#don’t tell me that they’re gonna free him in july. i’m going to fight someone.

[traumxrei-archive]

yet another month passes without news of tamashina leona…. why are they keeping my mans in the basement….what has he ever done wrong…..

[divine-mistake]

bitter fruit

Summary: “The mission was already a success!” you say and you can feel tears burning the back of your eyes. You will yourself to blink them back. “You had the files, the base was set to detonate, I don’t understand why you didn’t just stay on the fucking jet.”

“Because you were going to die.”

Characters: Bucky Barnes/(f)Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut (oral fem receiving, Bucky is a slut for consent), language, graphic depictions of violence, blood

Word Count: 9338

A/N: This is a tumblr request for @buckybarnes101 who requested an enemies to lovers with eventual smut and I got so so carried away with this request and ended up writing this 9k chonker! (5k of it is smut so, carry on) HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY! Enjoy!!

main masterlist | AO3

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you snap, “maybe about saving all the innocent people that’ve been trapped in HYDRA’s basement for god knows how long?”

Bucky snarls at you, grabbing the front of your tac-suit and pulling you up until your nose is inches from his. A striking pain shoots through your side like a bullet, which is funny, considering the hole he stitched up for you what seemed like seconds ago.

But just like your relationship, numb one second and blazing the next, it’s like some switch has flipped in his brain in a matter of minutes.

You should really give him some more credit—the man describes his brain as spaghetti most days. And as funny as it sounds, it really isn’t. You’re keenly aware of the haunted look that fills his eyes when he struggles with his past.

Except when he acts like this, it’s hard to remember that.

Something smells of smoke and gunpowder. People are screaming. The men who just ran through the door are shouting in Russian, you know, because you’ve heard the same language from Bucky’s mouth when he’s having nightmares. Faintly, you realize there’s a pain just above your hip. You don’t have time to look. The gun is in your hands and you’re firing. Someone—innocent, crying—bumps into you as they flee the scene. Your shot goes wide.

Bucky’s voice crackles over the comms. “Where are you?” He sounds panicked.

“Got held up,” you respond. “I’m on my way. Civilians headed to you.”

He curses your name. “I told you to get back to the jet!”

The butt of an assault rifle is hurtling toward you and you duck, rolling across the dirty concrete. The pain in your side flares up, burning. You think you might’ve gotten shot. You return the favor, killing two more HYDRA agents.

“I took a detour.”

A moment to breathe. Your eyes roam over the cells that you uncovered in the base, checking for any signs of life you previously missed. It’s all dead bodies and blood. You’re starting to feel weak.

“Get back to the fucking jet, agent! The base is rigged to blow!”

Before you can reply, someone grabs you by the hair, the muzzle of a gun pressed into your neck. On reflex and instinct alone, you thrust your elbow into his side and disarm him just in time. The gun goes off, bullet lodging in the concrete. Fucking slug would’ve ripped right through you.

“Bit busy,” you reply to Bucky.

Your name is lost to the sound of you firing the last few rounds into your attacker. When you’re sure he’s dead, you slump to the wet floor, knees unable to hold you any longer. The pain in your side is killing you—probably literally. A gasp escapes you when you press your fingers to the wound, trying to staunch the blood from the bullet hole, but at this point, you guess it doesn’t matter. The base is going to go up in flames in a few more minutes and you don’t have the strength to get back to the quinjet.

And really, you don’t want to. Bucky’s gonna be pissed.

“Hey, Barnes,” you wheeze through the comms. He doesn’t reply. “You know how you got all pissy at Sam when he ate your last loaf of that banana bread, and you put all those laxatives in his brownies and he was shitting for like, days? Yeah, that was me. I ate your banana bread.”

He never replies, but you chuckle all the way until you fall asleep, cheek pressed into a pool of someone’s blood.

He says your name now, catching your attention again, and when you roll your eyes at him he shakes you again. With a hiss of pain, you try and shove him away from you, but his dumb super soldier ass is too heavy.

“That hurts!”

“Good!” Bucky finally lets you go and you slump against your seat, wincing. “Maybe the pain will make you stop being so fucking reckless! You defied a direct order from your captain. You could have died.”

“Maybe I should have,” you mutter back, not looking at him.

“I should be so lucky,” he seethes. “If I hadn’t gone back for your dumbass, your body wouldn’t have even been recovered. You would have rotted in that damn HYDRA base. Is that what you want?”

You snort. “Ain’t like I got a family who wants my ashes.”

Bucky throws up his hands, exasperated, and then decides to pace up and down the aisle of the jet. He doesn’t look at you, and you only sneak glances at the rage painting his face when you’re sure he isn’t going to see you staring. He looks just as worn as you, the sole sleeve of his tac-suit bloody and ripped up, charred remains and soot skimming his boots where he’s tied the laces tight. Sweat-matted and probably dried with blood, his hair is falling in chunks from the bun he usually keeps it in for missions now, and he has to brush it out of his face every few paces he takes.

In another phrase, Bucky is fucking hot right now.

Maybe death would have been tragic, you muse, since you wouldn’t get to see the absolute specimen of your partner anymore.

For as much as you two hate each other, you can’t deny how gorgeous he is. Ripped to match the gods, carefully trimmed beard only a little more bristled than the one Steve sports these days, and god, the man wears a sweater like it’s Armani.

When you blink, you realize he’s looking at you, and your face flushes. It isn’t the first time he’s caught you staring at him hungrily, you’re sure, but most of the time he gets this stupid smug look on his face, lips wide in a smirk, and sometimes he’ll even throw you a flirty little line that has you gnashing your teeth and snapping at him to fuck off.

But this time, he’s so angry that he just stares at you, eyes narrowed in a glare.

“When we get back,” he says, nostrils flaring, “I’m benching you.”

“What?” you cry out, eyes wide. “Why the fuck—who the—who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Your captain!” he roars, and you almost swear the whole jet shakes with his fury. “You disobeyed my direct order to retreat to the jet and instead you almost cost us both our lives. Why the fuck shouldn’t I bench you?”

“I didn’t ask you to come save me!” you shout back, trying to stand from your seat. Almost immediately, Bucky shoves you back down.

“Not only am I your captain for this mission, but I’m your partner. I’m responsible for you. What, you just expect me to leave you behind?”

“The mission was already a success!” you say and you can feel tears burning the back of your eyes. You will yourself to blink them back. “You had the files, the base was set to detonate, I don’t understand why you didn’t just stay on the fucking jet.”

“Because you were going to die.”

The way that Bucky is looking at you right now steals all your breath away, steals all the fight you feel in your bones. You watch the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way the vein in his neck jumps, the way he holds his jaw tight. His eyes, a blaze of blue, are looking at you like he’s afraid you’ll dissolve right in front of him, leaving behind a body bag of skin and bones and teeth. That’s all you are, maybe.

“Stay with me,” he says, voice so close to your ear. “Please, just stay with me, doll.”

It’s all hazy. The world is black. You can’t open your eyes, they’re so heavy. Your body hurts so bad, so fucking bad. Someone is jostling you and it hurts so bad and you just want to open your mouth and scream.

