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brainmaniaman · 4 years ago

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WE'LL TALK ABOUT IT LATER (Bertolt Hoover/Reader)

TITLE: WE'LL TALK ABOUT IT LATER PAIRING: bertolt hoover/reader, light choking(?) TAGS: semi-public sex, female-bodied reader TRIGGER WARNINGS?: kind of mean and unhealthy y/n interactions (very light) w baby bertolt but on god it's part of the plot, very slight dubcon? idk if it can be interpreted that way but it's tagged for safety AU: idk modern au b/c i fuck hard with those DECSRIPTION: yes i believe in bottom bertolt supremacy but one of my friends gave me this idea like okay hear me out, y/n has been straight up blue-balling her boyfriend for quite some time, and it's getting frustrating, so he swallows his nervousness and, per suggestion of his good friend eren, decides to make even in the middle of the movie theater. by the way i am TIRED of everyone having eren hating on bertolt they would be GOOD FRIENDS in a modern au. WORD COUNT: 2,233

"Hey, Eren . . . I have a question" Bertolt looked like he was going to crawl out of his skin as he sat on the opposite end of the couch in the basement, his hands resting on his knees as he fiddled with his fingers.

"Shoot" Said Eren Yeager, pulling his hair back into a messy bun - his fingers expertly tying a small scrunchie into his hair. Jean had teased him about using scrunchies relentlessly - but Eren would die on the hill that using them was better for your hair; the last thing he wanted was for his hair to fall out.

"I, uh . . ." Bertolt's face was turning red, his nose scrunched as he stared at his knees, trying to figure out how to breach the subject. "So you know that y/n and I have been . . . you know, dating for quite some time . . ."

"Yeah . . .?" Eren drawled lazily, leaning his elbows on his knees as he played lazily on his phone, his thumbs typing away. For the most part, he seemed uninterested. "Where are you going with this?"

"Well, you know with dating comes . . . s-" Bertolt paused, now pressing his knuckles together tightly.

"Sex?"

"Yeah, that"

"Well, we've been having it a lot lately . . ."

"Are you just sitting me down to brag about your sex life . . .?" Eren inquired, raising an eyebrow - not that Eren was one to judge as he was often guilty of spilling his guts about his sexual escapades. But with Bertolt? . . . Well, it felt weird and out of place.

"N-No!" was Bertolt's immediately response. "It's not that. It's just lately, well . . ."

"Lately what? Spit it out. I don't have all day." Eren responded, looking down at his phone that was currently blowing up. He had a date coming up soon and he was relatively excited for it.

"Well . . . usually, y/n is, you know, on top . . . you know, more assertive -"

"I mean you didn't have to tell me that" Eren interrupted, "We all knew that -"

"- anyways" Bertolt's face was turning hot at the comment. He didn't have the time to really address Eren's comment. "I like it! I do! But lately, I've been thinking well, I'd like to take control . . ."

"Oh?" Eren's ears perked up and he was wriggling his way closer to Bertolt. "So you took control and they didn't like it, and now you're asking me for help?"

"No . . . not exactly."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, I asked them if they'd be willing to you know . . . switch it up and -"

"Jesus fuck, Bert. You can't just ask you have to just do -"

". . . and well, they laughed in my face, pat my cheek, and said no. I asked Reiner what to do and Reiner said to tell them I wasn't going to have sex until they gave me what I want. I thought it was a bad idea, but I went with it anyways and . . . well, they told me that two could play at that game and it's been . . ."

"How long has it been?"

"Uh . . ." Bertolt squirmed a bit in his place, "Two weeks. . ."

"Two weeks!" Eren exclaimed incredulously, in sheer disbelief. "That's insane! And you've just let them get away with it for this long?"

"Uh . . ." Bertolt scratched the back of his neck nervously, "What do you mean by get away with it? I mean . . . yeah . . .? What else am I supposed to do?"

"Well firstly," Eren said, picking up his phone, "Never ask Reiner for advice again. That was your first mistake. Secondly, let me cancel my date tonight -"

"Oh, no - you don't have to do that!" Bertolt responded quickly, "Just a few pieces of advice would be sufficient . . ."

Eren tapped away tirelessly at his phone before turning it face-down on the coffee table, now turning towards Bertolt - a rather determined look in his eyes.

"No -" Eren held up a hand, "I want to help. Besides, I'm going to tell you exactly what to do and we're going to run over it a few times, then - I'm going to make sure you don't pussy out. Knowing you, this is going to take a while. Consider it my early birthday present to you"

"My birthday was a month ago . . ."

"That's not the point. Anyways," Eren placed a very serious hand on his friend's shoulder, pulling Bertolt closer, "You're going to want to take her to the most popular movie in theaters on a Saturday night -"

"Where are you going with this?"

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Seeing how packed the movie theater was, Bertolt was definitely thinking about backing out of it. While his partner was in the restroom, presumably washing their hands, he fiddled with his phone in his hands.

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To: Eren Yeager

From: Bertolt Hoover

- I don't know if this is a good idea . . .

Read: 9:45 pm

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From: Eren Yeager

To: Bertolt Hoover

- If you don't go through with this I'll never forgive you. I canceled a date to prep you on this. Don't make me have canceled my date in vain. I dedicated my heart to this cause.

Read: 9:47 pm

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To: Eren Yeager

From: Bertolt Hoover

- I guess . . .

Read: 9:48 pm

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To: Bertolt Hoover

From: Eren Yeager

- I'm putting my upmost faith and trust in you. Don't fuck this up.

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"Here -" Bertolt extended his arms out to you as you came back from the restroom and concessions, a bag of candy in your hands, "I brought this for you."

His smile was innocent enough and the gesture was kind.

"Thank you." Was your tart response as you leaned over to pat the side of his face and press a kiss to his forehead before sitting down. "So have you changed your mind about what you asked for?" You inquired, taking his hand in your own as you opened your bag of candy and set it between the two of you as you linked your fingers in his own. Perhaps you shouldn't have brought up that topic of conversation here, on a movie date, but you couldn't help it - the way his big eyes looked up at you when he handed you the blanket drove you crazy. It made you want to lower yourself on him right then and there. It was just a damn shame that he had to be so persistent. The first week was easy enough but as you rounded out the second week of this no-sex stalemate . . . well, it was getting more difficult.

He openly frowned.

"Is that a no?"

"Do we have to have this conversation here? Let's just try to have a good night . . ."

You felt a bit guilty but were never the type who was keen on saying sorry.

"We'll talk about it later, then . . ." You responded dryly, clearly unhappy with the response.

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To be honest, when Bertolt had suggested watching one of the like, seven hundred Quentin Tarentino movies produced, you were slightly surprised. He was never one for big action movies - especially loud ones; loud noises were often too intense for him. As well as that, neither of you were into mindless action movies. However, this - whatever the hell this was - was actually quite enjoyable.

Halfway through the movie, you found yourself sucked into a particularly loud action scene.

You hadn't really noticed, or particularly cared, when Bertolt had slipped his hand underneath the blanket - resting his palm on your knee. It was kind of comforting.

You hadn't really noticed when he slipped his hand from the top of your knee to the inside of your knee, either.

Or when he inched it up halfway up your thigh.

However, you had noticed when his hand was slipping up your skirt, resting on the upmost part of your thigh where the muscle met the pelvis. For a second, you wondered if he was really trying to pull moves right here, in a movie theater, underneath this blanket - but when you looked over, noticing how tense and uncomfortable he was, you figured if he was, he wasn't going to go through with it - but settled on the notion that he probably wasn't even thinking about it.

A few moments passed by before you felt the tip of his finger press against your panties. There was a moment of tense surprise as your head snapped to look at your boyfriend, your expression narrowing - almost as though you were daring him to push further. You couldn't tell if he was embarrassed or not, but by the way he looked directly at the screen - you could tell he was at the very least a bit flustered.

If that was this case, this pathetic excuse for a mutiny would be over soon.

He drug the pad of his finger around your clothed clitoris gently, teasing it. You felt your abdomen jerk and dropped your hands onto his over the blanket, trying to hold them in place.

Bertolt's thin finger continued to tease around your clit before sliding downwards, continuing to rub over the fabric of your panties before pushing them slightly to the side. His face was hot with nervousness but the adrenaline of the entire situation was rushing to his head.

He continued to train his eyes on the screen in front of him, pretending to be invested in seeing the seventh car crash of the night. While his eyes were on the screen, his finger was sliding up and down your slit, slick from how wet you were. Bertolt wondered - what expression were you making right now? Was your face twisting up in confusion and frustration? Was your mouth forming into a little O?

You pressed your thighs together, your hands now squeezing at the armrests of the chair, squirming. Your heart raced and you pressed your head back into the chair, biting down on your lip as his finger slid its way back up to your clit, gently rubbing at it. Bertolt couldn't hear anything over the sound of cars crashing into each other, but he could certainly imagine how lewd you sounded - it only made sense, considering the fact that you were simply dripping.

Without much warning, Bertolt slipped his finger into you.

Head swimming, you let out a very small moan.

Finally, he turned his head to you.

"Are you okay?" He whispered. The question seemed innocent enough, but given that he was currently one knuckle deep into your cunt, his finger sliding in and out of you and curling, thumb pressing against your clit, you couldn't help but feel irritated with the question.

"Ber-" You let your head loll over to face him, face flushed red and and mouth slightly agape, though found yourself incapable of finishing the sentence as he slipped in a second finger.

The sight of your eyes half-lidded and your tongue poking out between your lips, which were parted gently, and the overall look of pathetic helplessness you gave him was almost too much. If the two of you weren't in a packed theater, he would have rolled you underneath him, torn off your panties, and fucked you underneath your skirt then and there. But for now, he'd have to settle for sliding his fingers back and forth against the inside of your gummy walls, which were tightening against him.

"Shh." He placed a finger to your lips. "The movie is still going. Try to keep quiet." His finger muffled the small gasps and groans you were breathing out. "Here - try this" He slipped a piece of candy in your mouth. "Good, no?"

He refrained from sliding his fingers into your mouth then and there.

As his fingers rocked in and out of you, you bit down on the candy to stifle the moans and gasps. For a second, you thought you were going to choke - but managed to swallow just fine.

Bertolt looked away, once more training his eyes on the movie. Pleasure pooled at the bottom of your stomach and very gently and discreetly, you began to grind your hips into his fingers.

"That's different." He mumbled to himself.

The second time he turned to look over at you, he could see tears forming at the corner of your eyes as you struggled to discreetly grind your hips against his fingers, seeking out an orgasm, but couldn't quite find the pace your body needed without being blatantly obvious.

The only thing you could do was close your eyes and tilted your head back as Bertolt curled his fingers in you - the pace quickening.

Your heartrate grew faster and you could feel his lips press at the shell of your ear.

What was it that Eren said to add? he thought, that's right -

Breath hot on your ear, he rasped out a simple question.

"Tell me, do you deserve it?" Truthfully, he felt awkward saying it - as though the words didn't quite come out of his mouth. You must have disagreed though, because the only thing you could mutter out in response was -

"Y-Yes"

You were starting to reach the edge of your orgasm, your head pressed against his own, back arching gently, as he pressed his face into your neck. Legs shaking, you sucked in a deep breath and -

His fingers slipped out of you and he took a moment to wipe them off on the insides of the blanket before linking his fingers in your own, leaving you a rattled, shaking, frustrated mess - completely unraveled before him as you tried to catch your breath.

"I don't think you do. We'll talk about it later."

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binniesthighs · 4 years ago

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call me babydoll | reader x chan

soooo shhhh this actually a part one shhhh but i’m just trying out writing out different things and getting out some of my ideas outta my head that i’m really excited about, this one being one of them!! for now...just pretend that this is just a regular ol’ drabble hehehehe. this part is the set-up chapter (shhh i mean drabble)

One

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan

Genre: fluff, smut, and angst

Tags: (overall) bodyguard au, moderndayprince!chan, bodyguard!reader, secret agent au, royal au, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, softswitch!chan, hardswitch!reader, some skz side characters, jeongin third wheel and comedic relief LOL, travelling, chan being expensive and having a lil bit of a superiority complex, flirtyyyy chan, bits of mystery, explicit language, mentions of food and alcohol, idk think like 007 vibes hehe

CWs: guns and gun violence, a shooting in a ballroom, mentions of blood

Word count: 4.6k

Parts

ONE | TWO

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here early.”

“Well, expect the unexpected.”

“Don’t turn the motto back at me. I’m sick of hearing it so many damn times.”

“What? You and I both know that it’s true. You’re here early too, so, technically you don’t get to say anything.”

Jeongin straightened his bow tie, then patted down the sides of his perfectly ironed tux with not a crinkle to be found. Knowing him, it was a miracle that he hadn’t messed it up in some form yet. He promptly took out his pocket square to clean off his glasses.

“You’re looking nice. Seems like they don’t mind spending money now on you these days.” He blew off the flecks of dust on his lenses.

“They know that they get their return on their investment. And thank you.”

You smoothed down the sides of your dusty pink dress that nearly went all the way down to your ankles. Had you any other choice, it would’ve been something different, but, dresses were really good at hiding your thigh holster compared to the slacks you usually favored. You didn’t mind the times that you would have to put on a pretty dress, it somewhat reminded you that there was normal life outside of your job. Not to mention, they had started sending you jewelry as well. You always had liked the look of a diamond necklace.

“You do your research for tonight?”

Jeongin nodded, then took from his pocket his phone to read over the details.

“I’ve done a background check on everyone attending, we shouldn’t have any issues. It’s already a low risk event anyway. Charity is never something to get too worked up over, but, you never know with the detail that some of these people come with...who they might be tied to...”

“--The only people we can trust is ourselves.” You nodded with arms crossed.

“Expect the unexpected, I know.” He slid his phone back into his inside suit pocket to adjust his cufflinks.

“--Nervous?” You took note of his fidgeting actions.

“Nervous? No. I’ve been through this before. You know that.”

You flicked your partner right on his forehead strung with his white hair. You had really wished that he had picked a less conspicuous color, but he had strings to pull that you didn’t.

Jeongin cleared his throat, “You do your once over?”

“Do you even need to ask? I did it hours ago and when we arrived. You know that I’ve done this before too.”

“I know. I know.”

Jeongin looked out at the vast circular atrium that made up the center of the hotel. Several stories down under the glass rooftop, you could hear the faint sprinkling of the intricate fountain which smelled of copper. A bit further down, you could see the tips of the tree branches from the indoor landscaping. Across the way, a door slammed with residents tucking in their ties. The two men you had recognized from the roster: a simple thing which made you feel at ease. Your young partner must’ve started to have an effect on you. A sense of unease seemed to quell in your neck. You always listened to your hunches.

“W-what do you think he thinks of us?” Jeongin broke the silence.

“Well,” From inside the room you had waited outside, you could hear his distant murmuring, so you lowered your tone. “I think that he has yet to trust us. It’s only been a few weeks. He doesn’t seem like the kind to give himself up easy. That, and I’m sure his resentment of his father must have some influence.”

“You think he hates us?”

“I think he hates his father for hiring us. I mean, wouldn’t you? His old security detail, he had them for years.”

“I guess so. But, we’re not like his old detail.”

“No. We’re not. I don’t think he gets that yet. I think he sees us as one more way his father has a hold on him.”

“It’s not like he can do much else about it when his dad’s a kin--”

“--No, no, thank you, really, it’s lovely. Some of your best work. Thank you.”

Chan swung open the door to his room, stopping Jeongin right in his sentence.

“Ah. You’re here already. That’s...punctual.”

As dazzling and showy as ever, Chan looking nothing short of a magazine model. For a prince, he had certain...appearances that he had to maintain. Today, it was a velvety and maroon suit jacket with a white button up. On the collar, two matching brooches had been perfectly placed, and they were silver like moonlight in the shape of English ivy and adorned with diamonds. On his lapel, he wore the royal insignia of the lion and the wolf. Behind him, you could see his slew of stylists cleaning up their makeup kits and obscene assortment of designer dress shoes for him to pick from. You had thought before that he even smelled like royalty: stuffy white roses with a hint of priceless cognac.

Jeongin bowed his head respectfully. “Everything has been prepared for tonight. The rest of your guards are surrounding the building, and I’ll be corresponding with them as needed, your Highness.” He tapped at his earpiece.

Chan drew his attention over to you, giving you a rather lusty glare. Over the past couple weeks, you had gotten used to it. He was a prince to every extent of the word. If there was anything that he had wanted, he simply had to ask. It drove him insane that all he could do was merely look at you. You had wondered if he harbored anything else for you besides the way that he would devour the curves of your shoulders and hips.

“Fox. Bee. You look nice tonight. I like seeing you dressed up. Makes me feel less out of place.”

You couldn’t help but let out a little sound of discontentment over his rather affectionate nickname for you. You and your partner had been introduced to him as F and B. Quickly he had figured out Jeongin’s codename as Fox, considering that he had done a poor job picking out one that wasn’t related to him at all. Anyone could tell that boy was fox-like, and he also just wasn’t that creative when it came to picking out a name for himself. B, or Bee as he had decided, was your name; as in bumblebee. After learning about Fox, he figured that there was an animal theme going, so Bee seemed to fit best in his oponion.

You tested his glare with your best, “Thank you, your Highness.”

Jeongin gulped. “Your assistant should be waiting downstairs with your itinerary. She told me that you should meet her first off.”

“You work too hard F. Have some fun tonight, hm? But don’t...drink too much. You’re responsible for my life remember?” Chan clapped his bodyguard on the back.

Your partner nervously laughed and adjusted his glasses once more: his preferred tic.

“And Bee?” Chan rose a brow to lean into close and whisper. “Stay close, alright?”

“Of course, your Highness.”

Chan let out a little scoff after getting one more proper look at your frame. “Damn. You really are stunning. Just a little too dangerous for me though.”

You rolled your eyes, dishing him outa, “Whatever you say, your Highness.”

Jeongin threw you and annoyed glare before tracing after Chan as he sauntered down the hall to the glass elevator.

“Bee? You coming? Or do you have something better to do?” Chan’s voice called down the hall with an echo and a little teasing gesture of his hand.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

It had been seven years since you had chosen this line of work, and each time that you had to go to one of these things, you hated them more and more. Not because they were hard to control--they were easy--but you just hated how many superficial and self-absorbed people that they could fit into one room.

The air was filled with the scent of champagne bubbles and too much Chanel No. 5. From corner to corner of the room, and even next to the ice sculpture of the lion and the wolf crest, silk, satin; velvet and the best cotton could be found. Long gloves covered the arms of ladies with wrinkling skin, and tweed vests held in the guts of men who indulged in their food just as much as their mistresses. All this effort just to appear as if they had given one care about the philanthropic efforts of the royalty.

Several neatly dressed waiters passed you with golden platters of hors d'oeuvres made of ingredients so expensive, they would’ve cost the same amount as the generous donations made by the attendees. If you could’ve, you would’ve scooped up as many of them as you could, just to eat all of their copious amounts of money yourself, but, there was somewhere a rule that you had to keep your hand to yourself when you were on duty. The best that you had to look forward too was take-out to eat at 3 in the morning with Jeongin later.

Buzzing chatter filled your earpiece while each of the additional guards gave their hourly report.

“Damn. It’s fucking colder out here than I thought. It’s fucking summer.” One of them joked to the tune of the other guards laughter.

“Stay focused.” Jeongin scolded over the line. “Don’t leave your posts until your shifts change.”

While he was a timid man, Jeongin was not one to mess around. Son of the director, he knew that he had big shoes to fill. After pleading for years for her to admit him into the academy, she had agreed. Everyone knew the reason why she didn’t want him in this line of work. Too many dead. Too many missing. In some ways, he was also yours to look after.

You trailed after Chan who was busy talking to his assistant and his publicist. While he nodded at their words, you knew that he must’ve been barely listening. Chan never really was one for formality, but much rather enjoyed simplicity and pleasure. Jeongin and you had somewhat of a bet going: out of all the guests, you had liked to bet which one he would take with him to his bedroom. Since you had all the profiles of the guests, you liked to bet a little money on which one it would be.

Jeongin had guessed it to be the heiress and daughter of a tycoon who had made a multi-million won donation in the name of his company. It was ironic; his very company was a big-scale pollutor who liked to make nice with the crown. She was conventionally very pretty: long legs, a thin frame, she was educated and looked as if she could hold somewhat of a conversation...not like that mattered to him.

You had predicted it to be the foreign CEO who had just started business dealings with the crown. While she might’ve looked a bit stuck-up and prim, she was intimidating, and a challenge. Chan loved challenges. Chan also had a pension for pretty boys with a bit too much money on their hands--usually inherited--and with nothing much else to do other than dote on him. There were plenty of those attending the gala tonight.

Chan snaked through the crowd, bowing his head at all of the Good evening, your Highnesses and the It’s a pleasure to meet you, your Highnesses. Every few moments or so he would take a bite from a golden plate and then pop it into his mouth. The whole night long, he would hold his glass with him and it would get refilled for him without him even needing to ask. You sometimes liked to pretend that in some places, they must’ve assigned someone to watch him from afar to make sure that he would never need anything before it was given to him. It wouldn’t have surprised you.

“Having fun Bee?” Chan languidly rolled his head back, swirling his glass.

“As much fun as you are.” You quipped.

“Anything that I should be concerned about?”

“Nothing of concern.” You stated matter-of-factly. Had you matched his flirting tone, you knew that you wouldn’t hear the end of it for the rest of the night. “Fox. Report?”

“Nothing that I can see. No one has been tagging you.” Jeongin had staked himself up on the upper balcony of the banquet hall room, and had been watching for as long as you had been following after the prince. “You sensing anything strange?” His voice tickled in your in-ear.

“Just a bunch of the normal crowd.” You kept your tone down low. “He’s rubbing noses with the usual. You’ve seen too?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

You followed Chan to his seat nearest the front of the room which had been fashioned into a stage with a clear glass podium in the center. Right in front there was one more crest decorating it. Chan had ensured it to be so: he had wanted everyone to know that this was all for his charity.

“It seems like our bets aren’t working out. He hasn’t talked to either of the...suspects.” Your partner changed his choice of words knowing that the other guards were listening.

From the opposite side of the room both the heiress and the CEO stood with thin glasses of wine in their lithe hands. Chan had in fact walked right past them, and didn’t even notice.

“Tonight is going to be a long night.” Jeongin sighed over the line.

You politely pushed past attendees with a raised hand and a sweet smile. You had found that when you smiled, you had appeared less intimidating.

“Oh wait...what’s this?”

“What?” You whipped your head around after Jeongin’s interjection. “What? Do you see something? What’s the call?”

“Relax! It just looks like he’s approaching someone he wants to talk to. I think both of us are about to be proven wrong.”

“Ah, shit.” You sighed. “Don’t put me on edge like that.”

“I’m only trying to entertain myself.”

“Name. Who is it? You’ve got the roster.”

You partner was quiet for a minute, and you watched from a distance as Chan approached the man leaned over a martini seated at one of the perfectly decorated tables.

“Uh, I think that he’s Lee Minho. Some kind of royalty from somewhere else. Pretty low ranking from the looks of it. I think that he made a donation himself...and it’s...damn, larger than you would expect.”

“Should we be concerned?”

“No. Seems harmless.”

“Thank you for coming,” You made out the words that Chan had mouthed. He drew a chair next to the unknown man.

From what you could tell, Lee Minho was handsome to the full extent of the word: nearly all of his physical features were exemplary and his suit appeared to have been fitted to perfect for him; likely one of a kind. He too wore an insignia on his lapel, but it was one that you hadn’t recognized before. He had immaculately styled hair that had some kind of rebellious and boyish charm to it. The man had a kind of mystery about him too: you had been able to pride yourself in being able to read people, and it had saved your life on more than one occasion. But with him, there was something that you couldn’t place.

“Do they know eachother?” You asked Jeongin.

“Not that I know of. School friend maybe? Seems like all the royals send their kids to the same schools.”

“Hm. That would make sense.”

“Enjoying yourself?” Chan said.

Lee Minho nodded, and rose his glass to clink it with the prince’s.

“Do we think that he’s our...suspect?”

The stranger dipped his head into his hand as he listened to Chan speak. A flirty gesture that you had seen a hundred times or more. Still, the way that he inspected Chan, it wasn’t adoring. Or at least, you didn’t think that it was.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“What the hell are you yapping about?” One of the other guards snapped over the line.

“Um, classified stuff.” Jeongin quickly explained. “Above your paygrade. Don’t worry about it.”

“Fox. Watch out for him tonight.” You snuck over to a corner of the room where you could watch the two of them more discreetly.

“Affirmative....” Your partner paused. “Babydoll.”

“Pffff--Babydoll??” The same guard stifled his laughter. “You call her Babydoll, Fox? Damn, you all must be closer than I thought. Didn’t know that I was missing out on some of the action--”

“--Ever heard of a codename, Three?”

“Babydoll’s her codename.”

A grin crept over your lips. “Expect the unexpected.”

You had almost gotten distracted enough to miss how Lee Minho had leaned over to whisper something into the prince’s ear. After he had done so, Chan laughed out a little, then reached his arm around the other man’s chair comfortably.

“They’re...cozy.” You updated your partner.

“I’m trying to cross-check where he might know him from.”

Chan’s assistant and publicist finally slipped away with giddy little smiles. In many ways, you were jealous of them. They could leave whenever the wanted, eat what they wanted...

Jeongin scoffed. “Well, turns out...nothing. I can’t find anything.”

“Nothing?”

“Negative. I’m not seeing any crossover.”

“So they really are strangers?”

Your partner sighed. “Looks like neither of us are cashing ou--I mean--finding the suspect.”

Under your breath, you wondered aloud, “Who are you...Lee Minho?”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

The night drew on longer with the rest of the formalities: the formal dinner, followed by several speeches from important people while dessert was being served. It all led up to the final act: His Royal Highness, Prince Chan’s speech. On several neat notecards marked with the crest, he held them in front of him while he ate his last bits of Mont Blanc Chocolate Pavlova. Even the name of the sweet itself sounded pretentious. Granted, it smelled delicious--as many expensive things did.

You stifled a yawn from your little set up on the edge of the room. At least you should’ve been able to sit, but it turns out that sitting is also against the rules in this line of work. A couple other security and bodyguards had joined you at the edge: some of their heads nodded with sleep, and the others looked as if they had taken one too many energy shots. Luckily, your stamina had been well crafted.

A fancily dressed MC made his way up to the podium and the room filled with applause after the last speaker had said all of their correct mandatory words.

