrote to President Biden. Ultimately, I decided that posting the letter would serve two purposes. First, I wanted to let indigenous activists know that they have another willing accomplice. Second, this could provide a decent template for anyone who also feels a need to write to political leaders and put pressure on them to take much-needed action. Without any further ado…

Greetings,

I am writing a generic letter to send to assorted politicians across the United States. For reasons that I will articulate over the course of this letter, I felt a serious need to address as many members of the American political leadership as possible. I do not intend to call you out personally. If you do take it as a personal callout, please consider why you feel that way.

The reports of wildfires, heat waves, and floods have filled many, many observers with existential terror. Some have even expressed utter despair over whether the world will be inhabitable by any form of life. At times I have been tempted to join the despair, to give up hope of ever leaving a beautiful legacy for future generations. For the sake of all the people of the world, I must fight that temptation. I need to do my part to fight for the future.

There are a large number of activists trying to protect the environment. However, they need help from people who have the power to make really concrete changes. That is why I am writing to you and other Democratic politicians. That does sound very partisan, but the sad fact is that the Republican party is almost a lost cause at this point. I wish to be proven wrong about that. The fact is that it already engaged in brutal obstruction during the Obama administration. A sinister side to the base already started emerging during that time as well. With the rise of Donald Trump, the much of its leadership and nearly all of its electoral base have become increasingly unwilling to offer the kind of compromise needed for a functional democracy.

The Democratic party as a whole has been criticized as very weak in opposing the radicalizing Republican Party. The current President has spoken of a desire for restoring national unity. That desire is certainly laudable in itself when Trump blatantly stoked resentment and division. Again, however, the Republican party and its core supporters have shown a complete unwillingness to work with any opponents in any way. They view their opponents as subversive enemies that need to be crushed underfoot. The Republican party has inched towards neo-fascism at a time when neo-fascism is mainstreaming around the world. The Republican party has also already been beholden to the selfish interests of major corporations for decades. It even seeks to magnify the already dire influence of corporations chiefly responsible for pollution. Its propaganda outlets outright deny pollution and mislead millions of people.

Some Democratic politicians have also been criticized as going along with corporate interests and watering down legislation meant to oppose corporate influence. By now it has become clear that corporate elites do not have the safety of the world and its human and nonhuman denizens in mind. By now it has become clear that they must be reined in for the greater good. The only language that major corporations even comprehend is money. Here I arrive at the first main point of this letter: I urge you to work with other Democratic leaders to divest from major corporations and their executives, especially those most directly responsible for polluting the Earth. I’ve also seen proposals that corporations be forced to contribute to removing as much pollution as possible. Quickening the transition away from fossil fuels is crucial.

However, alternate energy sources are not enough. Switching from gas-powered cars to electric cars is not enough. Building solar or wind farms in place of coal-burning power plants is not enough. Extraction and consumption cause their own serious problems. The problem of environmental degradation has roots that are far too deep and complicated to address here, though I will touch upon one later. Going hand-in-hand with corporate influence are the bad social and urban infrastructures that do not encourage sustainable lifestyles. I barely even know where to begin in this regard. Cities are too often built for cars and not people. Most people have to drive carbon-spewing cars to work at jobs that are not well-suited to their needs in order to pay their bills and feed their families. Too many people are left in poverty or near-poverty, some people are more-or-less isolated in suburbs, and a tiny handful are virtually untouchable in their wealth and privilege. Healthy food is not always accessible, and even when it is, it often has to be shipped very far from the source.

My second main point is this: in addition to transitioning to cleaner energy, the very infrastructure of our society needs to reformed. Local communities need to be lifted up so that they can better care for themselves without the need for distant figures constantly having to provide for them through convoluted supply chains. It’s true that right-wingers speak of “small government” with the unspoken agenda of leaving corporate oligarchs and ultra-conservative clergy to rule over ordinary human beings. Nonetheless, I believe that, at this point, government needs to assist in rebuilding communities so that they can eventually leave denizens to stand on their feet and care for each other. The pandemic, along with the poor responses of many local officials, has shown the need for communities to engage in mutual care.

I will confess that this exhortation is the vaguest one in this letter. I lack in-depth education on such matters. I bring it up in order to further nudge you in a direction that would be far better for the Earth and its people. I can offer one example of what must be done that is slightly clearer: helping communities establish gardens and small-scale farms to better feed themselves.

On a very important side note, this nation needs to divest from the military as well. The largest and most powerful military in history is known to be among the largest polluters on earth. Too many politicians seem to ignore how massive the military already is an insist on subsidizing it at the cost of actually building a peaceful and prosperous society.

I further wish to discuss the need to center indigenous peoples in renewing our society. No, I am no indigenous myself. I simply wish to point to their wisdom. Yes, the sagely magical Indian who is one with Mother Earth is a crude stereotype, and I have no intention of reinforcing it. With that said, I follow a number of indigenous writers, activists, spiritualists, and influencers on social media. I learned about how many indigenous people are attempting to reconnect to previously outlawed and hidden heritages. The stereotype could be rooted in reality.

In most cases, those heritages include animistic spiritualities, in which aspects of the natural world, from plants to animals to waters to stones, are seen as having spirits. Furthermore, these aspects of the natural world are seen as relatives to humans. I should note how some well-meaning white people, wishing to bond with the earth instead of submitting to organized religion, appropriate these indigenous spiritualties and associated practices. Indigenous writers will encourage such people to instead delve into their own pre-Christian heritages, which have similar animistic philosophies, however obscured by time they may be. I have actually been doing just that—though I won’t elaborate because I don’t want to center myself.

You may be asking, what is the relevance said common thread of the spiritualities of indigenous peoples? That animism seems to go hand-in-hand with methods of land care that developed over generations of trial and error, along with the principles behind those methods. With the subjugation and expulsion (and worse) of the land’s original caretakers, though, these practices fell into obscurity. The most dramatic example, perhaps, is the suppression of controlled burnings on the western coastline leading to the wildfires that we have seen in recent years. Indeed, the different lands of different indigenous nations need their own subtly distinct approaches, based on ecosystems, geographies, local histories, and general senses of place. Indigenous activists and figureheads are calling upon governments to heed their words on not only conservation but also regeneration.

One of the main demands that indigenous activists make is for the return of their lands, full sovereignty over them, and the facilitation of cultural revival. Yes, that is a very simple manner of justice and righting a historic wrong. It has become evident that their wisdom is a crucial piece of the puzzle of solving environmental problems as well. Simple “colorblind” or “globalized” liberalism won’t suffice when working for social or environmental justice. Indigenous activists argue that colonialism is at the root of so many of our world’s problems. Many of them even outright state that the “colonial state” in itself is a problem. I can see how colonialism has promoted the rise of an all-devouring capitalism and perpetuated it. The grim historical fact of how the enslavement of Black people and the elimination of indigenous peoples contributed to building this nation remains a grim historical fact.

I myself am figuring out the world and learning many truths, but I am sympathetic to people who have borne the brunt of colonialism. I welcome the humanistic achievements of modernity and utterly oppose fundamentalism and fascism, I assure you, but I’ve come to accept that the modern world is broken. Simple progress won’t heal the world. “Big government” certainly has a role to play in mobilizing the needed social changes, such as what I’ve alluded to above, but the “colonial state” needs to ultimately divest its own power.

I’ll try to summarize my points now. Major corporations and economic elites need to be drastically reined in and disempowered (along with the military). The transition to renewable energies needs to be quickened—but also needs to be accompanied by drastic changes to infrastructures and supply chains so as to result in less extraction and consumption. Localized communities need to be empowered so they can better care for themselves without much out faraway aid. Indigenous peoples need to be given their lands back, be elevated to leadership roles in caring for and regenerating said lands, and be empowered so they can rebuild their cultures. Settlers should learn from them as well. In the end, the state and the socio-economic system that it has upheld need to recede—not for billionaires or grand inquisitors or dictators, but for ordinary people and the earth. In truth, humans are meant to be a part of nature, and the generational challenge is for humanity to reconcile with the rest of nature.

This all may sound idealistic or radical. This past summer has shown us that we shouldn’t settle for anything less than radical social change. This nation, which has been a major world power for over a century, needs to be radically reimagined. This all may sound vague as well. I have little education in politics and governance apart from what I’ve tried to learn for myself across the internet. That is all the more reason for people like you—people with more real-world power than I—to push along radical social change. This letter is meant to raise awareness of your duty as a leader. A leader is meant to be a guide, not a dominator. There’s a chance that you could be recorded in history as a leader who did what was necessary to make the world’s healing and renewal possible.

Thank you.

You may call me Brian Solomon Whiterose.

#environment #environmentalism #indigenous rights #indigenous people #us politics #social justice #social reform #colonialism #capitalism #long text

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mirai227 · 3 years

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How to go from beginner to intermediate in a language!

Hi! I recently reached an intermediate level in French, and I am on my way to reaching an intermediate level in Spanish too, so I thought I would try to offer some tips and ideas about how you could reach an intermediate level in your target language as well.

What does an intermediate level feel like?

So from what I can gather, the beginner level (about A1/A2 on the CEFR scale for languages) is where you can communicate on a very basic level, and can only really understand beginner learners' content. Native material is kind of a no go (except maybe for children’s content). You can understand about 30% of what natives say at natural speed, and can struggle through some basic articles with key vocabulary, as long as you are already familiar with the subject and the key vocabulary. You can express yourself in quite a limited way, and can speak about familiar subjects, while being able to provide some simple explanations why. This self-assessment grid can tell you more about what you can and can’t do at these levels.

At the intermediate level (about B1/B2), native material is slowly but surely becoming more easy for you to understand. For me, it usually means that I can understand enough words and phrases when native speakers speak to piece together what they are discussing, though I can’t really provide specifics. You can understand about 50/60% of what natives are saying about a relatively wide range of everyday subjects (though specialised language for complex adult discussions on things like science and philosophy is usually too difficult at this stage). You can express yourself quite well on a wide range of subjects, though in an often clumsy and simplistic manner. At this level, you should be able to survive in a country where the language is spoken, and operate fairly well in a professional setting (if the language required is not too complex). You will definitely make a lot of mistakes, but not too many, so you should be understood by natives. This self-assessment grid can tell you more about what you can and can’t do at these levels.

What should your goals generally be here?

Greatly expand your vocabulary.

Improve your grammar to a passable conversational level (watch this video clip to understand what I mean).

Get comfortable speaking with native speakers.

Make sure that most of your study time is spent consuming or using your target language. Minimise contact with the languages you already know, except maybe for grammar.

Spend a minimum of around 1-2 hours a day on your target language.

How should you reach intermediate level?

Use a textbook for around that level. For me, I used the higher tier textbooks for GCSEs, which is about the level that I wanted to reach. I went through the whole textbook, learnt all the vocabulary that I came across, and did all the practice questions that I could find. This helped me immensely. Textbooks are usually organised to provide the base of what you need to reach an intermediate level. However, they should not be used alone.

Find a native speaker to talk to! Seriously, this helped me so so much. Before, I was not comfortable speaking to natives in French at all, but I started to speak with a friend of mine twice a week, and I was absolutely stunned by how much more smooth and confident my speaking became. I looked up words that I needed to know while I was speaking with her, and this really helped me fill in the gaps of my knowledge. I also learnt a lot of the nuances in French and and discovered some really cool and useful phrases. Try making a habit of speaking either with someone, or by yourself every day. If you don’t know something, then google translate is your friend! That way you can learn really cool set phrases. You can usually find someone to talk to on discord servers if you join some language learning ones, though be very careful about revealing any personal details or your face. Arrange a fixed time a few times a week and stick to it!

Study every day. Seriously, I really dropped the ball with my Spanish and because of this, my progress has been really slow. I could be at the intermediate level in Spanish already, but because I’ve been so slow, I’m not. Figure out what time of day you are most productive at (for me this is the early morning) and set a fixed time for studying your target language. It’s okay to experiment a little, and for it to take some time to figure out your schedule. With languages, at this stage, it is very easy to forget things, so going a long time without studying (longer than a month) is really going to hinder your progress. Still, you should always be your first priority, so if things are too busy for your studies at the moment, then it is fine to put your studies on hold for a while, or even stop them altogether. Just make peace with the fact that your progress will be a little slower than you might like.

Do lots of practice questions for grammar. It is all well and good to hear about the rules and write notes down, but if you cannot use it in practice, then frankly, you do not know the rule. Find a grammar workbook, like this one, or this one, and work through it. You can use HiNative to find corrections if you do not know the answer. Then, try making sure that you actually use it in your writing or speaking. Experiment, and learn from the corrections that people make.

Keep a journal in the language, and post it on websites like Journaly. Write about subjects that you already know about, and make sure that you use as many grammar rules that you know as you can. Try to elaborate on your reasons and opinions on things. It will be difficult at first, and you will make absolutely loads of mistakes, but as time goes on, you will gradually start to improve. Look up words that you don’t know, and write them down so that you can learn them later.

Try listening to intermediate content. Yes, it will be difficult, and you won’t be able to understand much, but as time goes on, you will slowly become more accustomed to the vocabulary you need to reach that level. Make sure whatever podcast you are listening to has a transcript, and highlight and learn the new vocabulary that you have discovered using Anki, or any flashcard app. Listen whenever you have time to kill, like on the train or when you are doing the dishwasher - it’ll really help!

Text natives on apps like Tandem or HelloTalk. It’ll get you used to forming the written language more quickly, and will let you practice more conversational phrases.

Make sure that you have the basics of grammar down, like all the essential tenses and basic particles, before moving onto harder things. Find a list of grammar, or a textbook that specifically covers intermediate level, and do lots of practice questions on each one.