“You’re okay.” It’s Bucky, you realize in some vague fog of a dream. “You’re going to be okay, I’ve got you.”

Your leg feels like it’s on fire. The air smells like the fourth of July, all fire and gunpowder and barbeque. Burnt flesh. It’s hot and thick, the smoke you’re breathing in.

“I have so much to tell you,” he whispers, maybe. Or maybe that’s just how it sounds in your mind. “So much to say to you. So much to apologize for. I need to tell you something. You told me about that dumb fucking banana bread. I have something I gotta tell you, doll.”

What? What does he have to tell you? You want to ask but your throat is so dry and your lips are glued together.

You want to tell him you aren’t dying, and god, he’s being so dramatic. But you can’t, because you might actually be dying.

Instead, you try so so so hard to open your eyes, and a sliver of light invades your vision, and even with the way your eyelids shudder, you can see Bucky’s face. Just a little bit. He’s covered in blood, you think.

Oh, but his eyes. Fuck, you love his eyes. Thank god you opened yours so you could stare at his eyes before you go to sleep again. So blue. So deep. So icy and sad and hurt and beautiful.

“Please,” he says, and you swear it’s the only time he’s ever begged you for anything.

Of course, you tell yourself before your eyes close again.  I’d do anything for you.

“Why do you care?” you whisper, and he blanches, because you swear his damned super soldier hearing can even hear your thoughts.

But fuck it, you’re young, wild, and free, and you’re alive now too, so fuck it.

“Why do you care?” you repeat, louder this time, very clearly addressing him. “Why do you care so much if I die? You’ve hated me since the day you met me,” you spit the words out like poison.

Bucky turns away, gaze trained on something other than you and your bloodied tac-suit.

“We’ve always fought about this,” you continue. “This isn’t anything new, Barnes. You knew I’d go down to save those people. You knew I’d risk my life to get them out. You know this and you still fucking went after me. So why?”

The silence eats at every edge you have until it consumes you, and Bucky never replies.

You watch him walk away, toward the cockpit, and you don’t have the energy to follow him and finish the fight.

“Get it through your pretty little head before you go on a mission and get yourself killed, doll.” Bucky’s smirk sends a shiver through you and you aren’t sure if it's anger or arousal. You bite down on your tongue to keep from lashing out. “You can’t save everyone.”

“Bullshit,” you say before you realize. Bucky’s eyes go wide. “I took this job because I have the ability to save people, so I’m going to save everyone.”

His mouth opens but you cut him off.

“I don’t care if you can’t save everyone, but me?” Your finger is braced against his hard chest and he doesn’t recoil. “I’ll save everyone or I’ll die trying.”

“Hey,” Steve says, trying to move between you two, but you barely notice his presence.

“You’re stupid,” Bucky hisses.

You smirk. “You’re not as skilled as you think you are.”

“Shut up,” he snarls.

“Make me,” you snap back.

“Guys,” Steve tries to interrupt.

“Meet me in the ring.” Bucky’s eyes are glaring down at you, heated. “Let’s see if you can handle me, doll.”

“Buck!” Steve’s hand falls on Bucky’s shoulder, working to hold him back from stalking off to the gym. But Bucky shrugs him off.

“Back off, Steve.” He looks over his shoulder at you as if daring you to follow.

And, fuck, you’ve never backed down from a challenge in your entire life, so you follow him all the way to the training room, watching the way his muscles strain through his tight t-shirt the whole way.

He’s kind enough to hold the ropes up so you can duck under easier, but you roll your eyes and leverage your foot against the spring and tuck your legs underneath you to jump the top rope easily. You throw him the same look that he did, a coy gaze over your shoulder, and then you beckon him forward.

His nostrils flare and you wonder what he’d look like on top of you in bed.

“Wrap your hands, for god’s sake,” Steve shouts, but you ignore him in favor of cracking your knuckles for good measure.

“I’m not planning on getting mine bloody,” you tell him, and Bucky laughs brusk.

“You should plan on losing,” he says, smirking.

With a twist of your jaw, you crack your neck. “Not planning on that, either.”

Like big cats, the two of you circle each other, toes so light the mat makes no noise. Bucky’s eyes are focused, narrowed, and beautiful like this, you think. He’s calculating every single movement you’re making and it sends a heat down to your core. This is all just foreplay to you.

Until he charges, and then it’s on. You’re a flurry of limbs, defensive stances and blocks. Bucky is unrelenting and the fucker is fast for his size. He never uses his metal arm to attack, but the manic whirr and click of it as he moves is alarming. There’s a window of opportunity when Bucky overshoots a right hook and you duck underneath his arm, and you’re able to get behind him and kick him the back of his knee. He falters for not even a second and then it’s back on.

It’s a dance, weaving between limbs and twirling kicks aimed at his head. You struggle to figure out how to take him down—he’s so big, like a fucking brick wall. There’s very little chance you can flip him. You’re going to have to try and get him in a hold, but there’s no way he’s going to allow you to do that.

But maybe you can bait him. You go on the attack now, whiffing a couple of good punches and sending a straight kick right at his jaw that he barely dodges. While you’re recovering, before your foot is even planted back on the mat, Bucky does exactly what you want him to do. He slides up with a fist and you feign a misstep, ducking right. His follow-through is too heavy and you grab his wrist, locking it in your grasp, and then your heel goes straight into his abdomen, right under his center of gravity.

He goes down and you relish in the moment his eyes blow wide with the shock of being caught off guard. You scramble on top of him but he rocks his hips up and starts to roll you both until you’re underneath him. In retaliation, you lock one foot around his calf and use your other knee to jab his stomach, and then you roll him underneath you instead. Your forearm presses against his neck, legs squeezing his middle.

God, he’s fucking pretty, his blue eyes all big and pants falling out of his pink lips. Sweat is dripping from his hairline and rolling off the bridge of his nose and it pleases you, the fact that you made Bucky Barnes bust his ass in a fight. You know you have to look like a drowned dog by now, so how the fuck is he still so pretty? For that, you press down on his throat harder until he taps the mat—a yield.

Immediately you’re off him, panting as you lean against the ropes, but a shit-eating grin is plastered on your face. Bucky looks anywhere but you, wiping his damp face on his shirt, which gives you the most perfect flash of his carved abs.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “we can agree to disagree, right?”

He stares at you for a hard moment, a longer moment than he has before, and you swallow as desire crawls up your spine. Then, Bucky ducks under the ropes, grabs his towel, and gets the hell out of dodge.

“Fuck you too, Barnes!” you shout, and you know he must’ve heard you.

He helps you walk off the quinjet and you hate literally every second of every moment that you have to have his arm wrapped around your waist. Mostly because you’re pissed at him and you hate being babied, but also because god, you can imagine Bucky holding you like this in a different context way better than you should be able to.

Those thoughts are the demons in your brain and you need someone to exorcise you. Probably Natasha. No, Natasha will make fun of you. Wanda, then.

As soon as you’re out of the hangar, Bucky asks FRIDAY if there’s anyone in the medbay, and your neck about snaps in half from how fast you turn.

“No,” you say. “Absolutely not. I’m not going to medical.”