“It is my honor to introduce to the stage, our wonderful head benefactor of this organization, His Royal Highness, Prince Chan of the Crown.

Applause tenfold of before erupted through the whole room and it wasn’t even an afterthought for the every attendee to stand up from their seats in an ovation. It was a force of habit for you, but you found yourself clapping as well.

Chan rose with grace, and re-buttoned his jacket with finesse. A blinding spotlight found him and it made the diamonds adorning his beck wink brilliantly. Even more blinding was his pearl white, and perfectly trained smile accompanied by his wave.

Thank you. Thank you. He mouthed.

“It’s like he’s a frickin’ movie star.” Jeongin groaned.

“Might as well be with the way that they treat him. You know deep down they’re all just terrified.”

Chan made his way up to the stage in all of his regality, and the applause didn’t stop until he cleared his throat. A collective groaning of a couple hundred chairs squeaked when everyone sat back down.

“Thank you everyone, really. I wanted to thank you all for your generous support in your donations to this organization, as well as your association with the crown. I’m sure that all the beneficiaries of your donations are beyond thankful compared to me. Without you, this would not be possible.” Chan spoke with grandiose gestures, as usual, but this time, he had found you on the side of the room. “Listen, aside from being a prince, I’m also just a person. A person who knows what it means to struggle, to--”

“--I can’t listen to this anymore.” You whispered into the quiet room, and to your partner.

“Just a few more hours.” He droned. “I almost wish that something would happen so that we don’t have to sit though much else of this.”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

In the corner of your eye, Lee Minho shifted in his seat, but still kept his undivided attention to the stage. You figured he must’ve been just like the rest of them: enamored by the flashiness of the crown--and Chan. He had a way of putting a spell on people: it was the kind of spell that a prince of deception had crafted after years of being kept under lock and key.

“--Anyway, what I’m trying to say, royal or fanciful we all might be, in the simplest way, we’re all just people, therefore this is what connects us all. Thank you.”

Chan was gifted yet another standing ovation that was somehow even more thunderous than before.

“Yeah right.” You scoffed. “People born into money. There’s a difference.”

Chan gave his last waves, then a clamor echoed from the back of the room. At first, it had just sounded like the same raucous laughter you had heard all night, but then it shifted to something different. The sound of laugher turned into shouting, then screams: high pitched and piercing. You had seconds to respond, head whipping around the room to catch sight of the confused prince. In your in-ears, the the sound of gunshots echoed with rapid-fire speed. Machine guns. Shouting commands barked in your ear, and muddled with Jeongin’s string of demands and questions.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT THERE? REPORT! REPORT!”

Your heart instantly started beating into hyperdrive, and your legs sprinted as fast has physically possible

“THEY’VE GOT GUNS!” A shrill and cracked voice of an older woman wailed from the back of the room.

Immediately after she had said so, shots fired into the darkened room with sparks, and the metallic sound of bullets hitting the marbled ground followed.

Chan looked around in his panic for you, petrified on the stage. You slung your gun out from your thigh holster and latched onto him with all of your might.

“TH-THEY JUST CAME OUT OF NOWHERE IN THESE VANS. THEY’RE ARMOURED, WE CAN’T--”

“Get the fuck down there and secure the exists!” Jeongin growled into his mic. “B--is the prince secure??”

“Secure!” You yelled back. Using your body as a barrier, you led the cowering prince through the mass hysteria of the crowd.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Shit.” Chan shook under your iron grip.

More shots fired into the room and bodies parted like the sea and fell over each other.

From the balcony, you had caught Jeongin aiming his own gun at the chaos below.

“I’ll cover you! Fuck! There’s so many of them! Get him to the car out back--Three, Six, meet B out there! Three!? Six!? Report!”

“Three and Six are down F!” One of the guards panted. “I can provide cover out back!!”

“Who’s speaking??” Jeongin bellowed, then aimed from above at one of the intruders. Your only focus was on weaving you and Chan out of there, but you had seen one of them in a blur. Each of the men with guns wore dark grey suits with black ties and leather gloves. Each of them wore their own crest: and it was all red.

“Bee?? Bee???” Chan shouted out for you, and jumped every time the crack of a shot echoed in the ballroom.

“I’ve got you, your Highness. We’ll be out soon. Keep your head down and listen to me.” Your arm held to him tightly, and you soon found the exit nearest. There was no telling if there would be more of them outside, but you loaded your gun quickly just in case, and pointed it out.

“Jeongin, get your ass down here!”

“Jeongin? Who the fuck is that??” Chan ducked down to hide himself behind your frame.

His name had slipped on your tongue, but that hardly mattered.

“I’ll be down in a second!!!”

“Don’t fucking waste time up there when I need you down here!!”

“Two! Two Reporting!!” A man suddenly yelled in your in-ear. “I’ve made it out back and I’ve secured the exit. The car is safe!!”

“FOX! Now!”

Your partner heaved, “I’m coming, I’m coming!!”

You kicked open the exit door, gun’s still blazing, however one one else could be found on the other side.

“Thank God,” You sighed.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna be sick.” Chan had turned paler than white, then stumbled in your arms.

“Hey, HEY!” You held him upright. “It’s gonna be alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe. You need to trust me. Your life is in my hands and I’m not giving it up easy, got it?”

“O-okay.” He stammered, then attempted to straighten himself.

“The Prince is outside, repeat, The Prince is outside. Two, are you in position?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

Other than the fact that you had just escaped absolute peril, the evening was unbearably pleasant. Crickets chirped in the summer evening, and the humidity of the night smelled gorgeously of the lake that was near-by as well as the vast array of flowers that had been purposefully landscaped around the hotel. Chan’s uneven steps scraped at the gravel walkway.

Since you had canvassed the whole building well, you had known exactly where the getaway car was, but you were still careful.

“Bee. Bee!” Chan blabbered. “Have-have I told you yet that I-I’m in love with you?”

“No, you haven’t Your Highness.”

“I fucking am. If I die tonight, I want you to know that I am ridiculously in love with you, and fuck, I wanna--”

“--I’m sorry, Your Highness, respectfully, but now is not the time for this and you are not dying on my watch.”

Somewhere off in the distance, frogs croaked, and the splashing of fish in the lake plopped at the surface waters. You turned a corner to finally see Two waiting his his gun raised. He was a bit of a shorter and scrawnier man, but something about him told you that where he lacked in strength, he must’ve made up for in agility.

“I’m out! I’m out!” Your partner gasped, and over the in-ear you could hear his running footsteps. “I’m almost there! I’ll be there in a second!”

“Your Highness,” Two bowed and opened the car door. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. You can call me Two or J. Either you prefer.”

Jeongin came bounding around the corner with heaving breaths and his clothes askew. His glasses which just barely held onto his face had a crack on them and his knuckles were covered in blood.

“Let’s go.” The younger man prompted.

“In the car you go, Your Highness.” You motioned for him to do so.

Chan whimpered like a toddler.

You shoved his body in, “Stop that. Get in the car.”

“I’m in love with you Bee!” He yelled out, “I’M FUCKING IN LOVE WITH YOU BEE!”

Jeongin slammed the door in his face with a bit of a chuckle.

“He’s delirious.”

“Mm.” your partner smiled. “Sure.”

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thelowlysatsuma · 5 years ago

Text

alright dipsticks, hear me out

taz balance au where everything is the same except that lucretia and barry have each others’ farspeech frequencies

it all starts about a year after lucretia voidfishes the plane. she’s poking around goldcliff, hoping to find some way to con some rich shit into paying for her gigantic moon base, when she runs — literally runs headfirst — into some bespectacled nerd in denim

barry, for his part, doesn’t know why this complete stranger is offering to buy him lunch as an apology for spilling his Fantasy Starbucks all over his oldass shirt, but he sure as shit isn’t complaining. especially when something, something about this kid feels so... familiar

in a spur of the moment decision, lucretia gives him her farspeech number. barry doesn’t think anything of it at the time

...anything, that is, until he’s rising, spectral and flickering, over his battered corpse, and he begins laughing hysterically, tears glimmering in long-gone eye sockets. he may not have lup back, but he’s got his little sister.

so they start texting. is barry furious at lucretia for what she’s done? sure, a bit. but he understands her logic, and his temper is soothed when she point-blank tells him that she’s going to help him find lup. they may be working against each other as far as the relics are concerned, but if lucretia can locate at least one more shred of her former family, then by god is she going to. barry understands, he thinks, and so they help keep each other a little less lonely over a long ten years

lucretia keeps barry updated on how the other birds are doing, as best she can. they rejoice together as magnus and julia take back raven’s roost, and when glamour springs is shadowed by a mass poisoning barry has to do everything up to physically restraining lucretia from beating the ass of whichever motherfucker did that to taako. wait, he tells her. physical pain is temporary. a lich, on the other hand, is in a prime position to make some douche’s life a living hell. lucretia grins and offers to fund his plots in any way she can.

barry, for his part, keeps lucretia up-to-date on the search for lup. they have matching little cork boards in their respective offices, each filled with maps and theories and half-baked what-ifs. they aren’t any closer to finding out what happened to her, but they will. they have to.

speaking of things happening, barry is the first one to find lucretia after wonderland. he hadn’t been able to reach her for a month, and so when he feels the enormous surge of pure magical despair explode outwards from the felicity wilds, he transports himself there as quickly as he can. he finds his baby sister at the centre of a mile-wide crater, twenty years older and countless sacrifices poorer, and he holds her as gently as he can without physical hands, and makes her promise to never deal with wonderland again. fuck, he’ll get the animus bell for her, he doesn’t care. he just can’t see lucretia in that state ever again. (never again, that’s what they told themselves, in a group huddle late one night the dawn of cycle 66. he’d failed her once. he couldn’t do it again.)

as she builds up the bureau, lucretia starts getting questions about her best friend on the stone. lucas asks her point blank who it is one day early in their acquaintance, and she answers “b- uh, b-j” “that tells me basically nothing. what does that even stand for?” lucas demands. “uh,” lucretia says, “🅱️amazing jrace”

thus begins a fine tradition of bureau employees trying to get any info they can on the mysterious “bj”, including his actual name. so far some of the top answers they’ve gotten from madame director include “bitchin jackass” “burger joint” “beetlejuice” and “banjo jimboree”. once, robbie asks her if he’s her secret lover, and lucretia has to summon a bucket before retching in disgust, which puts paid to that particular theory fairly succinctly

barry, for his part, adores these rumours. he keeps asking if lucretia will lift the lich barrier, just for a day, so he can come and stir up even more shit. lucretia, while admittedly very tempted, denies.

when he finds out that lucretia has been telling bureau employees that the red robes are evil, barry is understandably insulted. the next group of regulators that touch the ground are covered in fantasy cheez whiz for the duration of their mission.

lucretia gets him back by replacing all the denim in the jeans at his base with silly string. barry moves bases, and the prank war escalates

(no one has the courage to tell madame director that her hair has been turned rainbow at the last candlenights party. privately, lucretia thinks she looks bitchin)

every now and again, lucretia will text barry in a panic. these texts tend to look like this:

“barry.” “barold aid me” “barry I fucked shit up real good this time” “barry” “barry” “barry I was at the fantasy Olive Garden and the waiter said ‘enjoy your meal’ and I said ‘you too’ barry kill me n o w “

barry can and will mock lucretia mercilessly for this. he also insists for weekly video updates on fisher and junior.

he also has biweekly fantasy skype sessions with davenport

booyah: I saw a woman so beautiful I started crying???

bear-old: oh mood

booyah: and then I hired her and her son (who’s a little bitch) to work on my secret moon base and I think I’ve made a terrible mistake???????

bear-old: oh my fucking god this is why I don’t trust you to stop the apocalypse

when the thb start working as reclaimers, barry demands weekly updates on them, as well. it goes about as well as you’d expect

booyah: magnus ate the philosopher’s stone

bear-old: he fucking w h a t ?

booyah: he used the glutton’s fork, and he ATE the philosopher’s stone. taako and merle used stone skin and stone shape to get the damn thing out. happy fucking candlenights.

when barry finds out that taako’s DATING the fool who’s been chasing after him wile e coyote style for over a decade, he loses his s h i t. he and lucretia have a girls’ night where they bitch about taako and eat shitty chocolate to cope

bear-old: you HIRED a BABY???

booyah: he’s ten! that’s plenty old. and he’s certainly competent, seeing as he found my organization when even you couldn’t.

bear-old: creesh please. please do not Irreparably Fuck Up A Small Child

booyah: hey, at least I’m not the one who threw him off a moving train!

bear-old: I never threw anyone off a

bear-old: lucretia

bear-old: who

bear-old: who in your employ threw ANGUS MCDONALD, a LITERAL CHILD, off of a MOVING. VEHICLE?

booyah:

booyah: taako

bear-old: fucking fantasy CHRIST

(they have quite a few girls’ nights eating shitty chocolate and razzing on taako, actually)

team sweet flips goes to the director’s office one day to give a status report and find her red-eyed and coughing. she says she has allergies. the cute cat video barry just texted her on her stone, however, begs to differ

lucretia preps the boys for refuge, yes, but her mind is filled with texts and tomes and the letters “l u p” carved into a bureau wall. she passes countless sleepless nights with barry on the line, trying to decipher what it all means

but they emerge from the woven gulch unscathed, and that can only mean one thing: wonderland

she doesn’t tell barry where she’s sending them. she can’t let him interfere out of some misguided attempt to save her from the place. her texts grow few and far between

she doesn’t have to tell barry. he knows

the day they get sent out, as lucretia breaks down in her office, surrounded by a dizzying vastness that could envelop her very being if she would just let it, her stone buzzes.

four words: I’ll keep them safe

and then?

well, then it’s the end of the world

(but when lup emerges from her decade-long cage, phantasmal and resplendent, lucretia and barry share a look)

(and when the hunger is consuming the only home she knows and she’s flying out in one last attempt to face is, barry is on her stone)

(and when the dust settles and they’re finally, finally free, when the world hears a story and a song and former and current bureau employees alike learn just how important the mysterious “bj” really is, when lucretia looks at the wreckage of her life’s work and home and family — when all that happens, barry is the one to beckon to her with open arms.)

(they’ve been beside the other for a hundred and ten years, after all. that’s not gonna fucking change now.)

anyways yeah folks barry and lucretia texting au play with me in this space

@littlemisscritical @thatcoldfeeling and you know what? @herbgerblin what the hell

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thran-duils · 4 years ago

Text

Total Eclipse (P.3)

Title: Total Eclipse (Part Three) Summary: Fem!Reader x Sherlock Holmes (RDJ). Sherlock had an impression on the reader from a formative age but he was always so busy running with cases. Their moments of passions were coveted between the two but they were few and far between. He left with Watson on a case and in that time, her parents found her a suitable man to give her to. Wealthy and accomplished. Sherlock and her have not been able to let go of each other though. Words: 5,365 Warnings (for the whole fic): Angst, infidelity, smut, swearing, substance abuse, non liner storyline, character death, 18+ as always Author’s Note: This whole chapter is backstory, hence why it’s all italics. I got really carried away, my b. The next chapter will resume current time and the plot will move on there. Heavy angst this chapter and smut!

Part Two || Part Four || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Your family left you in London when they went back to the country estate after the season had ended. Your mother was hell bent on finding you a suitor and even in the off season, she wanted you in sights on the streets, at cafes, restaurants. She wanted you out of the house too, one less mouth to feed. Your family was well off enough, but she was growing more embarrassed about an imagined slight against her of you not marrying off younger. As if your martial problems were a reflection on her…. But that is what society saw it as and it was how she reacted.

Despite the passive aggressive hostility between the two of you, this was going to be a blessing. Your great aunt retired early in the night, and you were given more freedom. Not to mention your great aunt was far more progressive in her views. It was shocking to you in the first place your mother allowed you to stay with her at all without supervision, but you kept your lips sealed. You were not going to pass this up.

Standing beside your aunt outside the florist shop where she was examining the seeds for her spring garden to plant this fall, you listened dully to Emily, the florist, tell her the layout to have them planted for the best coloring. You felt the uncomfortable feeling of someone watching you. Turning nonchalantly, your eyes scanned the square lazily. You spotted a man across the square with curly hair and a large, overgrown mustache. You furrowed your brow if only for a moment at his blatant staring.

Tearing your eyes away from him to not invite conversation or any indication you were interested, you looked back to your aunt still speaking with the florist.

“Love, would you go across the square to get me a bun? It is driving me insane to smell them fresh,” your aunt told you, touching your arm gently. “And get one for Emily too.”

The last thing you wanted to do was walk away from her and have this man approach you, but you nodded. You made sure to not look in his direction as you walked across the cobblestone towards the bakery. Out of your peripherals, you caught movement in his general direction, and you scowled. You hated brushing off advances, but it seemed you were going to have to do it. He was certainly following you.

Walking into the bakery, you waited patiently while the baker helped the two people already ahead of you.

The air shifted at your back and you closed your eyes, readying for the drawling of a desperate man.

“So, you were left behind.”

The whisper caused you to burst your eyelids open and you turned halfway to face the man. You found it was the man with the large mustache but that was certainly Sherlock’s voice. You scanned his face and realized immediately you recognized his eyes.

Stammering, you asked, “W-what are you doing?”

“Is there a problem, miss?” one of the men who had been being assisted asked, stopping when he saw your state.

You recovered quickly and straightened. “No, no, sir. Sorry. I was just startled by my acquaintance. I did not expect to see him out and about… like this. I apologize.”

The man nodded and walked on, leaving you to narrow your eyes at Sherlock.

“Give me a minute,” you told him before turning back and walking up to the counter. You ordered your buns, adding a fourth, before coming back to him waiting. He gave you a curt nod gesturing towards the door.

As soon as you were outside, you stepped off to the side, out of sight from the window of the bakery.

“What are you doing? What is this? Are you alright?” you asked, throwing all these questions at him in a hushed voice. You held out the fourth bun to him and he eyed it before taking it.

“Much obliged. I haven’t had breakfast,” he told you. He touched at his mustache and said thoughtfully, “Although, I will have to save it. This will make it difficult to eat.”

“It makes you difficult to recognize!”

“That is the point of a disguise, Miss Y/N.”

“Why are you wearing a disguise at all?”

“Well, I can’t just be myself all the time following you can I? That would be suspicious. Especially if your escort continued catching sight of me.”

“And following me in a disguise does not scream ‘stalker’ to you?”

Sherlock looked taken aback. “’Stalker’?”

“Is that not what you’re doing?”

Sniffing, he said, “I was merely checking up on you. I hardly would refer to that as stalking.”

“How did you know I was staying with my great aunt then and not at my family’s home?” Sherlock was silent and you intoned, “That’s what I thought.”

“Well, I was going to invite you to a play but now I am having second thoughts.”

Your eyes lit at this, and you said, “What play?”

“I said I was having second thoughts.”

“Well, maybe I’m having second thoughts about getting you a bun,” you retorted, immediately holding out your hand for him to return it.

He frowned and held it tighter, causing you to smirk.

“You would need to sneak away from dinner tonight.”

“I’m going out to Sweetings with my aunt.”

“Makes it more difficult. What if I told you the play was tonight, and you could use that as an excuse? A date with a gentlemen?”

All it took was him walking you back to outside the florists shop and the two of you exchanging pleasantries, him inviting you to dinner, you telling him you would have to check and that you would send word. Of course, your aunt did not know he had given a fake address. She was questioning of his name you gave but she did not pry too deeply.

<><><>

Seeing Sherlock was again not looking at the stage, instead his eyes wandering around the theater, you leaned over, lips close to his ear.

“You’re distracted,” you whispered.

He turned his head and now your noses were almost touching. Your lips parted, eyes locked with his. He swallowed sharply, blinking.

“That I am,” he responded, flustered before pulling away much to your disappointment.

He grasped your hand, “Come with me.”

You almost protested as he pulled you from your seat. It was terribly rude to leave in the middle of a play, not only towards the actors and actresses but the people you were having to walk by. Sherlock did not seem to care though.

A man was following the two of you up the aisle and out the doors. When he started following the pair of you up the stairs to the second floor and down the hall, keeping distance though, you cleared your throat.

“Sherlock, I think we have a tail,” you whispered out the corner of your mouth, keeping stride with him.

“I’m aware,” he returned quietly. Louder in his normal voice, he asked, “Love, do you need to use the lavatory?”

“No?” you hissed at him, confounded.

He shot you a look and you took the hint, nodding. “Yes.”

Sherlock took a sharp left with you down the hall. “Well, let’s find them for you. I’ll wait here.”

He egged you on with an encouraging hand at your waist. You did what he asked to continue down the hall, your heart beating. He pointed at a door and gesture for you to go inside. As the door closed behind you, you were thinking wildly about what was going on? Did he even have a plan?

“You shouldn’t be here,” an unfamiliar voice said from down the hall back where Sherlock was standing. Your ear was pressed up against the door.

“And your employer shouldn’t have taken what he did. It has been quite the goose chase figuring out where the piece was.”

“Where’s your lovely friend?”

“Went on to find the lavatory.”

Suddenly you heard a loud grunt and a crash. There was scuffling outside, and you pressed your hands against the door, debating if you should open the door or not. What if he was getting hurt?

The noise stopped and all you heard was your pounding heart.

Until to your immense relief, you heard Sherlock said, “Took you long enough. Were you too caught up in the show?”

You barely got out of the way before the door was opening, Sherlock thrusting it open. You stumbled a little as you flung yourself backwards and he reached in quick, steadying you. There was not a mark on him.

He pulled you from the room and you were faced with the man that had been pursuing the two of you, slumped against the wall. And another man standing there, pushing his hair back into place to look presentable again.

“Watson saved the day,” Sherlock told you, giving you a grin. “Flatmate that I mentioned. He can be helpful at times.”

“Holmes,” Watson said exasperated.

“’Holmes’?” you questioned, smiling slyly at Sherlock.

He looked entirely displeased at you before he shot Watson an annoyed look.

“Yes, John?”

Oh… he was getting back at John Watson then for exposing him as either Holmes Sherlock or Sherlock Holmes. You believed the latter sounded more plausible.

Realization dawned on you then.

“Hey, I’ve heard of you!” you said in an excited whisper and your breath caught when he jerked you towards him.

“Darling, we must be quiet now. Watson caused some ruckus out here,” he informed you. That was until it registered to him what you said, and he cocked his head. He leaned in, eyes narrowed in scrutiny, and whispered, “Heard of me where?”

“The newspapers!”

“What newspapers?”

“Where you solved a case with Scotland Yard! You hid your face—”

“I always hide my face.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were an investigator?” you asked.

“I wouldn’t say investigator—"

“Holmes, we do not have time for this,” John cut in impatiently in a harsh whisper, catching both of your attention.

“Right,” Sherlock answered, looping arms with you, cutting your conversation off. That was intimate, it was unproper for men to do this for women they were not engaged, married, or related to.

Watson led you back down the hall towards the main drag. He was cordial to the passing workers who were fetching refreshments for the people in their boxes. He led the two of you up another flight of stairs to the third floor.

Sherlock leaned in and whispered in your ear, “Now, dear, there might be some more violence. I may have to shove you in another closet.”

“Or I can stay out here.” Sherlock looked at you surprised, and you told him. “I can be useful.”

Suddenly, he pushed you up against the wall as loud applause erupted, putting a hand up to block your face. John was beside the two of you now, further blocking you from seeing down the hall.

“He’s leaving the box. It must be in between acts. It has to be happening now. Now, there is that room at the end of the hallway. Is he heading there?” John said in hushed tones to Sherlock.

Sherlock peeked around Watson’s shoulder, eyes searching. “He’s going to the room. He’s got two men with him. Broad. Should be a good time. You’ve needed that jacket mended on the hem for quite some time though, so perhaps it’ll serve well to have it fully needing to be tossed out.”

Watson looked completely unamused at Sherlock’s comment directed at him.

To you now, Sherlock implored, “Seriously, Miss Y/N, I would encourage you to heed my advice and stay out here. It should not take too long for Watson and I to retrieve what we need to.”

Sighing disappointed, you told him, “Fine. Don’t get yourself hurt.”

Sherlock smirked, “That would be incredibly rude of me considering I need to escort you home.”

“It would,” you agreed, and he pulled away from you.

Watson was watching the two of you closely, looking interested.

They left you.

The minutes dragged on after they disappeared into the room. People were milling about in the hall, waiters offering drink. You meandered closer to the door, curious about what exactly it was that Sherlock was retrieving.

Suddenly, the door burst open, two figures coming tumbling out. People yelled in alarm, the crowd dispersing as they jumped back up to your feet. You recognized Sherlock immediately as one of them. He had blood on his cheek and he was disheveled. They came at each other again and tangled up, throwing punches. He was tossed back towards the door.

Looking around wildly, you spotted a large bottle of vodka on one of the waiter carts and grabbed it. Before the man could advance again, you brought it across the back of his head, the glass shattering and the vodka spilling all over the man’s clothes. But he was knocked out, his knees buckling beneath him and falling to the floor.

Sherlock was back on his feet, looking at you in shock for just a moment before he came forward in a rush, grabbing your arm. “Quickly now,” he told you breathless. “We haven’t much time until the authorities show up!”

In awe at what you had done, you let him drag you along.

“Where is Watson?”

“He’ll be along shortly.”

The two of you were out of the theater and out onto the street. You were stumbling trying to keep up with his fast pace. He led you a few blocks down before turning the corner into an alley. That was when he finally began to slow down.

“What happened?” you demanded after you caught your bearings.

“More than the two men that went in there with our target. Things got a little tricky.”

You took your glove off and used it to wipe at his cheek. He winced and he commented, “You’re ruining your gloves.”

“Your face is bleeding!” you protested. You saw the blood was originating from a rather large cut.

“Hardly noticed,” Sherlock responded. He cocked his head and said, “You certainly made that other man bleed with that bottle.”

“I told you I could be useful.”

“It seems that is so…”

You had cleaned up most of his face. There was nothing to do about his hair but that was no matter.

The further you were from the theater, the more you realized what exactly had happened, your excitement thrumming beneath your skin was switching from shock to thrill. You had been in a fight. There had been henchmen. Sherlock was a detective and had taken you along on one of his cases. Which raised the question.

“Why did you bring me along?” you demanded. “Did you know it would be this dangerous?”

“I needed a date for entrance. And one I believed I could trust. As for danger, it is usually lurking around every corner, so of course I anticipated it. But, the degree is always in question.”

“Trust? You barely know me. Also, Watson didn’t have a date?”