Watch some native content on YouTube on subjects that you are familiar with and really like. Again, this will be difficult, but helpful! Make sure the videos have subtitles in the target language so that you can follow what it is about. Do NOT use english subtitles. It is vital that you get used to understanding the language without the crutch of the languages you already know. Look up the words that you do not know, and learn them using whatever vocabulary learning method that you like.

Read children’s (like, young children) stories and books to practice reading. It will be surprisingly difficult, because the grammar used in children’s books is usually for around a certain degree of fluency. Learn the vocabulary you don’t know, and try to practice when you can.

Learner’s material and articles are usually quite good for reading as well, as they are frequently quite challenging. You can find some in your textbook, or online if you google “[language] intermediate reading exercises”. You can probably also find reading comprehension books online if you try hard enough.

Learn vocabulary in context instead of memorising lists of vocabulary. Find the vocabulary you don’t know in all the content you are consuming, or look up words that you want to use yourself, and write them down with example sentences. Then, learn them using flashcard apps or websites like memrise, quizlet and anki.

For your pronunciation, shadow native speakers. Listen to how they say words, and imitate them. Personally, I use Easy Languages videos for this, along with random YouTube videos with subtitles in the target language. If a certain sound is difficult for you, then be proactive! Look up YouTube videos and articles on how to pronounce the word, and keep on practicing until you eventually get it.

Engaging with people on social media can be a fun easy way of practicing your TL. You can read or listen to posts and leave comments.

That’s it! That’s all the advice I can possibly think of. I hope you found this post helpful!

Here are some articles that I have found useful in the past:

How You Can Become Fluent in a Language - In Just One Year By Ramsay Lewis

9 points about language learning and how I’m learning 20+ of them By @ravenclawhard

Language learning tips for beginner & intermediate learners 🌍 By Lindie Botes/ @rinkodesu

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heuristicallyinclined · 3 years

Text

Of Disks Lost and Cullings Interrupted

5.1k | Rating T for referenced gore and language

Summary: An unfortunate encounter somehow manages to not go quite as bad as it should have.

This is one of the self-indulgent drabbles I wrote last year for me and @theartisticapparition’s fantrolls meeting for the first time and how much of an absolute mess it would be. Enjoy.

It has three fucking months since you ordered that hexagonal disk and you still don't have a shipping notification for it.

You stare at the screen of your palm husk. It’s a single point of brightness in the store room you slipped off to while some other ship was docking. For supplies or inspection, you don’t know and you don’t care. All you care about it the fact that no one is going to notice a single rusty slipping away for all of two minutes to fuck around on a personal device and see if maybe something went to spam. Which you are looking at now. And apparently set to delete messages after thirty nights, so if it did go to spam, it was long gone now.

“Sh!t,” you quietly exhale.

It’s objectively not even a good movie, just something dumb and cheesy that you can use to break up an evening. But it's no longer even about that. You just want the garbage that you ordered because you fucking ordered it and paid for it using some of your very limited funds. Grunt work means grunt pay and you have to at least be olive to even be allowed to complain in the first place, so your bronze ass just isn't going to cut it.

It doesn't make sense for you to not have gotten anything. Like at least a, "sorry king, your package is delayed," thing should have happened. You work in this shit, you receive and ship and log and deliver until your pan feels numb and it’s just your body moving through the motions. You have been mentally trying to work out how to even fuck up bad enough that this kind of delay would even happen because even for a rusty, who expects very little, this is still a bit much. You’re drawing a complete blank.

The movement of a shadow catches your eye, snapping you out of your thoughts. It slowly shortens from its exaggerated length to a more proportional one as the figure draws closer, straight towards you. You don’t recognize the silhouette’s lean frame, horns or hair which seemingly fanned out to symmetrical points. You definitely didn’t hear them enter or move through the storage bay.

Swallowing, you turn.

You see his color before you notice anything else about him. Your blood runs cold as you immediately straighten to attention.

Violet.

Seeing sea dwellers through screens and on posters did not prepare you for the real thing. You had never seen one in person before and definitely had never had one slowly making his way closer to you. Everything about him was sharp. His fins, his claws, his teeth, they all came to a clearly defined point. His grin was especially sharp. Almost sharp enough to distract you from whatever the hell his spear thingy that he casually held over his shoulder like it weighed nothing was.

“S!r.” You address him, bowing your head slightly. “!s there anyth!ng ! can do for you?”

His smile widens when you acknowledge him. His golden bracelets jingle lightly against each other as he brings a hand to his chin, seeming to genuinely consider your question.

Oh goddamn it. This is going to take longer than two minutes.

“) is there anyfin you can do for me? (,” he repeats coolly. He pensively looks off to the side as he continues to move towards you. ") oh I don't know. i just wanted to sea what was back here ("

He walks just behind you and you stiffen. You can feel his eyes lingering on you.

"!t's mostly crates here s!r. Noth!ng too !nterest!ng"

Faster than you can register it, the hand not gripping his weapon quickly grabs your shoulder, turning you to face him. The points of his manicured claws dig into you. You keep your balance as best you can, but stumble a bit.

”) now, now. you're here too (,” he smiles at you cloyingly.

And just like that, he corrects your stance, getting way too into your personal space in the process. His grin remains shallow and doesn’t meet his eyes. It just isn't warm enough to distract from how cold his touch leaves you and in that moment, you have a realization.

So, you’re probably fucked.

He holds you for longer than is comfortable in what you’re guessing is a touchy little power play, before continuing to move past you, looking up and down the racks that surrounded you two. They were nearly as high as the ceilings and he was doing a pretty decent job of acting like he actually gives a shit about what's on the shelves. He moves by each of them methodically, occasionally picking something up like he was shopping before putting each back neatly into its place.

At least the crew coming in after to replace you isn’t going to have to reorganize anything after washing you off of the walls.

He keeps going and you know he doesn’t genuinely care about whatever soaps and meal packets are back here. You don’t either, not really. He isn't even going through the whole store room, just the area around you. It is almost like he i-.

Oh.

He’s circling you.

Is this a fish joke? You feel like this is a fish joke he’s making for himself. Or is he just adding another layer to his touchy murder dude bit?

His voice snaps you out of your thoughts before you can really try to work out what his angle on this is. You really hope he didn’t notice you starting to zone out there for a bit.

“) it all just seems rather dull (,” he draws listlessly.

“Wh!ch part?”

He glances back at you. His smile begins to falter.

“Wh!ch part s!r?” You correct quickly.

He chuckles and turns his body to face you.

“) the whole thing (” He gestures away from himself, at your general surroundings. “) i mean here you are, trapped on a run down ship, doing menial tasks for the rest of your unfortunate life. truly, i don’t know how you can stand to be here. i mean, I’d rather die than work in a place like this (,” he looks at you intensely, his pupils seemed much more narrow now that they were completely focused on you. “) what about you? (”

Ah. Yeah. You see what he did there, but he isn’t exactly providing you with any revelations about your life and you don’t exactly think boredom is what’s going to cull you.

“! see !t more l!ke a flavor d!sk.”

Your response stops him and he looks at you strangely.

“Even when !ts bad !ts good," you elaborate.

His gaze becomes harsher for a moment, and then it’s gone.

“) that is a rather crude way of looking at it, i seappose(.”

Alright. No mentally stable person seriously uses the word “suppose” out loud. You wonder how you’re inevitably going to beef it. The spear thing would be involved. It would be really fucking weird if he carried it here just to not use it, but he seems extra enough that you would not put him bringing a long a prop past him.

He notices you looking at it and smirks at you.

") so (,” he recovers and ambles towards you, focusing his full attention on you again. His weapon no longer was resting against his shoulder. He held it against the ground and casually leaned against it like it wasn’t one of the most threatening tools of questionable identity and mass murder you had ever seen. “) what are you doing back here with all of these very uninteresting crates? (”

“! just thought ! forgot someth!ng !n here and stopped by to check. S!r”

“) without telling anyone? (”

“Yes, s!r.”

He chuckles, all too pleased, “) whale, that was a poor decision on your part. there is just so much here that if anything happened to you (,” he lowers his voice, like he was graciously letting you in on a joke, “) who knows how long it would take anyone to find out (.”

A beat of silences passes. You swallow, You know he feels the tension. He looks too excited not to.

“!, uh, maybe should have told someone ! where ! was go!ng !n case someth!ng happened.”

“) i agree (.” He straightens and picks up his weapon, spinning it with ease before he points it at you and slowly starts to bring the to your neck. “) unfortunately for you (,” he starts, “) no one knows you're here (.”

Even as you move your arms, he makes no move to stop you. He grins wider, more manic, looking excited at the idea of you actually trying to fight back.

Ha.

Sucks to be him because there is no fucking way that the last thing you do before you get culled is putting in some more effort to make this more enjoyable for the extra dude culling you.

Because if this guy's going to cull you, you're at least going to be the one making a request and try to have some fun here while you can. Because what is he going to do about it? You’re getting culled anyways, might as well, right?

The ridiculousness of it all makes you grin as you shrug at him. "Well, sh!t. Alr!ght."

This acceptance gives him pause as he tilts his head slightly, considering you. A crease forms between his brows and he tightens his grip on his weapon. ") w-"

You cut him off. You’re going to die so you think you get to be rude. Him being mad about it won’t really be your problem for long anyways.

"Can ! d!e !n a cool way though?"

") i-" he starts to lower his weapon, which you now think is a harpoon. Maybe? You don't know man. You don’t know anything about fish shit and you’re understanding less by the second.

You continue looking at him with the same resigned optimism that carried you through most of the bullshit you did. It got you this far. Which, granted, is probably getting culled by a bored sea dweller, but there are probably worse ways to go.

") wait (,” he says.

"Yeah?"

It isn't exactly like you're going anywhere. You know what to do with fear, being a rusty, you learn that shit real quick. But the look he is giving you now just makes you uncomfortable.

"What's up my guy?"

") aren't you going to fight back or somefin? ("

"Uh." You glance around the room full of mostly crates and his eyes follow yours as you search before you focus back on him, confused. "L!ke w!th a weapon?"

") yes? (" His smile tightens, seeming incredulous that you even asked.

"Why would anyone g!ve me a weapon? ! mean, there m!ght be a broom somewhere. Actually wa!t, ! th!nk that got broken last w!pe. !t wasn't even me th!s t!me," you add with a side smile.

He doesn't seem to know how to respond. Neither do you, so you do what you normally do when you don't know how to react.

You keep talking.

"! did troll karate for a l!ttle b!t when ! was f!ve, but !t was k!nda lame so ! stopped going. Does that uh,” you hazard, “w!ll that work for th!s?"

") no (." He narrows his eyes at you. ") plus, I know fish judo(."

Your jaw drops.

"What the fuck. F!sh judo !s real?"

") of course fish judo is reel (." He quickly spits, looking offended by your ignorance. ") do land dwellers just think that you can fight the same way underwater? ("

"! mean !'ve l!terally never thought about !t."

") i'm not surfrised ( ."

"Okay, but ! feel l!ke !f a land dweller !s !n a pos!t!on where they need to know f!sh judo, !t means they're going to lose at f!sh judo."

") i mean, i guess? (," he replies, baffled before quickly refocusing on you again. His sharp thing is pointed back at your throat as he slips back into his previous cool demeanor.

“) you do reelize the danger you’re in right? (”

Your eyes dart down to his weapon and then at him, now being the one confused.

“Um, yeah?”

Was the whole mood he had going on not an intentional thing on his part?

He stares at you. So you go on, listing things on your fingers as you go, trying not to focus on his questionable object with definite pointiness.

“So you got the whole class!c stalk and lurk th!ng so you could follow me somewhere ! would be alone where no one can hear me scream. !t’s pretty standard,” you emphasize.

You can’t read his expression.

“There was the whole slow dramat!c enter, nefar!ous d!alogue, and, uh," you glance down, "harpoon?”

“) harpoon (,” he repeats.

“That’s what ! thought !t was, but ! felt !t would be we!rd to ask.”

His mouth opens slightly and his fins flare out more, now openly seething.

“) do you know what i could do to you? ("

A lull drags on.

"Et!vor."

") what (."

"My name !s Et!vor." You continue, "! thought you were draw!ng out the you th!ng because !t's l!ke. We are a good b!t into th!s whole th!ng and !t's kinda awkward to ask for names now, so ! am just, you know, putt!ng !t out there."

He blinks. "I don't give a fuck about your name Etivor."

He still used it though.

Taking a very deep breath, he resumes. “) i am going to take immense pleasure in cutting your tongue out and slowly flaying you alive (”

He moves closer to you, slowly, predatory, circling you again. One of his icy hands brushes by your arm in a mockery of comfort as he continues to muse more to himself than you.

“) maybe I’ll slice off each of your joints, starting at the ends and slowly work my way to eventually gutting you. perhaps I’ll simply behead you. although, i think you’ve said enough to have earned far worse, don’t you think? (”

His face being this close to you is definitely starting to put you on edge more than what he is saying. But what’s really bothering you most of all is that one of those sounds a bit too familiar.

“Wa!t. That second on-”

“) you don’t get to fucking choose which one,” he hisses at you as his claws start to dig in to you.

“! wasn’t done. Damn.”

You’re honestly surprised he hasn’t just stabbed you from sheer frustration. It’s kinda funny. It would be way more funny if he wasn't going to cull you though, but you’ll take what you can get.

“!sn’t that second one from that one comedy with troll Tob!hn Bhelle?”

“) you’ve sean that? (” He raises his brows. “) no. i added a little twist with the gutting at the end instead of letting them bleed out (.” Almost hesitantly he asks, “) did you like it? because i thought they were trying too hard where they ha-.”