He cuts you a glare. “As if you have a say in it.”

“I do have a say! It’s my body! This is the twenty-first century, Barnes. My body, my choice!”

“You’re injured,” he grits through his teeth. “We’re going to medbay.”

“I don’t need to go!” You start dragging your heels, trying to make yourself heavier, but Bucky is a super soldier and probably throws mack trucks for a living or something. “You stitched me up! The burns aren’t that bad, either. I’m fine, I’m not going to medical.”

“God, can you ever give me a break?” he groans. “Why are you always so fucking difficult?”

“I’m not being difficult!” you snarl, trying to push away from him, but his grip tightens. “Why the fuck do you care so much?”

“You’re so fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, maybe I am, since I don’t know why the fuck you give two shits about saving my quote-unquote dumbass who almost got us both killed, and I don’t know why the fuck you care about getting me to medical when you’re gonna bench me anyway! Right, thanks a lot Barnes, I’m so stupid for not fucking figuring it out!”

“You are!” he roars, and then your back is against the wall, his hand cushioning your head from hitting it. He corners you there, covering your body with his, ducking down so your mouths are so close you would only need to reach up a little to kiss him, and god, that’s tempting.

Not tempting enough when you’re this pissed off, though.

“So that’s what it is, huh? You just think I’m some stupid, incapable little girl who is so impractical because all she wants to do is save lives? You think I’m so stupid that I don’t know that people are going to die? And they’re going to die because I can’t save them? Maybe you should think about how I could never live with myself if I didn’t do everything possible to save them, so I risk my life to get them to safety. I would never ever risk yours, you stupid, arrogant, ignorant—”

Oh, Jesus.

His lips are hot when they crash against yours, pinning you between him and the wall. It’s desperate, the kind of kiss you’ve never had before. It’s so desperate and you want to pull away and ask him, Bucky, what are you so desperate for? He kisses you like he wants to keep you, his mouth swallowing yours like he can’t get enough of you. It’s hungry and begging and you don’t ever want it to stop, your teeth nipping blood from his bottom lip as if it’ll stop him from leaving, but he pulls away, leaving you breathless anyway.

“You’re stupid,” he repeats again and you watch his tongue dart out to taste the blood you’ve ripped from his skin. It sends a thrill of pleasure through you. “You’re so stupid.”

And he kisses you again and you decide that sure, maybe you’re stupid, you’ll be stupid all day long because he’s going to kiss you stupid.

It’s your hands that move first, you realize in some random corner of your mind. Your fingers twine in his brown locks, tugging the hair tie away and flinging it somewhere. Vaguely, you realize you’re still in the middle of the hallway, on the way to the elevator, but you don’t give a shit. The hand that isn’t twisting Bucky’s scalp finds the material of his tac-suit and starts pulling at all the straps and buckles, searching for a sliver of his hot skin in any capacity.

His own hand, the one not holding the back of your head, skims over your waist and flutters down your uninjured hip, grasping at the flesh underneath your suit. Suddenly, you’re overcome with the need to get these fucking clothes off, and immediately, and you break the kiss so you can suck down air and ask the man you’ve been hating, been pining after, to take you to bed.

As you do, Bucky trails a hot path of sloppy kisses down your chin, over your jaw, against your neck, until he finds the juncture of your shoulder and attaches his teeth there, nibbling on a patch of skin that is so distracting you forget about your question for a minute. And then your fingers run over a rough spot on his suit and you remember.

“Bucky,” you gasp out, and it sounds so heady that you nearly throw your head back. “Bucky,” you repeat, more urgently, when he doesn’t let up, your hand is tightening on his sleeve and tugging on it.

His head snaps up now, eyes piercing yours, concerned.

“Are you okay?” he asks, moving your hair away from your face to look closer at you.

“Bed,” you rasp out, but barely. “Now, please.”

He doesn’t move for a second, just staring at you like he’s scared, like he’s surprised you would ask. You see his eyes sort of glaze over, a reminder of the nightmares he’s seen, the nightmares he replays over and over in his head, but you’re selfish and your core is pulsing with a heat you’ve never felt this hot before and you need him here, not wherever his mind is taking him.

“Please, Bucky,” you say, and he blinks, and then he’s present again.

“Anything for you, doll,” he whispers, and your legs nearly collapse beneath you at the thought. Bucky scoops you into his arms carefully, trying not to jostle your wound too much, and then he sweeps you into the elevator and you’re speeding toward his room and hoping to god that Steve isn’t prowling around.

In a haze of kissing and excitement, you barely recognize that Bucky’s opening his door until it’s closed behind you and he’s walking you through his room and to his bed.

God, you’ve wanted to be in his bed for so fucking long.

He drops you among the sheets gently, so starkly different from the harsh tone of his voice only a few minutes earlier when he was yelling at you, and you’re not sure what you like better. You want Bucky to fuck you, to rip you in half and put you back together like he always does. But you want him, so badly, to make love to you just as much, but you’d never admit that to him.

Bucky’s kissing you so sweetly now, and then his kisses get more forceful, more needy, and you suck on his tongue until he’s panting above you. His hands are everywhere, sliding over your suit, unstrapping and unzipping and unbuckling all your gear, and your hands fumble in tune with his, trying to help him get you out of your clothes.

Just before he takes off your vest, he kisses you and asks, “Is this okay?”

You rip the vest off yourself, sitting up on your elbows to rip your undershirt off with it, leaving you in a black sports bra.

And you revel in the way Bucky stares at this new flesh. His lips find your sweaty skin, covering every inch that’s been revealed now as your fingers start taking his tac-suit apart the way he did yours. Soon, you’re frustrated, and you whine and pull at it until he huffs a laugh and takes it off himself. His vest gets thrown to the side and his tank top follows, leaving him bare-chested.

Your fingers are shaky as they touch his tanned skin and you almost laugh at how nervous you are. You’ve spent so long looking at him, hating him, wanting him, and now you have this stretch of his wide chest in front of you and all you can do is let your fingertips glide over him, mouth parted, eyes hazy.

His pupils are blown wide, too, and Bucky takes your hand in his and presses it against him harder, and suddenly you’re feral.

Your hands slide over every part of him, taking in the expanse of him. His biceps, his strong shoulders, the hard planes of his body. As gentle as possible, you trail your fingers closer and closer to the scar where metal meets flesh, and you glance up at him, a silent question, and when he gives you the smallest nod, you smooth over the gnarled rift of skin. You don’t ask if it hurts. He gives no indication that it does. And when you reach up to press a soft kiss to it, he shudders above you.

“Please,” he whispers, so quietly. “Let me touch you, doll.”

You lay back and start to unstrap your holsters, gesturing for Bucky to help you with your pants. He unlaces your boots for you as you throw your weapons to the ground, the clink of belts and buckles mingling in the silence, a song that ignites the excitement inside of you.

Your core is molten lava, the apex of your thighs dripping and Bucky hasn’t even touched the most intimate parts of you yet. Every single fiber of your being is trembling in anticipation, and in your hurry to strip your pants off, a twinge of pain shoots through you as you bend the wrong way, stitches pulling.