Sherlock pointedly ignored the last point you made, “I’m good at reading people. And you proved I could trust you, especially in a fight. Plus, you said you wanted adventure.” He tilted his head towards you, asking sincerely, “Tell me, how am I doing providing that for you?”

You yanked him to you by the lapels of his coat, your lips crashing together. He was stunned as you pulled away.

“That was so exciting!” you said, caught up in your emotion.

Someone cleared their throat. Watson was standing there further down the alley. Sherlock hands came up to yours still grasping his lapels and he pulled your hands away. His thumb caressed the hand further away from Watson, concealing the touch, before he let you go.

“Right, well, we’ve retrieved the stolen items. That’s what we came here to do, correct?” Sherlock asked, reaching into his coat, pulling out an extravagant necklace and earring set. “Shall we move further away from the scene of the crime? Preferably to make sure Miss Y/N gets home safely.”

He barely saw Watson move towards the pair of you before he looped arms with you again and began walking. The trio of you caught a Hansom cab to return you home. On the trip, you offered Watson your other glove and said, “Sherlock’s already bloodied the other one. They might as well match.”

Watson actually chuckled at that and took it from you gratefully, wiping at the cut on his forehead. You caught Sherlock was amused by your comment and you sent him a quick, close lipped smile before pointing out to Watson he had missed a spot.

When the carriage pulled up outside, you looked at Sherlock and said, “However will I contact you if you do not give me an address?”

“Bold of you to ask for a man’s address,” Sherlock commented.

“You’ve been using that adjective to describe me since the moment we met. And I’m merely asking in case I need a date somewhere and need one for entrance,” you said, turning his words back to him.

Sherlock’s eyes crinkled and he said, “Touche.” He leaned out the window, “The lady is getting out. After she does, 221B Baker Street.”

You opened the door yourself and got out before either of them could react. You turned back to the door and said, “Expect a letter then. Pleasure to meet you, John. Thank you for the invigorating night, Sherlock. I surely will not forget it.”

With that you closed the door, and turned, leaving them.

Inside the cab, Watson looked across at Sherlock who was watching Y/N go through the gate and up the stairs as the carriage took off again. Sherlock felt Watson staring and turned his head back when Y/N was out of sight.

“Wherever did you meet her, Sherlock? And how long has this been going on?”

<><><>

There were small get togethers still held in the off season, especially underground, and you had sent Sherlock a note, letting him know you would be at it, extending an invitation. You were on the minds of the hosts as one not to report debauchery, which is what this party consist of. And through them, you had secured that invite for Sherlock on your word he would not speak of what transpired there either.

You were accompanied by three girls younger than you, who were eager to meet some of the men attending. They cared not you were a tad older, actually were relying on you to give them guidance. They knew you were not a virgin and one confided to you she was not either. Your advice to them was to stay away from Lord Timothy and Mister Wilhelm… they both carried disease. The girls had giggled at first before they realized you were serious. You had been warned yourself by someone older than you during your first season.

You found yourself wandering through this party, keeping an eye out. He had responded he would attend. It would be the first time you would see him since Watson and him had dropped you off at your aunt’s after that night at the theater. It had been over a week.

There were card games going on, women sitting in men’s laps, libations and drugs passed around freely.

“My, my, a woman without thick or long sleeves and baring shoulder,” you heard him comment from behind you. Turning, he was standing, hands clasped behind his back. “You’re barely wearing anything at all… what would your mother say?”

“Barely wearing anything?” you repeated, coming to him. “I have a dress on!”

“But it is improper. The scandal!” Sherlock commented dramatically.

“You don’t approve?”

“I prefer it. Your skin is beautiful.”

That was the first time he had commented on anything other than your clothing and your heart jumped. You kept your bearings though.

Cocking an eyebrow, you asked, “Sir, I thought you said it was inappropriate to comment on features. You are so indecent!”

“Yet, you’re still standing here with me.”

“That I am… How satisfied you must be.”

“Quite.” His eyes were alight.

You shook your head, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “Well, are you going to offer to find us drinks?”

Offering his arm, you took it, allowing him to take you towards a table where one of the servers would come by to take an order. The two of you spent the next couple hours drinking and speaking in hushed tones about his work and what was going on with you and he even engaged in politics with you. Throughout the conversation, you had gotten closer to him in the booth, your bodies almost touching.

“You’re here with others…” he commented out of the blue. You confirmed you were and he asked, “Do they need you here?”

“Why?”

Sherlock’s eyes ran over the room quickly before he said, “I am growing tired of the crowd. You could sneak away with me? I have a carriage waiting outside and there is a vintage bottle of brandy at my residence.”

He was… inviting you back to his place? You would be lying if you said you had not been living that kiss over and over again.

Coy, you asked, “That seems a long time to ‘sneak away’.”

“Well, then you could go tell them you are not feeling well. I could pretend you spilled on me, offer to take you home…” he made a face and said. “Honestly, I could handle you even geting sick on me cause I packed a second waist coat.”

Laughing, you asked, “Did you plan this?”

“What would your reaction be if I did?” He examined you closely. He grunted lightly as you came close, your body flush against his. He looked at you in interest. “Forward as ever, are we?”

You slapped his chest and he grinned, taking that as a yes.

<><><>

“This is your place?”

“Well, I rent this room specifically. Watson has another,” Sherlock answered, tossing his coat on the back of a chair. His vest followed suit, leaving him in his dress shirt and suspenders. “You are not shocked by how unorganized I am?”

“There is a lot of things to look at,” you said honestly, picking up a leaf and touching the soil. “You could certainly water more though. That I will judge.”

“You’re quite mouthy.” You heard him popping the cork out of the brandy he had mentioned. “Especially for being the guest.”

“Are you complaining?” you questioned, throwing a look over your shoulder, watching him pour the pair of you small glasses. You were unsure you would be able to handle another drink; you were already buzzed, and you did not want to be too drunk for what you were expecting to come. You wandered further into the room, finding his bed.

You noticed the light film of dust across the pillow you were closest to. “Where do you even sleep? Do you ever sleep?” Running your finger across it, you rose your brows. You flicked the small dust gathering from your finger.

“Yes. But not there.” He was closer now, holding both glasses.

“Well, I hope to change your stance on that,” you said carelessly, tossing the covers back. You grabbed one of the pillows and shook it out before tossing it back.

Sherlock commented, “You are trouble.”

“Am I?” you asked, not looking at him still as you shook out another pillow.

Sherlock was quiet behind you as you began to undress. Your bodice was tossed carelessly to the side and you pulled your skirt over your head, leaving you in your undergarments. You tossed a look over your shoulder, finding him looking at you with rapt attention, his knuckles white on the glasses he was clutching so hard. Your lashes brushed your cheeks as you looked down at your petticoat, releasing it. Your corset and chemise followed, you kicking your heels off.

You turned, facing him, completely nude. You were baring your dignity and your body to him, hoping he would respond in like. He was transfixed and you took that as an invitation to crawl onto his bed, sitting back on your calves. You would be the one to mess it up, get him to sleep in it for the first time in a long time.

He placed the glasses down before turning back to you. He walked forward and you got up onto your knees as he approached. You gestured him closer, and he came to you. You pushed his suspenders off his arms, letting them fall to his sides. Your fingers found the buttons on his shirt, unbuttoning them, the two of your gazes locked. He let you tear it off, throwing it aside before you went to work on his sacks. His hand gripped your wrist as you went to free him from his slacks and a grin broke out.

You kissed the tip of his nose and asked, “Why are we stalling?”

“I’m just thinking of you getting caught. And your family asking for me to hang—”

You silenced him by shoving your lips to his, and he grunted at the impact. He quickly fell into it though.

Good. You had succeeded in getting him to shut the hell up. If even for a moment. You pushed at his slacks and he got the message, pushing them down himself and kicking them off along with his shoes.

You pulled at him, and he followed you, not wanting to let you go. His dick was growing hard, brushing against your skin as you brought him onto the bed. Lying back, he came in between your legs, hovering over you as the two of you were locked in passionate kisses.

His lips trailed up the inside of your thighs. His lips were soft, yet you shuddered at the brush from the stubble of his beard. He kissed up your stomach again, coming up between your breasts. He found your mouth again, his tongue slipping in.

He sunk into you slowly, and your fingers dug into his shoulders as you took each inch, breathing steadily. His lips peppered your shoulder, before sneaking back up. Sucking roughly at your neck, his teeth drug as he drove into you at a slow, steady pace. Small noises left you as you adjusted to his width.

Sherlock was lustful but he relied on passion rather than rough thrusts. He drove deep, holding you securely.

“On your back,” you rasped, wanting to please him.

He followed your order and you found yourself on top. You took him again, sinking into his length. You rode him, moaning, fingernails digging into his chest. His hands were gripping tight at your thighs and hips, low groans emanating from deep in his throat.

You stared into his eyes as you repeatedly sunk onto him, breathless and full of him.

<><><>

Nervously, you sat down on the bench beside Sherlock. He had sent you a note, somehow getting it into your bedroom without anyone in the house noticing. He had been away on a case and during that time, your hand had been forced finally. He looked bleak.

“I saw you are engaged.” He sniffed indignantly, looking out over the water. So, that is how he was going to greet you, cut right to the chase.

“You had time to be the name opposite of mine in that announcement.”

The two of you had been sneaking around either to meet each other for midnight trysts or accompanying him for over a year and a half. And during that time, you had convinced your mother to let you stay at your aunt’s, which granted you the freedom to do so.

He looked piqued. “I told you I was not ready. And I told you I would not be suitable for your parents. You needed to allow me to assist you in finding fortune to raise funds for yourself before moving out.”

“I was caught sneaking out with you.” He looked at you stunned, and you said, “Yes. Our time at The Everlade. Right before you went on this last case. I walked back inside the back door and my aunt was waiting there. There had been too many late nights and the staff had gossiped to her. It was the last straw… I was cornered and I was accused of sleeping around and I didn’t get out to or send you a note to tell you before you left.” He was silent still and you said, “I didn’t give your name up if that is what you are worried about.”

“Of course that’s not what I’m worried about,” Sherlock scoffed immediately.

“I had to choose between my great aunt telling my parents I had been sleeping with someone or behave and take the proposal she had been offered on my behalf.” You noticed the look on his face and sighed heavily. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Sherlock. I had no choice! And did you expect me to become a spinster?”

“I am years your senior and I’m still single,” he argued.

“You’re also a man.”

“You evaded it — marriage, the dredges — for years.”

“I did. At the whim of my parents! I cannot get a place on my own. And if word got around that I was being… loose,” Sherlock bristled at the term because sleeping with one man was not being loose but outside of traditional marriage – something he did not abide by which influenced his feelings on the matter – you were as good as a harlot. And that is what society believed so it was what you had to play by. “I would have been ruined.”

Sherlock huffed.

“It’s true and you know it! I was stuck under their roof! All that time. And we had something, something great. And then I got stuck under that proposal!”

“You could have moved in with me.”

“Oh? To a place with two men? That’s what I could’ve done? That would have looked savory, Sherlock! So then not only would it have been one man I was sleeping with, it would have been two!”

“There’s an attic!”

“You wanted me in the attic?”

“Of course not!” Sherlock snapped sourly. “But it would have been the convenient excuse.”

“Except for your house maid.”

Sherlock scowled at the mention of Mrs. Hudson.

You turned to face him more fully and for the first time he looked at you completely. “Propose to me.” He was stoic and you reached for his hand. “If I had another proposal—"

Sherlock pulled his hand away and you felt a deep pang of hurt. He was gruff when he said, “Your parents won’t accept it. I know who Arthur Cole is. Read up on him. He is drowning in his lineage’s fortune.”

Of course, he was right. They had been overjoyed at the proposal, knowing not only that you would be set financially but they would benefit from it as well.

Your voice was meek when you agreed, “No… they won’t.”

“Then it’s settled then. I knew how this would end.” He cleared his throat and you saw his eyes were wet and your own were following suit, devastated at what was happening. He could not even look at you when he said, his voice barely above shaking, “It does not make it hurt any less.”

He got up from the bench quickly. “Good day.”

“Sherlock. We do not have to end like this,” you protested, reaching for him again but he was out of your reach. You got up now and pleaded, “I do not want to not see you.” He continued walking off and you followed a few steps, trying again. “Sherlock, please!”