He catches himself and raises his weapon at you again, “) STOP. This is NOT what is taking place right now (.”

You narrow your eyes. He's the one who kept talking.

“Then !t !s from that mov!e. You can’t just say, no !t’s not and then be l!ke,” you motion with your hands, “but w!th a tw!st! You l!fted !t.”

He bemusedly stares at you.

“) are you purposefully trying to infuriate me? was your egg dropped? do you not understand what happens when you piss off royalty? (” He snidely adds, “) i am going to get so much satisfaction out of flaying you (.”

He is literally the one holding the weapon, and holding you hostage, and also did physically hold you a few times. What the fuck does he think you’re trying to get out of this?

“! have never purposefully done anyth!ng !n my ent!re l!fe dude. ! am not about to start mak!ng an effort just when !’m about to get culled,” you respond, surprisingly defensively.

Wait, this has gotten off of the fucking rails and you don’t know where you guys actually stand.

“You are going to cull me r!ght?”

“) well, uh. yeah (.” He’s tense and glances around the room, taken off guard by your question.

"Cool." You nod at him. Worth a try you guess.

His harpoon is less looking like a weapon to be used against you and more like a barrier to keep you away from him. Silence again draws on and he stares at you expectantly. You glance around. His frown gets deeper and he looks more frustrated as time goes on. You have no idea what he is waiting for.

You never thought being culled would be this fucking awkward. Guess the torture’s already started.

") aren't you going to plead for your life? (" he demands, bringing his harpoon closer as he does so.

You’ve never been great on the spot. You try to muster something decent up.

“Uh, don’t cull me?” You said it as lamely as you felt.

He looks at you blankly. “) are you getting off on this? (”

“Dude. No. Gross.” Your face twists. “!t’s just like. !’ve never pleaded for my l!fe before. !t !sn’t sh!t you really get to pract!ce and ! feel l!ke !t won’t actually matter since !’m getting culled anyways. So. Yeah.” You slowly nod to yourself before looking up at him.

He is still waiting. Goddamn it. You sigh.

“No. Please don’t cull me. !’ll do anyth!ng.”

While that covers all your bases, it came out a lot drier than you thought but you’re too over this shit to feel any kind of way about it.

"!s there any chance plead!ng would even work?"

His disappointment was broken by a sharp laugh, ") of course not (."

“Then what do you even want from me?” you ask, getting kinda exasperated at his apparent high standards and prereqs for the randos he culls. Like it is one thing to play some kind of sadistic game with your prey, that’s normal, whatever, but it is a whole other thing to get weird about them not being good at it.

"Why ask unless y-. Oh." Your face falls as you get bitch slapped with the realization of what is really happening here. "Oh fuck."

You step back.

Your fear has apparently slam dunked him right back in his comfort zone because his grin is back full throttle and wider and sharper than ever like he was making up for lost time. ") you finally understand the weight of the seatuation you're in? ("

He slinks towards you and you feel the edge of the blade graze your neck.

"Yep," avoid his gaze and swallow.

You were going to get culled in the weirdest way possible.

“) and what is that? (,” he asks lowly, getting right the fuck back into your personal space. His smile almost splits his face and you want to crawl out of your skin.

"Th!s !s l!ke. A th!ng. W!th you."

He lowers his harpoon again, looking completely done. “) what the fuck is THAT supposed to mean? (” You half expect him to throw it across the room or through your torso.

You can’t stop yourself from speaking now that you're actually nervous and stressed and he is yelling and also way too close to your person and his harpoon isn’t doing either of you any favors.

“You had the whole k!nda fl!rty touchy th!ng going on and then you got really p!ssy when ! d!dn’t f!ght back. And you also got super d!sappo!nted w!th my sh!tty plead!ng l!ke you were really look!ng forward to !t or someth!ng.”

“) i’m disappointed because this is the least satisfying cull of my life! (,” he hisses.

You visibly cringe at the word “satisfying” and take another step back from him. There is some fear there but mostly you’re just really fucking uncomfortable. Troll Jesus Christ this dude is into some shit and you are not playing into it.

He also takes a step back too, now into a defensive stance. ") what? it doesn't look like that! ("

You suck in air in through your teeth and are looking anywhere but at him as you reply, "!t k!nda looks l!ke that."

") oh my cod ("

He just slumps down, his harpoon clattering in front of him. His mouth is in a straight line and his head rests between his hands. You stand there, unsure for a moment, before slowly lowering yourself a decent distance away from him. You honestly thought that getting culled would be less uncomfortable than it was being here while he has whatever the fuck it is he has going on going on or at least uncomfortable in a different way.

You continue trying to avoid looking at him. It’s kinda expected that a highblood was going to cull you at some point. That was just how it tended to go for rusties, but you could not have guessed this, and now just kinda want to get this whole getting murdered thing over with.

You try to give him a moment, glancing around the room, mentally taking inventory of everything there twice. The awkward silence is weighty and the longer it stretches on, the worse you are feeling about this whole fucking ordeal.

“Would cull!ng me help you uh, not be l!ke th!s?”

He gives you a dirty look.

You sigh, "!t's not l!ke anyone gets to th!nk that for long, !f !t helps.”

“) if it helps? ( ” He spat each word, getting louder as he went on. He whipped his head at you, indignantly, “) this is your fault! ("

"What?"

") getting culled is so fucking basic. how did you fuck that up? ("

You stare at him, trying to figure out how the fuck to even respond.

Slowly, in what might be one of the last things you do in your existence, you serve this royal what you are assuming is the stalest tea of his life in the form of the lukewarm take, “you know, be!ng bad at dy!ng !s a good th!ng actually.”

These are real words. These are real words that you are saying to the guy who was leaning way too hard into the thirsty part of bloodthirsty.

You continue. "L!ke you don’t get to pract!ce th!s. ! mean, do ! look l!ke someone who has been culled before? Because ! haven’t. Have you?" You add.

He looks like he is about to have a conniption or the sea dweller equivalent. Can sea dwellers have conniptions? Because this guy is about to have a big one.

") you did not just seariously just ask me if i've ever been culled before. that is the dumbest question anyone has ever asked me! (," he practically shrieks.

"Well you're acting like ! should just know th!s sh!t. We have the exact same amount of exper!ence gett!ng culled!"

“) whale i’ve never encountered any TROLL who is so miserable that they just accept getting culled from the fucking get go (.”

“!’m not m!serable! !’m real!st!c! ! don’t have a weapon, ! can’t fight for sh!t, f!sh judo !s apparently fuck!ng real, and plead!ng does noth!ng. !’m gonna end up at the same place no matter what ! do so why drag !t out? L!ke, come on.”

You slump against the wall, exhausted from this whole interaction. “!t wasn’t great, but ! don’t see much of a po!nt !n gett!ng so worked up about sh!t ! can’t control. ! just wanted to go out !n a cool way s!nce noth!ng ever fuck!ng happens here. The reason ! was even back here !n the f!rst place was to see !f ! had an update on a stup!d hexagonal d!sk ! ordered three months ago. But that sh!t !s apparently !n the vo!d," you gripe.

You pull out your palm husk and check again. Jack shit. You groan.

You’re surprised to hear him chuckle.

“) sucks to be you (.”

“Yeah." You shake your head. "And then a few seconds after ! found out, some guy showed up to cull me.”

He actually laughs. This is so fucking ridiculous so maybe that’s why you are too.

“) it’s a lot more fun to be doing the culling (.” He eyes you again and you don’t want to crawl out of your flesh this time, and you feel like that’s a real development here. “) you seam like you’d lose a fight (.”

An accurate assessment.

“Yeah. Troll karate didn’t do sh!t for me.” A beat passes. “Drones actually burnt !t down l!ke two w!pes after ! qu!t.”

He snickers and a moment passes.

“) one month for a disk? that is fucking bullshit (.”

“Three.”

“) fuck (," he raises his brows. Moderate inconvenience seems to repulse him more than anything you've said tonight. ") that sucks, i get my shit next night with cullazon prime (.”

"N!ce. !'d probably try that if ! had more than twenty seven whole caegars."

Broke bitch disorder also seems to do it for him in the humor department and the two of you continue chilling in silence. Less uncomfortable this time. You almost feel bad for thinking he was a sadistic creep.

He breaks the silence. “) give me your palm husk (."

“What?”

“) i don’t repeat myself (," he replies tersely, holding his hand out to you.

What the hell.

You type your code in and pass it to him. He glances at the massive crack on the center of your screen with disgust. He looks at you and shakes his head before he starts typing.

He didn't ask, but still, you answer. “! cracked !t do!ng a k!ckfl!p on a doll!e.”

He doesn't look up. ") you can't do a kickflip on a dollie (."

"Not w!thout a cost."

He spares you a side glance. ") why the fuck would you even do that? ("

"Because !t !s bor!ng as sh!t out here and there !s much better to do !n the ma!lblock."

He hums noncommittally.

"Were you just spaced?"

") and what if I was?(," he asks, a touch defensive.

"Noth!ng. ! was just wonder!ng !f !t sucks th!s bad at your level too?"

") of course not (," he snaps. ") do you genuinely believe anyone could be doing worse than you? ("

"Well yeah." You tap your sign. "But not by much."

He huffs and rolls his eyes before he looks out for a moment.

") i'm abshellutely krilling it out here (,” he states resolutely before continuing, “) but taking orders is a reel pain (.”

He sullenly joins you in leaning back against the wall.

Damn, This might just be the first time he's ever had anyone above him. Well, above him and specifically giving him orders you mean, judging by the way he is basically pouting over it. Everyone loses agency when they ascend. Guess it just sucks more when you have more to lose, not that you’d really know.

"!t doesn’t get better, but you do get used to !t," you say, not looking at him.

He glances at you, frowning deeper before exhaling.

You keep not looking at him when you ask, "So. Are you go!ng to cull me?"

") no. there is no salvaging that. you completely ruined it (." He replies bitterly while returning your palm husk.

The cullazon app has been downloaded and opened to an account page. You raise an eyebrow at him.

He announces, “) okay etivor, i shared my cullazon prime with you. you’re still going to be a sorry excuse for a troll, but you might get enough out of it that culling you acshelly becomes entertaining (.”

This is a joke. This has to be a joke.

“Thanks, but there !s l!terally no way for me to pay you back for anyth!ng ! buy on th!s.”

“) do i look like i need your fucking charity? (” he sneers.

He is actually serious about this. He looks too pissed not to be.

“Nope, you’re way too bl!nged out for that,” you grin. This dude is wild. “What’s your number?”

He looks at you suspiciously.

“!s th!s really where you’re gonna draw the l!ne? You gave me access to your Cullazon, but won’t g!ve me your number? Ser!ously?”

He doesn’t ask this time. He just swipes it out of your hands.

“) i am ievahn mordax, probably the best thing that has and will ever grace your miserable fucking life and i will brutally cull you if you mention any of this ever happened to anyone (.”

He hands it back, but still holds onto it. “) i’ve made myself clear? (”

“Yeah,” you nod and he finally lets go. This is way better than a shipping notification.

Oh.

You check the time.

"Fuck!" You leap to your feet and he quickly grabs his harpoon.

") what? (" he shouts.

"! was supposed to be here for l!ke a m!nute to check on the d!sk." You look at your palm husk again. It has been way more than a minute and you have the feeling someone definitely noticed by now. You completely forgot about having some work work to do considering you thought you were going to die. "Sh!t." You look at him again. "Do you have anywhere to be?"

") what? (" He squints.

“! mean you just had some free t!me and you seem bored and apparently don’t believe ! can do a k!ckfl!p on a doll!e. ! have to defend my good name. You get !t.”

“) what good name? (” he snickers. “) and if i did, why the fuck would i want to spend anymore time with you? (”

“Because you can’t make fun of my Cullazon orders !f my boss culls me for tard!ness. You be!ng around means she can’t say sh!t.”

He seems to consider, “) a compelling argument. and i do get to watch you maim yourself in the dumbest way possible which is a definite bonus (.”

You grin as you start walking. “Or have your pan be blown when you see what trollk!nd can really do when there is l!terally noth!ng else to do. !’m push!ng l!m!ts here !evahn.”

“) you’re pushing your luck (.” He leans his harpoon against himself as he follows.

“Maybe.” Quickly, you face him and add. “But ser!ously, be cool. !f my boss f!nds out about any of th!s, she w!ll absolutely cull me.”

“) she can’t cull you (,” he huffs. “) i already called dibs on that (.”

You grin returns.

“Damn. !’ll let her know.”

#Homestuck #Hiveswap #Fantrolls #Ievahn Mordax #Etivor Petris #My writing #Do you ever just get someone thrown so off guard and uncomfortable that they don't cull you?#Ievahn has his whole villain persona up and Eti's generic lowblood one goes out the window when he feels there's not much to lose #It just goes so off the rails that there isn't really much of a social script to stick to or much familiar territory here #Basically an unstoppable force meets an extremely strange object #Anyways they chill out over time and form a weird friendship to moiraillegence because they're a similar kind of stupid #They just happen to be on opposite ends of the spectrum

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unweavinglies · 4 years

Text

Gonta Gokuhara Character Analysis: When a Genius is Treated like a Child

So a quick disclaimer: Yes, I am very aware that this is most likely not canon, or at least not what the writers intended on being canon, nor am I saying that this is 100% canon and should be considered as such. This is just a fan theory/analysis I came up with for my own enjoyment and wanted to share with others, as I like coming up with theories/analysis posts and reworking canons to make enhanced stories and character development in my perspective. I firmly believe that the idea of making theories isn’t supposed to be a shouting contest to see which opinion is the most loud and correct, but should be something to share with others and find acceptance and understanding in different interpretations, even if you don’t agree with them.