Bucky curses—like he’s the one who’s hurt you and you aren’t the idiot trying to rip her pants off—and just like he can flip the switch on his attitude, he flips the switch on this, too. He’s off of you before you realize, sitting back on his haunches, staring down at you in panic.

“I’m—Baby,” he breathes, voice shaking. “I'm sorry.”

His hands are outstretched, reaching for you, trembling as he swallows hard. You watch as his eyes shift in the space between your face and the white gauze wrapped around the bullet wound in your side.

“Bucky,” you hiss and grab him by the back of his neck, pulling him down. He doesn’t budge, not much at least, but you meet him the rest of the way and your lips collide with his in a thunderous crash, and like instinct, he kisses you until you can’t breathe.

“Doll,” he mumbles against your mouth and you drink the word from his tongue, distracting him. “We can’t.”

“We can,” you growl back, teeth reminding him of the pulsing ache between your thighs. In search of more, your hips roll up and meet his own, causing a groan to tumble out of his mouth into your own.

Fuck the pain—you’ll grit your teeth and bear it. This is the only moment you’ll ever have him, and by god, you need him.

Your hands return to your pants. “Help me,” you plead, breathless, unable to shimmy out of them. Bucky’s already pulled your boots off, socks coming with them, and his fingers find the heated flesh right beneath your waistband.

“Are you sure?”

All you can do is whine his name until he understands, and then Bucky is peeling your black pants from your legs, the rush of cool air rolling over your hot skin feeling almost as good as his hands are going to feel if he’ll just put them on you.

When his palms finally fall upon your thighs, rough and calloused and big and warm, you need much more, so much more. The way he trails his fingers down your knees, caressing your calves, brushing atop your ankle, and then coming back up to have his thumbs follow the ridge of muscles in your thighs, it all makes you shiver in pleasure. You’re so hot, sweat pooling in the small of your back against the bed, the dampness of your core becoming harder to ignore.

You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the ache and Bucky notices—of course he notices—and his mouth finds your neck again, sucking until dark bruises begin to mar your skin, until you’re bowing off the bed, arching toward him, trying to get something, anything. Anything from him.

At some point, you realize he’s just torturing you on purpose, letting his hands roam the stretch of your stomach, smooth over the hills of your hips, and then draw down your legs until you’re shaking as he kisses you so softly, and then so roughly, like he can’t decide if he wants to grow old with you or if he wants to ruin you for whoever comes after him.

You sit up and reach around, fingers intent on unclasping your bra, but Bucky stops you with a nip at your bottom lip.

“Will you let me?” he asks, so sweetly. Bucky’s hand finds yours and bats them away, his fingers on the hooks as he waits for your answer.

“Yes,” you moan as his other hand tickles down the curve of your side. “God, please, yes.”

“Bucky,” he says, smirking against the side of your neck.

“Shut up and undress me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well, when you ask so sweet like that, baby.”

With a quiet click, your bra comes undone and Bucky pulls it away from your body, and then your breasts are bare before his eyes. Now, it’s your turn to be doused in ice, to freeze, for the switch to flip.

You feel shy beneath his gaze, the way he looks at your nearly naked body with such reverence, as though this is the moment he’s been waiting for. Your knees close and your elbows draw in over your chest without your permission. It’s not like you want to hide from him, but he looks so perfect atop you, so beautiful in every single facet, better than any dream you’ve ever had of him, and you can’t stop yourself.

What have the other girls looked like underneath him? Better than you, surely. Prettier, skinnier, smaller, sexier. For fuck’s sake, you’ve got a nasty burn on the side of your leg and were shot through your left side only a few hours ago, your middle wrapped in medical tape. You can’t be that pretty a picture.

You’ve had your shot at him and you’re gonna lose it.

But when you look up, Bucky’s looking at you like you’re everything. His face is flushed, red creeping down his neck, and his eyes are soft, hazy, glassy. Gently, his fingers find your jaw and cup your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“Let me look at you, baby.” His voice is almost as rough as the worn skin of his hand, dry and gravelly and thick with lust. When Bucky moves to grasp your wrists, you let your eyes flutter closed and nod, allowing him to peel your arms away from where they hide you, and you hear the sharp intake of breath he takes.

“God,” his voice shudders. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, doll. I couldn’t have dreamed you up if I tried, and I promise you, I tried.”

Your eyes fly open at this. “What?”

If it bothers him, he doesn’t act like it. Bucky leans down to nuzzle his nose against your collarbone, kissing and licking your skin like he’s making constellations out of your body—bruises connected only by his tongue.

“I’ve thought about this since the day you kicked my ass in the ring.” He sounds like he’s reciting a prayer, all whispered desires. “Your perfect lips, what they’d feel like, how soft they are. If you’d touch my scars, and how your fingers would feel on them all if you did.”

His mouth closes over the mound of your breast, the clash of tongue and teeth upon your nipple forcing you to arch into him in pleasure. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream and you aren’t quite aware that you’re even whining until his free hand crawls up from your hip and cups your other breast, thumb strumming over your peaked nipple. The breathy moans that pour from your mouth fill the room and only seem to make Bucky work faster, work harder, as he drags every drop of pleasure out of you with every instrument he has. Your hips buck up and into his, your thinly-clothed core catching the tent in his pants—his tac-suit, you realize, is still on—and it makes you both groan in a symphony of need.

“Need you,” you somehow manage to get out between your heavy panting, hips still searching for something to relieve the ache in your center. “Bucky, please.”

He releases your nipple from his lips, the chill assaulting the wet bud making you bow from the bed once again. Bucky places a kiss on the other, letting his tongue lave over it until it's just as wet and hard.

“I imagined what you’d sound like,” he says against your stomach, punctuating his words with a smattering of kisses across your skin. “Thought about what you’d—fuck, baby—I thought so much about how you’d look beneath me all spread out, just for me.”

The sound you make in reply is almost embarrassing as how soaked your panties are.

“Wondered how you’d taste.” He lets his tongue drag across the hem of your underwear and you press up, trying to get his mouth closer, but his hands settle on your hips and gently hold you to the bed.

“Bucky!” you try and growl, but it comes out an octave too high. “Please!”

“What is it, babydoll?” His fingers curl underneath, thumbs riding the line of skin just beneath your panties.

“I need you!” You throw your head back against the pillow. “I’ve thought about it too,” you admit, breathing hard. “How you’d touch me like this, how you’d feel inside me, please, so please just—I need you, Bucky.”

“You got me, baby,” he says and it sounds so fucking beautiful. “I’m right here. I got you, doll. Gonna take care of you, okay? Will you let me give you what you need?”

You answer by trying to press your hips up again, and Bucky shifts until his hands are cupping your ass and he drags you down the bed, closer to him, closer to his own hips where you can feel the bulge of his cock begging to be released.

“Your pants,” you remind him, wrapping your uninjured leg around the back of his thigh. “I want to feel you, please, Bucky.”

“Okay, doll,” he says, laying a kiss just above your panty line again, and then he’s pulling away and you whine despite it.