You were only met with silence and your feet came to a stop. It would not look good for you to be running after him, especially now since that word could get back to your fiancé. So, your breath shuddered, watching him walk further and further down the path, leaving you behind.

~~~

Fic tags: @undecidedsworld @mcnegan

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes rdj #rdj sherlock holmes #my shit

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ultimate-cinephile · 5 years ago

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Can I PLEASE request some Viktor Licht fluff!! I'm completely obsessed with this little weirdo and cannot get enough 💕 I loved your kissing headcanon's btw

You 100% can! I've been wanting someone to request for a month now. Tysm Nonnie!!

And I'm glad you enjoyed them! Also, I had no idea what to do for a plot, so I decided to do this again seeing as how I had a lot of fun with Joker's.

VIKTOR LICHT FLUFF ALPHABET

A- Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

He definitely admires that you don't judge him for anything. You completely understand that he's devoted to his mission (and you of course, but you didn't hear that from me) and you understand why he does what he does, and he absolutely adores it.

B- Baby (Do they want a family? Why or why not?)

In truth, I don't think he thinks about having a family much. He most definitely wouldn't mind having one in the long run (especially with you), but you'd have to be the one to bring it up.

C- Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

Viktor loves spooning. By the time he goes to bed, you're usually asleep, so he crashes into bed next to you and pulls your back to his chest and he just sort of curling you because he's that tall. It's quite comfortable for the both of you.

D- Dates (What are dates with them like?)

It takes Viktor awhile to get used to the idea of dates. His idea of a date was just two people spending time together. So for awhile, you two just sat in his office while he worked. Then he did some research (watched some romance movies with maki and iris; he r e a l l y liked The Proposal) and decided to take you out on a proper date.

This being said, dates with Viktor are usually a spur of the moment thing and happen when you both have time, but they almost always open you up to a new experience and they're always fun. Sometimes you do something crazy like going to a casino for no reason and sometimes you do something peaceful like just walking around the city and sight-seeing and window shopping and all that cool jazz.

E- Everything (You are my ___; e.g. my life, my world)

"You are my reason for everything. You remind me everyday why I do what I do. Thank you."

F- Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

It was just after Company 8 finished an Infernal. You had slipped away from the rest of the group and Viktor, being the curious boi he is, went after you. He found you comforting a crying child.

It turns out that the kid's parent had been the one to turn Infernal, and you refused to leave their side until they we laughing and smiling again.

Something about that made his heart melt.

He had no idea what was going on and later googled his symptoms (after consulting any sort of reliable medical book/website he could find) and nearly had a heart attack when he found out what it was.

G- Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how so?)

Viktor isn't really a rough man. It's just his nature (I want to make fun of him for being a pacifist, but I can't because I'm one D:<).

Anyways, he isn't overly gentle with you either. He knows that you're more than capable of handling certain things by yourself and he's happy to let you do those things, but if he sees you struggling, he won't hesitate to help you out.

H- Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

He's very fond of linking pinkies. He's not a fan of PDA, but that doesn't make him uncomfortable and he likes holding you in some way. Though if he gets jealous, he wraps an arm around your waist (more on that later though).

I- Impression (What was their first impression?)

Well, since you are a part of the Fire Force (sorry to just assign you a role like this) he naturally thought you were a bit reckless, running into fires like that, but he can't really judge since he kinda did the same thing.

J- Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Oh, he does. He's much better at hiding it than Joker. Licht is very rarely intimidating, and the man cannot glare to save his life. A telltale sign that he's jealous is that he gets more affectionate in front of others. He'll wrap his arm around your waist and pull your back into his chest while resting his chin on the top of your head.

K- Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

Even though they're an expression of friendship, he adores eskimo kisses (when he can bend down to your height) or he likes gently kissing the top of your forehead.

Even though kisses with Licht are usually short-lived, they always communicate how much you mean to him and the words that he so often can't find to say himself.

You 100% had to initiate the first kiss. He was staying up late to work on something and you had to go to sleep or else you'd pass out on the floor so in your tired stupor you gave him a quick good-night peck to the lips.

He did not get any work done the rest of the night.

L- Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

Surprisingly??? Viktor.

Just before he goes to the Haijima lab with Shinra (i'm waiting on the dub, but i sWEAR IF THEY KILL HIM-), you run up to him and kiss him.

"I swear to Sol, Licht, if you die there, I'm gonna kill you. I love you too much to loose you."

Shinra probably had to slap him cause Viktor.exe had crashed.

M- Memory (What’s their favorite memory together?)

You and him were watching the Sound of Music, and you, being a dork, pulled him to his feet and started dancing around the room with him. Both of you fell back on your bed, laughing like a couple of idiots.

N- Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Sometimes. He buys you stuff a lot, and sometimes if he's out in town and he sees something he knows that you'd like, he'll 100% get it for you. He loves seeing you happy and he's more than willing to spare a dollar or two to see you smile.

O- Orange (What color reminds them of their other half?)

Red. The first time you two had a proper conversation, you had accidentally cut your finger while cutting up something for dinner. He offered to help you after he saw you cursing yourself and wrapping your injured finger in a bandage.

P- Pet Names (What pet names do they use?)

I feel like Viktor isn't big on pet names but he sometimes calls you 'love'.

Q- Quaint (What is their favorite non-modern thing?)

Okay so, this is gonna sound weird, but he has a genuine fountain pen that belonged to some famous writer. He's quite proud of it.

R- Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

He loves to work on rainy days. He loves it if you sit there and watch him or if you sit in his lap. If you manage to drag him away, he'll do anything with you. Sometimes, just for the heck of it, he takes you outside and you two just walk around with an umbrella shielding you from becoming drenched.

S- Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Viktor just stirs his problems into coffee. He has no idea how to solve his own problems, so he has no idea what he's doing if he comforts you. He usually just lets you cry and rant and scream until you feel better. He'll hold you in his lap if you want. He has no idea what to do, please help him.

T- Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Viktor will gladly talk about his research or if you manage to get him to watch something with you, he'll geek out about that with you. It's so cute watching him freak out about the ending to Rogue One, it isn't even funny.

U- Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

A nice, hot cup of coffee or tea and you

V- Vaunt (What do they like to show off?)

His fountain pen, you, sometimes his research

W- Wedding (Where, when, and how do they propose?)

It takes him awhile to even consider marriage. Honestly? It takes him long enough that you propose!

It was on a leap day, since that's traditionally the day a woman can propose, you had a nice ring in your back pocket. You tried seven times in one day to propose, but every time you got ready to pop the question, something would come along and you had to wait a minute.

Eventually you just got fed up with going through reports so you asked Licht then. He thought you were kidding when he said yes, but then you chucked a box and his head and he'd never been more happy for a mix-up in his life.

X- Xylophone (What’s their song?)

I know it doesn't ask for a relationship song, but the only song coming to mind right now is The Reason by Hoobastank.

Y- Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

As I said before, he doesn't really think about it until after you get engaged. After that though, he admires the ring with a smile as he counts down the days until you're married.

Z- Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Well, animals are uncommon, but once Vulcan showed him a picture of a gerbil. He has no idea what it is, but he wants one.

okay! that's it! i hope you enjoy it Nonnie!

#fire force #fire brigade of flames #fire force headcanons #fire force fanfiction #fire force x reader #viktor licht #viktor licht x reader #viktor licht fluff

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jenomark · 5 years ago

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➔Summary: For many reasons, you haven’t had sex in a long time. Though you love yourself and your bigger body, you’re always aware that other people might not. After a bad night with someone who didn’t want to be seen in public with you, your best friend Ten offers to set you up with his friend Taeyong.

*This is very body positive, but it does deal with a lot of negative things that are very close to reality for most people. I tried to portray things as accurately as I can, given my own experiences. I know not everyone’s experience is like mine. It’s a very honest outlook on having a one-night-stand or FWB relationship while being a bigger girl.

Mr. No Name. He hit all the right notes and strokes. He was attractive and mildly interesting. More importantly, he said he didn’t care what you looked like, or that it had been awhile since you’d had sex. His clothes flew off mid-air, and you watched them land here and there. Mistakes never landed in one spot, you thought. They peppered your life like seasoning, and even so, life had been tasteless, as of late. You still found yourself craving the morsel that would poison you.

“Can you give me a moment?” you asked.

Nameless stretched across your bed like a God, his arms draped out in what he must have pretended was satin. IKEA might have felt honored. When he spoke, he told you to hurry back quickly. He said he didn’t have that much time, but you suspected he was the type to fuck and leave.

“Okay.” you said.

You left your bedroom, not really thinking that you’d just left a stranger to rummage through your personal belongings. You went into the bathroom and turned off all the lights. You didn’t want to look at your body stuffed into the lingerie you carefully picked out for the occasion. You didn’t want to know what he saw when he looked at you. You hated that you were that girl, but old habits die hard, or rather, they come back from the dead and pick you apart until you’re just bone.

Sex. It never mattered much to you. You would consume it when it came, just a notch above feeling grateful that someone would stick themselves inside of you. You didn’t know if it didn’t matter because it didn’t, or because you couldn’t fathom caring so much about someone that didn’t care for you back. It was easier to skip the hurt altogether and go straight for the parts where you ate the ice cream without the excuse.

“Get a grip.” you told yourself in the darkness.

It had been awhile since you’d had sex because, despite being happy in your own skin, you were still terrified of someone seeing you naked. It was hell to explain how fulfilled you felt as your own person until a man looked at you and diminished your worth by calling you the most unfuckable person in the room. It was so easy for someone to tear down years of hard work and self-reflection for a two second shame fest by a stranger in a passing car, yelling about your weight, or what you should and shouldn’t be eating. And, yes, you hated that you cared what people thought of you, even after all this time.

Enter: Mr. No Name. You called him that because he gave you an alias to call him by, and the fake name didn’t sit well with you. You wanted to ask him why he didn’t want you to know him, but deep down, you already knew. No one wants to be seen with the fat girl. You knew you were completely right when you asked him for coffee, and he looked as if you’d asked him to march around town with a parade float tied to his leg. Not everyone would look at the straight-sized man and the plus-sized girl and think negatively, but there would always be people who were still looking. Maybe you didn’t want to be seen as much as he didn’t want to be seen. Maybe you were also the problem.

Still, you were horny and touch starved. After all, all you wanted from him was sex. That was the agreement. And you loathed yourself for briefly wanting more, for looking at him and his desire for you, and thinking that it could extend beyond the bedroom. Silly you for wanting what some people had. You had to forgive your own poor self-esteem and hope that others would, too.

When you went back to your bedroom, he had passed out on your pillow. He was hugging the other one, his naked body smooth against the fabric. In his sleep, the prospect of him didn’t seem as scary as you thought. You wouldn’t hold it against him. You woke him and told him to put his clothes back on.

“So what?” he said. “Things don’t work out. It wasn’t meant to be.”

You looked over at Ten and felt that he was completely missing the point. It was your fault. You were never honest about how you felt because you didn’t want to bring attention to it. He knew your lingering insecurities as well as anyone, but there were things he could never truly understand. Last thing you wanted was for someone to pity you, or worse, think you’re just making it all up in your head.

“I want sex,” you said. “I think I’m drying up down there.”

“Dating apps.” Ten said, as if his genius idea would save you.

“Absolutely not.”

“You have to start somewhere.”

“I’m not a fetish,” you said. “Dating apps make me realize why I don’t date in the first place.”

“If you wait for things to happen organically, you might miss out,” Ten said. “Do people still do newspaper ads?”

“Are newspapers even a thing?” you asked.

You and Ten looked at each other and shrugged. There were so many things you understood about each other. You sat down and wiped sweat from your forehead. You were supposed to be cleaning your apartment. There was something about deep cleaning that soothed you. And Ten was supposed to be helping, but he was sipping his hot tea and playing around on his phone.

“Can I be honest with you?” you asked.

It felt like now or never. He didn’t need to know everything, just a little bit where you were coming from. There were sirens going off in your head telling you not to say anything to him. Your big mouth couldn’t stop once you were dead set on something.

“Always,” he said, putting his phone down. “Is this about the date?”

You nodded. “It’s about me, too. I’m..I don’t love the body I’m in..sometimes..other times, I love her. She gets me from point A to B. She makes me feel sexy. Forget what makes you healthy and what doesn’t. I don’t listen to anyone else but my doctor. All I know is that I love myself, from my ridiculous long second toe, to my double chin. All of it. And I think that scares people away, and I think I let them scare me away, too.”

“Was he that bad?” he asked.

“He didn’t want to be seen with me. Before we entered my apartment, he asked if anyone knew he was there,” you said. “ I would have cried if I was any other person. You know, I’m not even mad that he was like that. At this point, I expect that more than I don’t. I’m mad that, for one moment in time, I really expected him to be different. He kept saying how much he loved my body, and I didn’t get fetish feelings from him. I thought, “Wow, he could really be the one. He could be the fuck buddy of a lifetime.” Despite fucking it up in so many other ways, he made me feel like a person. I felt wanted.”

“He sounds like a dick.” Ten said.

Slowly, you nodded in agreement. At the same time, you and Ten sipped your drinks, lost in thought.

Then, as if he remembered something important, Ten tilted his head and said, “I know a man.”

“That’s great,” you said, dryly. “I know a lot of men, too.”

‘“No,” he said, slapping the table. “I have a friend.”

You raised your eyebrows. You thought about being sarcastic, but Ten wasn’t paying attention. It was no fun if he didn’t play back. He was excited by his own thought process, the wheels in his head spinning.

“You just want sex!” he said.

“Correct.”

“With someone who will be seen with you in public,” he continued. “So they don’t kill your lady boner. I know a friend who will do that for you.”

“No.” you said, flatly.

“Why not?”

“I’m not a charity case,” you said. “I don’t want a man to fuck me just because he feels bad.”

“This guy isn’t like that.”

You wanted to say that all guys were like that, but that way of thinking didn’t help anyone. It wasn’t true. You knew there were men out there who were what you wanted, you just didn’t know why they were halfway around the world. You thought of Ten’s friends, which were also your friends, by default.

“Which friend?” you asked. “All of them are with someone. Besides, I wouldn’t have sex with any of them. It would be too weird.”

“You don’t know him.”

“But I know all of your friends.”

“Not this one,” Ten said. “He’s in my art class. You’ll love him. Come to Saturday’s class. I’ll introduce you.”

They say fat girls shouldn’t wear overalls. You looked at your tummy in the reflection of a car and pressed your hands against it. Your thighs looked like they were bulging in the little shorts. You shook your head to rid yourself of the thought demons that tried to make you think you were anything less than sexy. Whenever it came to the opinion of men, unfortunately, they liked to show up and rear their ugly heads. You looked adorable in your overalls, and you’d look smokin’ hot out of them.

You weren’t good at art, so you didn’t know how to dress up, or how to behave. You showed up and stood by a bunch of people smoking cigarettes and gossiping. You thought the atmosphere would be more like the movies, and you thanked yourself you didn’t show up in some ridiculous scarf and a beret.

“You’re earlier than I am,” Ten said, hugging you from behind. “That’s not something I can get used to. You look like an art ho.”

“What is an art ho?” you asked.

Self-consciously, your eyes started going towards your reflection. Ten took your arm and led you inside, past the smokers, and right through a door into a cool and brightly lit studio. Ten came every week, and you could see why. The place had a cheery vibe, and everyone around you was smiling and sitting down at an easel. There was food in the corner of the room and all of these prints on the wall that you could look at for hours.

“So,” you said, sitting down. “We just...paint things?”

“Yes, “Ten said. “We get a theme for the day. No rules. No stress or worries. It doesn’t matter what it looks like. All that matters is that you have fun.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re a great artist.”

Ten blushed. “I try my best.”

Taking your place and watching everyone slowly trickle into the class, you noticed how attractive everyone was. You didn’t know what Ten’s friend looked like. You didn’t even know his name. You imagined him in your head, building him up like a clay figure. He had eyes and a nose, he was tall and resembled a beautiful marble statue. You looked around the room and realized there were mostly couples, their eyes finding each other wherever they went. Your eyes kept swimming around the room, too, even as the class began. And that’s when you saw him.

“Whoa.” you said underneath your breath.

He was beautiful. He was tall, like you imagined. So much of his broad shouldered body peeked out from behind his easel. He had black hair, which he swept back from his forehead. He had a smile permanently fixed to his face, and the warmest brown eyes you had ever seen. You physically gulped before nudging Ten.

“Who is that?” you asked.

Ten smirked. “That’s Johnny. All the girls love him.”

You were all the girls. You couldn’t stop staring at him. You wondered if painting him would be too creepy. As class began, you tried focusing on the project at hand, but your eyes kept going back to him.

“I need to get laid, “ you whispered. “I need to get laid so badly.”

“Will you relax,” Ten whispered back. “I don’t need you climaxing in front of my class. I think that’s frowned upon.”

You forgot about Johnny as best as you could and painted the sexiest fruit bowl of your life. You were proud, tired, and most of all, itching at the chance to talk to Johnny. You were thankful for Ten in that moment, so thankful that you could have kissed him. But, your attention was not on Ten. You were thinking about Johnny’s big body slamming you down onto your bed and fucking the still life out of you.

“I want you to meet him now.” Ten said.

You stood fast, your knee knocking into the easel. Several people looked your way because of the loud noise. You waved and tried to shake off the embarrassment. Johnny stood too, his face a model of perfection. He was so happy that it was infectious.

“He’s a little too attractive.” you said.

“Johnny?” Ten asked. “I guess so.”

Ten ushered you forward. As you were getting ready to extend your hand out to Johnny, Ten kept pushing until you were in front of the easel at the end. A man stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans.

“Hello, “ he said. “I’m Taeyong.”

You were speechless. You cursed yourself for automatically thinking it was Johnny. The look on your face must have said it all, because Ten needed to cover for you. He told Taeyong your name after fixing you with the longest side-eye in human history.

“Taeyong,” you said. “Right. I’m sorry. I’m just...so..in love with your painting.”

You looked at his painting. It was chaotic. The fruit were different colors and they were all smashed, the seeds ripped out, and the juices flowing. He had more paint on his hands and arms than what was on the canvas.

“This?” he asked. “Thank you. Painting gives me energy.”

Ten put his hand on your shoulder and said he was going to clean up his station. You couldn’t recover from the initial embarrassment, so you offered to go help him.

“It’s okay if you don’t like what you see,” Taeyong said. “I understand.”

Ten gave you one last “I will fuck you up if you ruin this for yourself” glance before disappearing. Everything in you felt apologetic towards Taeyong. It wasn’t even about him.

“It’s not you.” you said.

Taeyong laughed. “That’s usually how the saying goes.”

“No!” you said. “Really, it’s not you. You’re wonderful.”

And you meant it. Though he was different from Johnny and different from what you expected, Taeyong was very handsome. In your mind, you didn’t judge the way he looked because you didn’t want him to do the same to you. You knew how it felt too well, which is why it hurt you that he was feeling that way.

“Can I be honest?” you said. “I think I fucked this up. Ten didn’t tell me anything about you, and I thought you were someone else.”

“Ahh,” Taeyong said. “Imagine the disappointment.”

You could feel yourself growing dizzy. You took a seat in the chair next to Taeyong. When you stood, you were a little taller than him. When you sat, your body felt massive in front of his smaller frame. You looked into his face, into his eyes which didn’t look as upset as they should have been.

“I’m an idiot,” you said. “All these years wanting people to censor themselves for me, and I end up doing it to someone else. Can we start over?”

Taeyong sat. He placed his hands between his thighs and nodded. The way he moved was so cute that you couldn’t help but smile.

“Taeyong,” you said. “Would you like to come home with me?”

“Y-e-eesss.” he said, drawing the world out cutely.

You found yourself back in your bedroom, in a role that seemed too familiar. You were starting to feel scared that Taeyong only came back because of some fat fetish. He had been seen with you in public, had even reached for your hand on the walk back to your apartment, but fear had a way of resurfacing in intimate spaces.

“This is nice,” Taeyong said, gesturing up at the painting above your bed. “I draw on my walls, but this is much more sophisticated.”

You couldn’t seem to talk. Your mouth was dry. You asked him if he wanted a drink so that you could have one to loosen up. He said he didn’t drink much because his neck got all splotchy and red. You skipped the drink and disappeared into the bathroom, like a coward.

“We’re here again,” you said to yourself. “Just fuck him al-”

There was a knock at the bathroom door. You turned on the lights and opened it slowly to see Taeyong standing there.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m good.”

“It’s just that,” he said. “You’re talking to yourself. I talk to myself sometimes, too. Do you want to do this another time?”

He looked so sweet that something in you just toppled over the edge. You didn’t say no. You didn’t say yes. You crossed the threshold and kissed him, grabbing the back of his head. The kiss itself was so soft and tame that you kept trying to make it more aggressive. Taeyong released his lips from yours and rubbed his mouth. He laughed nervously and looked down at the floor. His lips were red and swollen, his eyes more lustful than before when he finally looked back up at you. He stepped forward and kissed you, pressing his body up against yours. Normally, feeling someone's tummy against yours would make you retreat, but you were so lost in the moment that you didn’t notice.

“Bedroom?” Taeyong asked.

“Yes.”

It was Taeyong who guided you to your own bedroom. Your eyes went straight to the painting above your bed. There was a new appreciation for it. When you looked back to Taeyong, he was looking at you like he was looking at art: admiring, questioning.

“You’re nervous,” he asked. “Why?”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone.” you said.

You and Taeyong sat on the edge of your bed. You were itching to kiss him, but you felt that the questions on the tip of his tongue would get in the way.

“Being nervous is okay,” he said. “But I want you to know that I’ll take my time and make it enjoyable for you.”

He leaned in to kiss you, his hand pushing your hair out of the way so that he could rest it on your cheek. Your hand was on his thigh. Things started escalating, like you were both trying to one-up the other. Taeyong’s hand was on your breast, trying to figure out the machinations of the overalls. You were rubbing his leg a little too much. He had to ask you to stop or he'd explode. You laid back on the bed and let him hover above your body. Your thighs felt extra jiggly when his hands caressed you. You felt yourself clamming up, and Taeyong sensed it and stopped.

“I’m not entirely comfortable with my body sometimes.” you admitted.

“Do you want to stop?” Taeyong asked. “We can watch movies or play board games?”

“Board games?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I like games.”

You wanted to laugh. Taeyong was much different from Mr. No Name. Being with him felt less like a performance. It was like you were being intimate with a friend, only intimacy looked a lot like awkwardness.

“I don’t want to stop,” you said. “Do you?”

“No.” Taeyong said.

He sloped down to kiss you. His hand continued moving up your thigh and into your shorts. Having someone's fingers inside of you after not having anything for so long felt like an epiphany. You moaned and stopped kissing Taeyong. Not because you wanted to stop exploring his mouth, but because you couldn’t contain your excitement. You opened your legs and let him finger you, his skinny and long fingers jerking in and out of you with zeal.

“Don’t stop,” you moaned. “Don’t stop.”

You came around his fingers quickly, your hand reaching out to grab his wrist. He delicately kissed the side of your neck, double chin and all. You took a minute to catch your breath, but Taeyong was all over you. He unhooked your overalls. He lifted up your shirt to reveal your stomach. Checking to see if it was okay with you first, he kissed your soft flesh. You moved further up the bed so that his face was down below. He helped you remove the outfit, and you finished it off, sitting up on your bed naked and fighting the urge to cover yourself.

“Don’t tell me I’m beautiful,” you said. “Don’t say anything at all about my body. Tell me about yours.”

Taeyong smiled in understanding. He yanked his shirt over his head and pointed at his scar. The pink jagged line was shiny. You yearned to place your lips against it.

“A scar,” he said. He brought his hands up his body, his ribs noticeable. Seductively, he brought his hand back down until his fingers caught on his zipper. It didn’t take much for Taeyong’s baggy pants to fall to the ground. He slipped off his briefs to reveal his soft cock. “Can I show you my body?”

“Yes.”

He was going to come to you, but you scooted to the edge of the bed. You didn’t love the way your body looked while you were sitting, but your attention was saved by Taeyong’s cock. You took over, working him in your hands, and watching as he came to life. You leaned down to suck him, enjoying how he whimpered from the warmth of your mouth. You stopped momentarily to kiss his scar before you were back at it, drawing him closer and closer. Before he could spill, you let him go and climbed back onto the bed on all fours, your ass facing him. The position was easiest for you. You didn’t have to look at men when they fucked you, your fat moving rabidly, and your mind wondering how distracted they were by your body. You waited for him to come to you and thrust his cock into you from behind, but Taeyong didn’t.

“I want you on top,” he said. “I want to see you.”

You watched Taeyong lay on your bed, his body just below the painting. He was relaxing in a bunch of pillows, and he was smiling. If you went on top of him, his small frame seemed like it would disappear underneath you. The thought of your thick thighs rubbing against him made you queasy. Yet, there was something so sexy about him wanting you that carried you forward. It was an interesting situation.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

Taeyong lifted his arms behind his head. “Ride me.”

You gripped his thighs and climbed on top of him. You were hyper aware of your body touching his. You lifted your ass up and tried to situate yourself. As you did, Taeyong’s hands were all over you. He poked and prodded you, smoothing his fingers over your skin and exploring everything there was to see and not see. At first, you froze in place. You had never had anyone feel your body like that, like a painter painting a canvas. You could feel his brush strokes as you closed your eyes, his fingers moving over your nipples, and the way he touched you when he went between your legs.

Lowering yourself down onto his cock, you had to slowly let him in. Every inch was felt, moving inside of you so intensely that every time you moved back up just a little, you wanted to lurch forward in pleasure. Taeyong held your waist and kept his hands there as you rocked over him slowly.

“I forgot how good this felt.” you said.

You hadn’t ridden someone since university. It was the second time ever, and the first time with someone you could actually see yourself liking. You tried pushing the L-word thoughts out of your head. You and Taeyong were only having sex, not dating.

“Faster.” Taeyong said, the words coming out of his mouth surprising him.

You rode him faster, trying not to think too hard about the way your body bounced, or how it looked. He touched you as you fucked him, his hands getting increasingly more desperate. The way he looked up at you made you feel bold. You pressed down on his chest and started fucking yourself on his cock with a new pace, your body slamming down on him hard. The sounds of your bodies slapping together was loud, and at one point, you slowed down because you were scared you were hurting him.

“No,” he moaned. “Keep going.”

You fucked him until you came, throwing your head back and riding the wave. Taeyong watched you with awe, even when you didn’t stop moving. You wanted him to come, wanted to finish him off the way he deserved.

“Give it to me,” you said, fucking him. “I want it, Taeyong. Come for me.”

You pushed your breasts against his chest and kissed him. The moan that broke free from his lips was loud and whiny. You kissed his neck and kept taking his cock until he came, his body stiffening before relaxing. You let him stay inside of you long after he had come, his fingertips drawing love hearts on your skin.

“I was thinking,” Taeyong said. “Tomorrow we should get that drink.”

#taeyong #lee taeyong #taeyong smut #lee taeyong smut #nct #nct smut #nct fanfiction #taeyong fanfiction #nct smut fanfiction #taeyong smut fanfiction #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #nct 127 smut fanfiction #johnny #ten #please forgive typos #as yet again I am editing things very late and my mind isn't as clear as it would be during the day #thank you!

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collisiondiscourse · 5 years ago

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i have decided i am now going to blow up your inbox bc i csn i’m sorry codi focnnf

b u t!! anyway i’m going to rambling abt my new dad for all au [whixh was the au i sent you that ask abt]

alrighty so all might is now midoriya’s dad. that’s a thing. i like to think that inko and toshinori were high school sweethearts who broke up after graduation but met again when all might was called to recuse some hostages and inko was one of them!! anywho all might recuses her, they go on a coffee date, realize they’re still in love and start again

they get married and have izuku, who keeps inko’s maiden name [midoriya is now inko’s maiden name bc i do what i want]. he’s the cutest baby who has inko’s green hair, but has one blue and one green eye! [these are /important/] inko and all might talk abt maybe giving izuku all for one when he’s older, but they decide against it bc they don’t know if he’ll have a quirk or not

spoiler!! bitch baby has a quirk!! he gets a quirk that’s so much different than inko’s quirk and !!! ahhh!!! the basic explanation is that all might’s all of one genes mixed and then “corrupt” inko’s like 3 generation quirk-having genes or smth and izu has a very, very complex quirk now. it’s called astron, and astron allows him to fucking astral project into the center of the university and shit chxnc