Well, this has been a long time coming, hasn’t it?

I’ve been talking about wanting to do this analysis for months now to various friends and acquaintances, but I’ve only had the motivation to do as such recently, after writing a short story that dived deeper into Gonta’s mindset over the Mercy Killing Plot he and Kokichi attempted to carry out. Regardless of that, however, Gonta has been one of my favorite characters for quite some time, and I really feel like his character arc and the unfortunate tragedy behind the unintentional mistreatment of Gonta via his classmates.

So without further adieu, let’s talk about that--about what happens when a genius is treated like a child.

Warning, this does discuss some rather unfortunate topics, such as ableism, depression/self loathing, and the concept of mercy killing. Viewer discretion is advised.

The first thing we need to elaborate on, is why I am calling Gonta a “genius.” Gonta has shown difficulty in understanding simple concepts, and struggles to follow along complicated plots, such as we see in his Salmon Mode Event where he mentions that he cannot follow the plot of high fantasy stories because they tend to be so complicated. He even refers to himself as not very smart, tragically enough.

However, not is all what it seems for Gonta, as his intellect is a matter of fact, and not just an analysis, and the game’s introduction of him opens up this fact to the player in a round about way that may or may not be so subtle.

Gonta admits here that he was a wild child, lost in the forest for ten years. While the logistics are... questionable, this is a work of fiction, thus I will suspend some disbelief. Gonta being lost in the forest for ten years means that he was probably about 5-8 years old when he was lost, depending on how old he is in the game.

Touching upon this briefly, studies of wild children, specifically referencing this case here, have an extremely hard time readjusting and learning to human language, customs, and interaction. The younger a child is upon becoming a wild child and the longer they are in the wild, the less likely they will be able to learn language and certain social behaviors and skills. While it is not impossible, the likelihood of Gonta being 15 or 16 in the game is very low, and even impossible once I elaborate, and we can safely assume that with the context of him being a wild child, he is probably at least 17 years old. So a safe assumption is that Gonta was lost in the forest when he was about 7.

(Note: I am very well aware of Gonta’s potential forest family not being wolves, and instead the reptites, but these creatures Gonta speaks of very well be his own imagination spiking from the isolation from humanity, or be something else entirely. Gonta makes several references to video game characters as well, claiming he met them in real life, so I consider it highly unlikely that “reptites” are an exception to this. Either way, it won’t matter if you believe otherwise, just that it may change certain aspects of what I’m about to say in regarding education and the sort.)

What’s the point of this elaboration? Well, quite a lot, once you remember that Gonta is the Ultimate Entomologist.

Firstly, there is the fact that Gonta is a high school student at all. Gonta was lost at a very young age--it would be impossible for him to be, since not only had he spent 10 years int he wild, but he also had to rejoin human society, relearn human language and customs, and then be put back into formal education. If Gonta is still a teenager and not over 21, then Gonta would have to cram in a decade’s worth of formal education into a few months, or a few years, at most.

This makes Gonta a literal prodigy.

Had Gonta not been isolated from humanity for a decade, Gonta would have been a child prodigy, a literal genius with an intellect that couldn’t be so easily matched. Having the capacity to learn advance mathematics, language (although in the English version, he is struggling with speak (speaking with the infamous “caveman” speech pattern) scientific methods, all of it within such a short amount of time proves that Gonta is, without a shred of doubt, a genius.

Even if you take the aforementioned reptites into account, it only makes Gonta’s accomplishments slightly less impressive, depending on your interpretation of what the reptites actually are. This is because Gonta still had to engage with formal education, and even in the best case scenario where the reptites were fully advanced beings with a civilization and education (which I quite doubt, if they were, then why not give Gonta back to the human race when he was still a child? Why not guide him back to his kind? Why keep him? Even if they were afraid of humanity, it would be far, far worse for the humans to find them while looking for their lost son... I digress.) Gonta still had to learn Japan’s education. Their history, their language, their social customs--and then, Gonta had to learn how to be an entomologist.

You need to go to college to be an entomologist.

According to this website here, the basic, bare bones higher education one needs in order to apply for certain positions related to entomology is a bachelor’s degree, with most positions and places requiring a doctoral decree. There are, of course, youth clubs for students under eighteen, but from my understanding, in order to be considered an entomologist, you need a college degree.

Gonta is a high school student.

For him to be considered an Ultimate Entomologist, Gonta would have to have taken college courses and gotten some kind of degree in order to be recognized as such. Thus, Gonta is still learning a higher education within a short period of time that is incredible for any human being his age, whether it be as drastic as him having no sort of education while living in the wild, or living with the reptites.

Either way, it is safe to say that Gonta is very intelligent, whether or not he is potentially a prodigy for it.

However, this has very unfortunate implications of the way Gonta is treated by his peers in the game.

Not only does Tsumugi here reenforce that idea in everyone else’s mind...

She blatantly tells Gonta that he was being manipulated and or “tricked” into abducting everyone...

When, in actuality, not only did Gonta know exactly what he was doing:

Kokichi even elaborated on his plans quite explicitly to Gonta:

And earlier on, the rest of the class had been treating him differently than they treat one another, sort of like he was a young child they needed to guide.

For example;

Kirumi assumes Gonta is not very aware that hitting someone with such an object is dangerous... despite him being a peer to his classmates and a young man.

And when Gonta has a pretty valid concern;

He is instructed against it and/or ignored on the subject:

Even Kaede slips up a little;

And during the investigation...

Himiko is 100% convinced here that Gonta is the culprit, to the point where she is trying to trick him with this kind of phrasing.

“Are you not, not the culprit?” equates to “Are you the culprit?”

“Are you not, not, not the culprit?” equates to... I believe it would be “Are you not the culprit?”

And that’s the thing:

Like how even I was confused and unsure about the triple ‘nots’ of Himiko’s statement, Gonta is too. Very reasonably so, actually--it’s extremely awkward phrasing purposefully meant to manipulate Gonta into saying he’s the culprit of Rantaro’s murder, and it takes Kaito and Himiko to realize that it was them causing the problem when Kaede called them out on such.

And again, after Gonta explains his actions during the murder, he gets very frustrated;

Already, we are seeing the effects piling up, leading to a frustrated, angry outburst.

And by far, one of the worst examples of this sort of unintentional ableism is this:

And Himiko even just... flat out does this:

By “dumbing down” the explanation of right and left, and not noticing that Gonta is left handed, she caused him to accidentally switch the wires on the headset, causing the memory error and making this entire trial all the more worse for him. By treating him like a child, like the theme of this trial, she only made things worse for him.

And that’s the problem.

Despite Gonta trying to tell everyone that he has no idea what they’re even talking about, everyone just assumes he “can’t understand the Virtual World” and brushes him off. Again and again, Gonta was treated like a child and brushed off, and this time, it came with a heavy consequence.

These instances of “guiding” Gonta are subtle, and on their own, aren’t much to address as anything more than suggestions or words of caution. However, there is a very clear theme of “we have to tell Gonta what he should do” that starts in Chapter 1 and continues on until the end of Chapter 4. They’re unintentionally telling him that Gonta needs to be guided and needs to be reminded of pretty obvious and basic knowledge, and worst of all, that he can’t be trusted to think for himself and thus needs someone to tell him how to think and feel.

If it was one or two times, that would be a whole other story. However, these instances pile up, higher and higher throughout the entire span of Gonta’s time in the Killing Game, and the majority of the class ends up dismissing or ignoring Gonta’s concerns.

This sparks a growing desire to prove himself, to prove that he can be useful during the trials. To prove to his peers that he can do something on his own, think for himself, decide for himself, except even until his final moments;

Even after Gonta’s Alter Ego telling himself and everyone explicitly that he was not tricked into killing Miu...

... No one listens.

Instead of listening to Gonta, over and over, they continue to brush him off and treat him like a child they had to care for, and yet no one stopped to consider that Gonta is a young man. An intelligent, young man who’s socially awkward, but never the less, a peer to them. Yet they didn’t treat him like a peer, and in the end...

Gonta died thinking he was an idiot. A child. A burden who made everything worse for everyone else. They all considered him as a child, and that’s how they saw him even in his final moments.

Gonta throughout the game constantly tries to prove himself, but no one is paying attention. When he learned of the Secret of the Outside World, Gonta didn’t even have anyone else to turn to for help or comfort. His feelings of uselessness compounded by the desperation to prove himself as an equal to everyone else drove him to agreeing to mercy kill the rest of the group... because how else was a stupid, burden of a child supposed to help anyone as he was? Even though he knew killing was wrong, with Kokichi’s plan, he was able to do something “for everyone,” and even that compounded into the ultimate failure.

It’s an unfortunate reality, because had the class treated him as a fellow classmate and peer, this might have been preventable.

Either way, what do you think? Was discussing the unintentional class ableism in depth towards Gonta a bit... too much? I do believe this is the first time I’ve ever done such a post, so you’ll have to forgive me. It’s also been quite a while since I made a proper analysis, hasn’t it? I must be a little rusty...

I will say--please, do not use this post for any discourse regarding the ableism and what have you if you choose to agree with this interpretation. I will not stand for it.

Either way, I hope you at least found this post to be food for thought. See you all next time.

#gonta gokuhara #danganronpa v3 #danganronpa #analysis #theory #character analysis #ableism mention tw #self hatred mention tw

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hetaestoniahq · 3 years

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Please elaborate on the teacher thing, I'm curious now

|| OK SO LIKE

I just got this new teacher alright? New teacher to give Estonian and literature classes. First off got a male teacher for the first time that isn't for a subject like PE or woodcraft wow -

And like, he has a whole resume of just all these known schools he's worked for (like the French school in Tallinn for example), he's a Tartu Uni graduate and even stated how he studied together with the poet we ended up later talking about in our class because her poems were in our literature books. ALSO he's a writer who has taken trips to places in Estonia to gather folktales and such and write books about it, he's even published some and has stated is currently working on more! He really seems to care about Estonian folklore and mythology from the looks of things.

The reason he left the previous big school he worked for was because he wanted to go somewhere smaller and more chill, and from this Facebook Estonian teacher group thing he saw the message about our school being in desperate need for an Estonian and literature teacher and our school is small and next to rich forest life so it's just a really nice place.

He is like, very active with his job in a sense, he often adds to the topic we're learning that the book may not mention and makes sure we are truly aware and educated. He doesn't want us to stress about grades and encourages being active in class which can be what can earn you grades - also from time to time he makes us all get up and stretch our legs a bit to make sure we stay healthy in the long run lol.

He doesn't entirely go by the book and chooses his own path on how to teach the subject, sometimes we watch a video on a website and then analyze, sometimes we make a quick poster presentation about something (although I don't like those very much, we've done like.. 3 at this point and I suck at making them look good by design HELP 😭)

Although it's probably because that's just the topics in class in general, he clearly is proud to be an Estonian and wants us to be proud too, wanting us to be informed about our identity, culture and what makes us unique haha.

Bro he made us learn Livonian for a good moment, use our brains to translate a text and then showed the video by ILoveLanguages! to have us make our own dialogue in Livonian with a partner, it was really fun and I actually ain't ever really bored in class. He is kind and encourages to not hesitate to answer even if you're wrong - because being wrong helps you learn from your mistake.

Also omg when did we ever last time sing in Estonian class - don't know but we did now! We listened to and sung Meil on elu keset metsa which we then analyzed the lyrics of. I already had known this song before haH.

The way he dresses is just - lmao, he dresses so formal like he is about to go meet the president or something - also his clothes is completely black and white + a blue bowtie omg he really just has the blue-black-white set huh 😭 dresses kinda like an old man despite not looking that old tbh (looks like he's in his 30's)

Also

When talking about the value of learning the language of the country you're going to possibly live in - he just casually stated how he learned Lithuanian in a few months when living there as an example how it's very possible to pick up languages.

I'm sorry what

Hold on hold on - you lived in Lithuania for a period of time? And you learned the language within a FEW MONTHS?

SIR- what other languages do you know omg?!?

That feels like such an Eduard moment, leave it for Eduard to learn a language that fast because he can.

Overall just the methods of teaching, the clear care and such for the job and the other things he's doing on the side - is just absolute Estonia energy. Probably the best teacher I've ever seen tbh

#content

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faitsansorganes · 2 years

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okay hold on. was duolingo teaching me the obsolete declsension of this word... 😭

#might keep using the obsolete declension just because it's kind of funny #why DOES it decline like that though.#it's not an adjective...#allanpost #at some point i want to elaborate on actual *methods* of language-learning

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shuuenmei · 4 years

Text

resolution

BEFORE WE BEGIN:

Admittedly, I didn’t want to reveal this at first but after some thought and discussions, I decided to publish this out. This contains a big part of what I plan for Yuu (Rei) and how “black or white” will run in the future, and because it’s potentially very long, I’m placing this under the cut.

The sound of the clock ticking is the only thing keeping her company as she searched through the library.

Not this book, not that book, not this one either.

She doesn’t know how much time has passed, but she doesn’t care.

She had to keep looking.

She refused to stay helpless and vulnerable like how she nearly died from those vine thorns-

She find herself idly touching onto her neck now covered in the bandages to hide the tiny scars from those thorns.

There’s so many things happening in such a quick span of time she finds herself unable to properly react and adjust how to adapt and survive.

“You were on a near dangerous spot, pup.” The words of her homeroom teacher rang when he was called by the headmaster to check on how severe her injuries were shortly after they brought Riddle back to his senses.

Of how she was lucky to have escaped strangulation when the vines enclosed on her neck.