You listen as Bucky fiddles with his gear, going through the same motions as you had to go through earlier. The clink of his knives, the buckles of his holsters, the heavy soles of his boots as he throws them off. When you sit up, Bucky is standing in his black boxers, the faint light streaming into his room highlighting the shine of the scars that cover his body.

He looks as breathless, as flustered, as aroused as you feel. His hair is mussed from your hands, falling over his shoulder in the thick waves that feel so soft between your fingers. The lust is evident in the way his eyes roam over your body, his pupils blown wide, and then he’s moving toward you and fitting himself between your legs on the bed.

Bucky slides his hands over your heated skin yet again, a reminder of how much he wants you, how much he loves the feel of you, before his fingers hook inside your panties and begin to pull them down. Before he gets too far, he stops again, gaze flicking up to meet yours.

“Is this alright?” he asks.

You nod, lifting your hips as carefully as possible in order to keep from jostling your wound, and Bucky slips the last piece of clothing from your body. You hope, fucking christ you hope, he doesn’t realize how soaked they are when he peels them off, but maybe that’s a lost cause.

Because as soon as you’re naked, your glistening core bare to his eyes alone, all bets are off. There are no more barriers, nothing for you to hide behind, no sharp words to keep your feelings at bay.

His fingers skim over your lips, collecting all the honey you’ve made for him as his knees widen to spread your thighs. The simple movement has your hips rolling already in search of more, whimpers falling from your mouth as Bucky stares at your naked form beneath him. Eyes lidded, you watch as he brings his fingers, wet with your juices, up to his mouth.

“Shit, doll,” he curses. Bucky’s tongue envelops his digits and he groans at the taste, sending shocks like a fucking earthquake through your body, through your bones, straight to your core.

He moves closer to you, sliding your thighs onto his shoulder and locking his metal arm around the top of your hips, far enough away from your wound that it doesn’t hurt. Bucky peppers kisses along your inner thighs, biting and sucking in intervals that has you pressing your mound to him, begging for more.

“You taste so good,” he mumbles, breath ghosting over your quivering pussy, pulling a wanton whine from your throat. “Will you let me taste you, baby?”

“God, yes, please Bucky,  please, I need it so bad.” The words are frantic, strangled, a mess of moans of breathless gasping.

“I know, sweetheart,” he says. “I got you, baby. I got you.”

And then his mouth is on you, hot and slick upon hot and slick, his tongue parting the valley of your lips and delving into your dripping center like he’s a man starved and you’re the first meal he’s tasted in years. You keen in pleasure, thrashing your head against the pillows until your hair is a tangled mess as Bucky’s tongue flattens on your clit, licking a wide path until it’s well-traveled and your hips stutter, held back only by the cooled metal on your heated skin. Your hands find purchase in his hair, fingers tugging at his scalp, and the motion makes him groan into you.

You call his name like it’s the only word you know, chanting it over and over like it’s a spell similar to the one he’s weaving with his tongue upon your aching clit. He doesn’t let up, tracing words you can’t make out and drinking in all the wetness flooding his mouth. The gentle scratch of his wiry beard burns just right, contrasting with the curls of pleasure coming from your sensitive clit. Without realizing, you grind your core against Bucky’s mouth, the friction only serving to make you into a trembling mess, your insides throbbing with a need to be filled, pussy clenching around nothing.

As if he feels you, Bucky slides his free hand over your leg and to the apex of your thighs, the first thick finger entering you slowly, like he’s testing the waters. You cry out, begging for more, and Bucky relents. His second finger follows as his tongue continues to lap at your pussy, letting you gyrate against his face as you try to fuck yourself on his hand.

“Bucky,” you pant, each letter of his name a stutter with moans, “please!”

“Please what, babydoll?” His voice sends another wave of arousal through you, juices slicking his fingers up more than before. Your stomach is tightening, pleasure in tight curls between your legs, center so close to snapping that tears are beginning to leak from your eyes because Bucky won’t fucking let you move your hips in the way that you want. He chuckles against your pussy, breath teasing over you, vibrations making you quiver.

“I’m gonna—”

Bucky curls his fingers inside of you, stroking your spot, just as his mouth envelops your clit in its heat and he sucks, hard, and the thin thread coiling in your core snaps and you come apart, harder, and a scream tears itself from your throat as warm tears fall into your hairline.

He never stops. As his suckling turns into kitten licks upon your clit, his third finger breaches your opening and slips inside, pumping into you as you ride your orgasm out on his hand. Your hand is tight in his hair until it all becomes too much and it falls to cover your mouth, your teeth finding your knuckle to bite back the sound of your moans.

“Oh no, baby, no,” Bucky says, and when you look down, he’s between your legs, watching you in the aftershocks of your pleasure. His fingers leave your pussy and you clench around nothing, a whine leaving your lips at the emptiness, until Bucky’s metal fingers are pulling your hand away from your face.

“I gotta hear you,” he whispers, the hand covered in your nectar finding your mouth. “Need to hear all those pretty little noises you’re making, baby. I’ve dreamed about ‘em. Would get my cock all hard thinking about ‘em. You gotta keep making ‘em ‘cause now that I’ve heard ‘em, I can’t get enough, babydoll.”

When he moves to trace your bottom lip, red and swollen from his own, your tongue darts out to taste the salt and sin on the pad of his thumb. Bucky places his fingers at your parted lips and you suck them into your mouth, licking all the juice from his skin, tongue swirling around his digits. You wonder if his lips taste like this, too.

He groans as he watches you, his eyes lidded and hazy and lovely, and then his metal hand finds the waistband of his boxers and yanks them off his hips. In one perfect movement, his cock slaps against his stomach, hot and red and already leaking, which makes you flush at the fact that Bucky liked making you come.

Subconsciously, your tongue snakes out to lick your lips as you take in the length, the thickness of his cock, and Bucky gets that familiar look on his face—cocky, smirking, knowing that he’s pushing your limits. He presses you back down upon the bed, his arms bracketing your head as his nose brushes against yours, his heat pressing into the subtle dip where your hip and thigh meet.

The feeling of his cock, hard and heavy against your naked skin, sends you into a frenzy of arousal, of want, of need. You reach out and take him into your hand, your thumb brushing over the velvet head and smearing his precum along his length. Bucky’s jaw tightens, muscle twitching, as you pump your fist around him and drag your fingers along the blue vein riding up the underside. The groan that falls from his lips, the stutter and jerk of his hips, the way he shakes above you is addicting, and Bucky has to pull your wrist away from his cock in order to stop you from getting him off just like that.

“Baby,” he breathes, resting his sweaty forehead against yours.

“Bucky, please,” you beg again. “Please, I need you inside me.”

“You want me?” he asks, and even though his voice is scratchy and thick with desire, he says it like he’s surprised. As if you could never want him.

You’ve always wanted him.

“Yes, god, Bucky. I want you,” you moan, threading your fingers into his hair to smash your lips together in a sharp, bruising kiss. “I need you,” you say against his mouth. “I need you so, so bad.”

“I need you too, babydoll. Need to feel you,” he says, the sound strained, almost like he can’t stay away from you any longer. You feel it too, the ache without him, the way your pussy clenches in anticipation for him.