astron works two different ways: using his blue eye he can project other people into his own personal astral plane and do whatever he wants. while the person’s physical body is still where it was, their mind is in the astral plane. if he uses his green eye, he can project himself to his astral plane and fuck around without consequences!!

[there’s an untold third ability of astron using both of his eyes, but izuku tried doing that when he first got his quirk and immediately fell into a coma for like a month? it was bad and his mind couldn’t handle the stress and dipped lol]

ANYWAY, izuku grows up with a bomb ass quirk and still has his kacchan with him thru his childhood so things are a lot different than canon? the wonder duo are little shitheads together and i love them, they wreck havoc and i love them

i have more ideas for this story but this is all i have for now, codi this is so long i’m sorry i’m blowing up ur inbox 🥺😭

me opening my askbox and seeing the length of this au: holy shit

me reading the actual whole au: HOLY SHIT

AJ I LOVE THIS HIGHKEY!!! I LOVE THE IDEA OF OP DEKU W A FUCKED UP QUIRK JUST TERRIFYING EVERYONE HE COMES ACROSS!!!! heterochromia is SO so good as a character design element and i LOVE THE WAY THIS IS IMPLEMENTED YELLS. I WANNA DRAW THIS SO BAD!!! THIS LOOKS SO COOL

(serious writing/plot below - blood and vomit mention)

oh god and now im imagining deku like. being this extremely feral and annoying lil shit whos extremely powerful and now bakugous got someone on his level so hes a lot more humble as hes growing up but also him and deku are the?? BESTEST OF FRIENDS. and i imagine when bakugou is being a little shit deku just. astral projects him out of his body for a while and apologizes to whoever kacchan yelled at LMFAO---bakugou comes back to his body and is all like “....fucks sake stop doing that”

AND THEN omfgkjfds imagine morally grey deku who does whatever he can to win?? he knew he wouldnt get into UAs hero course fair and square (all might offered him a recommendation but he declined because he wanted to get there on his own with kacchan) because robots didnt have souls he could astral project so he practices his quirks limits like YEARS prior and he tells bakugou about it but never rlly shows him but on the day of the entrance exam?

he shows up. everything goes as normal and he finishes the written exams and then moves on to the practical exam (still seperated from kacchan like in canon) and like. Every one goes dashing forward and deku doesnt really try to beat anyone. He waits until theyre all in the center engaging with robots when he walks to the center of the room.

and he sees the zero pointer in the distance.

“THE ZERO-POINTER’S HERE!” He yells and points at the gigantic mech heading their way. All at once everyone’s heads whip up to catch sight of the robot, enraptured by its sheer size and power.

As they all look to one direction, Deku makes eye contact with them and smiles.

All at once, every single participant in the area goes limp. Astron throws their souls into the astral plane with little fanfare and everyone watches in awe and annoyance as their bodies uselessly crumple to the ground from the outside. The green-haired boy is suddenly given free reigns of the arena and they seethe as one by one he deactivates or disables robots that were once under their purview.

(What some of the smarter ones notice however, is the way he seems to be leaving some stray 3 pointers untouched... almost as if he was doing the calculations in his head as he goes... on how to ensure the number one spot while others can still score points...?)

One by one however, they start struggling and reaching to reconnect with their bodies. Their gleaming bright souls bob up and down with frenzied energy and Deku feels it. He feels it like itches on his skin and goosebumps that turn into hills that dance up and down his back. He feels it like he feels his limit reaching.

Its still around 10 minutes though before he actually loses control and everyone comes back to their bodies. His quirk times out and almost like its angry, the astral plane takes his body in exchange for the dozens he kept in there. He gets sucked through and passes out while everyone else runs and destroys the remaining bots. It doesn’t matter though, because he knows he’s racked up enough points to stay on top. He lets himself rest and observes the blue-haired tall guy with engines who contemplates carrying Deku’s body to safety.

Until, he sees her.

Just under some rubble and very close to getting crushed by the Zero-Pointer’s foot, Deku spots a brown-haired young girl that he recalls has some kind of floating quirk. He sees as everyone runs past her, prioritizing their own safety instead of hers.

He makes a decision.

Quickly--recklessly, a familiar gruff voice says in his ear--he forces himself back into his body and looks around. He runs to the girl and attempts to dig her out from the rubble before she gets crushed. The robot comes ever closer.

Using the little strength and flexibility he’s learnt from years of sparring with Kacchan, Deku abandons her in favor of climbing up the broken concrete and metal to meet the robot’s visor. He knows he won’t save her by digging her out of there, but by god is he gonna let her get injured without a fight. These robots weren’t designed to kill, but they were designed to destroy.

Focus. Focus and listen to what’s around you, Izu-kun.

The world around him reduces to tunnel-vision and suddenly Deku is face to face with the Zero-Pointer. It stops, as if calculating how to discard of Deku without hurting him severely with its own strength.

Everything has life in it. You only need to focus and look for it.

Izuku Midoriya looks at the robot.

In a whirlwind of blue and green, he reaches inside of himself and searches for life. Cold steel and hard-wired code meet his gaze and he plunges even deeper.

Focus.

Then all at once, everything in his visions snaps into sudden clarity, like he’s never seen before. He feels everything. Sees Everything. Smells, tastes, hears--and he hears how the metal beneath him bends and groans. He feels how it winces and shudders. He sees it as it opens its maw and its visor bends in a facsimile of eyes, pleading him as if asking how?

The robot beneath him comes to life and stumbles back.

Quickly, he scrambles to the nearest ledge which happens to be a broken support beam. Distantly, he thinks he feels his arm being sliced open on the edge of it and the warmth of blood streaming down his side as he nearly falls.

“HEY! YOU WITH THE ENGINES!” He hoarsely screams to the still remaining, slack-jawed contestants. “I CAN’T KEEP THE ZERO POINTER DOWN FOR LONG! GO HELP THE GIRL AND TAKE HER TO SAFETY NOW!”

With a sudden burst of energy, the fellow participants start taking others out from the rubble while the blue-haired boy helps the brunette he was protecting earlier. As he watches them clear the rubble to drag her out, he feels a pang.

Who am I? a lost voice calls out. It’s raspy and almost-robotic sounding and only he can hear it. Where am I? What am I?

And Deku’s vision flickers.

In and out, he sees flashes through eyes that aren’t his. He hears voices that are simultaneously faraway and way too close for comfort. The world tugs at the sides of his perspective and a strain is pulling at the back of his head tearing his brain to shreds. He doesn’t know what he’s focusing or straining on, except that its working and keeping the zero-pointer down.

He grits his teeth. “Hurry the hell up! i can’t do this any longer--”

Bursts of pain appear behind his mismatched eyes and he wants to scream so bad and if he were looking any clearer he’d see the way that the zero-pointer thrashes on the ground in time with the pounding on his skull. Bile crawls up the back of his throat and Deku screams.

“SHE’S CLEAR! YOU CAN LET GO NOW, MIDORIYA-SAN.”

Izuku lets go and his vision goes black.

#ASKDZVJFXKS OK THIS TOOK.#A LOT LONGER THAN INTENDED #ok so gthis has plot now and now im thinking of. writing this actually #i love this au so much thank u aj i hOPE YOU DONT MIND THAT I WROTE FOR IT??? im sO SORRY??#anyway have more of my writing its unedited and garbage\#asks #yeets your boy #collisioncomrades #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #deku #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #long post #cw long post #long post cw

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holyhellpod · 4 years ago

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Holy Hell: 3. Metanarrativity: Who’s the Deleuze and who’s the Guattari in your relationship? aka the analysis no one asked for.

In this ep, we delve into authorship, narrative, fandom and narrative meaning. And somehow, as always, bring it back to Cas and Misha Collins.

(Note: the reason I didn’t talk about Billie’s authorship and library is because I completely forgot it existed until I watched season 13 “Advanced Thanatology” again, while waiting for this episode to upload. I’ll find a way to work her into later episodes tho!)

I had to upload it as a new podcast to Spotify so if you could just re-subscribe that would be great! Or listen to it at these other links.

Please listen to the bit at the beginning about monetisation and if you have any questions don’t hesitate to message me here.

Apple | Spotify | Google

Transcript under the cut!

Warnings: discussions of incest, date rape, rpf, war, 9/11, the bush administration, abuse, mental health, addiction, homelessness. Most of these are just one off comments, they’re not full discussions.

Meta-Textuality: Who’s the Deleuze and who’s the Guattari in your relationship?

In the third episode of Season 6, “The Third Man,” Balthazar says to Cas, “you tore up the whole script and burned the pages.” That is the fundamental idea the writers of the first five seasons were trying to sell us: whatever grand plan the biblical God had cooking up is worth nothing in face of the love these men have—for each other and the world. Sam, Bobby, Cas and Dean will go to any lengths to protect one another and keep people safe. What’s real? What’s worth saving? People are real. Families are worth saving.

This show plugs free will as the most important thing a person, angel, demon or otherwise can have. The fact of the matter is that Dean was always going to fight against the status quo, Sam was always going to go his own way, and Bobby was always going to do his best for his boys. The only uncertainty in the entire narrative is Cas. He was never meant to rebel. He was never meant to fall from Heaven. He was supposed to fall in line, be a good soldier, and help bring on the apocalypse, but Cas was the first agent of free will in the show’s timeline. Sam followed Lucifer, Dean followed Michael, and John gave himself up for the sins of his children, at once both a God and Jesus figure. But Cas wasn’t modelled off anyone else. He is original. There are definitely some parallels to Ruby, but I would argue those are largely unintentional. Cas broke the mold.

That’s to say nothing of the impact he’s had on the fanbase, and the show itself, which would not have reached 15 seasons and be able to end the way they wanted it to without Cas and Misha Collins. His back must be breaking from carrying the entire show.

But what the holy hell are we doing here today? Not just talking about Cas. We’re talking about metanarrativity: as I define it, and for purposes of this episode, the story within a story, and the act of storytelling. We’re going to go through a select few episodes which I think exemplify the best of what this show has to offer in terms of framing the narrative. We’ll talk about characters like Chuck and Becky and the baby dykes in season 10. And most importantly we’ll talk about the audience’s role, our role, in the reciprocal relationship of storytelling. After all, a tv show is nothing without the viewer.

I was in fact introduced to the concept of metanarrativity by Supernatural, so the fact that I’m revisiting it six years after I finished my degree to talk about the show is one of life’s little jokes.

I’m brushing off my degree and bringing out the big guns (aka literary theorists) to examine this concept. This will be yet another piece of analysis that would’ve gone well in my English Lit degree, but I’ll try not to make it dry as dog shit.

First off, I’m going to argue that the relationship between the creators of Supernatural and the fans has always been a dialogue, albeit with a power imbalance. Throughout the series, even before explicitly metanarrative episodes like season 10 “Fan Fiction” and season 4 “the monster at the end of this book,” the creators have always engaged in conversations with the fans through the show. This includes but is not limited to fan conventions, where the creators have actual, live conversations with the fans. Misha Collins admitted at a con that he’d read fanfiction of Cas while he was filming season 4, but it’s pretty clear even from the first season that the creators, at the very least Eric Kripke, were engaging with fans. The show aired around the same time as Twitter and Tumblr were created, both of which opened up new passageways for fans to interact with each other, and for Twitter and Facebook especially, new passageways for fans to interact with creators and celebrities.

But being the creators, they have ultimate control over what is written, filmed and aired, while we can only speculate and make our own transformative interpretations. But at least since s4, they have engaged in meta narrative construction that at once speaks to fans as well as expands the universe in fun and creative ways. My favourite episodes are the ones where we see the Winchesters through the lens of other characters, such as the season 3 episode “Jus In Bello,” in which Sam and Dean are arrested by Victor Henriksen, and the season 7 episode “Slash Fiction” in which Dean and Sam’s dopplegangers rob banks and kill a bunch of people, loathe as I am to admit that season 7 had an effect on any part of me except my upchuck reflex. My second favourite episodes are the meta episodes, and for this episode of Holy Hell, we’ll be discussing a few: The French Mistake, he Monster at the end of this book, the real ghostbusters, Fan Fiction, Metafiction, and Don’t Call Me Shurley. I’ll also discuss Becky more broadly, because, like, of course I’ll be discussing Becky, she died for our sins.

Let’s take it back. The Monster At The End Of This Book — written by Julie Siege and Nancy Weiner and directed by Mike Rohl. Inarguably one of the better episodes in the first five seasons. Not only is Cas in it, looking so beautiful, but Sam gets something to do, thank god, and it introduces the character of Chuck, who becomes a source of comic relief over the next two seasons. The episode starts with Chuck Shurley, pen named Carver Edlund after my besties, having a vision while passed out drunk. He dreams of Sam and Dean larping as Feds and finding a series of books based on their lives that Chuck has written. They eventually track Chuck down, interrogate him, and realise that he’s a prophet of the lord, tasked with writing the Winchester Gospels. The B plot is Sam plotting to kill Lilith while Dean fails to get them out of the town to escape her. The C plot is Dean and Cas having a moment that strengthens their friendship and leads further into Cas’s eventual disobedience for Dean. Like the movie Disobedience. Exactly like the movie Disobedience. Cas definitely spits in Dean’s mouth, it’s kinda gross to be honest. Maybe I’m just not allo enough to appreciate art.

When Eric Kripke was showrunner of the first five seasons of Supernatural, he conceptualised the character of Chuck. Kripke as the author-god introduced the character of the author-prophet who would later become in Jeremy Carver’s showrun seasons the biblical God. Judith May Fathallah writes in “I’m A God: The Author and the Writing Fan in Supernatural” that Kripke writes himself both into and out of the text, ending his era with Chuck winking at the camera, saying, “nothing really ends,” and disappearing. Kripke stayed on as producer, continuing to write episodes through Sera Gamble’s era, and was even inserted in text in the season 6 episode “The French Mistake”. So nothing really does end, not Kripke’s grip on the show he created, not even the show itself, which fans have jokingly referred to as continuing into its 16th season. Except we’re not joking. It will die when all of us are dead, when there is no one left to remember it. According to W R Fisher, humans are homo narrans, natural storytellers. The Supernatural fandom is telling a fidelitous narrative, one which matches our own beliefs, values and experiences instead of that of canon. Instead of, at Fathallah says, “the Greek tradition, that we should struggle to do the right thing simply because it is right, though we will suffer and be punished anyway,” the fans have created an ending for the characters that satisfies each and every one of our desires, because we each create our own endings. It’s better because we get to share them with each other, in the tradition of campfire stories, each telling our own version and building upon the others. If that’s not the epitome of mythmaking then I don’t know. It’s just great. Dean and Cas are married, Eileen and Sam are married, Jack is sometimes a baby who Claire and Kaia are forced to babysit, Jody and Donna are gonna get hitched soon. It’s season 17, time for many weddings, and Kevin Tran is alive. Kripke, you have no control over this anymore, you crusty hag.

Chuck is introduced as someone with power, but not influence over the story, only how the story is told through the medium of the novels. It’s basically a very badly written, non authorised biography, and Charlie reading literally every book and referencing things she should have no knowledge of is so damn creepy and funny. At first Chuck is surprised by his characters coming to life, despite having written it already, and when shown the intimidating array of weapons in Baby’s trunk he gets real scared. Which is the appropriate response for a skinny 5-foot-8 white guy in a bathrobe who writes terrible fantasy novels for a living.

As far as I can remember, this is the first explicitly metanarrative episode in the series, or at least the first one with in world consequences. It builds upon the lore of Christianity, angels, and God, while teasing what’s to come. Chuck and Sam have a conversation about how the rest of the season is going to play out, and Sam comes away with the impression that he’ll go down with the ship. They touch on Sam’s addiction to demon blood, which Chuck admits he didn’t write into the books, because in the world of supernatural, addiction should be demonised ha ha at every opportunity, except for Dean’s alcoholism which is cool and manly and should never be analysed as an unhealthy trauma coping mechanism.

Chuck is mostly impotent in the story of Sam and Dean, but his very presence presents an element of good luck that turns quickly into a force of antagonism in the series four finale, “Lucifer Rising”, when the archangel Raphael who defeats Lilith in this episode also kills Cas in the finale. It’s Cas’s quick thinking and Dean’s quick doing that resolve the episode and save them from Lilith, once again proving that free will is the greatest force in the universe. Cas is already tearing up pages and burning scripts. The fandom does the same, acting as gods of their own making in taking canon and transforming it into fan art. The fans aren’t impotent like Chuck, but neither do we have sway over the story in the way that Cas and Dean do. Sam isn’t interested in changing the story in the same way—he wants to kill Lilith and save the world, but in doing so continues the story in the way it was always supposed to go, the way the angels and the demons and even God wanted him to.

Neither of them are author-gods in the way that God is. We find out later that Chuck is in fact the real biblical god, and he engineers everything. The one thing he doesn’t engineer, however, is Castiel, and I’ll get to that in a minute.

The Real Ghostbusters

Season 5’s “The real ghostbusters,” written by Nancy Weiner and Erik Kripke, and directed by James L Conway, situates the Winchesters at a fan convention for the Supernatural books. While there, they are confronted by a slew of fans cosplaying as Sam, Dean, Bobby, the scarecrow, Azazel, and more. They happen to stumble upon a case, in the midst of the game where the fans pretend to be on a case, and with the help of two fans cosplaying as Sam and Dean, they put to rest a group of homicidal ghost children and save the day. Chuck as the special guest of the con has a hero moment that spurs Becky on to return his affections. And at the end, we learn that the Colt, which they’ve been hunting down to kill the devil, was given to a demon named Crowley. It’s a fun episode, but ultimately skippable. This episode isn’t so much metanarrative as it is metatextual—metatextual meaning more than one layer of text but not necessarily about the storytelling in those texts—but let’s take a look at it anyway.

The metanarrative element of a show about a series of books about the brothers the show is based on is dope and expands upon what we saw in “the monster at the end of this book”. But the episode tells a tale about about the show itself, and the fandom that surrounds it.

Where “The Monster At The End Of This Book” and the season 5 premiere “Sympathy For The Devil” poked at the coiled snake of fans and the concept of fandom, “the real ghostbusters” drags them into the harsh light of an enclosure and antagonises them in front of an audience. The metanarrative element revolves around not only the books themselves, but the stories concocted within the episode: namely Barnes and Demian the cosplayers and the story of the ghosts. The Winchester brothers’s history that we’ve seen throughout the first five seasons of the show is bared in a tongue in cheek way: while we cried with them when Sam and Dean fought with John, now the story is thrown out in such a way as to mock both the story and the fans’ relationship to it. Let me tell you, there is a lot to be made fun of on this show, but the fans’ relationship to the story of Sam, Dean and everyone they encounter along the way isn’t part of it. I don’t mean to be like, wow you can’t make fun of us ever because we’re special little snowflakes and we take everything so seriously, because you are welcome to make fun of us, but when the creators do it, I can’t help but notice a hint of malice. And I think that’s understandable in a way. Like The relationship between creator and fan is both layered and symbiotic. While Kripke and co no doubt owe the show’s popularity to the fans, especially as the fandom has grown and evolved over time, we’re not exactly free of sin. And don’t get me wrong, no fandom is. But the bad apples always seem to outweigh the good ones, and bad experiences can stick with us long past their due.

However, portraying us as losers with no lives who get too obsessed with this show — well, you know, actually, maybe they’re right. I am a loser with no life and I am too obsessed with this show. So maybe they have a point. But they’re so harsh about it. From wincestie Becky who they paint as a desperate shrew to these cosplayers who threaten Dean’s very perception of himself, we’re not painted in a very good light.

Dean says to Demian and Barnes, “It must be nice to get out of your mom’s basement.” He’s judging them for deriving pleasure from dressing up and pretending to be someone else for a night. He doesn’t seem to get the irony that he does that for a living. As the seasons wore on, the creators made sure to include episodes where Dean’s inner geek could run rampant, often in the form of dressing up like a cowboy, such as season six “Frontierland” and season 13 “Tombstone”. I had to take a break from writing this to laugh for five minutes because Dean is so funny. He’s a car gay but he only likes one car. He doesn’t follow sports. His echolalia causes him to blurt out lines from his favourite movies. He’s a posse magnet. And he loves cosplay. But he will continually degrade and insult anyone who expresses interest in role play, fandom, or interests in general. Maybe that’s why Sam is such a boring person, because Dean as his mother didn’t allow him to have any interests outside of hunting. And when Sam does express interests, Dean insults him too. What a dick. He’s my soulmate, but I am not going to stop listening to hair metal for him. That’s where I draw the line.

Where “the monster at the end of this book” is concerned with narrative and authorship, “the real ghostbusters” is concerned with fandom and fan reactions to the show. It’s not really the best example to talk about in an episode about metanarrativity, but I wanted to include it anyway. It veers from talk of narrative by focusing on the people in the periphery of the narrative—the fans and the author. In season 9 “Metafiction,” Metatron asks the question, who gives the story meaning? The text would have you believe it’s the characters. The angels think it’s God. The fandom think it’s us. The creators think it’s them. Perhaps we will never come to a consensus or even a satisfactory answer to this question. Perhaps that’s the point.

The ultimate takeaway from this episode is that ordinary people, the people Sam and Dean save, the people they save the world for, the people they die for again and again, are what give their story meaning. Chuck defeats a ghost and saves the people in the conference room from being murdered. Demian and Barnes, don’t ask me which is which, burn the bodies of the ghost children and lay their spirits to rest. The text says that ordinary, every day people can rise to the challenge of becoming extraordinary. It’s not a bad note to end on, by any means. And then we find out that Demian and Barnes are a couple, which of course Dean is surprised at, because he lacks object permanence.

This is no doubt influenced by how a good portion of the transformative fandom are queer, and also a nod to the wincesties and RPF writers like Becky who continue to bottom feed off the wrong message of this show. But then, the creators encourage that sort of thing, so who are the real clowns here? Everyone. Everyone involved with this show in any way is a clown, except for the crew, who were able to feed their families for more than a decade.

Okay side note… over the past year or so I’ve been in process of realising that even in fandom queers are in the minority. I know the statistic is that 10% of the world population is queer, but that doesn’t seem right to me? Maybe because 4/5 closest friends are queer and I hang around queers online, but I also think I lack object permanence when it comes to straight people. Like I just do not interact with straight people on a regular basis outside of my best friend and parents and school. So when I hear that someone in fandom is straight I’m like, what the fuck… can you keep that to yourself please? Like if I saw Misha Collins coming out as straight I would be like, I didn’t ask and you didn’t have to tell. Okay I’m mostly joking, but I do forget straight people exist. Mostly I don’t think about whether people are gay or trans or cis or straight unless they’ve explicitly said it and then yes it does colour my perception of them, because of course it would. If they’re part of the queer community, they’re my people. And if they’re straight and cis, then they could very well pose a threat to me and my wellbeing. But I never ask people because it’s not my business to ask. If they feel comfortable enough to tell me, that’s awesome. I think Dean feels the same way. Towards the later seasons at least, he has a good reaction when it’s revealed that someone is queer, even if it is mostly played off as a joke. It’s just that he doesn’t have a frame of reference in his own life to having a gay relationship, either his or someone he’s close to. He says to Cesar and Jesse in season 11 “The Critters” that they fight like brothers, because that’s the only way he knows how to conceptualise it. He doesn’t have a way to categorise his and Cas’s relationship, which is in many ways, long before season 15 “Despair,” harking back even to the parallels between Ruby and Cas in season 3 and 4, a romantic one, aside from that Cas is like a brother to him. Because he’s never had anyone in his life care for him the way Cas does that wasn’t Sam and Bobby, and he doesn’t recognise the romantic element of their relationship until literally Cas says it to him in the third last episode, he just—doesn’t know what his and Cas’s relationship is. He just really doesn’t know. And he grew up with a father who despised him for taking the mom and wife role in their family, the role that John placed him in, for being subservient to John’s wishes where Sam was more rebellious, so of course he wouldn’t understand either his own desires or those of anyone around him who isn’t explicitly shoving their tits in his face. He moulded his entire personality around what he thought John wanted of him, and John says to him explicitly in season 14 “Lebanon”, “I thought you’d have a family,” meaning, like him, wife and two rugrats. And then, dear god, Dean says, thinking of Sam, Cas, Jack, Claire, and Mary, “I have a family.” God that hurts so much. But since for most of his life he hasn’t been himself, he’s been the man he thought his father wanted him to be, he’s never been able to examine his own desires, wants and goals. So even though he’s really good at reading people, he is not good at reading other people’s desires unless they have nefarious intentions. Because he doesn’t recognise what he feels is attraction to men, he doesn’t recognise that in anyone else.

Okay that’s completely off topic, wow. Getting back to metanarrativity in “The Real Ghostbusters,” I’ll just cap it off by saying that the books in this episode are more a frame for the events than the events themselves. However, there are some good outtakes where Chuck answers some questions, and I’m not sure how much of that is scripted and how much is Rob Benedict just going for it, but it lends another element to the idea of Kripke as author-god. The idea of a fan convention is really cool, because at this point Supernatural conventions had been running for about 4 years, since 2006. It’s definitely a tribute to the fans, but also to their own self importance. So it’s a mixed bag, considering there were plenty of elements in there that show the good side of fandom and fans, but ultimately the Winchesters want nothing to do with it, consider it weird, and threaten Chuck when he says he’ll start releasing books again, which as far as they know is his only source of income. But it’s a fun episode and Dean is a grouchy bitch, so who the holy hell cares?

Season 10 episode “fanfiction” written by my close personal friend Robbie Thompson and directed by Phil Sgriccia is one of the funniest episodes this show has ever done. Not only is it full of metatextual and metanarrative jokes, the entire premise revolves around fanservice, but in like a fun and interesting way, not fanservice like killing the band Kansas so that Dean can listen to “Carry On My Wayward Son” in heaven twice. Twice. One version after another. Like I would watch this musical seven times in theatre, I would buy the soundtrack, I would listen to it on repeat and make all my friends listen to it when they attend my online Jitsi birthday party. This musical is my Hamilton. Top ten episodes of this show for sure. The only way it could be better is if Cas was there. And he deserved to be there. He deserved to watch little dyke Castiel make out with her girlfriend with her cute little wings, after which he and Dean share uncomfortable eye contact. Dean himself is forever coming to terms with the fact that gay people exist, but Cas should get every opportunity he can to hear that it’s super cool and great and awesome to be queer. But really he should be in every episode, all of them, all 300 plus episodes including the ones before angels were introduced. I’m going to commission the guy who edits Paddington into every movie to superimpose Cas standing on the highway into every episode at least once.

“Fan Fiction” starts with a tv script and the words “Supernatural pilot created by Eric Kripke”. This Immediately sets up the idea that it’s toying with narrative. Blah blah blah, some people go missing, they stumble into a scene from their worst nightmares: the school is putting on a musical production of a show inspired by the Supernatural books. It’s a comedy of errors. When people continue to go missing, Sam and Dean have to convince the girls that something supernatural is happening, while retaining their dignity and respect. They reveal that they are the real Sam and Dean, and Dean gives the director Marie a summary of their lives over the last five seasons, but they aren’t taken seriously. Because, like, of course they aren’t. Even when the girls realise that something supernatural is happening, they don’t actually believe that the musical they’ve made and the series of books they’re basing it on are real. Despite how Sam and Dean Winchester were literal fugitives for many years at many different times, and this was on the news, and they were wanted by the FBI, despite how they pretend to be FBI, and no one mentions it??? Did any of the staffwriters do the required reading or just do what I used to do for my 40 plus page readings of Baudrillard and just skim the first sentence of every paragraph? Neat hack for you: paragraphs are set up in a logical order of Topic, Example, Elaboration, Linking sentence. Do you have to read 60 pages of some crusty French dude waxing poetic about how his best friend Pierre wants to shag his wife and making that your problem? Read the first and last sentence of every paragraph. Boom, done. Just cut your work in half.

The musical highlights a lot of the important moments of the show so far. The brothers have, as Charlie Bradbury says, their “broment,” and as Marie says, their “boy melodrama scene,” while she insinuates that there is a sexual element to their relationship. This show never passed up an opportunity to mention incest. It’s like: mentioning incest 5000 km, not being disgusting 1 km, what a hard decision. Actually, they do have to walk on their knees for 100 miles through the desert repenting. But there are other moments—such as Mary burning on the ceiling, a classic, Castiel waiting for Dean at the side of the highway, and Azazel poisoning Sam. With the help of the high schoolers, Sam and Dean overcome Calliope, the muse and bad guy of the episode, and save the day. What began as their lives reinterpreted and told back to them turns into a story they have some agency over.