Of how she nearly died from blood loss due to the thorns piercing her skin.

And the situation now truly sunk on her that she could have truly died not long after arriving in this world.

A deep, deep part of her mind screamed, feeling that for the first time, she wanted to live and survive.

To struggle for survival than to succumb to the temptation of sleeping forever, never waking up.

I don’t want to die I don’t want to die-

“That’s quite a heavy stack of books, little one.”

She couldn’t help but jump at the voice calling her from behind.

Her head turned to see who it was that spoke.

“You surprise me Lilia-san.”

The older student gave out a light hearted chuckle in response.

“It’s good to see you.” He greeted before he wondered. “Now what brings you here to the library?”

“I wanted to look up something.” She answered.

She made up her mind after her homeroom teacher’s diagnosis of her state.

She honestly still feel sluggish from the injuries she had and Professor Crewel issued a permit to Coach Vargas to excuse her (And by extension, Grim) from physical education class until she is fully recovered.

With much time to spare after the rather disastrous duel yesterday, she decided to head over to the library.

There’s something that she wished to know about and if she can’t find what she’s looking for... she’ll just have to make do.

“That’s quite a lot of books you were holding.” He pointed towards the stack of books she was holding.

“It’s fine Lilia-san, I can handle this.” She shook her head as the two started to walk their way towards the table where she placed her bag and some of the books she had borrowed earlier.

“I heard you and your friends called for a duel with Riddle yesterday.” Lilia started once he was seated.

“Ah, so everyone heard about it?”

“It’s quite impossible to not know it, little one.” The old fae chuckled.

She numbly nodded, her hand idly reaching out to her neck as if there is lingering pain sticking to her neck like a phantom.

The fae’s magenta eyes looked at the covers of the books she had brought, now placed on the table.

“Hmm, interesting choices you have there.” With an ever present smile, he used magic to make the heavy books float to his way.

“The Origin of Magic, History of Magic Tools... they all seem to cater towards a specific time frame, to an even older time...” The fae soon implored as he placed the books down. “What has brought you to wish to learn such a subject?”

She pondered for a moment.

Should she speak about it?

She may have only known about Lilia for a few days, a week, even. But she felt that she can truly trust this older student and ask for his aid.

The Headmaster doesn’t seem too keen in watching over her own well being and had a very hands-off approach.

He’s not the kind of person she’d trust her worries of.

In contrast, Lilia, in his own way, had been helping her from the start.

The Headmaster may have tried, but seeing first hand at how he seems to be giving a hands-off approach, how she was told that the Headmaster wouldn’t have rushed her to the infirmary and call for Professor Crewel immediately until the fact that she is nearly dying from blood loss truly sunk in, with the rest of Heartslabyul having to urge him out to get her the aid she needed.

(There’s something about the Headmaster that reminded her of an ill memory of the past, but she has yet to recall the full context of it all.)

Lilia, from the way he speaks and how he treated her, makes her think of the senior as an almost father like figure.

Doting yet keeping a firm watch of those he consider his children.

So she took her chance and spoke quietly.

Of the events that led to Riddle Rosehearts overblotting.

________________________________________________________________

“...I see. That explains the bandages covering your neck.”

She nodded.

“...But pray tell, what convinced you to search for a specific time frame involving magic in the days of old?”

She didn’t say a word to Lilia, deep in thought, trying to think of an answer.

It was a spur of a moment and she couldn’t help but be curious.

Curious to know if there is a point of time where people are not naturally born with magic.

Maybe those of old do magic differently than those who lived in the present.

She also vaguely remember of a story she once read of how people of the past request the world to lend their energy to use magic.

If such method also exist here, does she have a chance to survive?

So she won’t be so weak, helpless and vulnerable like today-

Still, there’s a chance that she won’t be able to find what she searched for.

But nevertheless, she doesn’t want to give up so easily and find a way so she can survive in this unfamiliar world.

She needs to see the end of the tale that she is entangled in no matter what.

She found her answer.

“...I just don’t want to stay weak and helpless as I am right now.”

She spoke and continued.

“After I was told of how I nearly died... I felt myself getting reminded of how easily vulnerable I was as a magicless person.”

She clenched her right hand to a fist, her nails dug onto her skin deep enough to hurt.

“I’m an easy target to the whole school as the lone magicless person. Regardless of how I’m actually capable of being able to fight back, all my skills... they had limits. I can’t always depend on my new friends all the time, and eventually, I’ll run out of options and will get badly hurt like how I did today.”

She had decided, her resolution to her decision firm.

“So I plan to look for an information that can potentially help me survive against other students who would try and target me for as long as I’m here. I refuse to be an easy target just because I’m the lone anomaly of this school.”

That’s all that there is to it.

She wanted to survive longer in a world where she is placed in between many prideful magicians who could potentially end her life with their magic if they so wish it.

Maybe she won’t be a burden to her new friends that way.

She felt Lilia’s silent gaze at her prickling, almost like he is scrutinizing her.

“Do you have an empty paper available to use?” Lilia questioned after a moment of silence.

“I can tear one page off, but what do you plan to use with it?”

Lilia smiled. “You’ll see, little one.”

Despite the fae’s cryptic reply, she obliged and brought out one of her spare notebooks, ripping one of the papers out and handed it to him.

“May I borrow a writing pen as well?”

She wondered where this is going but gave the fae one of her blue pens in the pencil case.

Lilia draw a large set of letters enough to fill a whole paper that is set in a landscape like orientation.

When he is finished, he threw the paper above him and spoke out what sounded like a magical chant in a language she couldn’t recognize.

In response to the fae’s chant, the letters written in the paper glowed, almost like magic, and then the paper shifted it’s shape, shredded into small parts and then rained down on the table, small cuts formed at the empty space of wooden table besides them, as if the paper has turned into small shards of blades.

“Oh, I still had it in me to use them.” Lilia mused at the sight as the papers soon disintegrated into dust, residual magical energy following it. “Well, I shall repair it soon enough lest that young librarian aim for my neck.”

As Lilia reached for his magical pen and used his magic to fix the table, she felt herself feeling awed at the sight of the paper turned to small sharp shards.

“That was just a normal pen right...” She utter out.

She had to wonder how it was possible.

All that the fae did was just drawing rune like letters onto the paper...

“Indeed it is.” The fae answered her.

“I simply use the paper as a medium and the letters as a gateway for magical energy to enter the medium and give form to what the medium will function as.”

The fae’s serene smile remained ever-plastered on his lips. “Simply put, what I did is request for the world to lend me their magic through a medium.”

“...So you used the world’s magical energy instead of using the one that most magicians are born with?”

So such method existed here...

“Bingo, little one.” The fae gave out a good natured chuckle. Elaborating. “Before wands and magical pens came to be, people of days old once used to ask the world to do magic for them. However, this method had since been considered obsolete as society advances due to how many requirements it takes to actually use the world’s magical energy.”

He put the magical pen back into the pockets of his vest. Concluding. “For you, someone who is inherently magicless, this should be the perfect method for you to defend yourself should any of the other students dare to attack you with magic.”

Her eyes lit up. Feeling a glimmer of hope at the senior’s words.

“Are you sure you don’t mind teaching me?”

“Why of course not.” Lilia smiled at her. Reasoning.

“You are but a young lady thrown into an unfamiliar place with little to no contact of anyone you are familiar with, and no way of being able to return to whence you came from. You also happen to be placed in a school of prideful, magicians who can get easily provoked with little prompting, and can potentially harm and give you fatal injuries should they wish to do so. Anyone with a child of their own would worry for you.”

His smile then curved to a frown. “Though I supposed Crowley doesn’t seem to be that keen in regards to your safety following today’s events.”

After what happened yesterday, and of today, she felt what little trust she had on the Headmaster start to crumble.

She can’t completely trust the man anymore after today.

Not when he’s all too content to leave her to fend for her own self outside of providing her the basic necessities and the like.

(Deep down, that unpleasant feeling, almost like seething anger, of a memory she has yet to recall of people acting like the headmaster echoed in her mind)

She soon felt a hand on her head.

She was brought out of her thoughts as she realized that Lilia is patting her.

The gesture felt familiar to her.

Like a parent’s firm hand, guiding and assuring the child.

“The weekend is soon and it’s best that you recover first.” Lilia let his hand go as he advised her.

“I shall be free to teach you how to utilize the world’s magic to aid you for Monday, Wednesday and Thursday after school in the library. Is that an alright time for you?”

“...Yeah, that’s a good time.”

She felt herself smiling wide, almost genuine, grateful for the senior’s help.

“...Really, thank you for this. Lilia-san.”

The Diasomnia vice dorm head smiled back. “It is of no trouble, young one.”

Yep, this is what I planned for Yuu (Rei) in light of Heartslabyul and onwards. She doesn’t stay magicless for long.

This was inspired by the formalcraft concept from the Fate series, where you make the world do the magic for you. Think of it as not using your own MP in video games and use a specialized item that does the magic in RPG games.

Yuu (Rei) is still magicless inherently. So the method only makes her a magician by a technicality. Rather than making her an actual pure magician overnight.

As for why I went this route for Yuu (Rei):

1: The SI in Yuu (Rei) only know Twisted Wonderland based on Pre-release trailers and as such, has zero expectations of what the game would actually be. She doesn’t know that the game was meant to be a Joseimuke genre game with RPG, action and rhythm game mechanics mixed in, and only know based on what she could remember of the original stories the Disney movies are based on and the Disney movies that she remember watching, outside of what she remembers of the Pre-Release trailers. As far as Yuu (Rei)’s impression of the game’s story goes, she thought that she is in an FGO-esque Shounen genre story. So it’s either she stays magicless and die quickly, or survive and get stronger.

2: While yes, it’s established that it’s against the rules to use magic on others for personal fights, the main story proves that a good portion of the NRC student body WILL use magic on others when prompted. Unlike Ace, Deuce and Grim, the canon MC is completely defenseless. Despite Yuu (Rei)’s friendship with the ghosts and her own physical skills in Kendou, every single one of them has limits. Lando isn’t always guaranteed to tag along with her 24/7, someone will use magic to destroy the makeshift sword she had first before beating her down and giving her fatal injuries via magic. Additionally, Ace, Deuce and Grim won’t always be with her, so she’ll eventually run out of options to defend herself. At the end of the day, the real world doesn’t give a damn about what narrative importance you have in the grand scheme of the plot you’re involved in. Yuu (Rei) might be lucky this time, but the same can’t be said for the future.

...Welp.

Anyway, long story short, this is where Yuu (Rei) fully diverges from the canon MC.

I’m also going to start talking, writing and/or drawing stuff for things I plan for “black or white” in the future from here on out so do look out for those!

#Shuu's fics #black or white (fanfic)#Twisted Wonderland #Man it feels refreshing to finally get this out #It's nerveracking but exhilirating...#Of things to come

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 4 years

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House Edge

Title: House Edge (COMPLETE)

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Summary: You're on a Girls Trip to Vegas and meet a certain hunter at the buffet.

Word Count: 9,100

Warnings: fluff, flirting, gambling, strip club, private dance, mild language

A/N: My first reader insert try. I'm thinking this is sometime around Season 7. Maybe the annual pilgrimage to Vegas when Becky whammies Sam. The majority of events that unfold will probably be right before Dean gets the text from Sam to meet up with him. Thunder From Down Under probably wasn't at Vegas yet - who knows - artistic license and all that. Also, I don't have an extensive knowledge of gambling, so most of what you'll read is from what I've Googled. If something is terribly wrong, feel free to let me know. But, I tried to stay in the vague zone.

Your head pounded and sloshed from the one too many Malibu Bay Breezes you’d ingested during the “Thunder From Down Under” show that ended minutes ago. Three of the nine others in your group were still hooting and hollering at the oil slicked row of hyper muscled, surreal Australian blokes on stage. In addition to the baby oil, the men were bathing in the estrogen overload and accolades washing over them. Wads of cash, stuffed into the glittery floss substituting as underwear, stuck to aforementioned oil slicked skin.

It had been fun, there was no doubt. But the lights and the music and the rabid female reactions were hitting you all at once. Kasey pulled you by the elbow and screamed in your ear. “Wanna get a photo with Faux Fabio?” She pointed to the long-haired blond Adonis with a shoulder span the width of a football field.

You frowned. “How much is that going to run me?”

“Shannon!” Kasey called across the table, still too close to your delicate ear drums. “How much to rub up to one of ‘em?” You were glad you weren’t sharing a room with Kasey. She’d be hurling in the toilet for most of the night after the number of Tequila shots she’d downed. So far. And the night was relatively early. Especially for Vegas.

“Thirty bucks, I think.” Shannon shrugged, paying more attention to her phone.

You shook your head. Your single status and mid-level office job already had you on a strict budget for this girls’ getaway weekend. “I’m good. Besides, the more up close I get, the more disappointed I think I’ll be.” Shannon nodded with a smirk in agreement, still staring at her screen.

Kasey huffed. “Well, Linda, Stacey and Mira are already in line. I’m going to see if I can cut!” She dashed off without another word.

Women skirted and pushed past your standing frame. You tried to become one with the table in front of you. Anything to avoid being pulled into the stampede or thrown to the ground, and mercilessly stomped on by stilettos and sneakers.

Even Shannon looked a bit miffed at the onslaught as you stared at her in a half-cry for help. “My God.” She rolled her eyes.

“Where did Cathy and that bunch disappear to?” You yelled over.

“Who knows?”

You sighed. “What was next on the itinerary?”

“I think any plans are out the window. Every woman for herself.” Shannon tapped on her phone. “My little one’s running a fever. I’m going to get back to the hotel room so I can check in at home.”