The head of Bucky’s cock nudges at your entrance and your slick coats him. The soft skin of him brushes your over-sensitive clit and you keen, and he does it again, and again, until you’re shaking, until you wrap your ankles around Bucky’s back and pull him into you, raising your hips to meet his.

“You want this?” His voice is heavy when he asks.

“Yes,” you moan out, rocking against him.

He says your name and it sounds pained on his tongue. “Are you sure?”

“James.” Your teeth snap and gnash on his name, and it awakens something within him that sets every place he touches you ablaze with a new sensation, and Bucky enters you with a slow thrust of his hips. 

And it feels so fucking good.

Like straining a muscle you haven’t used in a while, it aches as he enters while you stretch to accommodate his size. The way his cock feels inside of you—touching you in places you never thought you’d be touched, filling you in a way you never thought you’d be filled.

He’s finally, finally yours. If just for this moment, Bucky Barnes is yours.

Your nails incise his back, making new marks among the sea of scarring he’s suffered, as you cling to his body in any way to feel him closer to you. Bucky leaves kisses on every surface of your face, your jawline, your neck. He kisses you everywhere and you wish you could tattoo the feeling into your skin.

“Are you alright?” he mumbles faintly into your neck and you can feel how hard he’s trying not to move, not to hurt you, to give you time to adjust to him. Your fingers trail up and down his spine, drifting into his hair, scratching against his scalp.

“Yes,” you hiss, undulating your hips and making a similar sound fall from his lips. “Bucky, please.”

You don’t know how many iterations of that same phrase you’ve said all night, but you’ll keep saying it, over and over, if he’ll take you like this. Just like this, with his arms trapping your body to the bed, his hips flush against yours, panting above you as he stares into your eyes all lustful and dark and wanting. He smells like the Bucky you’re so familiar with, your partner, Barnes, gunpowder and explosions and blood, with the clean scent of whatever deodorant he uses. If he’ll keep you like this, where you can pretend your his for this moment, you’ll say it over and over

Bucky, please—Bucky, please—Bucky, please—please—please—

When he finally moves, thrusting into your heat with a growl, it feels like time stops.

Bucky fucks you like he loves you, slow and steady, pumping into you fully and deeply until you lose your mind. He fucks you like he wants to ravage you, fast and quick and hard as he holds your hips to keep you steady, and you ignore the dull pain that flares up in your side because he’s fucking you like he needs you, like he can’t exist without you. He fucks you like he’ll never get another chance to touch you. When he fucks you like this, his thrusts falling out of rhythm, out of time, he rests his forehead against yours and you lean up to capture his mouth with yours, tongues sliding over one another sloppily.

The heat is building up inside of you again, and when Bucky lifts your hips and drapes you over his knees, pressing you up with his metal arm, his cock hits the spot inside you that makes you scream over and over. The waves are cresting. The crescendo is approaching. Every grunt and groan he makes mingles with your moans and shrieking pleasure, and it’s all going to culminate into one big moment, you can feel it.

Bucky pulls back to slip his hand between your bodies, sweaty and hot, and his thumb presses gently into your clit. With one sharp thrust, your body arches off the bed as you snap, screaming his name, and Bucky holds you through it.

Your vision goes black—you aren’t sure if it's because your eyes are screwed shut in pleasurable pain or if it's because you’ve passed out. Bucky’s hips jerk wildly into yours and you tighten the grip you have around his waist with your legs, digging your heels into the small of his strong back.

“So tight,” he hisses into your ear. “So fucking wet, baby. Feel so fucking right, made for me, aren’t you doll?”

“Yes, James,” you moan out as you ride the waves of your orgasm. “Made for you!”

Bucky works at your clit again as his rhythm starts to fail, and even with how sensitive you are, you feel the pleasure curling inside you again, hot inside your stomach. You clench and jolt whenever his cock hits the right angle, and all of a sudden, you’re on the edge yet again.

“I can’t,” you cry out, nearly a sob lost to the sound of his hips snapping against yours.

“You can,” he says, so gently. “You can, baby, just for me. You said so, right?”

How is he still talking? For fuck’s sake, your tongue feels like its detached from your mouth and all you can muster are the moans and whines that come from the back of your throat Bucky is forcing out of you.

“Come with me,” you beg, you plead. “Please James, please, come with me.”

“Baby—”

You break apart silently, clinging to his body, holding him to you as every fiber of your being is torn into pieces, shattered. As your pussy clenches and spasms around him, Bucky stutters in his thrusts and you pull him into you, willing him to fall over the edge with you, and he follows dutifully.

He groans out your name as he comes inside of you, liquid heat searing the deepest part of you. Falling back against the pillows, you whisper his name and drag him with you, mouth meeting his for one last clumsy, haphazard kiss. Bucky stills inside of you, still throbbing, and then he whispers something against your lips.

“I love you.”

You freeze, eyes wide, and Bucky pulls away from your embrace to look at you.

“What?” you ask, swallowing thickly. “What did you say?”

“I—” He looks nervous now, but his blue eyes are so fucking sincere. “I’m—I’m so sorry, fuck.”

Bucky moves to pull out of you, to leave, but you tighten your legs around his hips and trap him against you. The cocky smirk he wears, the confident smile, even the look of desire he wore while fucking you—it’s all gone. Left in its wake is the ashamed look Bucky wears that makes him seem small, and you want to smooth it away until he looks at you like he wants you again. Like he wants you to be his. 

Like he loves you.

“Why are you sorry?” you ask him, stroking a hand through his hair.

“Because—fuck—this wasn’t supposed to happen.” He glances away from you and glares at the floor and a heartbreaking pain shoots through you. Now, he pulls out of you, shifting to get off the bed and clean up, but you can’t stop the words before they tumble out.

“You didn’t want me?”

“What?” Bucky turns and cups your face in his hand, searching your eyes for something, and his thumb wipes away a stray tear you didn’t realize had fallen. 

Oh fuck, here it comes. He told you he loved you in a fit of passion and now you’re the stupid, clingy girl that he needs to leave behind. You’re partners, first and foremost, and you shouldn’t have forgotten that.

But god, he made you feel like you were his, and you wanted that so bad. You want it so fucking bad.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, voice shaking and you wonder if you mean it. “I know I’m stupid, and I know you hate me, and I know it was just sex—”

“Baby, no, please.” Bucky brings your face to his and kisses you softly, sweetly, like he adores you. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry because someone like me shouldn’t love someone like you. God, I shouldn’t love someone as perfect as you. I can’t have you, doll. And I’m sorry.”

Oh. Bucky does love you.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

You surge up and slant your mouth over his, hand gripping the back of his neck to pull him down, fingers twining in the fine hairs where his scalp meets his skin. In this one kiss, you pour everything you think you can into it, everything you feel now, everything you’ve felt since you met him, everything you’ve ever felt at every moment you’ve shared with him.

“I love you,” you say when you pull away. “I love you so much, Bucky. I’ve loved you since the day I met you.”

His eyes are so wide, so afraid, so confused.

“You do?”

“I do,” you tell him. “God, I’ve wanted you for so long, Bucky Barnes, you stupid man.”