In this episode, as opposed to “The Monster At The End Of This Book,” The storytelling has transferred from an alcoholic in a bathrobe into the hands of an overbearing and overachieving teenage girl, and honestly why not. Transformative fiction is by and large run by women, and queer women, so Marie and her stage manager slash Jody Mills’s understudy Maeve are just following in the footsteps of legends. This kind of really succinctly summarises the difference between curative fandom and transformative fandom, the former of which is populated mostly by men, and the latter mostly by women. As defined by LordByronic in 2015, Curative fandom is more like enjoying the text, collecting the merchandise, organising the knowledge — basically Reddit in terms of fandom curation. Transformative fandom is transforming the source text in some way — making fanart, fanfic, mvs, or a musical — basically Tumblr in general, and Archive of our own specifically. Like what do non fandom people even do on Tumblr? It is a complete mystery to me. Whereas Chuck literally writes himself into the narrative he receives through visions, Marie and co have agency and control over the narrative by writing it themselves.

Chuck does appear in the episode towards the end, his first appearance after five seasons. The theory that he killed those lesbian theatre girls makes me wanna curl up and die, so I don’t subscribe to it. Chuck watched the musical and he liked it and he gave unwarranted notes and then he left, the end.

The Supernatural creative team is explicitly acknowledging the fandom’s efforts by making this episode. They’re writing us in again, with more obsessive fans, but with lethbians this time, which makes it infinitely better. And instead of showing us as potential date rapists, we’re just cool chicks who like to make art. And that’s fucken awesome.

I just have to note that the characters literally say the word Destiel after Dean sees the actors playing Dean and Cas making out. He storms off and tells Sam to shut the fuck up when Sam makes fun of him, because Dean’s sexuality is NOT threatened he just needs to assert his dominance as a straight hetero man who has NEVER looked at another man’s lips and licked his own. He just… forgets that gay people exist until someone reminds him. BUT THEN, after a rousing speech that is stolen from Rent or Wicked or something, he echoes Marie’s words back, saying “put as much sub into that text as you possibly can.” What does Dean know about subbing, I wonder. Okay I’m suddenly reminded that he did literally go to a kink bar and get hit on by a leather daddy. Oh Dean, the experiences you have as a broad-shouldered, pixie-faced man with cowboy legs. You were born for this role.

Metatron is my favourite villain. As one tumblr user pointed out, he is an evil English literature major, which is just a normal English literature major. The season nine episode “Meta Fiction” written by my main man robbie thompson and directed by thomas j wright, happens within a curious season. Castiel, once again, becomes the leader of a portion of the heavenly host to take down Metatron, and Dean is affected by the Mark Of Cain. Sam was recently possessed by Gadreel, who killed Kevin in Sam’s body and then decided to run off with Metatron. Metatron himself is recruiting angels to join him, in the hopes that he can become the new God. It’s the first introduction of Hannah, who encourages Cas to recruit angels himself to take on Metatron. Also, we get to see Gabriel again, who is always a delight.

This episode is a lot of fun. Metatron poses questions like, who tells a story and who is the most important person in the telling? Is it the writer? The audience? He starts off staring over his typewriter to address the camera, like a pompous dickhead. No longer content with consuming stories, he’s started to write his own. And they are hubristic ones about becoming God, a better god than Chuck ever was, but to do it he needs to kill a bunch of people and blame it on Cas. So really, he’s actually exactly like Chuck who blamed everything on Lucifer.

But I think the most apt analogy we can use for this in terms of who is the creator is to think of Metatron as a fanfiction writer. He consumes the media—the Winchester Gospels—and starts to write his own version of events—leading an army to become God and kill Cas. Nevermind that no one has been able to kill Cas in a way that matters or a way that sticks. Which is canon, and what Metatron is trying to do is—well not fanon because it actually does impact the Winchesters’ storyline. It would be like if one of the writers of Supernatural began writing Supernatural fanfiction before they got a job on the show. Which as my generation and the generations coming after me get more comfortable with fanfiction and fandom, is going to be the case for a lot of shows. I think it’s already the case for Riverdale. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the woman who wrote the bi Dean essay go to work on Riverdale? Or something? I dunno, I have the post saved in my tumblr likes but that is quagmire of epic proportions that I will easily get lost in if I try to find it.

Okay let me flex my literary degree. As Englund and Leach say in “Ethnography and the metanarratives of modernity,” “The influential “literary turn,” in which the problems of ethnography were seen as largely textual and their solutions as lying in experimental writing seems to have lost its impetus.” This can be taken to mean, in the context of Supernatural, that while Metatron’s writings seek to forge a new path in history, forgoing fate for a new kind of divine intervention, the problem with Metatron is that he’s too caught up in the textual, too caught up in the writing, to be effectual. And this as we see throughout seasons 9, 10 and 11, has no lasting effect. Cas gets his grace back, Dean survives, and Metatron becomes a powerless human. In this case, the impetus is his grace, which he loses when Cas cuts it out of him, a mirror to Metatron cutting out Cas’s grace.

However, I realise that the concept of ethnography in Supernatural is a flawed one, ethnography being the observation of another culture: a lot of the angels observe humanity and seem to fit in. However, Cas has to slowly acclimatise to the Winchesters as they tame him, but he never quite fit in—missing cues, not understanding jokes or Dean’s personal space, the scene where he says, “We have a guinea pig? Where?” Show him the guinea pig Sam!!! He wants to see it!!! At most he passes as a human with autism. Cas doesn’t really observe humanity—he observes nature, as seen in season 7 “reading is fundamental” and “survival of the fittest”. Even the human acts he talks about in season 6 “the man who would be king” are from hundreds or thousands of years ago. He certainly doesn’t observe popular culture, which puts him at odds with Dean, who is made up of 90 per cent pop culture references and 10 per cent flannel. Metatron doesn’t seek to blend in with humanity so much as control it, which actually is the most apt example of ethnography for white people in the last—you know, forever. But of course the writers didn’t seek to make this analogy. It is purely by chance, and maybe I’m the only person insane enough to realise it. But probably not. There are a lot of cookies much smarter than me in the Supernatural fandom and they’ve like me have grown up and gone to university and gotten real jobs in the real world and real haircuts. I’m probably the only person to apply Englund and Leach to it though.

And yes, as I read this paper I did need to have one tab open on Google, with the word “define” in the search bar.

Metatron has a few lines in this that I really like. He says:

“The universe is made up of stories, not atoms.”

“You’re going to have to follow my script.”

“I’m an entity of my word.”

It’s really obvious, but they’re pushing the idea that Metatron has become an agent of authorship instead of just a consumer of media. He even throws a Supernatural book into his fire — a symbolic act of burning the script and flipping the writer off, much like Cas did to God and the angels in season 5. He’s not a Kripke figure so much as maybe a Gamble, Carver or Dabb figure, in that he usurps Chuck and becomes the author-god. This would be extremely postmodern of him if he didn’t just do exactly what Chuck was doing, except worse somehow. In fact, it’s postmodern of Cas to reject heaven’s narrative and fall for Dean. As one tumblr user points out, Cas really said “What’s fate compared to Dean Winchester?”

Okay this transcript is almost 8000 words already, and I still have two more episodes to review, and more things to say, so I’ll leave you with this. Metatron says to Cas, “Out of all of God’s wind up toys, you’re the only one with any spunk.” Why Cas has captured his attention comes down more than anything to a process of elimination. Most angels fucking suck. They follow the rules of whoever puts themselves in charge, and they either love Cas or hate him, or just plainly wanna fuck him, and there have been few angels who stood out. Balthazar was awesome, even though I hated him the first time I watched season 6. He UNSUNK the Titanic. Legend status. And Gabriel was of course the OG who loves to fuck shit up. But they’re gone at this stage in the narrative, and Cas survives. Cas always survives. He does have spunk. And everyone wants to fuck him.

Season 11 episode 20 “Don’t Call Me Shurley,” the last episode written by the Christ like figure of Robbie Thompson — are we sensing a theme here? — and directed by my divine enemy Robert Singer, starts with Metatron dumpster diving for food. I’m not even going to bother commenting on this because like… it’s supernatural and it treats complex issues like homelessness and poverty with zero nuance. Like the Winchesters live in poverty but it’s fun and cool because they always scrape by but Metatron lives in poverty and it’s funny. Cas was homeless and it was hard but he needed to do it to atone for his sins, and Metatron is homeless and it’s funny because he brought it on himself by being a murderous dick. Fucking hell. Robbie, come on. The plot focuses on God, also known as Chuck Shurley, making himself known to Metatron and asking for Metatron’s opinion on his memoir. Meanwhile, the Winchesters battle another bout of infectious serial killer fog sent by Amara. At the end of the episode, Chuck heals everyone affected by the fog and reveals himself to Sam and Dean.

Chuck says that he didn’t foresee Metatron trying to become god, but the idea of Season 15 is that Chuck has been writing the Winchesters’ story all their lives. When Metatron tries, he fails miserably, is locked up in prison, tortured by Dean, then rendered useless as a human and thrown into the world without a safety net. His authorship is reduced to nothing, and he is reduced to dumpster diving for food. He does actually attempt to live his life as someone who records tragedies as they happen and sells the footage to news stations, which is honestly hilarious and amazing and completely unsurprising because Metatron is, at the heart of it, an English Literature major. In true bastard style, he insults Chuck’s work and complains about the bar, but slips into his old role of editor when Chuck asks him to.

The theory I’m consulting for this uses the term metanarrative in a different way than I am. They consider it an overarching narrative, a grand narrative like religion. Chuck’s biography is in a sense most loyal to Middleton and Walsh’s view of metanarrative: “the universal story of the world from arche to telos, a grand narrative encompassing world history from beginning to end.” Except instead of world history, it’s God’s history, and since God is construed in Supernatural as just some guy with some powers who is as fallible as the next some guy with some powers, his story has biases and agendas. Okay so in the analysis I’m getting Middleton and Walsh’s quotes from, James K A Smith’s “A little story about metanarratives,” Smith dunks on them pretty bad, but for Supernatural purposes their words ring true. Think of them as the BuckLeming of Lyotard’s postmodern metanarrative analysis: a stopped clock right twice a day. Is anyone except me understanding the sequence of words I’m saying right now. Do I just have the most specific case of brain worms ever found in human history. I’m currently wearing my oversized Keith Haring shirt and dipping pretzels into peanut butter because it’s 3.18 in the morning and the homosexuals got to me. The total claims a comprehensive metanarrative of world history make do indeed, as Middleton and Walsh claim, lead to violence, stay with me here, because Chuck’s legacy is violence, and so is Metatron’s, and in trying to reject the metanarrative, Sam and Dean enact violence. Mostly Dean, because in season 15 he sacrifices his own son twice to defeat Chuck. But that means literally fighting violence with violence. Violence is, after all, all they know. Violence is the lens through which they interact with the world. If the writers wanted to do literally anything else, they could have continued Dean’s natural character progression into someone who eschews the violence that stems from intergeneration trauma — yes I will continue to use the phrase intergenerational trauma whenever I refer to Dean — and becomes a loving father and husband. Sam could eschew violence and start a monster rehabilitation centre with Eileen.

This episode of Holy Hell is me frantically grabbing at straws to make sense of a narrative that actively hates me and wants to kick me to death. But the violence Sam and Dean enact is not at a metanarrative level, because they are not author-gods of their own narrative. In season 15 “Atomic Monsters,” Becky points out that the ending of the Supernatural book series is bad because the brothers die, and then, in a shocking twist of fate, Dean does die, and the narrative is bad. The writers set themselves a goal post to kick through and instead just slammed their heat into the bars. They set up the dartboard and were like, let’s aim the darts at ourselves. Wouldn’t that be fun. Season 15’s writing is so grossly incompetent that I believe every single conspiracy theory that’s come out of the finale since November, because it’s so much more compelling than whatever the fuck happened on the road so far. Carry on? Why yes, I think I will carry on, carry on like a pork chop, screaming at the bars of my enclosure until I crack my voice open like an egg and spill out all my rage and frustration. The world will never know peace again. It’s now 3.29 and I’ve written over 9000 words of this transcript. And I’m not done.

Middleton and Walsh claim that metanarratives are merely social constructions masquerading as universal truths. Which is, exactly, Supernatural. The creators have constructed this elaborate web of narrative that they want to sell us as the be all and end all. They won’t let the actors discuss how they really feel about the finale. They won’t let Misha Collins talk about Destiel. They want us to believe it was good, actually, that Dean, a recovering alcoholic with a 30 year old infant son and a husband who loves him, deserved to die by getting NAILED, while Sam, who spent the last four seasons, the entirety of Andrew Dabb’s run as showrunner, excelling at creating a hunter network and romancing both the queen of hell and his deaf hunter girlfriend, should have lived a normie life with a normie faceless wife. Am I done? Not even close. I started this episode and I’m going to finish it.

When we find out that Chuck is God in the episode of season 11, it turns everything we knew about Chuck on its head. We find out in Season 15 that Chuck has been writing the Winchesters’ story all along, that everything that happened to them is his doing. The one thing he couldn’t control was Cas’s choice to rebel. If we take him at his word, Cas is the only true force of free will in the entire universe, and more specifically, the love that Cas had for Dean which caused him to rebel and fall from heaven. — This theory has holes of course. Why would Lucifer torture Lilith into becoming the first demon if he didn’t have free will? Did Chuck make him do that? And why? So that Chuck could be the hero and Lucifer the bad guy, like Lucifer claimed all along? That’s to say nothing of Adam and Eve, both characters the show introduced in different ways, one as an antagonist and the other as the narrative foil to Dean and Cas’s romance. Thinking about it makes my head hurt, so I’m just not gunna.

So Chuck was doing the writing all along. And as Becky claims in “Atomic Monsters,” it’s bad writing. The writers explicitly said, the ending Chuck wrote is bad because there’s no Cas and everyone dies, and then they wrote an ending where there is no Cas and everyone dies. So talk about self-fulfilling prophecies. Talk about giant craters in the earth you could see from 800 kilometres away but you still fell into. Meanwhile fan writers have the opportunity to write a million different endings, all of which satisfy at least one person. The fandom is a hydra, prolific and unstoppable, and we’ll keep rewriting the ending a million more times.

And all this is not even talking about the fact that Chuck is a man, Metatron is a man, Sam and Dean and Cas are men, and the writers and directors of the show are, by an overwhelming majority, men. Most of them are white, straight, cis men. Feminist scholarship has done a lot to unpack the damage done by paternalistic approaches to theory, sociology, ethnography, all the -ys, but I propose we go a step further with these men. Kill them. Metanarratively, of course. Amara, the Darkness, God’s sister, had a chance to write her own story without Chuck, after killing everything in the universe, and I think she had the right idea. Knock it all down to build it from the ground up. Billie also had the opportunity to write a narrative, but her folly was, of course, putting any kind of faith in the Winchesters who are also grossly incompetent and often fail up. She is, as all author-gods on this show are, undone by Castiel. The only one with any spunk, the only one who exists outside of his own narrative confines, the only one the author-gods don’t have any control over. The one who died for love, and in dying, gave life.

The French Mistake

Let’s change the channel. Let’s calm ourselves and cleanse our libras. Let’s commune with nature and chug some sage bongs.

“The French Mistake” is a song from the Mel Brooks film Blazing Saddles. In the iconic second last scene of the film, as the cowboys fight amongst themselves, the camera pans back to reveal a studio lot and a door through which a chorus of gay dancersingers perform “the French Mistake”. The lyrics go, “Throw out your hands, stick out your tush, hands on your hips, give ‘em a push. You’ll be surprised you’re doing the French Mistake.”

I’m not sure what went through the heads of the Supernatural creators when they came up with the season 6 episode, “The French Mistake,” written by the love of my life Ben Edlund and directed by some guy Charles Beeson. Just reading the Wikipedia summary is so batshit incomprehensible. In short: Balthazar sends Sam and Dean to an alternate universe where they are the actors Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles, who play Sam and Dean on the tv show Supernatural. I don’t think this had ever been done in television history before. The first seven seasons of this show are certifiable. Like this was ten years ago. Think about the things that have happened in the last 10 slutty, slutty years. We have lived through atrocities and upheaval and the entire world stopping to mourn, but also we had twitter throughout that entire time, which makes it infinitely worse.

In this universe, Sam and Dean wear makeup, Cas is played by attractive crying man Misha Collins, and Genevieve Padalecki nee Cortese makes an appearance. Magic doesn’t exist, Serge has good ideas, and the two leads have to act in order to get through the day. Sorry man I do not know how to pronounce your name.

Sidenote: I don’t know if me being attracted aesthetically to Misha Collins is because he’s attractive, because this show has gaslighted me into thinking he’s attractive, or because Castiel’s iconic entrance in 2008 hit my developing mind like a torpedo full of spaghetti and blew my fucking brains all over the place. It’s one of life’s little mysteries and God’s little gifts.

Let’s talk about therapy. More specifically, “Agency and purpose in narrative therapy: questioning the postmodern rejection of metanarrative” by Cameron Lee. In this paper, Lee outlines four key ideas as proposed by Freedman and Combs:

Realities are socially constructed

Realities are constituted through language

Realities are organised and maintained through narrative

And there are no essential truths.

Let’s break this down in the case of this episode. Realities are socially constructed: the reality of Sam and Dean arose from the Bush era. Do I even need to elaborate? From what I understand with my limited Australian perception, and being a child at the time, 9/11 really was a prominent shifting point in the last twenty years. As Americans describe it, sometimes jokingly, it was the last time they were really truly innocent. That means to me that until they saw the repercussions of their government’s actions in funding turf wars throughout the middle east for a good chunk of the 20th Century, they allowed themselves to be hindered by their own ignorance. The threat of terrorism ran rampant throughout the States, spurred on by right wing nationalists and gun-toting NRA supporters, so it’s really no surprise that the show Supernatural started with the premise of killing everything in sight and driving around with only your closest kin and a trunk full of guns. Kripke constructed that reality from the social-political climate of the time, and it has wrought untold horrors on the minds of lesbians who lived through the noughties, in that we are now attracted to Misha Collins.

Number two: Realities are constituted through language. Before a show can become a show, it needs to be a script. It’s written down, typed up, and given to actors who say the lines out loud. In this respect, they are using the language of speech and words to convey meaning. But tv shows are not all about words, and they’re barely about scripts. From what I understand of being raised by television, they are about action, visuals, imagery, and behaviours. All of the work that goes into them—the scripts, the lighting, the audio, the sound mixing, the cameras, the extras, the ADs, the gaffing, the props, the stunts, everything—is about conveying a story through the medium of images. In that way, images are the language. The reality of the show Supernatural, inside the show Supernatural, is constituted through words: the script, the journalists talking to Sam, the makeup artist taking off Dean’s makeup, the conversations between the creators, the tweets Misha sends. But also through imagery: the fish tank in Jensen’s trailer, the model poses on the front cover of the magazine, the opulence of Jared’s house, Misha’s iconic sweater. Words and images are the language that constitutes both of these realities. Okay for real, I feel like I’ve only seen this episode max three times, including when I watched it for research for this episode, but I remember so much about it.

Number three: realities are organised and maintained through narrative. In this universe of the French Mistake, their lives are structured around two narratives: the internal narrative of the show within the show, in which they are two actors on a tv set; and the episode narrative in which they need to keep the key safe and return to their own universe. This is made difficult by the revelation that magic doesn’t work in this universe, however, they find a way. Before they can get back, though, an avenging angel by the name of Virgil guns down author-god Eric Kripke and tries to kill the Winchesters. However, they are saved by Balthazar and the freeze frame and brought back into their own world, the world of Supernatural the show, not Supernatural the show within the show within the nesting doll. And then that reality is done with, never to be revisited or even mentioned, but with an impact that has lasted longer than the second Bush administration.

And number four: there are no essential truths. This one is a bit tricky because I can’t find what Lee means by essential truths, so I’m just going to interpret that. To me, essential truths means what lies beneath the narratives we tell ourselves. Supernatural was a show that ran for 15 years. Supernatural had actors. Supernatural was showrun by four different writers. In the show within a show, there is nothing, because that ceases to exist for longer than the forty two minute episode “The French Mistake”. And since Supernatural no longer exists except in our computers, it is nothing too. It is only the narratives we tell ourselves to sleep better at night, to wake up in the morning with a smile, to get through the day, to connect with other people, to understand ourselves better. It’s not even the narrative that the showrunners told, because they have no agency over it as soon as it shows up on our screens. The essential truth of the show is lost in the translation from creating to consuming. Who gives the story meaning? The people watching it and the people creating it. We all do.

Lee says that humans are predisposed to construct narratives in order to make sense of the world. We see this in cultures from all over the world: from cave paintings to vases, from The Dreaming to Beowulf, humans have always constructed stories. The way you think about yourself is a story that you’ve constructed. The way you interact with your loved ones and the furries you rightfully cyberbully on Twitter is influenced by the narratives you tell yourself about them. And these narratives are intricate, expansive, personalised, and can colour our perceptions completely, so that we turn into a different person when we interact with one person as opposed to another.

Whatever happened in season 6, most of which I want to forget, doesn’t interest me in the way I’m telling myself the writers intended. For me, the entirety of season 6 was based around the premise of Cas being in love with Dean, and the complete impotence of this love. He turns up when Dean calls, he agonises as he watches Dean rake leaves and live his apple pie life with Lisa, and Dean is the person he feels most horribly about betraying. He says, verbatim, to Sam, “Dean and I do share a more profound bond.” And Balthazar says, “You’re confusing me with the other angel, the one in the dirty trenchcoat who’s in love with you.” He says this in season 6, and we couldn’t do a fucken thing about it.

The song “The French Mistake” shines a light on the hidden scene of gay men performing a gay narrative, in the midst of a scene about the manliest profession you can have: professional horse wrangler, poncho wearer, and rodeo meister, the cowboy. If this isn’t a perfect encapsulation of the lovestory between Dean and Cas, which Ben Edlund has been championing from day fucking one of Misha Collins walking onto that set with his sex hair and chapped lips, then I don’t know what the fuck we’re even doing here. What in the hell else could it possibly mean. The layers to this. The intricacy. The agendas. The subtextual AND blatant queerness. The micro aggressions Crowley aimed at Car in “The Man Who Would Be King,” another Bedlund special. Bed Edlund is a fucking genius. Bed Edlund is cool girl. Ben Edlund is the missing link. Bed Edlund IS wikileaks. Ben Edlund is a cool breeze on a humid summer day. Ben Edlund is the stop loading button on a browser tab. Ben Edlund is the perfect cross between Spotify and Apple Music, in which you can search for good playlists, but without having to be on Spotify. He can take my keys and fuck my wife. You best believe I’m doing an entire episode of Holy Hell on Bedlund’s top five. He is the reason I want to get into staffwriting on a tv show. I saw season 4 episode “On the head of a pin” when my brain was still torpedoed spaghetti mush from the premiere, and it nestled its way deep into my exposed bones, so that when I finally recovered from that, I was a changed person. My god, this transcript is 11,000 words, and I haven’t even finished the Becky section. Which is a good transition.

Oh, Becky. She is an incarnation of how the writers, or at least Kripke, view the fans. Watching season 5 “Sympathy for the Devil” live in 2009 was a whole fucking trip that I as a baby gay was not prepared for. Figuring out my sexuality was a journey that started with the Supernatural fandom and is in some aspects still raging against the dying of the light today. Add to that, this conception of the audience was this, like, personification of the librarian cellist from Juno, but also completely without boundaries, common sense, or shame. It made me wonder about my position in the narrative as a consumer consuming. Is that how Kripke saw me, specifically? Was I like Becky? Did my forays into DeanCasNatural on El Jay dot com make me a fucking loser whose only claim to fame is writing some nasty fanfiction that I’ve since deleted all traces of? Don’t get me wrong, me and my unhinged Casgirl friends loved Becky. I can’t remember if I ever wrote any fanfiction with her in it because I was mostly writing smut, which is extremely Becky coded of me, but I read some and my friends and I would always chat about her when she came up. She was great entertainment value before season 7. But in the eyes of the powers that be, Becky, like the fans themselves, are expendable. First they turned her into a desperate bride wannabe who drugs Sam so that he’ll be with her, then Chuck waves his hand and she disappears. We’re seeing now with regards to Destiel, Cas, and Misha Collins this erasure of them from the narrative. Becky says in season 15 “Atomic Monsters” that the ending Chuck writes is bad because, for one, there’s no Cas, and that’s exactly what’s happening to the text post-finale. It literally makes me insane akin to the throes of mania to think about the layers of this. They literally said, “No Cas = bad” and now Misha isn’t even allowed to talk in his Cassona voice—at least at the time I wrote that—to the detriment of the fans who care about him. It’s the same shit over and over. They introduce something we like, they realise they have no control over how much we like it, and then they pretend they never introduced it in the first place. Season 7, my god. The only reason Gamble brought back Cas was because the ratings were tanking the show. I didn’t even bother watching most of it live, and would just hear from my friends whether Cas was in the episodes or not. And then Sera, dear Sera, had the gall to say it was a Homer’s Odyssey narrative. I’m rusty on Homer aka I’ve never read it but apparently Odysseus goes away, ends up with a wife on an island somewhere, and then comes back to Terabithia like it never happened. How convenient. But since Sera Gamble loves to bury her gays, we can all guess why Cas was written out of the show: Cas being gay is a threat to the toxic heteronormativity spouted by both the show and the characters themselves. In season 15, after Becky gets her life together, has kids, gets married, and starts a business, she is outgrowing the narrative and Chuck kills her. The fans got Destiel Wedding trending on Twitter, and now the creators are acting like he doesn’t exist. New liver, same eagles.

I have to add an adendum: as of this morning, Sunday 11th, don’t ask me what time that is in Americaland, Misha Collins did an online con/Q&A thing and answered a bunch of questions about Cas and Dean, which goes to show that he cannot be silenced. So the narrative wants to be told. It’s continuing well into it’s 16th or 17th season. It’s going to keep happening and they have no recourse to stop it. So fuck you, Supernatural.

I did write the start of a speech about representation but, who the holy hell cares. I also read some disappointing Masters theses that I hope didn’t take them longer to research and write than this episode of a podcast I’m making for funsies took me, considering it’s the same number of pages. Then again I have the last four months and another 8 years of fandom fuelling my obsession, and when I don’t sleep I write, hence the 4,000 words I knocked out in the last 12 hours.

Some final words. Lyotard defines postmodernism, the age we live in, as an incredulity towards metanarratives. Modernism was obsessed with order and meaning, but postmodernism seeks to disrupt that. Modernists lived within the frame of the narrative of their society, but postmodernists seek to destroy the frame and live within our own self-written contexts. Okay I love postmodernist theory so this has been a real treat for me. Yoghurt, Sam? Postmodernist theory? Could I BE more gay?

Middleton and Walsh in their analysis of postmodernism claim that biblical faith is grounded in metanarrative, and explore how this intersects with an era that rejects metanarrative. This is one of the fundamental ideas Supernatural is getting at throughout definitely the last season, but other seasons as well. The narratives of Good vs Evil, Michael vs Lucifer, Dean vs Sam, were encoded into the overarching story of the show from season 1, and since then Sam and Dean have sought to break free of them. Sam broke free of John’s narrative, which was the hunting life, and revenge, and this moralistic machismo that they wrapped themselves up in. If they’re killing the evil, then they’re not the evil. That’s the story they told, and the impetus of the show that Sam was sucked back into. But this thread unravelled in later seasons when Dean became friends with Benny and the idea that all supernatural creatures are inherently evil unravelled as well. While they never completely broke free of John’s hold over them, welcoming Jack into their lives meant confronting a bias that had been ingrained in them since Dean was 4 years old and Sam 6 months. In the face of the question, “are all monsters monstrous?” the narrative loosens its control. Even by questioning it, it throws into doubt the overarching narrative of John’s plan, which is usurped at the end of season 2 when they kill Azazel by Dean’s demon deal and a new narrative unfolds. John as author-god is usurped by the actual God in season 4, who has his own narrative that controls the lives of Sam, Dean and Cas.