You nodded. The only thing waiting for you at home was your tabby, Tyrion. Your Grandma-type neighbor down the hall, Gladys, had offered to cat sit. So there was no one, human or feline, actually waiting for you back in your one-bedroom apartment in Albuquerque.

Holding your breath, you pushed yourself into the crowd, moving against the current towards the exit instead of the line for photos. The quadruple threat of your old college pals was screaming in line about which stripper had the tightest ass.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to have a good time or ogle good looking men. Far from it. But gambling was more your scene anyway. You had a pretty good teacher with your last boyfriend when it came to Blackjack. You breathed a sigh of relief when you shimmied out of the entertainment venue and stepped foot onto the busy carpet of the Excaliber’s casino floor. Your phone read 9:10 pm. There was still plenty of time to lose your shirt.

You’d popped a few aspirin and downed a whole bottle of water in the sitting area of the women’s bathroom, hoping to fend off a killer hangover in the morning. A quick reapplication of lipstick and you were ready to scope out a good table.

After about an hour, you’d split, hit, and stood with the best of them at one table. There’d been one experienced player, Ron, that looked like he’d planted roots in the seat next to you. He got to talking, as the old timers usually did, and you’d learned he was born and raised in Reno. You had a nice little chat with Ron and Stevie, the female dealer, and fended off a few men who sat on the other side and hit on you more than the cards they were dealt.

“That is not a bad takeaway, there.” Ron nodded when you decided to cash out.

“Thanks. Pleasure, Ron. You take care.”

“You too, pretty lady. Remember what I said about Roulette. You should try it once.”

The betting chips clinked in your plastic souvenir cup. “I might.”

He tipped you a two-finger salute. You wandered, your stomach empty. The buffet to end all buffets calling your name.

“Fuck it.” After turning most of your chips into cash at the counter, leaving one $50 chip in your jean pocket, you headed for the International food amalgamation that guaranteed intense heartburn and bloating in the morning.

Fluorescent lights and sneeze shields presented you with choices beyond comprehension. You grabbed a large plate and planned your method of attack. One of your pink manicured nails tapped on the bottom of the china. “Ease into it.” You decided to go with the Mediterranean spread first. Before you knew it, there were helpings of General Tso’s chicken, pizza, potstickers, mashed potatoes and French fries, along with some bratwurst and sauerkraut. The grumbling from your tummy may have been a warning when you sat down at the table for two, alone, on the cafeteria style floor. The waitress gave you a tired smile when she dropped off your iced tea.

You shoveled some sauce drenched chicken into your mouth and took in the scene. People floating around, getting up for seconds or thirds, talking about how much money they lost or won, what shows they should try to see while they were in Vegas. You chewed and stared at the formidable back of a man at the table directly ahead of you. He’d give Faux Fabio a run for his money. He had fluffy, long brown hair. His animated storytelling hands got your attention. You heard a deep chuckle and slurp from his table sharer, out of your view because of the mountain man. “Alright,” the man stated, “Going to give the Poker Room another go. Coming?”

“Nah.” The very deep voice replied. “I’ve still gotta hit the dessert line.”

You watched the man rise from his seat, floored by how tall he was. And, when he turned, you saw how very cute he was. You’d have paid thirty bucks to snap a picture with this man. He gave you a sweet little smile when he walked past. You couldn’t help but look over your shoulder and take in the rest of him as he left. Smacking your lips and shaking your head, you turned back to your plate to resume the dent made in the food. Your eyes darted up to look at the man left alone at the table. You were pretty sure your mouth gaped open at the sight of him, staring at you. He wiped at his face with a napkin.

Oh my. If the man that left appeared sweet and cute with just a smile, this one was a boatload of sexy and trouble with that smirk. You could tell by the way he took his time inventorying you with care, chewing slow the whole time. One side of his lip curled up in another grin variation. He nodded at you in greeting from across both tables. You smiled back and then pretended to stare at your food. He tossed the napkin on his plate and stood up. You peeked up and noted he was layered in a couple shirts and broken in jeans, like his partner. Not quite as tall; but, still very tall in your estimation. You wondered what he’d look like in a g-string and bathed in baby oil.

And, oh boy. He was walking straight over to your table. Yep, he was very tall, by the way you had to tilt your head backwards when he strolled up. He smacked his lips, disrupting the beaming smile before he spoke. “That was my little brother you were checking out. Want me to give you his number?”

You had to lean back in your seat a bit more. “Um. No, that’s okay.” Geez, he was pretty. Holy Facial Symmetry Batman!

He nodded, then smiled again. “Want to give me your number?”

You had to chuckle at the bravado. “Does that work for you a lot?”

He shrugged. “Works enough.”

“I don’t doubt it.” You decided to play along. “How long are you in Vegas?”

His brows rose up. “Just tonight.”

You tisked. “Not enough of a time commitment for what I’d want to do.”

He chuckled this time. “Is that so?”

You nodded.

He pointed to your plate. “Can I get you anything? I’m heading back up.”

“I think this should tide me over for a while. But, thanks.”

His jaw clenched. “Can I join you when I get back?”

What the hell. “Sure.” You smiled.

“Man, you almost kept up with me.” Dean sighed and rubbed his tummy after his third dessert plate.

“Hardly.” You were only working on your second serving of what might be considered actual food. A half hour had passed, you sitting with this veritable stranger. Talking about nothing of much importance, but having a grand time flirting, enjoying his rough and rugged demeanor and the boyish charm. One of your palms hit the tabletop. “I’m tapping out.”

“Not much for sweets?” He leaned in and studied you. Stunning green eyes twinkled with mischief. He batted the kind of lashes you could only get with a thick coating of mascara. “Or are you already sweet enough?”

“Is this like an Ocean’s Eleven thing?”

His smile dropped, waiting for you to elaborate. “Come again?”

“Am I like some unwitting part of a huge con job going down in the money room right now?”

He chuckled. “I’m not following, sweetheart.”

“Why are you sitting here with me?”

“Are you kidding?” He leaned way back in his chair, teetering on the back two legs. An arm swept out from his side in your direction. “Have you seen yourself?”

You pursed your lips. “Please.”

He raised a hand. “I’m not going to try and convince you. But I may take advantage. Commandeer more of your time, since you think you don’t deserve mine.”

“So you are a con man.”

He shook his head. That smile could only belong to the most skilled grifter. “If I was a good con man, I’d have more than a hundred dollars to my name after half a day in this ‘It’s a Small World’ casino.”

“It is a bit Disneyfied, isn’t it?”

A shrug. “Well, it’s cleaner than the ones near the motel Sam and I are staying at, so that’s a plus.”

The plate of food in front of you looked less and less appetizing as the seconds passed. Pushing it away, you really wanted to dig into the dessert that was Dean. But you’d only had two one-night stands in your life. Neither one was spectacular and left you full of regret that you’d had them to begin with. But this man. Oh, you had a feeling this man would love you and leave you with a million other regrets and create an addiction you’d never be able to fulfill again. What was that saying? Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. This man was surging all kinds of wants in your head. If you got a taste, you knew you were done for.

His voice rumbled like a storm cloud and pulled you out of your thoughts. “What’s up for the rest of your night?”

You grinned, wanting to tease out this time with him for as long as possible. Skirt on the edge of a pond of possibilities and drown in those sometimes sea green colored eyes. “I told you there’s not enough time if you’re leaving tonight.”

“Pretty good at completing a task quickly and efficiently.” He licked his lips. “I mean, taking my time, yeah, that’s always ideal. But, if we’re pressed for time, sweetheart, I won’t disappoint.” His brow twitched up.

You sighed, sounding a little too loud and desperate for your liking. “Does a guarantee come with that claim?”

“How much of a gambler are you?” He deflected the question with another.

“I enjoy it.”

“I might be worth taking a chance on, then.”

“Hm. I met a nice old man while playing black jack tonight. He talked about odds and luck and the house edge and why he loves cards, black jack especially. It works his brain and he can play for hours and not lose his shirt.”

Dean smiled. “So, what kind of hand am I? Soft or hard?”

You grinned at the innuendo, trying to keep your train of thought on its track. You leaned across the table. He mirrored your action, meeting you halfway. His hands clasped together on the surface, forearms firm and locked. The closest stare you’d shared.

Both thumbs lifted up in his grip and he nodded a fraction with his chin. “Well, what’s the verdict?” You could smell apples, cinnamon, and vanilla on his breath; courtesy of his indulgence in pie ala mode and his slightly parted mouth. He came into full focus now. Freckles dotting the tops of his cheeks and sprinkled across his nose. Lips that were perfect, puffy and pronounced. Sharp edges and soft curves. He watched you inventory him as he did the same, eyes scanning, crinkles emerging around them when he smiled and you thought he found something he especially liked about your visage. The gamblers and diners dropped away from your periphery. The piped in music and frantic sounds locked away in a vacuum, muffled and mumbling like the adults in those Peanuts cartoons you loved to watch when you were little.

“Neither. You are in no way a safe bet. You’ve got a major house edge.” Your answer came out lower than intended. The slight mix of surprise and disappointment on his face at the answer made you clear your throat. You continued. “So, why gamble in the first place? Cause there’s always the slightest chance you’ll get lucky and hit it big. Flip a coin and see where it’ll land.”

The smile returned and he shot stick-straight in his seat. “I’ve got plenty of coins.” He began to rifle through a jacket pocket. “Two out of three?” You held back a giggle at his eagerness.

“I’ve got one right here.” You dug the chip out of your jean pocket. The plastic disc twirled between your fingers. “Wanna see where it lands?”

His eyes widened. “Big spender. What’re we betting?”

It was your turn to lean back. “Depends. How lucky do you feel?”

He chuckled. “Stakes? And, then I’ll let you know.”

You swallowed. “Well, Ron, the old man, was explaining that Roulette has the best House Edge for the casino. Over five percent in their favor that a player loses. Think you can be my lucky charm and push those odds in my favor?”

He nodded. “What we talkin’? Street or split bet?”

The man knew his games. You smiled. “Straight up.”

His head tilted back. “Whoa. That’s a helluva lot of luck.” A finger pointed back and forth between the both of you. “I help you hit the jackpot and…”

You grinned. “You hit the jackpot. Call the shots for the rest of the night. We go wherever. Do whatever.”

His lips curled into an “O” as he tried to hold back his own grin. He nodded in thought. “If you lose?”

You shrugged. “Buy me a drink at the nearest bar, share some more stories, then we shake hands and say it was nice meeting the other.”

He raised his hands. “Well, I will take those odds. Let’s go find us a wheel.” His tall frame bolted out of his seat, beaming a smile at you.

Your heart sped up. There was no way he was winning this bet. But he seemed up for spending a little more time with you regardless. And that said something. You reached into your purse to drop a tip on the table but he’d already beat you to it.

“Lead the way, sweetheart.”

You nodded and wandered from the restaurant to the massive casino floor. He towered next to your side, the elbow of his jacket brushing against the sheer material covering your biceps. He smelled amazing. When you stopped in the middle of the floor to get your bearings and looked up to ask what direction you both should head, you found him gazing at your cleavage in the strappy surplice top. The look on his face shot straight to your core.

His eyebrows shot up at the realization he’d been caught ogling. “What’s wrong?”

A flush of warmth flooded your face. “We’re using your luck here. You pick the table.”

“Lot of pressure.” He mumbled.

“Lot at stake.” You countered.

“Alright.” He nodded to the right. You followed him, weaving through the crowd, now having the chance to notice his bowlegs and how very wide his shoulder span was. He was wearing entirely too many layers to your liking. But, you got to bathe in the wake of his scent and imagine how very pert that ass was under that denim. He halted without warning and you put the brakes on your stride, inches before careening into his back. His fingers pointed three tables over. “That one.” He looked over his right shoulder and grinned, finding your body and face quite close. “Step right up.”

You took the lead again and inhaled and exhaled deep, taking the one empty seat at the Roulette table. The wheel was currently in motion, the ball spinning, holding the breath of every gambler with a stake on the result. You heard the clicking of the ball along the slots as the rotation slowed, deciding on its destination.

Dean slid his standing frame along your right. He was warm, solid. He tipped down to whisper in your ear. “Sure you wanna go for a straight bet? Making me think you don’t even want a little fun time with me. We could lower the stakes. I’d be more than happy to let you call the shots for the rest of the night.” The offer dripped out of his voice with a deep intensity, low and tempting.

You would not meet his eyes again, already picturing the sexy smirk on his face. He would distract you, make you cave. “Nope.” You responded. “All in. Go big or go home.” You pulled out the chip from your pocket as the winning number was called. A mixture of whoops and grumbles emerged from the dealer’s announcement. Chips were swept over and around the table.

He sighed and rose up, waiting for the table to be cleared and for the dealer to tell everyone to place their bets. “Okay. What number?”

Your mind reeled with the possibilities. “When’s your birthday?” You asked.

“Seriously?” He chuckled.

“Yep.” Your eyes wandered over the red and black numbers on the green felt board. The all clear was called and chips scattered in place with both hurried and tentative fingers of various betters.

“January 24th.”

“So, we could go with 1 or 24. Red or black?”

Your body startled with the pressure of his hand at the small of your back. “Black.”

“24 it is then.” You gulped and placed the chip with care over the number. It rested there alone, a single play amid a multitude of others.

His fingers tapped against your skin in anticipation. “Well, it was fun while it lasted.” He joked. “Maybe as a parting gift you’ll give me your number.”

You smiled, focusing on the slight swirl of his fingers now, imagining what they could do to other parts of your body.

“No more bets.” The dealer called and waved a hand over the table. The wheel spun in one direction. The ball clicked and whirled in its lane in the other.