You expect him to kiss you now, but he doesn’t. Instead, Bucky cradles your head in his hand and pulls you to his chest, embracing you in his warm arms. He rolls onto the bed, carefully lifting you until you’re situated on top of him, where you wrap your limbs around him and lay upon his warm body. Bucky lays kisses on the crown of your hair, holding you so tightly against him you think you might suffocate.

“I’ve loved you since the day you kicked my ass, doll,” he admits. You laugh.

“Are you kidding me? I thought you hated me.”

“I could never hate you,” he says. “I hated that you would sacrifice yourself for others. I still hate it. It’s why you got hurt today and god, the threat of losing you, it scares me doll. I didn’t know what I would do if you died right there in my arms and I never got the chance to tell you all this.”

You glance up at him, at his beautiful face and his beautiful eyes, the man who you hated and who you wanted and who you love. God, you really do love him.

“I’m not going to leave you,” you whisper, pressing an awkward kiss to his bare chest. “Now that I have you, I could never leave you.”

He laughs at that. “Babydoll, you’ve always had me. I can’t believe you never knew.”

You think back to all the times he’s looked at you, dopey grins and cocky smiles and coy glances. You think about how long you’ve leaned on each other in the two years you’ve been partners, how he’s the only person you’ve ever trusted with your life, how you always work to come back to him. You think about the butterflies that stirred in your stomach the first time you met him, when he shook your hand and gave you the prettiest smile you’d ever seen, the same smile he has plastered on his face right now as looks down at you.

Sitting up, you look at Bucky Barnes, chin resting in your palm lazily.

“Maybe I’ve always known,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe I did, too.”

[spencers-renaissance]

This Gravitational Pull

Summary: Penelope Garcia sets her two best friends Derek & Spencer up on a blind first date. Even with the best intentions and highest expectations, no-one could've predicted it would go quite this well.

Tags: fluff, first date, au: diff first meeting, shy spencer, insecurity, anxiety, flirting, cuddling, protective derek, silly amounts of affection

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.9k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

I started writing this and then realised that I'd set their date in a pub's beer garden? I googled it and apparently they are a thing in America so I kept it in. I don't know how common they are, but I hope it's all good and you can picture the setting just fine.

Spencer really wishes he hadn’t agreed to this blind date.

Not because he doesn’t trust Penelope — he does, he trusts her implicitly and entirely — but because it's a blisteringly hot day in late July and the heat compounded by his shaking nerves is making for a rather unpleasant sweating situation.

A bumblebee buzzes quietly around the table he’s sat at, briefly interested in the iced coffee he’s got his hands wrapped around, and Spencer watches it with a gentle sort of intrigue, able to briefly take his mind off the impending date. He knows that Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan is physically attractive, Penelope had made that more than clear with both her copious photos of him and the way she’s sung his praises since she started working at the FBI, but if anything, that just makes him more nervous. If Derek wasn’t his type, then he wouldn’t have as much to lose.

He runs a nervous hand through his hair as he heaves a small sigh. Worst case scenario, he can run home to his apartment, order Indian food, bury himself in the early edition of War and Peace he just won in an auction and forget that this date ever happened.

“Spencer? Spencer Reid?”

A surprisingly deep and sexy voice has him looking up from the watch face he’s been staring at perhaps a little too intensely, and he’s instantly taken aback by the Greek God standing in front of him. He’d known Derek was attractive, he'd seen pictures of him, but no camera could ever hope to do someone so beautiful any semblance of justice.

“Uh, y-yes, um, yeah. That’s me.” He shakes his head to try and recover his awkward word stumbling before discreetly wiping his sweaty palm on his trousers and standing up to shake Derek’s hand. “You’re Derek?”

“The one and only,” Derek says cheekily, shooting Spencer a grin that already has his stomach churning with a mix of excitement and crippling nerves. “Penelope told me you were gorgeous, but let me tell you, she really undersold it, pretty boy.”

His cheeks instantly flush red as he fights to maintain eye contact, blinking owlishly at the other man. Did he really just say that?

“I was going to say the same thing.”

Derek’s grin only widens. “Well, it looks like Penelope matched us well, then.”

This time Spencer allows himself to briefly duck his head as a baffling mix of pleasure and mortification swim around his chest. He puts it down to inexperience. Any other explanation will only compound his embarrassment.

“She did,” he agrees, smiling over at Derek and hoping desperately that he’s managing to stay cooler on the outside than he is on the inside. “Do you want something to drink?”

Derek nods. “I’ll go and order a beer at the bar. Do you want anything or are you okay with that coffee?”

“Oh no, I’m fine, thank you,” Spencer says, and mentally he praises himself for finally getting out a coherent sentence that doesn’t sound hopelessly mangled and flustered.

He watches Derek as he strides into the pub, looking as cool and confident as his looks and personality allow, and he realises that he really does just have a way about him. The bar is relatively crowded due to the blinding heat on a Saturday afternoon, but the bartender serves him instantly, all the girls eyeing him interestedly and the guys knocking his shoulder and joking about with him as though they’re all easy, long-time friends.

It’s nice, Spencer thinks, to be the focus of someone like that’s attention. Derek could have his pick of most people drinking here, but he only has eyes for Spencer as he comes back out, holding a tall pint and wearing a happy, focused expression as he sits back down.

“Do you not drink?” Derek asks curiously and without judgement, gesturing to his coffee.

“I go out with my friends sometimes,” Spencer says, blushing again, “but I’m a bit of a lightweight, and that’s not the best state of mind to be in on any first date, let alone a blind one.”

Derek chuckles warmly at that, and the sound is a pleasant rumble reminiscent of a distant thunderstorm. Spencer wants to melt into it.

“I think I’d like to see you all messy on a night out, pretty boy,” Derek says wryly, still grinning shamelessly, and Spencer gets the distinct impression that this ‘pretty boy’ business is going to be a Thing between them.

Spencer cocks his head and takes a sip of his coffee through the long metal straw. “Maybe you’ll have to join us some time.”

“Does that mean we’re going on another date?” Derek asks, but before Spencer can panic that he’s said the wrong thing, he’s smoothly continuing. “Because I’m more than down for that.”

“You are?”

“Pretty boy, you ever looked in the mirror?” Derek demands playfully. “Add that to this cute little nerdy bashful doctor thing you got going on and you’re the whole package. Of course I want another date with you, and we’ve barely even started this one.”

Spencer flushes bright pink at that, and decides to move the conversation on before he melts into a literal puddle in the middle of this beer garden. “So you know Penelope through work?”

Derek gets the hint. “I was part of the group that arrested her, actually,” he chuckles, “and I thought she was gonna be a nightmare to work with when we gave her the option of working for the FBI instead of going to prison. But then she showed up on her first day decked out from head to toe in pink and yellow, her hair dyed back to her natural blonde, and the way she smiled when I called her baby girl… well, it was smooth sailing from then on. Did you know her back in her Black Queen days?”

“I was her one phone call,” Spencer answers, his face splitting into an easy grin as they discuss his favourite person on planet earth. “I was terrified she was going to jail and I’d lose her forever, so I was over the moon when you guys offered her that deal. We went to get our hair done together the very next day.”