Okay like for real, I do actually think the metanarrativity in Supernatural is something that should be studied by someone other than me, unless you wanna pay me for it and then shit yeah. It is extremely cool to introduce a biographical narrative about the fictional narrative it’s in. It’s cool that the characters are constantly calling this narrative into focus by fighting against it, struggling to break free from their textual confines to live a life outside of the external forces that control them. And the thing is? The really real, honest thing? They have. Sam, Dean and Cas have broken free of the narrative that Kripke, Carver, Gamble and Dabb wrote for them. The very fact that the textual confession of love that Cas has for Dean ushered in a resurgence of fans, fandom and activity that has kept the show trending for five months after it ended, is just phenomenal. People have pointed out that fans stopped caring about Game of Thrones as soon as it ended. Despite the hold they had over tv watchers everywhere, their cultural currency has been spent. The opposite is true for Supernatural. Despite how the finale of the show angered and confused people, it gains more momentum every day. More fanworks, more videos, more fics, more art, more ire, more merch is being generated by the fans still. The Supernatural subreddit, which was averaging a few posts a week by season 15, has been incensed by the finale. And yours truly happily traipsed back into the fandom snake pit after 8 years with a smile on my face and a skip in my step ready to pump that dopamine straight into my veins babeeeeeeyyyyy. It’s been WILD. I recently reconnected with one of my mutuals from 2010 and it’s like nothing’s changed. We’re both still unhinged and we both still simp for Supernatural. Even before season 15, I was obsessed with the podcast Ride Or Die, which I started listening to in late 2019, and Supernatural was always in the back of my mind. You just don’t get over your first fandom. Actually, Danny Phantom was my first fandom, and I remember being 12 talking on Danny Phantom forums to people much too old to be the target audience of the show. So I guess that hasn’t left me either. And the fondest memories I have of Supernatural is how the characters have usurped their creators to become mythic, long past the point they were supposed to die a quiet death. The myth weaving that the Supernatural fandom is doing right now is the legacy that will endure.

References

I got all of these for free from Google Scholar!

Judith May Fathallah, “I’m A God: The Author and the Writing Fan in Supernatural.”

James K A Smith, “A Little Story About Metanarratives: Lyotard, Religion and Postmodernism Revisited.” 2001.

Cameron Lee, “Agency and Purpose in Narrative Therapy: Questioning the Postmodern Rejection of Metanarrative.” 2004.

Harri Englund and James Leach, “Ethnography and the Meta Narratives of Modernity.” 2000.

https://uproxx.com/filmdrunk/mel-brooks-explains-french-mistake-blazing-saddles-blu-ray/

#transcripts #supernatural #supernatural podcast #<60mins #this is first and foremost a podcast about cas and misha collins

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bittybattybunny · 4 years ago

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The florist?! What has she done?! And what au is that?

Oh I guess I never talked about that AU

hahaha

Okay so sit down---

I have an AU called “the resurrection of Arulius Law”

it’s based on Frankenstein as well as the song “Annabel raises the dead“

Lillian is a crazed woman who fell in love with her classmate and childhood friend Arulius Law, however, he was already in a relationship with Vanessa Frost and they did plan to wed when he finished schooling. Lillian was kicked from the school for her mad science projects including reanimating a cat and it injured a student so badly he got sepsis and died. However, she was still in love with Arulius.

Arulius got his degree and was setting up his own law firm and he and Vanessa had a daughter named Harriet. They were happy. When Harriet is 5 years old, a carriage struck her father and Arulius died from his injuries.

Lillian stole his body and others in order to experiment in raising the dead. She did succeed.

Marcus is a detective on the case of the body-snatching, and he ends up teaming up with Estelle Guardian, an ‘undertaker’ who runs the Nightingale Mortuary. Estelle is revealed to be a grim, summoned by the prior owner Sena Nightingale. he named her Estelle and had a contract with her. however when he died she just. Kept his business going. The mortuary is a cover and they really investigate happenings in Subcon City.

So with Marcus, Estelle starts tracking the cause of the body-snatching down. She ends up meeting Vanessa and becomes close to her, helping her with Harriet as they look into matters. Harriet is actually the key to helping figure it out because whenever the reanimated Arulius is out with Lillian if he sees her he stops and she notices. So using her they are able to locate him and Lillian’s hide out. They find that Lillian is having issues stabilizing him and he’s failing and will wind up like her other experiments if she can’t fix it.

Estelle tries to get him to pass on (as a grim protects the dead. she will guide them) Lillian has other plans and wants to attack all of Subcon for mocking her and make a paradise of corpses for her and Arulius.

Arulius is able to snap to clarity when Harriet screams for him and ends up escaping with the main cast. He gets bad, Estelle can’t get him to pass. he willingly returns to Lillian to try and get her to stop, instead she locks and chains him up.

Marcus keeps an eye on Harriet and Vanessa and Estelle go to confront in a big showdown, during it, Vanessa forms a fresh contract with Estelle giving her the name “Eclipse”. this Allows her to unlock her magic properly as due to the death of her prior contractor she was stuck in human form as she refused to return to the vail.

Eclipse in her grim form, runs and puts down the zombie army Lillian has created. with Vanessa on her back they are able to free Arulius and they chase Lillian down to stop the hoards. Arulius ends up snapping and going feral as an undead and attacking his own creator. In the struggle, he ends up consuming Lillian’s heart (as she wanted his heart--) This causes him to fully stabilize and he returns to his senses.

With Lillian’s death the undead slowly fall and they are released from her grasp. Eclipse states she’ll guide Arulius if he wants and they wind up staying together until Vanessa dies of old age. She then guides the couple. She stays with Marcus and Harriet as well, guarding them until Harriet herself is a mother and tells her she’ll be okay and says if she wants to go meet her parents she can. Eclipse is torn because she misses them both terribly but isn’t sure how to go herself as she’s been a guide so long. However both Vanessa and Ru are able to help her and let her finally pass on. (You see, a grim in some legends is made by BURYING SOMEONE ALIVE IN A CHURCH FOUNDATION. Eclipse was killed in this manner.)

Anyway that’s that au. Here’s the first couple pages I have written cuz IDK if/when I’ll work on this more--- it was like a hyper fixation I had for a few weeks hence the completed plot synopsis

“Soon… Soon you’ll be back…” She smiled so wide mouth threatened to rip. Her red hair flying around wildly in the stormy air as the window flew open papers scattering, “Soon. Soon, my dear, you’ll be back!”

She laughed as she looked outside than at her work table and threw the switch.

The hand twitched.

-----

“Mommy…” the little girl tugged on her hand as they walked through the town, “Mommy can we do a chicken for dinner?” She asked curiously.

The blond looked down with a chuckle, “No, Harriet. We’re doing fish tonight.”

The little girl puffed her cheeks up and stopped. She let go as she watched a tall figure amongst the crowd vanish into an alleyway. She smiled widely and ran off after him.

“H-Harriet!” her mother yelled taking off after her.

The little girl wove through the crowd, her small size making it easy to weave. She jumped into the alley, “DADDY!” She shouted.

The man turned, gold eyes flashing with recognition before the red-headed woman grabbed his hand and they vanished.

“HARRIET!” her mother gasped pulling her up in a panic, “D-Don’t run off like that! I-if I lost you too…” she held her close and buried her face in her daughter’s shoulder.

“B-But mommy! I saw daddy!! He was a weird lady!!!” She whined as her mother picked her up.

“Harriet... Sweet, sweet, sweet Harriet… Mommy told you… Daddy isn’t coming back…” She sighed carrying her back into the crowded streets, the heels of her shoes on the stone.

“But.. I SAW daddy… and daddy saw me…” she mumbled as she held onto her mother.

------

“Another?!” She gasped as she threw a knife at the wall, “Are you kidding me?!”

“Calm down Este----” he flinched as the dagger buried itself behind him, “Look. I wouldn’t come if it was a joke and this time--!” he flinched, “It was my own family who was stolen.”

She froze. “Marcus.”

He gripped his hat tightly, “My elder brother. Arulius. Estelle. They stole his body. Half the graves were stolen.” he sighed and shook his head, fighting back tears. He reached to rub his visible eye, “My sister-in-law and niece don’t know yet. I can’t tell them. W-why would someone be stealing bodies?!”

She scowled and sat down in her chair. She fumbled in the drawers behind her, “Nothing good. I can say that.”

The young man jumped as the cat rubbed against his legs, its blue and red eyes glinting before jumping to the desk. It crawled onto the woman’s shoulders as she skimmed the papers.

Pulling out a stack she threw them on the table, spreading out. Marcus grew closer, reading them over, and scowled, “These are…”

“Older cases. We had a string of body-snatching about a decade back. If I recall, a student from the Subcon School of Science and Law. She was expelled for illegal possession of a corpse. Something about fighting natural order.” she growled a bit.

“You don’t think!” He gripped his hat, “M-my brother’s body is being used for an illicit crime?!”

“Most likely.” She stroked the cat’s chin, enticing a purr. “I can’t say I’ve seen this much disrespect for the dead in a while.” she leaned on a hand, black hair falling over her shoulder. She chewed on her lip some, “If Sena was alive still…” she looked at her hand and sighed getting up. She grabbed the top hat and threw it on, “Well, Mr. Law. ready to get a little dirty?” she grinned as her cat meowed in agreement.

He shuddered, “No But I suppose this is on purpose?”

“Of course.” she sang moving to remove her dagger from the wall and hid it in her waistcoat among her other knives, “Why else did you come to Nightingale Mortuary after all?” her eyes glinted.

He sighed and fixed his hat as he followed after the woman as she locked the door behind her.

She flipped through pages of cases and scowled, “seems it all over. I wonder. Have you eaten recently?” she asked looking at the young man.

“Eh? No? I haven’t since breakfast. I’ve been too nervous.” Marcus grimaced, “why?”

“Oh I just didn’t want you to vomit over my associate’s home.” she waved a hand as they walked down the street. Her heels clicked as the cat on her shoulders snickered as they shifted.

“Why would I vomit?” Marcus scowled, “Estelle, where is it we’re going?” he asked in a shaky breath.

“Tacks-idermy and other novelties.” She explained, “I need to speak to the owner. She may have an idea.”

“A taxidermist?” he scowled, “why would she know of missing…” he got close to whisper, “corpses?”

“Well. you’ll see.” she sang.

----

Marcus paled as he heard the snapping bones as they entered the basement. He stuck close to Estelle as she walked, flinching every time he heard that sickening crunch. His eyes were wide as he noticed the blood on the walls.

“E-Estelle wh-what exactly are we doing?” He asked as he clung to her.

“Asking an associate if she stole the corpses.” she huffed.

“WHAT?!” Marcus gasped.

The bone snapping stopped. There was the sound of a heavy door as a person with skin white as paper and dark inky hair peeked around the corner. One eye was held firmly open with thick black stitches and the other half closed.

“Oh. Grim. Hi. What do I owe the pleasure of company?” their voice didn’t match their frame at all. It was light and soft like a voice made to read a storybook to children. She crossed her arms. Marcus stared at the thick stitching across her pale arms and she raised a brow, “who’s the standard?”

“This is Mr. law, my current client.” Estelle nodded at him, “we’re actually investigating something you may have ties to.”

The pale woman sighed, “Bodies?”

“Bodies.” Estelle chirped, “Have you been bothered?”

“I can’t GET any!” She threw her arms up annoyed, “do you know how HARD it is to do necromancy when you have no corpses?! Stanradrds make the BEST servants but with the shortage, I can’t GET any!” she fumed.

Marcus gulped.

“Really? You have issues getting corpses? Riley is unable to find any?” Estelle blinked, “Bridgette!”

“Riley has been having issues as well. I’m barely getting enough parts to keep healthy.” The necromancer rubbed her nose bridge, “I’m not going to go make my own but I may have to move shop.”

#ask #anon #not art #The Ressurection of Arulius Law #I forget I haven't talked about half my aus lol

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luisa2swag · 5 years ago

Text

Love me for me (2)

he towered over you, chest looking larger than usual thanks to the tight white shirt that stuck to his body with sweat. Your eyes darted to his nipple and before he could even muster another insult, His nipples were firmly grasped between your thumbs and index fingers, twisting away with all your might.

Your lips tugged upwards in satisfaction when he let out a yell of surprise and pain.

"What the actual fuck?!" He backed away, freeing himself from your hands. You smirked "Now you know why my last name is Mcniplecocker. Because I twist nipples and I certainly do have a cock!"

You were shameless as you said theses words. Jungkook couldn't even bother thinking of something else to say other than "okay I'm leaving." As you watched him walk away from you in the empty classroom. You saw him turn the doorknob but he did not move.

Was he maybe going to say something?

The tugs at the door knob became more violent with each twist and you could see Jungkook losing patience. His shoulders slumped, "We're locked in."

"W-what?"

[THREE HOURS BEFORE BEING LOCKED]

"W-wow." You looked at the school in amazement, boxes in your hands, you watched as the other male students buzzled around campus with their parents and installed themselves into their dorms.

You didn't have the luxury of being here with your dad. Imagine one of the most wanted criminals in the past setting foot into a place filled with lawyers. Your plan would be immediately dead but most importantly, you'd be behind bars.

This school must of been as old as Harvard. The building resembled the ones they would teach about in history class -You know the medieval ages- only the inside had been done up.

They were the only University that didn't open its gates to every gender which only lured more male heirs from all over the planet.

Parents thought that no girls meant no distractions but what they failed to know was that in 2018,some boys didn't just like girls.

"Hey, do you want help? You seem lost.." startled at the sudden deep voice coming from your right side, you jumped a bit.

Turning around to take a look at who had the audacity to initiate a conversation with your lonely ass. To be completely honest, you had just been standing around, mouth agape, looking at boys passing you by.

Holy shit he's hot

Instantly, you felt blood rush to your cheeks, you hoped that he wouldn't notice. He stood tall compared to you, nose long and eyes almost rectangle-ish. The sun and the ore gold were both jealous of his heavenly skin. You watched as he ran a large hand through his chestnut hair.

"Uh-huh" was all you could muster. A frown draped itself on your features, realizing how dumb and un-dude-ish you just sounded. Maybe you shouldn't be so hard on yourself, nothing could prepare you to the fact that a freaking model would be here speaking to your thirsty ass.

"Are you perhaps looking for your dorm? I had tricky time finding mine too in my first year." His voice god his voice.

"Am Taehyung, by the way." He smiled, a smile so adorable you couldn't help but smile back too.

"Am Bob, yeah I think I need help."you smiled sheepishly, holding your box closer to your chest.

"Alright, ill need the number of your dorm."

"67-b"

"Ahhh, that's the law dorms. So you're a law student huh? So am I." He seemed excited. Long legs already taking the lead to find your dorm.

"Are you a third year student or ?" You asked, now entering the dorm you presumed to be yours.

"No, just a second year." He smiled.

You both walked in a comfortable silence until he stopped infront of a door. "67-b is here." He said with the nod of his head, leaning against the wall near the door.

"Do we usually have roommates?" You read that since it was such a prestigious and little school, they would give you your own room but you needed to be sure. You didn't want any surprises. "Yeah it'll just be you in there." He affirmed with his usual dashing smile.

"Official classes start in two days but if you want, you could still go check out the classrooms. There won't be any teachers so make sure you leave the door open or else you might be surprised."

"Oh okay." You didn't bother dropping your voice a couple octaves, sure that in the near future where you could be possibly drunk or inattentive, It'd royally fuck you up. You found it to be a better idea to stick to your normal low but warm voice and let the guys think that "oh, his voice sounds slightly feminine!"

You took a step back, hoodie floating around your body and hiding your womanly curves the best it could, you bowed slightly "thank you so much. I hope I'll see you around school!" You actually did hope to see him around .

Not only was he devilishly handsome but very sweet. You wouldn't mind spending time with him all while gawking at his beauty greater than the Greek gods. "If you want, in about three hours I'll be able to hang. I would've been available way sonner if it wasn't for the fact that we both need to unpack a little bit. We could meet up at your new law class? What do you say?" He pointed finger guns at you, only making you blush more.

Fuck he doesn't even know I am a girl and here I am blushing like a schoolgirl just because he invited me to hang out.

"I'd love to I-I mean yeah, that be cool dude." Awkwardly, you raised a fist in the air which he happily bumped. "Okay I'll be off now!"

And just like that, the chestnut haired boy was out of your feet with hop of his own. Leaving you to unpack with the sound of 90's music from your cellphone.

Your room was a decent size, a simple bed on the left with a desk on the right, a tiny kitchen area and out and down the hallways were the shared bathrooms.

You took out the basics, some clothes, toothbrush, the frozen goods your dad had cooked you and bedsheets. You'd finish up your room later,after seeing Taehyung.

Yeah, I'll do this as soon as I get back!

[thirty minutes before being locked]

Your room looked neat. There were still some boxes here and there but you promised yourself to unpack them as soon as you got back.

Now you had changed into a comfortable black t-shirt and joggers.You made sure to duck-tape your breast, of course.

You stepped outside, the sun hung lower but still shined and the wind blew, giving you a comfortable breeze. The other students also seemed to take this evening as a chance to explore the campus more.

You watched as two boys ran, almost bumping you on their way. The shorter one with plump lips turned and blurted a bunch of apologizes before his taller lean friend dragged him by the collar. "Cmon Jimin, we need to get him !" And they were gone, leaving you to wonder exactly who they were going to get.

You continued making your way to the class, eventually finding it.

It was spacious just like in the movies about college life. You quickly found yourself a the front where the teacher desk was but before that you made sure to keep the door open, starring into space and waiting for the young man. You heard foot-steps and a smile already adorned your features.

You turned around, waiting to be met with the chestnut haired boy but you were just met face to face with a chestnut haired boy, that wasn't your chestnut haired boy.

"Erm, sorry." You squirmed away as the buff boy with the angular nose reached to grab something behind you.

"Were you really trying to steal the notes professor had prepared for me?" He took out a sheet of paper almost out of thin air and you just stared in amazement until it hit you.

Hold on, did this guy just accuse me ?

"W-what? I didn't even know that was there. I don't even know who you are!" Brows twisted together in confusion, you couldn't help but dart your eyes to the paper and to his piercing gaze, examining me like a corpse.

I gulped when he crossed his arms over his chest, oblivious to his flexing, he stood about one head and a half taller than me.

"You're lying. Everyone knows me." He scoffed, confident in the words he spoke as I blinked away, still In confusion.

"Come again?" I tried, I really genuinely had no clue who this dude was. I mean yeah he's kinda cute or whatever but with an attitude like that, I don't see him having any friends.

"Of course you would play dumb, well you are dumb for trying to steal my notes. Maybe you should take the initiative like me and ask teachers to prepare you notes of everything you'll have to study for the semester." His thin upper lip twitched upwards, his eyes trailing over my body, probably judging.

"I wouldn't be so quick to judge lil punk, school hasn't even started yet and to inform you, i am the smartest student here, I don't need your bitchass notes to be able to catch up on class before class has even started."ooooh I burned his bunny looking ass!

A smirk adorned my full lips when I noticed the blush spread across his cheeks like wildfire. I watched as his confident facade slowly broke when he took a step back.

"I guess you really don't know me then, my name is Jeon Jungkook." Now he was the one with the smirk.

I deadpanned, "Uh, yeah I totally know you. Omg I cant believe I didn't realize sonner!" Arms crossed, I rolled my eyes.

"Think harder dumbass. Jeon Jungkook, doesn't that ring any bells?"

I thought hard, past all the cat memes, gta on PlayStation 2 cheat codes, my club penguin password, the pin of my first iPod. Past all the unnecessary things my brain stored I finally found what he has hinting.

All boys : Great Jeon University

It couldn't be, no .

Or could it be ? With my luck it could. His smile grew larger as he saw my eyes widen in shock. "Don't tell me this is some crappy wattpad plot where your family happens to own this school?" I already dreaded the answer I knew I would get. "Yes it is." His chest proudly rose.

"Well I couldn't care less , dumbass." I stated, indifferent.

"I just told you that my family basically owns this place and you don't give a shit?" Index pointed at my face, he asked dumbfounded. Not sure if my lack of respect for him should be a good thing or not. "You have a lot of guts for saying that to the great Jeon."

"If you're so great how come you don't know how to tie your shoes properly, doo-doo head ?" I shot back, taking a step closer with my chin up, finger pointing at his untied basketball shoes. Jungkook scoffed "why am I even here arguing with you? You sure talk a lot but you forget that your last name is Mcniplecocker. Thats an instant L" Your eyes twitched confused, how did he know your name? Then your orbs wondered down to your shirt who haired had gifted you as a joke with your fake name written just above your left tit.

Your lips tugged upwards in satisfaction when he let out a yell of surprise and pain.

"What the actual fuck?!" He backed away, freeing himself from your hands. You smirked "Now you know why my last name is Mcniplecocker. Because I twist nipples and I certainly do have a cock!"

[taehyung pov]

I don't remember the building being so far... I entered the law block, nothing but the sound of my sneakers against the wood floor could be heard. Hallways were clear and so was the sky this evening. I smiled thinking of the new friend I had made.

Pat pat pat I whipped my head around st the sudden running noise "Jimin? Namjoon?" My brows arched in confusion, I watched how they frantically started shouting my name.

I looked back to the front

The class where I had so kindly asked you to meet up with me was maybe twenty steps away

I couldn't just blow you off, no that wasn't something I'd want at all.

But with a blink of an eye and a stumbling Jimin, we we're passed the door and left behind a loud clacking noise. In fear of having accidentally closed the door shut, I twisted my neck to look back all while running with the two grown man looped around my arms. "J-Jimin, the d-door!" I let out breathless, heart thumping

"Guys -wait there's someone-" Jimin quickly interrupted "Yoongi snuck a girl on campus!" I looked back again, wishing that my gut feeling was wrong, wishing I hadn't just locked someone in a classroom.

She might be late, everyone comes late nowadays! I reassured myself.

With a aggressive tug of my sleeve from Namjoon, I realized that I didn't have a choice.

I'll come back later, I promise.

[Narrator pov] You were shameless as you said theses words. Jungkook couldn't even bother thinking of something else to say other than "okay I'm leaving." As you watched him walk away from you in the empty classroom. You saw him turn the doorknob but he did not move.

Was he maybe going to say something?

The tugs at the door knob became more violent with each twist and you could see Jungkook losing patience. His shoulders slumped, "We're locked in."

"W-what?"

#bts imagines #bts fanfic #jungkook #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #bts

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qweeby · 5 years ago

Text

Nine Lives To Short Part 7: And the Ugly

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡💜

Paring: Shinsou x Reader

Genre: Angst

Taglist: @bakuhoetoedoroki @foxypuppy

A/n: MAKING THIS HURT. AAAAAAAAAaaa-

Plot: You only have nine days to tell him how you feel but maybe 9 days just isn't enough.

Bang

You close your eyes bracing for the bullet's impact. But nothing happens. You open your eyes to see Shinsou standing in front of you his body trembling .

He looks back at you and smiles seeing that you're unharmed.

" G-good looks like....I made it in time huh?"

"H-hitoshi...you..."

Hitoshi then takes a knees while holding his shoulder grunting fighting back the pain.

"HITOSHI! OH GOD ARE YOU OK!"

"Y-yeah I'm ok it's nothing b-but a scratch"

Hitoshi moves his hand from the gun shot wound the blood completely covering his palm.

"THAT BASTARD! HE GAVE ME A REAL BULLET! UGH THIS THING IS FUCKING USELESS!"

Your father throws the gun to the ground and run to the door trying to escape but he bumps into someone unexpected.

It's Hitoshi Father Hajime Shinsou.

" H-Haji-!"

Before he can finish even saying his name Hajime gives your father a nasty right hook knocking him out cold.

" That's for shooting my kid".

-A few minutes goes by-

The police and the nearby pro heroes are already on the scene, the police go inside the house to retrieve your still unconscious father and the pro hero finds your mother pulling up in her car and proceed to take her out and arrest her.

"HITOSHI MY BABY ARE YOU ALRIGHT! YOU'VE BEEN SHOT OH MY GOD!"

The lady rightfully freaking out is Mihoko Shinsou.

"Mom please stop screaming. Dad please hold her back If she hugs me I'm pretty sure I'll bleed out" Hitoshi says while a paramedic a tending to his shoulder.

"I'LL BE GENTLE I PROMISE" she cries out.

"Knock it off, Hitoshi has more things to deal with than that shot wound".

Hajime points at the spot you were just standing at but there's no one there.

You hide behind a tree slowly making your way to a weird looking fence. But of course "death himself" catches the "sinner" mid escape.

" And where do you think you're going Y/n?" Yokai turns his head watching struggle to hop over the fence that leads to Shinsou's backyard which also leads to the woods.

" There's no way I'm staying here".

"Running away again? Isn't this song and dance getting old"

"I just....need to go"

"And where are you gonna go"

"I DON'T KNOW the woods maybe! I just can't be here with pros and police around....my parents are apart of the yakuza....a-and there gonna get locked up then the next thing you know I'm getting pulled in jail!".

" Correct my foolish user, Right now your mom and dad are villains...twisted people wanting to clean a mistake that they made. NO the curse they made."

"That's you."

You stay quiet because sadly he's right...

"Y/N! HEY WHERE DO YOU THINK YOUR GOING!".

"S-SHINSOU?!".

You see Hitoshi running towards you at fully speed, as you lean on the fence trying to hop on over it once again. Surprisingly it turns out the fence was gate that just needed to push open .

" ARE YOU SERIOUS!"

"Dumbass there's even a sign that says push".

You run to the backyard trip on garden hose, as Hitoshi jumps over the gate you spends years trying to hop over.

"YOU'RE SUCH A SHOW OFF!"

"WELL YOU'RE STUPID! There's no way I'm letting you run off."

Hitoshi walks up to you holding out his hand "Come on get let's get you up".

"But...What if the police take me away! I won't know for how long they'll hold me for! T-they can't take me you can't let them!".

Hitoshi holds your face rubbing your check in the process.

"Hey hey...it's ok they won't take you it's just your parents don't worry kitty..." he exhales "No need for the waterworks".

" I can't help it...it's just.." you grab onto Shinsou hands with tears streaming down your face.

"I want spend the rest of the time I have on this earth with you Shinsou!".

Hitoshi hands suddenly get real sweaty as his face turns red with embarrassment.

"A-AND YOU WILL OBVIOUSLY! I'LL BE HERE 100% EVERY STEP OF THE WAY!".

Right.

Hitoshi has been with you since way before the curse came along.

Even though you lied to him.

Even though you made him worried

Even though your time is limited....and he's basically wasting his time talking to you

He's still here.

"As you can see I'm here for you now aren't I?, as soon, as I left off the bus I followed you right inside the house and you never suspected a thing ! Then I peeked at you holding a bird mask and that's when I knew I had to call mymhphh-"

Y/n cover Shisou mouth not saying a word.

("Shit! Did I pull a Izuku and rambled on for to long! Dammit...my bad..").

"Shinsou...promise me that you won't say anything until i say so...even when i move my hand y-you can't say anything".

He nods and says "I promise" but it's muffled.

After hearing him promise.... you take a deep breath then move your hand from his mouth.

That night was such a cold night for the two of them but in this moment it didn't matter nothing mattered, as Y/n slowly inches her way towards Shinsou.

He notices that you started to move forward and he can't help but to do the same, as Shinsou moves in he can't help but to look at Y/n.

("Her eyes did they always look this innocent.....and....did her lips...always looked soft.)

Hitoshi gets way to eager and rushes his and gives you a quick peck on the lips.

.....

Shinsou starts stomping his feet as he tries his hardest to not scream at himself. (FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! NOOOOO! I DID ALL.IF THAT BUILD UP JUST TO FUCK IT UP! I- I WANNA REDO I WANNA REDO! I WANNA-)

" Hitoshi I'm in love with you!".

Y/n says before she kisses the angry cat out of his split second rage.

(" She....i-..h-her lips are so fucking soft..)

Hitoshi runs his finger through your hair and you loved that...

You love how Shinsou touches your body, when he's pulling your waste or rubbing your leg or even when his fingers brush up against you.

Y/n loves this feeling and couldn't help but to moan his name.

S-shinou~

.....

"AHEM!"

"AH! S-SHINOU!"

You quickly snap out of if shoving Shinsou back.

"SHINSOU DON'T RESPOND!"

He has completely curled up into a ball rolling on the floor and that can be heard from him is a muffled scream.

" I can see the steam coming off of his head, Y/n is that normal".

Y/n turns her back on Yokai and Shinsou.

"Hitoshi Shinsou".

Shinsou peeks out of his hood looking out the hole with one eye "Hm?".

" Whatever happens from this moment on you can't fall in love with me. Also you can talk now."

"I-I can't fall in love with you? W-what do you mean"? Why does that almost make feel sad.

"This isn't the time nor place to having this conversation"

"BUT I WAS A TIME TO KISS ME! This is just some sick little game to get me to kiss you wasn't it.

"HITOSHI DON'T BE SO LOUD! AND STOP TALKING ABOUT IT SO CASUALLY".

A lot of time has pass since then. You fill the Shinsou family in on everything explain your unfortunate quirk and your unfortunate fate that has yet to come.

Hajime sips his coffee " So 9 days huh damn that sucks dont it"

" Well Y/n you know you can stay here as long you need"

"That you aunty Mihoko but...I don't think I'll stay for long".

Hitoshi flicks your forehead like always.

"I doesn't matter how long you stay for. When you leave I leave so don't even think about taking off".

"OW! I-I WASN'T THINKING THAT AT ALL!...that really hurts you know."

Mihoko gasp very loudly before screaming realizing her baby boy is gonna leave along side her."HITOSHI YOU'RE GONNA LEAVE ME TOO!"

"Well yeah I wanna spend all the time I have left with Y/n so I won't leave her side".

Y/n and Hitoshi then stare at one another blushing.

Hajime see the two of you making googly eyes at each other. "Ohhhhhhhh....now it makes sense "

"WHAT WAS THAT OHHH FOR!?"

"Nothing Toshi nothing at all".

All of you have a great time just taking and chatting and all around having fun together. Hajime...Mihoko...even though you aren't related to them in any way the Shinsou's are willing to take you in. Saying thank you wouldn't ever been enough to express your gratitude.

But the fun stops abruptly when Hitoshi has to steps outside for moment.

" I'll be right back..."

"Ok kid just don't run away now "

"Shut up old man! I'm not a run away cat!".

"And where are you going~" You say holding up Kabuki like baby. "You're such a cool cat Kabuki! Way better than another cat I know.

"Oh bite me!" Yokai then bites your legs

"OW YOU LITTLE SHIT I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU BITE ME!"

"That's what you get for going in the backyard, there's bugs everywhere back there I'm not surprised you got bit".

As the joints in your leg start to tighten you begin to break out into a sweat.

"Yeah....nothing but a big bite".

Hitoshi stands outside in front of Mei Hatsume. "Why did you answered any of my calls Shinsou".

"Well as you can see-" he waved his arm that's wrapped in bandages " I've been pretty busy. Plus I just got your text...all 65 missed messages and 15 miss calls".

"WHAT HAPPENED?!"

"Eh nothing really I only got shot".

" SHINSOU THIS IS SERIOUS!".

" Look I know you didn't come here to talk about my injury, so why are you here".

" Us. I want to talk about us".

"What are you talking about".

" You been avoiding me...why! Don't tell me it's because of that girl again!"

"That's not her name".

"I DONT CARE! AND YOU SHOULDN'T EITHER! SHE'S GONNA DIE AND YOUR STILL GONNA BE HERE".

...

"Hatsume do yourself a favor and leave now..quietly".

"No-no! NO! I WILL NOT LEAVE AT ALL I CAN'T BELIEVE YOUR SO ATTACHED TO HER! EVERYONE KNOWS SHE'S A LOST CAUSE-".

Mei's body goes stiff and her pupil dilate.

Shinsou let's out a sigh, as he walks up to Hatsume seeing how this is the second time he had to use his quirk on someone he cared for.

Like your dad at the hospital.

Even though your parents were apart of yakuza Shinsou knew them for basically his whole life. He remembers the time his family would go over Y/n's for a big family dinner, he remembers all the trips they would go on like the beach or that one time they took everyone to America.