You thought about what Blackjack Ron had said earlier. Roulette, straight bet odds were 35 to 1. You could view that bet as a drowning man’s last ditch effort to keep their head above the water’s surface. Hold out for that raft to save them, give them a second chance to get things right. Or, you could view it as something as simple as hope. Hope that great things sometimes happen when you take a risk. You should try it once. That’s what Ron had said.

You closed your eyes as the wheel slowed and the ball eased in its race for the finish line. You replayed that little mantra, the pep talk you’d give yourself every once in a while in your bathroom mirror. Failure is always a possibility when you try. But so is success.

The dealer announced the winning number.

Dean’s fingers froze. “Holy fucking shit!” He bellowed.

Your eyes jolted open. The dealer placed a tiny marker on “24 Black.” Your mouth dropped open and watched the chips stack up in front of you.

“Holy fucking shit!” Dean repeated. “How much is that?”

You blinked, then repeated the calculation out loud you had figured out when you threw out the dare. “One thousand, seven hundred, and fifty dollars.”

“Wow!” You looked up and assessed his face. He was floored and amazed, like a kid that was just told he had free reign in a toy store. “That’s… that’s some luck.”

“All you.” You grinned.

The compliment took him aback. There was the slightest hint of blush on those cheeks.

You motioned to the winnings. “Okay, grab some and let’s cash out. Half of this is yours.”

Even more amazement. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“I’m feeling generous.” You packed the chips into your purse. He stuffed some into his pockets. When you rose up, a jolt of adrenaline pushed you into a new territory of action. One filled with courage. You took your time and slithered close to his standing frame. Let parts of your body sweep along his. His brows rose higher than you’d seen so far that night. “Looks like you’re calling the shots now, Dean. We go wherever. Do whatever.”

A delicious lick of his lips followed your statement. His eyes dazzled with thoughts. “Let’s get out of here.”

You’d walked with him along the strip for what felt like forever. He’d gotten you a cup of frozen yogurt for part of the adventure. The warm air and pulse of Vegas fed your lingering alcohol buzz. Dean was just as intoxicating. He talked in cryptic paragraphs about him and his brother’s nomadic lifestyle. You laughed at his dirty jokes, both basking in the artificial glow surrounding you and the high of winning. But you, most importantly, let go of the decision making.

A turn off the busy, fluorescent lit thoroughfare landed you in a much more adult amusement area of the city. And, you had an inkling, heading in the direction of Dean’s motel. You’d finished the last bit of your treat and tossed the empty cup and spoon into a nearby trash can when he stopped to read the flashing sign of a venue.

His rapt stare forced you to look up and see what he was focusing on. The amber neon depicted the figure of a voluptuous female with flowing hair, one leg wrapped around a bright white pole. You read the name of the establishment out loud. “Sapphire Gentlemen’s Club?”

He turned to you and grinned. “Been in one of these before?”

You felt your brow scrunch together. “Well, no.”

He walked over to the glass door covered in dark film. “Well, let’s go, then.”

“Really? This is what you want to do?”

“At this moment? Yes.” He opened the door and ushered you in. “My lady.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “Are you trying to test my comfort level or something?” The question breezed by his frame as you passed.

“Something like that.” He smiled.

You really didn’t know what to expect when you walked in. A bouncer looking dude waved you in after a quick survey. Dean’s hand was on your back again, as it had been off and on throughout the evening, leading you towards the dim section of tables and booths. It was packed with, from what you could see, a majority of male patrons with the occasional token female. The tables wrapped around a few circular stages with catwalks emerging from blue velvet curtains. A dozen or so topless females danced for the pleasure of their audiences. The bass of the music rumbled through your skin.

“Here.” Dean leaned in, pushing you to a free high top right by one of the stages. Enough light spilled onto the area that you spotted the kid in a toy store look on his face again when he took his seat.

You sat across, tearing your gaze from him to the ladies wrapped around poles, bronzed and oiled similar to the male counterparts you’d been hooting at earlier that evening.

“Thought you could see how the other half lives, after that Australian review.” Dean brought up the exact same thought, only he shivered in distaste. A wave of his hand requested the attention of one of the waitresses who thankfully, for you, wore a bit more than the dancers.

“Hello, lovelies. I’m Cherie. What can I get you?” She purred over to Dean and gave you a sweet smile, dropping napkins in front of your spots. Her bare glittery shoulders and cocoa skin made you crave chocolate for a second.

Dean’s lips quirked up in a smile. You realized he’d been giving your reaction more attention than the female with big onyx eyes and raven, wavy hair. “I’ll have a bourbon. Top Shelf. Neat. What are you having, sweetheart?”

You shrugged, continuing the little game you’d started since he won the bet.

He nodded. “Same for this pretty little lady.” The waitress nodded, about to walk off, when Dean asked, “Oh, what’s it cost for a private show in the back?”

The waitress raised a pencil lined eyebrow. “Depends on who you want the show with.”

“Are you available?” Dean grinned.

She giggled. “I might be.”

“Well, if you are, let me know what it’d be for the both of us?”

“Will do, sweetie.” Cherie bounced off with a pronounced sway of her ample hips.

Your mouth popped open. “What?”

“Whatever I want.” He reminded you with a lick of his lips. He leaned his forearms on the table. “You ever, ah…”

An awkward giggle erupted from your throat. “No.”

He shrugged and smiled. “Thought about it?”

“Maybe.”

That made Dean’s grin grow wider. “Well, it’s only a dance. You technically aren’t supposed to touch the ladies. Sometimes, though, you get lucky. And, the way my luck is going tonight… got to give it a shot.” His fingers brushed over the top of your hand. “Get something etched in my memory for repeat viewings later.”

The touch of his fingers, light and gentle, ticklish and thrilling, hit an itch you couldn’t quite scratch. You emitted something between a laugh and a sigh. “You’re going to blow all your winnings tonight on booze and boobs.”

“Worth it. I’m getting to spend it with a beautiful partner in crime.”

You sat with him and watched the show. A country tune blasted through the sound system. The ladies all sashayed back to the curtains, flinging them back with a dramatic flair. They disappeared only to be replaced by cowboy hat and boot wearing dancers. Daisy dukes rode so high up that half of their ass cheeks bulged out. Holsters, hung loose from their waists, held fake pistols that, when pulled out for use, were done so with the most phallic inducing reminders. And all had the perkiest, perfect breasts you’d ever seen.

His fingers tangled into yours about midway through the performance. “Thank God I’m a country boy.” He tipped his head about to the twang. “So, Albuquerque, huh?”

You attempted to track the conversation and not the feel of his warm skin tingling yours. The pads of his fingers were rough and worn, gritty but not harsh. You imagined what kind of work he did to get them that way. “Yeah. Moved there after college. Got a job at a big research company. Glorified office assistant, so just the mundane business stuff that helps keep everyone employed on the books, bills paid.”

“Research?” His smile softened, listening to you.

“Sustainable energy, nuclear weapons.”

His bottom lip jutted out as he nodded. “Like it?”

“More days than not.” Your eyes widened as one of the dancers provocatively licked the barrel of her toy gun. You couldn’t help but laugh in embarrassment. “Geez, I’ve never done that with a firearm.”

Dean chuckled. “What have you done with a firearm?”

“I’ve got a license to carry. My dad taught me how to shoot when I was around thirteen. He was a big time game hunter. Back in Colorado.” You didn’t bother to go into what happened to your parents. You wanted to keep the tone of the night light and fun.

“What do you carry?” Genuine interest spread over his face now.

“Walther PPQ. But I left it back home.” You smiled, realizing he was not put off and probably carried as well. “Are you packing?”

“Oh, I’m packing,” He grinned, “but my gun’s back at the motel. Not a good idea to mix Vegas nightlife and bullets, I’ve learned.” That sounded like a perfect lead-in for a story. But he only added. “M1911.”

You nodded then asked, “Country boy, huh?”

“Yep, Kansas.”

“We could have hit Stoney’s then.”

“You would have tried to get me to dance.” He nodded to the stage. “More fun to watch.”

Cherie returned, interrupting the flow of conversation with two tumblers of bourbon. After placing the glasses on the table and eyeing the way Dean gripped your hand, she leaned in close to his ear and whispered. You struggled to make it out, giving up when it proved pointless. His lids lifted a fraction. “Well, that sounds positively delightful, Cherie.” He added with a sexy swagger. “Think you can get yourself one of those cowgirl outfits?”

She nodded. “See what I can do. Jimmy’ll come by for you two in about a half hour then.” Another nearby table called her away.

Dean grabbed his glass and raised it for a toast. “To Vegas.”

You shook your head and clinked your glass with his, mumbling. “To Vegas.”

The sparkling beaded fringe curtaining the doorway was a nice touch. You pushed through the strands and took in where you’d be with Dean for the next twenty minutes, along with Cherie, who was on her way. It was enough privacy for an intimate dance. Safe enough, you imagined, that if one of the women had to call for an assist from a handsy client, someone could be there in a flash without impediment. Burly Jimmy, about a foot taller than Dean, seemed to be the bouncer/bodyguard for the ladies and waited outside in the hallway.

“Really playing up the Sapphire theme, huh?” You asked Dean for his thoughts on the decor. There were two blue velvet, plush armchairs in opposite corners of the tiny eight by eight space. Two of the walls were floor to ceiling glass and a tinted overhead light washed everything in shades of midnight blue.

“Fancy.” He teased. “One of the deluxe rooms.”

The two bourbons you had milked at the table for the last half hour had sizzled your senses with a warm euphoria. Almost like you were watching yourself in some sort of out of body experience. Had it really only been a few hours since you’d seen your girlfriends? You glanced at your watch and confirmed in the spin of your head it was a little after midnight. Your brain and body were wired and alert due to the proximity of this man pushing all your buttons tonight. It was raw, racy, a revelation in facets of sexiness you’d never had the honor of being in the presence of. Until tonight.

He’d teased with playful touches; flirted with that outlaw mouth; melted you with heated stares; worn you down with roguish charm; and hinted at some heavy shit that made you wonder how broken he might be under all that attractive armor. The alcohol had let his guard down a few times.

“Hey.” Dean snapped his fingers and brought you back. “You still with me, beautiful? I think we need to cut you off.”

You clicked your tongue and shot him with your finger gun. “Might be right, partner.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Think so.” He rubbed his hands together and spotted a touchscreen in the wall. “Huh, even get to pick the music. Real fancy.” He pointed to one of the chairs. “Get comfy.” He tapped some buttons. You slid into the cushion, trying not to imagine the amount of bodily fluids embedded in the fabric. It did smell nice and clean, almost antiseptic, so that settled one of your racing thoughts. Your stare lingered over at Dean, a pensive look on his face as he decided on the tracks. It had to be illegal for someone to be that handsome without even trying. “Damn, it’s hot in here.” He pulled off his jacket and one layer of flannel, draping them over the back of the empty chair. His simple black t-shirt strained over his shoulders, biceps, chest. The alcohol had to be part of the reason he looked so perfect. No way, you kept thinking, no one’s that perfect.

The beads parted and Cherie strolled into the room. She had certainly done what she could to honor Dean’s request. She wore the same white vinyl hot pants and matching color stripper pumps that comprised her waitress attire. But she’d gone full on country bumpkin with a plaid flannel tied in a knot under her push up bra, and a cowboy hat.

“Did you pick your tunes, Cowboy?” She flirted at Dean.

“Yep.” The wide, cheesy grin spread over his face.

“Have a seat, time’s a wastin’.” She was working the southern accent, too. Dean hopped onto the other seat cushion and wiggled his ass into position. He also wiggled his eyebrows like a cartoon villain at you. You giggled.

Cherie tapped the screen. You were unsurprised by the country music that filled the room at a respectable volume. “Jimmy explain all the rules?” She asked and began to gyrate her hips to the song.

You nodded and replied, your eyes bouncing from Cherie to Dean, “You get to touch us, we don’t touch you. Stay in our seats. If we aren’t sure if we can, ask first.”

Cherie twirled and stopped to smile down at you. “I bet you were top of your class, hun.”

Your cheeks heated up at the flirting. This woman was obviously younger than you by at least a decade and was calling you hun. Dean’s jaw clenched at your reaction.

“So, what brings the two of you to Vegas?” Cherie turned around, giving you a full face of her curvy hips and tiny waist. The white pants almost glowed in the light and you could hear the slight squeak of material. Her moves were smooth, fluid, second nature.

Dean was getting a full face of the cleavage peeking out of her shirt as she bent down to give him a nice view. “Romantic getaway for my girl, here.” His eyes drifted over to you, past Cherie’s elbow, with a smirk.

Oh, this is how we’re playing it now, you thought. You had to admit the idea of you being his girl was absolute heaven.

“Aw, how sweet. How long you two been together?” She rose up, her hands gripping the back of her neck, elbows jutting out like wings. She twirled to look at you. She backed into Dean’s lap and began to circle and skirt her ass along his thighs. Cherie blocked his beautiful face with pink flannel. The only Dean reaction visible were his fingers latching onto the armrests like a vice.

You stifled a giggle. “Five years.” You threw out the first number you could think of.

“A lot of man to be working with for five years.” She smiled.

You couldn’t argue with that.

“Alright if I put my hands on him, darlin’?”

You heard Dean moan. How could you deny him? And, how fun that she was asking you for permission and not bothering with his approval. “Of course.” You swallowed at the intimate turn things were taking.

She lifted up, turned again. Her hands landed on Dean’s knees. “Let’s let your pretty lady see how much you’re enjoying this.” She cooed and spun him in the - surprise - rotating chair. You got an eyeful at this angle of that chiseled face and the wide eyes from his own surprise at the movement. He glanced over at you, turning serious in a second. It was like someone had turned the temperature on to sauna level in the room.