Then he thinks about Hastume and can't help but to frowns.

"Hatsume I want you to forget about what we had...whatever we had....and I want you to just go home. Please".

Hatsume does just that. Turning and waking away as commended.

.....

Shinsou walks back inside trying to shake off what he just did.

"So care to explain that sweetie?"

"I would rather not", he looks around "where's dad and y/n?"

"Y/n leg was hurting so Hajime carried her to your room so she could rest".

"Oh ok so I'll just-"

Mihoko yanks his hood.

"Don't make use my quirk on you now, Hitoshi"

"....fine I'll talk I'll talk."

"This girl Mei I guess was going around and tell people that we date...it caused a lot a problems so I chose to not talk to her anymore.

She raises one of her eyebrows questioning her son's words.

"We didn't even have anything I just gave her my number after so we can talk about the support item she's making for me".

Mama Shinsou pats her son on the back

"That just means your a lady's man right!"

" M-MOM!"

After his mom picks on him some more Hitoshi finally makes it to his room to see you fast asleep, he walks up to his bed and lays next you watching you sleep.

"I can't blame you for being tired...you've been through a lot today".

Hitoshi can't help but to think about what you said in the backyard.

" Hitoshi I love you! "

Why does that make his heart beat 10 times faster, the way you stared into his soul why does that make him wanna look more. The way you said his name....

"Hitoshi~"

God! He'd give anything just to hear you say one more time. Just thinking about it makes his the tip of his ears turn pink as they twitch slightly.

But then that praise fades, when Hitoshi realize what you really wanted him to remember from that moment....

"Whatever happens you can't fall in love with me".

He lays a kiss on your cheek.

"No promises".

....

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡💜💜

Now...officially...your first life has been lost but at least your wasting away with him by your side.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #y/n #mha x y/n #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x reader #bnha shinso hitoshi #my hero x reader #mha xreader #izuku mydoria #bakugou katsuki #angst #bnha angst

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soyeahitsmiddleearth · 5 years ago

Text

Dimension Jumping pt. 2

The Fellowship x Reader

Fluffy pants, creepy coworkers, and grocery lists. Fun times

Trigger warning: mentions of stalker.

After that kind of rocky introduction and confusing explanation of their quest and what they were doing exactly (also what happened to their wizard ‘Gandalf’) things began to work out better.

At first, they were in a kind of panic since they aren’t able to destroy that ring thing if they’re in your world, but then you reminded them that they can’t destroy it, and this Sauron guy can’t get it.

This seems to ease their worries a bit.

It was very easy for you to get along with the two blond 'hobbit’ cousins Merry and Pippin, and Samwise is a wonderful help in the kitchen. Mr. Legolas kinda just awkwardly stands around most of the time (he doesn’t sleep apparently), while the 'dwarf’, Gimli, likes to bother said 'elf’ which you find to be quite amusing. The two actual human dudes seem to be the more authoritative figures here, so they help to keep everyone in check and ensure they don’t break anything.

Penny has, quite literally, fallen in love with that brown-haired bastard Aragorn, and you’ve sworn that if he breaks her little fluffy heart you’re going to fucking murder him. Lucky for him, it seems he is quite fond of her in return since he sometimes sits idly on your couch with her laying across his lap. This asshole must have dog treats in his pocket or something because there’s no way she would ditch you for some scraggly handsome stranger like in the movies.

Of course, you don’t complain about it or anything, rather you just leave it and enjoy the fact that Penny is happy (while silently plotting his painful murder in your mind).

You also had to show them how to work the bathroom, and after they got over their initial shock and awestruck, they all bathed (thank god for your poor nose) and you offered to go get them more clothes later on so you can figure out how to wash theirs.

Overall, it seems that everything is going smoothly and will continue to do so.

You have yet to give them a chance to mess with your laptop or phone (or even the TV), but mostly because you’re afraid they’ll die of shock.

Before you know it a week has passed, and not only are they still in your damn home but they’re so freaking well-behaved and polite you actually find yourself not wanting them to go.

“Why do you wear those fluffy pants?” The sweet little Pippin asks.

Everyone insists he and his cousin are mischievous little monsters, but you find them to be nothing but adorable and polite. “Because, my dear boy, they are really freaking comfortable. I’m gonna go to the store later and get all of you a pair. They will change your lives."

His eyes grow wide at your overly dramatic description of fluffy pants and he suddenly seems excited, "Really? Some for all of us?"

You nod your head with a bright smile on your face, lifting your leg up for him to touch it. "Feel how nice they are!"

When Pippin places his hand on the soft, fuzzy fabric he looks surprised, "I don’t think I’ve felt trousers so soft before!"

"Fluffy pants, Pippin. They’re called fluffy pants."

"Fluffy pants.” He repeats in confirmation.

His cousin, Merry, chose then to walk into the room, and when he sees the two of you he looks confused. “Pip, what are you doing?"

"Oh! Merry, come here and feel these!” He exclaims, not bothering to answer his question.

Merry does as he says, albeit hesitantly, but when his hands touch that miracle fabric he looks just as shocked, “You’ve got such peculiar clothing… I like it."

"Well, I was just telling my buddy over here that I’m going to get everyone some and absolutely ruin your wardrobe since you’ll never want to wear anything but these ever again.” You tell him smugly, jumping to your feet suddenly, “Oh, I’ve gotta go do something. Keep an eye on Penny for me, won’t you?"

Yeah, they don’t need to since she’s busy sleeping on a napping Aragorn, but you ask nonetheless.

You retreat to another room and begin to organize the things you moved from your guest bedroom, wanting everything to be less cluttered while they stay here.

The air mattress had to come out and everything because of how many there are, but you don’t mind a little extra work for some companionship in response. Heaven knows you need someone to keep you out of your own head.

While you’re neatening things, the blond elf guy walks in and observes you for a few moments, saying nothing and kinda just standing there. You turn after a minute or so and look at him questioningly, "Is there something I can help you with?"

He doesn’t say anything right away, and so you grab a couple of books and straighten them while you wait.

"What are you doing?” He asks instead of answering you (a very Pippin move).

Despite your heart wanting you to be sarcastic in your reply you answer him seriously, “I’m cleaning up a bit since I had to take all of this stuff out of my guest room. It’s kinda messy if you couldn’t tell."

You wipe your hands on your fluffy pants and smile at him. "I’m almost done. Did you need me for something?"

He actually acknowledges your question this time with a shake of his head, "No. I wanted to see if you require any assistance."

Ah, that makes sense. He definitely seems like the helpful type.

"Oh, well some help would be nice. Maybe you could move those boxes,” you point to some cardboard boxes in the corner of the closet you shoved everything into, “over there.” You then point to a shelf that is mostly empty.

He nods again and goes to do just that right away, and you go back to sorting through a box full of papers.

“What made you allow us to stay?” He suddenly inquires, lifting the boxes you asked for help with easily.

You’re a bit surprised at his engagement in conversation and the topic he chose, but you answer despite that. “Well like I said before, I know a group of sad saps when I see it… I didn’t know you’d lost your friend, but I could tell something wasn’t right. And… I don’t know, your hobbits looked so hungry and tired, I couldn’t kick you all out and keep a clean conscience.” It’s true, but what you leave out is the desire you had for some company. Penny is more than enough, but recently you’ve been feeling lonely and inadequate, so you jumped on the opportunity to be useful in your monotone life.

“There’s something you’re not saying.” He says it like a statement rather than a question, and while he’s right you only shrug.

“My reasons are my own, but what I told you is my main explanation. Take it or leave it.” You don’t mean to act so cold and aloof, but the thinking about your flaws and recently depressive state only serves to dampen your mood.

“I meant not to offend, I apologize if upset you. I was only curious."

You smile at him over your shoulder apologetically yourself, "No, don’t say sorry. I’m just a bit cranky is all, haven’t been getting much sleep."

He can tell that’s not the truth, but he nods anyway and lets it drop.

Suddenly the sound of Penny barking reaches your ears, and you sigh knowing that someone is probably at the door.

When she abruptly stops, you pause and decide to finish with the last small stack you have before going out to check.

Big mistake.

Once you walk out of the storage closet, you’re met with the sight of two hiding hobbits, and Aragorn at the freaking door. Your eyes widen in horror, and you turn and close the door in Legolas’ face before he can exit.

When the door slams, someone pokes their head around the tall 'ranger’ and smiles.

"Oh, Y/N there you are!"

Uh oh, he’s not supposed to be there.

"B-Brian, hey, what… what are you doing here?” You ask slowly, walking over to try and diffuse whatever situation is going on here. “I didn’t even know you knew my address…"

He smiles brightly despite that and waves his hand, "Don’t worry about it, the boss gave it to me and told me to check up on you! You haven’t been answering your messages and this is the most work you’ve missed in the past, like, 4 years.” His tone is bright and cheery, but you can see behind that mask of pleasantries is nothing but a prying brat who has to know everything 24/7.

You ignore your dark thoughts and simply smile at him in return, “Yes, well I’ve been very busy. And, actually, I texted Marissa about my absence for the week ahead of time, so I don’t see why she would send you. She told me that I can work from home until I’m ready to come back.” You never liked Brian. Much too nosy and too much of a snake for your liking.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and see that you have… holy shit, 43 missed messages? All from Brian? Ew, okay, that’s weird.

But you decide not to comment on it.

“Right, well, who is this? I haven’t seen him before."

Shoot.

You look up at the brown-haired man sharply, then back at Brian. "W-Who, him? Oh, this is just my… boy…friend… Ara- Er, Aaron. He’s, uh, staying here because his house burned down.” God, you’re a horrible liar, but you try to keep your face straight either way. “Who he is doesn’t matter, I’m kinda busy right now so if you could just…"

You go to close the door, but he only steps a bit closer, "Wait-! I didn’t know you have a boyfriend!” His expression is more panic stricken now, and dare I say upset,

Ughhhhh fucking Brian .

Suddenly a voice pipes up from behind you, “Is there an issue over here?"

Oh great, another challenger has appeared, and his name is freaking Boromir.

"Wait, who is this then?” His countenance goes kinda sour, “Your other boyfriend?"

You face-palm and slowly drag your hand down your cheek, groaning internally at his horrible timing (also electing to ignore Brian’s bitter comment). "This is… Aaron’s druggie brother, Bo…Beau. He likes meth.”

Brian looks alarmed at your mention of him being a meth head, but you only smile and internally kick yourself for coming up with something like that . “You have crackheads staying at your house?! With how you’ve been recently?! S-Should I-"

You only shake your head once and slam your hand on the wall, "Brian, I am a big girl, and big girls don’t need their coworkers to keep them safe. I’ve been nice, but what I do is literally none of your fucking business, so leave me alone or I’ll call Marissa and tell her about,” you pause and lean forward, whispering with a faux sweet voice, “The janitors closet…"

His face goes pale at the mention of the horrid sight you’d walked into that one faithful Tuesday, and he nods his head in understanding, "R-Right, sorry to bother you! I’ll uh, get going now then. Enjoy your break!"

He’s gone before you even close the door.

You simply stare at the closed door for a few moments, trying to process what the hell just happened.

"Miss Y/N?” Merry calls from behind the couch. “What did he mean by 'how you’ve been’? Are you alright?"

Unable to keep your cool, you reach up and bury your fingers in your hair and groan loudly from frustration, "Ugh! Fucking Brian! Why did you have to open the door to that loser!?” You yell incredulously, pulling on your hair rather harshly. You don’t even entertain the idea of answering that question.

Aragorn seems surprised by your sudden angry outburst, so much so that he steps back and bumps against the wall.

“He’s always in my damn business! Acting like I haven’t caught him doing unmentionable things in that closet! Why him? Why did you think it was a good idea to open the door?!” You don’t mean to yell or to get so angry, but it’s almost like a splash of cold water in the face. A reminder that things are temporary and unexplainable to outsiders. “He’s such a stalker! God, this is going to come back and bite me in the ass!”

You drag your hands down your face and simply stand there for a moment, ignoring all the people gathering in your living room to stare at their mental brake-down having hostess.

“I apologize, I-I didn’t mean to-” Woah he actually trips over his words.

Before he can finish his apology you raise a hand up in a silencing motion. “No, shut up. Don’t apologize I’m not actually mad at you.” It sounds like you are, but you aren’t.

If you were looking at him, you’d see that he visibly relaxes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell I just… he frustrates me. I’m not angry at any of you, I promise.” You drop your hands back to your side and stare at the door for a few moments before turning and walking back into the living room.

“You’re kind of scary,” Sam states from Frodo’s side at the entrance of the kitchen.

You look over at the two and furrow your eyebrows, “Scary? Me? No way. Just a little irritated.” If anything they’re the scary ones, with their swords and evil ring and all that.

You glance back at the dark-haired man still at the front door and bite your lip, “I’m really sorry."

A small and forgiving smile creeps onto his face, and you feel relieved right away. "Perhaps I shouldn’t have opened the door."

This earns a small laugh and nod from you, "Now that freak thinks you’re my homeless male friend and he’s your drugged up brother. Not a very good reputation.” You don’t bother going over calling him your boyfriend in a panic - if they even know what it means in the first place.

Suddenly ever innocent Pippin asks, “What’s meth?"

Lord save your soul.

—

After explaining to everyone what meth is and how you straight up just called Boromir a doped up loser to someone none of them know, you all have a good laugh. And once you’re all done laughing, you join Sam in the kitchen and notice that he’s taken an inventory of your kitchen.

"Hello, chef Ramsay. What can I do for you?” You ask with a cheery smile, watching him go through your cupboard while literally standing on the counter with Frodo watching from the floor.

“Who is chef Ramsay?” Sam asks, looking down at you from his leveraged spot on the counter.

Oh, right, the poor soul doesn’t know the meme.

“Nobody, what are you up to?” You change the subject quickly, a part of you hoping he approves of your kitchen.

“Well… your shelves are lacking a lot. And your… what did you call it, fridge? It is basically empty. What do you eat all week?"

You don’t reply right away, staring holes into him at his obviously spotty memory. "Well, Sam the thing is, I am one woman, and this one woman didn’t think she’d need to buy groceries for 8 men who all eat like they haven’t seen food for the past week… every meal."

"So then perhaps we should go shopping!” He exclaims, closing the cabinet and hopping back down to the tiled floor.

Excuse me, did he just say 'we’? Uh, yeah no.

You shake your head quickly, “No, Sam there aren’t people like you in my world. I can’t take you."

His face falls and he looks around at the kitchen, crestfallen, "But I can’t tell you what to get if I don’t go…"

Aw… he looks so sad. It makes your heart pang uncomfortably, and you find that you wanna make him smile again. "Here, I’ll tell you what. I’ll get some paper and a pen, and you can write down everything you want me to get on that. How does that sound?”

Almost immediately he perks up and nods his head, “Oh, that sounds wonderful!"

Bingo.

"Did you hear that Mr. Frodo? She said she’ll get whatever we want! Come help me make the list!” Okay, maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

You gather the things you promised from a drawer to your right, then hand them down to him. “Here you are, dear. Take your time, and I’ll go tomorrow. And don’t forget to ask everyone else what they want.”

Hopefully, you won’t live to regret this.

Without further ado, he rushes out of the kitchen calling for Merry and Pippin.

These fellas are going to bankrupt you… but if you get to see those happy smiles again, then it’s definitely worth it.

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raccdog · 6 years ago

Text

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms (Part 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Adrien ascended the stairs of the school absentmindedly, immersed in his own thoughts. Yesterday’s fight with Ladybug had left him depressed. He had never meant to be so cruel. He knew he had taken his own problems out on her. He hadn’t been fair.

He had tried messaging after he’d arrived home but she never read the messages, and he couldn’t really blame her. He had been a prick.

With a sigh he placed his phone in his back pocket, only to see a familiar black mop braided in pigtails walk a few meters in front of him. Marinette. He had forgotten about her. He still owed her an apology.

With renewed determination he trod through the crowd of students until he reached her. She was facing forward, not realizing she was being followed. As he got closer two things became clearer. Firstly, she smelled weird, but not in a bad way. It simply was a pungent, herb-like smell that made his sensitive nose twitch slightly. And secondly, she seemed to wobble as she took each step, so much so that he was afraid she was going to fall the moment a weak breeze passed by.

Pepping himself up mentally, he decided it wasn’t the moment to hesitate and reached for her shoulder.

Only to be turned around, his arm seized in a martial art’s hold as he fell to his knees, his hand completely twisted painfully on his back. He couldn’t have been in that position for more than a few seconds before whoever had attacked him released him again, but he was certain he never wanted to relive that experience again. Adrien then noticed a very frantic voice to his left. The girl apologizing over and over again for some reason...

Oh. The person apologizing and on the verge of tears was no other than Marinette.

And she probably was also the one who had brought him to his knees.

“Are you sure you’re ok Adrien?” She was heaving. “Do you need the nurse? A doctor? Surgery? Oh god I didn’t break your arm did I?” She was flailing like crazy. She was probably on the verge of a full on panic-attack he noticed, with the way she was failing to breath through her ramblings.

“It’s ok ‘Nette, it was my fault, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” Adrien chuckled softly, moving his hand to as to show her it was fine, albeit it did feel a bit sore. “Besides, I deserved it.”

Marinette finally seemed to regain some of her composure, blinking owlishly, blue eyes on green ones. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. The awkwardness almost palpable.

He opted on being the first one to make a move. He stood up, dusting himself off, and offered her a hand. She looked at it for a few moments before her gaze returned to staring at him. Adrien was beginning to fear that she might not forgive him, but just before he was about to retract his hand she grabbed it, using him as an anchor to lift herself. They stayed like that for a while, their hands lingering in each other’s.

His free hand shot up to ruffle his nape. “Listen Mari I...” Adrien began hesitantly. “I wanted to apologize, for everything.” He gripped her hand a tad more firmly. She didn’t know how far his apology went. Both as Adrien and as Chat Noir, he was so sorry. He hoped that she could see the sincerity in his face as she looked at him, searching his face for something.

He hadn’t realized he’d been holding a breath until she smiled weakly and Adrien found himself exhaling in relief.

“It’s ok Adrien, I forgive you,” she giggled softly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you that way either, or assaulted you like that just a minute ago.”

He laughed slightly at that. “Well, we’re even then,” he agreed. He noticed how her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and she still looked dead tired, but at least his apology had apparently lifted some weight off her shoulders, if the way she had visibly relaxed was anything to go by.

Before he could overthink it he pulled her into a hug, her soft form pressing comfortably against him. She smelled like pastries, sugar, bread and that herb stuff that intrigued him, but he absolutely loved it.

She pulled away quickly after, the hug a bit too short for his taste but he stepped back anyway, giving her space. Her smile was better now, a bit more real and wide.

“Thank you Adrien, I needed that,” she confessed, grasping his bicep faintly. He only nodded, grinning from ear to ear. He was glad he had made up with one of his best friends.

As the bell rang they separated, waving each other goodbye. He was happy sure, but he still felt a little guilty. Maybe he’d surprise her after school with a visit.

After a long day, the last bell finally sounded. Every student got up and prepared to leave. Adrien walked next to Nino, not actually listening to the conversation he seemed to be having with Kim and Max. He was mentally going over his plan again. He’d first go to the bakery and ask permission to spend some time with Marinette, then they could play some videogames together and he’d invite her to something in order to properly apologize.

Just as he smiled to himself because of the ingenuity of his secret plotting he caught that scent again. Except this time it was way stronger, so much so that he found himself retching violently as he went down. Nino, Kim and Max were at his side in an instant, asking if he was alright.

“I’m fine guys it’s just,” he said slowly, trying to not breath anymore of that stench again. “What is that smell?” The three boys looked at one another and then they turned to look at something to the right before their eyes were on him again. Kim was smirking, Max was grimacing and Nino was giving him a small sympathetic smile.

“What?” Adrien asked embarrassed, immediately regretting it as he started coughing.

“Coddled Rich Boy Adrien Agreste hasn’t smelt weed before!” Kim laughed.

“W-What?” The blond choked.

“You know blondie! La beu, l’herbe, la ganja, la marie! Weed bro!” He explained.

“B-but that smell, it can’t, wha-” He couldn’t think clearly, the stink too overwhelming.

“It’s those older students from the class across ours,” Max explained, his nose also scrunched up. “I don’t appreciate their...odor trail either.”

“Don’t worry dude, I’ll tell them to move a bit so you can recover ok?” Nino offered, patting his shoulder when Adrien nodded helplessly.

For some time he tried to hold his breath as much as he could, before inhaling small spurts of air to try and minimize the use of his nose. Adrien felt lightheaded and ready to pass out from lack of proper oxygen by the time Nino came back. “You can breathe again dude,” he reassured him. “They’re gone now.”

Adrien finally let go and breathed deeply, his puffs sounding raspy after such an ordeal. The smell still lingered slightly, but it was much more bearable now. It even was a bit familiar, almost like...

“I have to go!” Adrien yelled suddenly, realization hitting him like a bucket of cold water. He jumped to his feet quickly as he rushed past his concerned classmates.

“What is his deal,” Kim asked Nino, who only shrugged. “I don’t know dude, he’s been acting weirdly lately.” He shook his head. “He probably is late to one of his scheduled activities.”

Adrien, meanwhile, was barging in through the front of the Dupain-Cheng bakery. Sabine looked up in surprise at the racket, but smiled when he saw it was Adrien, although it was rare to see him panting like that.

“Hello Adrien, what brings you here?”

“Hello Miss Cheng,” he heaved. “Is Marinette upstairs?”

Sabine frowned. “Yes she is but-”

“Great! Can I see her? It’s urgent!”

“Yeah you can go up but she’s not al-”

“Thank you see you later bye!” He replied, already going upstairs. Sabine could only smile and shake her head. Boys, always so impatient. She just hoped Marinette could handle two male teenagers at the same time. With a hidden smirk she went back inside the bakery’s kitchen. It was better if Tom didn’t know.

Adrien stopped for a second when he was right in front of the trapdoor. On the other side, music and laughter could be heard. He recognized Marinette’s voice, but she wasn’t alone. A deeper tone was talking and laughing alongside her.

Before he could hesitate any further, he opened it, the room plummeting to silence.

“Adrien? What are you doing here?” He heard Marinette ask. The room was rather dimly lit, her fairy lights turned on. She was sitting on her chaise, no, rather she was sitting on someone’s lap. He was a familiar face. If he remembered correctly he was Juleka’s older brother.

“Sorry Marinette, your mother let me in and I had to talk to you about...” He trailed off as he sniffed more profoundly. The smell was back. It wasn’t as strong as it had been at school, but it definitely didn’t leave him with any doubts. His eyes narrowed at the cups they were holding, where a soft whiff of smoke was rising. The scent came from within them.

“Why are you smoking weed Marinette?” He growled. Marinette’s eyes widened like saucers.

“What?” She squeaked incredulously. The other male only laughed, setting his cup aside as he rose, lifting Marinette gently to let her sit back on the seat. “Calm down Sunshine,” he chuckled. “Come inside!”

But Adrien wasn’t calm. Oh no. He was furious. He could feel himself bristle. “Do you think this is funny?” He spat, then turned to look at the girl pleadingly. “Please Marinette, why would you do drugs?”

Adrien stepped inside and tried to approach her, but was intercepted by Luka.

“Whoa there hot-stuff,” he tried calmly. “Let’s not accuse each other like that ok? There’s no way Marinette could be doing drugs,” the blue-haired boy smiled. He only growled at the older boy, whose eyebrow rose, not intimidated at all. To Adrien’s chagrin they were at eye level, since they were roughly the same height. He would have liked to tower over him at that moment.

“Get out of my way!” He hissed. “I need to talk to Marinette!”

“Adrien!” The girl in question exclaimed. “What is wrong with you! Don’t talk to Luka like that!”

“I don’t think you need to talk to anyone at all, buttercup,” Luka said calmly, his constant aloofness gone.

“Call me buttercup one more time, see what happens,” he seethed. If he had been Chat Noir his tail would have been lashing out from side to side violently.

“Is that a challenge?” Luka sneered. “Buttercup?” Marinette only gasped at the blue-haired boy’s actions. But before she could reprimand them once again Adrien lunged, Luka following close.

Marinette could only yelp in surprise as both boys crashed on the floor in a tangled heap of appendages. They rolled and wrestled with each other as Marinette demanded them to stop from her place in the chaise, but of course she was being completely ignored.

“It’s your fault isn’t it!” Adrien yowled, his hand pressing down on the other boy’s face. “You are the one who got her into drugs!” Luka for his part could only knee him in his side, pushing him under. “What are you even talking about?” Luka questioned, barely moving his hand in time to not get it bitten.

“Don’t act like you don’t know!” Adrien snarled, his legs kicking upwards, protecting his belly. “You are the one who brings Marinette the drugs!” Accused the blond, rolling them both again so he was on top again.

“What drugs!” Luka finally screamed, confused. “Those drugs!” Adrien pointed to the cups. “I can smell it. There’s weed inside those cups!”

At that Luka suddenly stopped struggling, laying limp under him, chest rising rapidly, trying to get as much oxygen inside of him now that he could. Adrien also paused, only to catch his breath, his hands still clutching the other’s shirt, knuckles white in tension.

A vibration startled Adrien out of nowhere, only realizing it came from Luka as he tried to contain his laughter and failing. Then the dam broke and the blue-haired boy started chortling like Adrien had never heard before, his confused form still on top moving with the other boy’s spasms.

He couldn’t help but blush. “What’s so funny!” He demanded to know. “It’s just,” Luka tried, and failed, to explain, as he fell back into laughing like a madman. “Y-you! You a-actually-” He wheezed.

Accepting he wouldn’t be explaining the hilarity of the situation Adrien turned, ready to ask Marinette for her opinion, only to freeze under her glare. He felt himself go rigid as he realized two very important things.

First, he had barged unannounced and accused her of doing drugs at her own home, on her own room.

Secondly, he had just been all-out fighting with a boy for a while just mere seconds ago. A boy that probably was Marinette’s close friend. A boy that most likely was also Marinette’s boyfriend. Adrien gulped audibly, which the other boy seemed to catch, as he tried to reign in his laughter into only snickering as he sat up, pushing Adrien to the side.

“Now I’m gonna go grab the first aid kit,” Marinette drawled, her tone dangerous. “And if I see or hear any one of you, you’re going to wish you had never met me.”

“Yes ma’am” Both teens answered in sync.

With that she marched downstairs to retrieve the kit, leaving an awkward atmosphere behind her. Adrien whirled when he heard Luka snort softly. He glared at him, which only made the other boy snicker harder. He was about to snap at him when the sound of the trapdoor closing rather violently made him jump. He straightened himself a bit and he saw Luka doing the same, a small grin never leaving his lips, which of course irritated him.

“What am I going to do with you,” Marinette sighed as she crouched in front of Luka, his smile widening ever so slightly. It was then that he noticed Luka’s injured lip, a few drops of blood visible. Adrien winced when Marinette dabbed at it with cotton, his guilt rising. He probably shouldn’t have tussled with the other boy. He was a superhero after all. Who knows how much damage he could have done to him if he had lost all control.

Adrien started when Marinette was suddenly in front of him. Her eyes silently reprimanding him, judging him for his immature actions. He let his gaze fall to the floor, ashamed. He knew he had no excuse. Marinette would probably hate him for the rest of her life now.

That’s why it was such a shock when he felt soft hands and fabric against his cheek. He looked up at her, his eyes sparking with hope and guilt. Adrien wished she understood, he wanted her to forgive him, so he tried to convey so with his eyes.

She seemed to hesitate for a second before sighing in resignation. One of her hands caressing his cheek while the other cleaned his face with what appeared to be a rag.

“I’m sorry,” Adrien mumbled, not wanting to make things worse, his eyes fixed in hers.

Marinette stuttered in her actions for a moment before cursing under her breath, which made Luka snort. Adrien looked between them confused.

“What were you trying to do Adrien,” Marinette asked him softly. “I don’t want you doing drugs Mari,” he confessed, eyes dropping down again. “You are way too important to me so I... I couldn’t,” he struggled to answer, his throat felt clogged up.

“Oh no, no, no, Adrien,” Marinette hugged him. “Oh Adrien, I’m not doing drugs or anything like that.”

“But the smell!” He protested. “You smelled like weed Mari!” He heard Luka begin to snicker again, but this time it was curt short thanks to Marinette who sent him a glare, sobering him up.

“Adrien, the smell is from, well...”

“It’s tea Adrien.” Luka interrupted, answering his question finally. “It’s cannabis tea yes, but it’s perfectly legal here in France.” He explained. “Not only that but it’s also great for you, as long as you don’t abuse it obviously.” He concluded, a small amused smirk on his face.

“Huh,” Adrien said intelligently. “I guess I’m an idiot.”

Luka broke again, falling to the floor, howling wildly as he convulsed. Even Marinette looked startled by it. He seemed like such a calm, easy-going kind-of guy, but here he was, laughing at him openly like a maniac.

The absurdity of it all hit him like a train-wreck at that moment, as he began to giggle, then laugh, until he was roaring as loudly as the other teen.

Marinette looked at them like a deer caught in headlights, before she broke into a fit of giggles of her own, a real smile on her face this time. She tried to lecture them, but it didn’t come off as serious, with it being said between pearls of laughter.

Adrien achieved some semblance of tranquility as he laid in Marinette’s floor, his whole body stretched as he just stared at her ceiling. He felt his pulse, quick and alive, running through him. His chest still sputtered with the stray giggle here and there. And as he closed his eyes, he imagined how life would be if it was always like this, full of absurdity and laughter. Happiness.

No, he wouldn’t mind if things stayed like this forever.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

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#UCM #unhealthy coping mechanisms #ml season 3 #ml spoilers #ml loveater #ml love eater #ml finale #ml f #miraculous spoilers #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #my fic

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