Cherie’s actions focused Dean’s attention back to her. Her fingers and long nails drifted and scraped along the surface of his hands, forearms, biceps. Her palms came to rest on his shoulders. She climbed on top with grace, wedging her knees into the cushion by his hips, clamping his bowlegs shut with the force of her muscular calves. Her heels poked out from the chair like weapons. That ass settled on his knees. Her cleavage inched closer to his face as he settled and reclined into the headrest.

“How does he feel?” You realized you had asked the question out loud.

Dean turned to you, languid and lush, blissed out and smiling in a lustful stupor.

“Warm. Strong. All sorts of good.” She smiled at you. “Lucky lady.”

If only, you thought.

Dean licked his lips at you, delved his gaze into Cherie’s cleavage, then met the dancer’s stare. “If you think I feel good, you should give my girl a test drive.” He unclenched his grip on the armrest for a few seconds, maybe trying to get some circulation back in his fingers. “In fact, I’d love it if you’d tell me how good my baby feels.”

Holy shit. Your panties dampened at his confession.

Cherie grinned. “Well, that’s up to your baby. Woman always gets the final say.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Dean chuckled. “I’ve gotta run everything by her, or else I’d get spanked. Can I tell you a secret, Cherie?” Dean husked out the question. Cherie nodded in interest, grinding on him now. Dean cocked a brow at the action. “Sometimes I get in trouble on purpose, just so she can spank me.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that; the thrill and imagery of Dean naked, leaned over your lap with a bright red ass after some serious punishment from your hand.

“Sounds like you’re a handful.” Cherie snuggled down deeper, and dry humped him. “Feel like a nice handful, too.” She was humming along to the country tune. Just another day at the office for Cherie.

It felt all sorts of wrong and right at the same time, watching this lap dance. This teasing, edging. Who the hell has the House Edge in this scenario?

Dean’s hands clenched tighter around the velvet. “Don’t wanna come in my pants, Sweet Cherie. Isn’t that one of the rules?” He panted.

She laughed. “Oh, I’d break a couple for you two.” She slowed the torture and peeled off him with a groan that almost matched Dean’s. “We going for that test drive, baby?” Her hungry eyes scanned your seated frame.

“Um…” You began. Dean’s breathing regulated and he circled the seat back to face you. He grinned at you, peeking over the curve of Cherie’s hips, ready for the show.

“It’s okay. Anyplace you don’t want me touching, just streetlight. Only if you want to indulge your man.” She raised a brow. “But you might like it, too.”

“Oh, God, I hope so.” Dean mumbled.

Cherie did the same with your chair as she had with Dean’s. You tilted, looking at yourself beyond Dean in the mirror. How very deer in the headlights you appeared. Cherie was a veritable tigress, running the entire show.

She leaned down, inches from your face. Her fingers wiggled and she cupped your jaw. “I won’t bite.” Her sweet breath laced with peppermint washed over you. “So warm. Don’t be nervous.” Her soft voice lulled you into a safe space. “Your big strong man over there wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Would you, Cowboy?”

“Absolutely, fucking not.” Dean’s voice shot straight to your core again. You caught him licking his lips. He nodded, entranced at the vision of Cherie guiding her hand down the slope of your neck, then cupping the curve of one breast. Your breath hitched as she squeezed and her long nails dipped into the cleavage. “How’s she feel?” Another lick.

“Hm, so soft.” An eyebrow arched when she skirted over your covered nipple. “And excited. Still green, sweetie?” You nodded. Cherie tipped off the cowboy hat, sliding it over the crown of your head.

Dean rumbled out a low moan. You thought you heard him curse under his breath and whisper something close to “Ride ‘em, cowgirl.”

The arousal created by this beautiful woman was dizzying and the heat from Dean’s stare was making it hard to breathe. Sweat broke out on your forehead. Your stomach churned. “Oh.” Something else was threatening to escape as a sour bile hit the base of your throat. “Oh, no.” You mumbled. “Red, red. I need to get to a bathroom.”

Cherie hopped off and grabbed you by the wrist. “Jimmy! Need a trash can, stat.”

Dean jumped up from his seat. You spotted alarm on his face and got a quick glimpse of a decent bulge in his jeans before you groaned again at the somersaults your insides were doing. A hand clamped over your mouth as you forced down the gag and swallowed. It wasn’t going to be long before the entire floor would be covered with a Vegas buffet.

The saving grace that was Jimmy parted the curtains and slid a small desk trash can over in your general direction. Dean fell to his knees and held it in front of you. Cherie tossed off the cowboy hat you were wearing and held your hair back.

A deep inhale of the artificial lemon smell covering the trash can liner was what finally had you retching.

You emerged from the women’s bathroom fifteen minutes later after the whole fiasco had commenced. Cherie had been nice enough to bring you a disposable toothbrush and some toothpaste from backstage. You’d cleaned yourself up as best you could. But you were exhausted, humiliated, and planned to call yourself a cab. You were certain Dean had called it a night, leaving your sorry ass to figure things out.

How surprised, then, your face must have looked to see him leaning against the wall, Cherie’s cowboy hat twirling in his hands. He was back in his flannel and jacket, staring out onto the stage. The hint of movement by your slow trudges catching his attention, he turned and gave you a soft smile. “Hey there. How’re you doing?”

You shrugged. “I’m so sorry.” Your scratchy voice skipped over the apology.

He walked over to you. “I pushed my luck… and yours… a bit too far. I’m sorry.” He grinned and placed the hat on your head. “Cherie said you could have it. A parting gift for the both of us.”

A smile broke out on your face.

“You look really cute, Cowgirl.”

“You stayed?” You questioned.

Dean’s face contorted in confusion. “Not like I was going to just skip out on you over some upchuck. Trust me, beautiful, I’ve seen way worse.” He flicked the hat so it rose up an inch higher on your head. “So, calling us a cab or walking you back to your hotel so you can sleep this off? You are going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.”

You tummy seesawed at the thought of a lot of walking right then. “Cab.”

He nodded and headed for the exit. “Let’s go flag one down.”

“But…”

Dean stopped, wavering in his stride and waited.

“I don’t want to say goodnight yet.”

He smiled, then sighed. “Well, I got a text about an hour ago that little brother is going off on a granola munching hike in the desert by himself.” He scratched the back of his head. “So, if you want to hang out in my seedy motel room for a couple hours, it’s free.”

You grinned, queasy but happy.

He’d found a country station on the motel’s radio alarm clock when you’d arrived earlier and forced you to down a bottle of water and pop a couple aspirin. The both of you were now on your third round of War. The conversation had gotten deeper as the battle continued. But there were still the light, fun and flirty moments that made spending this time with him feel even more special.

You sat cross legged on the blanket Dean had pulled out of his duffel to spare your ass from sitting on the dingy motel room carpet. He sat across from you, back against the foot of his bed, leaning an elbow on one propped up knee, the other leg splayed out on the blanket. You didn’t think his bowlegs could manage a cross legged position and grinned to yourself at the thought.

It was 2:00 am. He showed no signs of fading, but you were struggling. Dean kept glancing at his phone but never faltered to toss down his cards in time with yours.

“Hopefully he’s okay.” You offered. The tinge of pain crept in. You knew you had to say goodbye and call it a night. It was obvious he was worried. His brother had not returned his texts and was still roaming around, somewhere. “I should go. It’s getting really late and you look ready to form a search party.” You tossed your hand of playing cards onto the blanket and attempted a slow rise to your feet. You placed a hand on the cowboy hat to keep it from falling off your head. At least, for now, your stomach had settled. The pounding in your head had lessened.

“I’m surprised your gal pals haven’t been ringing you non-stop.” Dean’s head tilted up and stared.

“I’m the last thing they’re thinking of tonight.” You hadn’t given them much thought either since the first time you’d looked at Dean hours ago. God, it felt like a lifetime ago at this point.

“You should stay a little longer and at least see who wins. We’re all tied up.”

“We’ll just have to call it a draw.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He hopped up much quicker than you.

“Where’d I put my bag?” Your eyes found it on the little table by the kitchenette as soon as you’d asked the question. You hobbled over, letting the blood flow into your legs proper again.

As you rummaged through the contents, you heard the volume of the radio go up.

You turned and saw Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, tapping his thighs.

You giggled. “You like this song?”

“Ah, it’s pop-country. But ladies like it, right?”

You shrugged and dropped into the chair beside the table. “Where I’m from, ladies get weak in the knees for Luke.”

Dean grinned that grin you’d seen countless times that night and wished you could see for every night after. He stood up and swaggered over with purpose, in only that black t-shirt, jeans and sock clad feet. He mouthed the words to the song on his approach. Your eyes were locked on those luscious lips and how well he knew the lyrics.

Gonna stomp my boots in the Georgia mud ***

Gonna watch you make me fall in love

Dean pulled the hat off your head and slid it in the perfect sweet spot on his head. The slight tilt was sexy as hell.

Shake it for the birds, shake it for the bees

Shake it for the catfish swimmin' down deep in the creek

For the crickets and the critters and the squirrels

Shake it to the moon, shake it for me girl

Aw, country girl, shake it for me

He teased and smiled, sticking his fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and swirling his hips. You giggled at his awkward and heartfelt attempt at this show and the blush creeping over the apples of his cheeks.

You rose up and joined him, wanting to relieve him from the embarrassment. And, hell, you finally wanted to dance with him. You sidled up into his space, slotted one leg between his bow legs and circled your hips in time to his. That rhythm being something he easily adjusted to and was happy to continue. You looked up into those green eyes, wrapped your hands around his neck and felt his warm, safe hands glide up and down your back. The lyrics came to you easily and you lip synced along with him. It was corny, cheesy, unexpected, and sexy as hell.

Pony-tail and a pretty smile

Rope me in from a country mile

So come on over here and get in my arms

Spin me around this big ole barn

Tangle me up like grandma's yarn

Yeah, yeah, yeah

The brim of his cowboy hat bopped your nose during a particularly forceful pretend belting of words by Dean. “Sorry.” He spoke aloud and chuckled.

“It’s okay.” You whispered, out of breath from everything he was doing to you. “I’m so glad I took a chance on you, Dean.”

That one statement pulled you both out of the playful and flirty exploration of each other and the boundaries you’d tested. His focus on your face turned serious. And, even though the uptempo song stomped on in the background, his motions halted. His eyes drank you in, every inch of your face. His fingers danced along your jaw, curled around your neck, angling you up to him. To finally kiss you through the rest of Luke Bryan’s crooning.

Now dance, like a dandelion

In the wind on the hill underneath the pines

Yeah, move like the river flows

Feel the kick drum down deep in your toes

All I wanna do is get to holdin' you

And get to knowin' you

And get to showin' you

And get to lovin' you

'Fore the night is through

Baby, you know what to do

You’d died and gone to heaven; were positive of that fact. No man had ever had lips so soft, a mouth so determined, and knew exactly what to do with the precise amount of pressure and tongue.

As Bryan faded out, you heard the chirping of a phone. Dean broke the kiss and leaned his forehead into yours. You felt the brim of his hat on the top of your head. “Sweetheart…” The moan was a mixture of want and something else.

You sighed and knew. “Your brother.” You motioned over to the bed where his phone was. “You should go.”

He leaned down and kissed you again, placed the cowboy hat back on your head and sprinted to the phone. You did the same, found the contact of a Vegas cab company you’d put in at the start of your trip and dialed. You spoke to the weary dispatcher and repeated the name of the motel, watching Dean reply back to the text as he sat on the bed and slipped into his shoes.

“Not too far. Should only be about five minutes.” You nodded. “You can go. I’ll wait outside.”

He rubbed his thighs. “No way. You’ll wait in here with me.”

“Dean, I…”

He cut you off. “You surprised the hell out of me tonight, beautiful. You were up for everything I threw at ya.” He smiled. A genuine, heart tugging smile.

“The night could have taken a much different turn if I could have held my liquor better.”

He shrugged. “But it was still one helluva night. And, I’m glad you took the chance on me, too.” He offered his phone. “Put your number in.” You smiled and did as asked, then handed it back. He shot you a text. “There. Now, you have mine.” He pulled a business card out of his wallet. “And, here. Don’t ask questions, but if for some reason that phone stops working... call this number and say you need to get in touch with Dean Winchester.”

You read the card. “FBI Director, Mike Kayser?”

Dean raised both eyebrows.

“Okay.” You slipped the card and phone in your purse. Headlights flooded through the motel curtains. “Well, that’s my ride, I think.”

Dean stood up and opened the door, walking out into the early morning with you. The yellow cab idled in the parking lot. He waved at the driver, then turned you in his arms and stared at you hard. “You send me a text when you get into your room.”

You chuckled. “You’ll be roaming the desert like Jim Morrison by then.”

“Please.” That soft smile again.

“Okay.”

He grabbed your face with two warm palms, angled you in just the right way so he could dip down and kiss you under your cowboy hat, soft and slow. He whispered in your ear. “I wish I could be your safe bet.”

You gave him one more peck, then walked to the cab. When you opened the back door, you turned and called out. “What would be the fun in that? Flip a coin and see where it lands every once in a while, right?”

He gave you a two finger salute and smiled that Dean Winchester grin. As the driver nodded at your destination and turned out of the lot, you watched him, standing, waiting for you to disappear from view. You held onto that grin. Closed your eyes. Committed it to memory. And hoped you’d see it again.

THE END

***Luke Bryan - Country Girl (Shake It For Me)

MASTERLIST

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fluff #spnfanficpond #dean x reader

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