“Oh yeah? And what did Pretty Boy have done to his hair, hm?”

Spencer blushes. “Let’s just say she wasn’t the only one who had a rebellious phase?”

“Now that I have got to know more about.”

“Save it for date number two, SSA Morgan,” Spencer shoots back, relaxing into the easy banter between them.

“Alright, alright, baby, I can do that,” he says, winking again. Thankfully, Spencer manages not to do an embarrassing impression of a traffic light this time. “How did you and Penelope meet?”

“Back in college actually,” Spencer nods. “She was sort of going off the rails after her parents’ death, but I think finding a scared 12 year old in her Geography elective helped her rein it in a bit. We’ve been glued at the hip pretty much since we met. Even when I went to MIT for a bit to complete my Engineering PhD, she came with me. Since her job back then was mostly hacking and some supplemental side jobs, it didn’t really matter where she was based, she was just hellbent on protecting me like she has ever since that first Geography class.”

“Wow,” Derek says, looking genuinely shocked as he leans back a little bit, eyeing Spencer with curious eyes. “You went to college when you were twelve? I’m glad you had Penelope because that could’ve been a disaster.”

“It kind of was,” Spencer nods, laughing a little. “But it meant that I had five degrees including three doctorates by the time I was twenty-one so I wasn’t too mad about it.”

Derek stares at him consideringly, the soft smile on his face making Spencer’s stomach fill with butterflies. “You’re quite the genius aren’t you?”

“Well, I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I do have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and can read 20,000 words per minute.”

Derek just stares at him.

“So, yeah, I guess I’m a genius?” he says bashfully.

Derek laughs, shaking his head. “Definitely a genius. I mean, Penelope told me you were clever, but this is like… insane. Are you sure you’re okay to go out with a mere mortal like me or should I see myself out?”

“Yeah actually, Derek, sorry, it’s not going to work out,” Spencer says, feigning seriousness. “I can’t be with anybody who’s not within twenty IQ points of me or doesn’t have at least two PhDs.”

“A good actor, too? What don’t you have going for you, pretty boy?” He laughs in that wild and free kind of way Spencer always wishes he could, and he wonders whether Derek could teach him how.

Derek watches him like there’s something special about Spencer as the sound of their laughter mingles, looks at him like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be but right here, right now, and the warm intensity of it has a buzz going in Spencer’s chest, a pleasant feeling he can’t imagine anything dousing, and he never wants Derek to take his eyes off him again. Not if this is how it’s always going to make him feel.

The hours of the afternoon fly by and all of a sudden the sun is setting and they’re feeling distinctly hungry.

“How do you feel about getting some street food and taking a wander down to the beach?” Derek suggests hopefully, and Spencer can’t help the wide grin that splits his cheeks at the idea.

“Let’s do it.”

The beach is slightly cooler than the garden now the sun is setting and a soft, salty breeze is floating in from the ocean, so they sit close together in the sand, sharing their servings of nachos and fries between them.

“What’s your family like?” Spencer asks, a little daringly after a couple of minutes of comfortable silence.

Derek smiles. “They’re amazing. It’s been just me, my mom, and my two sisters since I was ten years old, but I think losing my dad only brought us closer together, y’know? We had to learn from a young age how to rely on each other, and we were also taught the very valuable lesson of just how important family is and how nothing in life is guaranteed, so we’ve made every effort to be as close to one another as possible.”

Spencer watches with quiet admiration as Derek gushes about his family, and takes another bite of their nachos. “Do they live locally?”

“No, they’re all still back in Chicago,” Derek says. “It’s sad sometimes, being so far away from them, but they would have killed me if I’d stuck around back home just for them and hadn’t chased my dream of climbing the ladder of the FBI.”

Spencer nods, chuckling along with Derek as they stare out at the quiet, tumbling waves of the ocean.

“What about you?” Derek asks. “Are you close with your family?”

Shit. He hadn’t exactly considered that asking Derek about his family would lead to reverse questioning about his own. I mean, call him a genius all you want, but social interaction is not his area of expertise.

“Uh, it’s just me and my mom. She lives back in Vegas,” he explains, clearing his throat awkwardly as he hopes that’s enough to appease his date.

Truthfully, it probably would have been, but Derek doesn’t say anything immediately, and the silence feels like it’s choking him into admitting the truth, however much it makes his chest tighten and his stomach flip with anxiety. What if this is it? What if Derek doesn’t want to start something with someone who has a family history as fucked up as his? What if he reads between the lines and sees that Spencer could be just like his mom in the future, and thinks that starting a relationship is just too risky?

“She has paranoid schizophrenia,” he blurts out, the words rolling off his tongue without his express permission, and instead of shutting up, they just keep coming. “When my dad left when I was ten, I had to be her sole carer until I left for college at twelve, but even then she refused professional help and medication, so I was taking the train from Pasadena to Las Vegas every weekend to try and help her out, and it got messy a lot of the time. It was only when I turned eighteen that things got a little bit easier, and that was only because I betrayed her trust and had her sectioned into a Sanitorium.

“They’re amazing, they take really good care of her and I did my research obviously, but I think a part of her still resents me for doing that.”

He stares out at the ocean for a couple of seconds before he suddenly realises where he is and what he’s just done.

“Oh my god,” he says as horror and dread fill him from the bottom up, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have just dumped all that on you, I’m sorry, just—”

“Hey, pretty boy,” Derek says gently, placing a reassuring hand on his back to get his attention. “It’s okay, don’t worry. I’m just happy you felt comfortable enough to tell me all of that, and besides, I asked the question, and I meant it. I wanted to know the answer.”

Spencer feels some of the panic recede a little, and he looks up at Derek to try and gauge whether he’s telling the truth. “Really?”

Derek’s expression only softens further. “Really.”

He relaxes a little further and leans into Derek’s side, smiling to himself when Derek wraps his arm fully around his waist, resting his head on top of Spencer’s.

“I feel like I’ve known you way longer than just four hours and fifty six minutes,” Spencer says eventually.

Derek chuckles, and this time Spencer can feel the low rumble against his cheek as well as hear it. “It might be the biggest cliche in the book, but I feel exactly the same, baby.”

“I think sharing street food on the beach while staring out at a sunset as romantic and beautiful as that one has cemented the cliches in this date enough already,” Spencer points out, laughing a little.

“That is very true,” Derek agrees, squeezing his hand against Spencer’s waist. “We could round all the cliches off with a kiss, if you’d like.”

Spencer sits upright, blushing again as he eyes Derek’s flirtatious but serious expression. “I’d like that a lot.”

Derek wastes no time in taking Spencer’s jaw in his hand and leaning in slowly to place a long, sensuous kiss to his lips. Spencer kisses back with as much control as is possible when your experience is next to none and you have one of the most beautiful men in the world turning your stomach inside out with his attention, but it seems to be enough for Derek because as soon as they pull away, he’s grinning widely.

“You’re quite the kisser, pretty boy.”

Spencer fights the blush but it comes anyway. “I like that.”

Derek’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “The kiss?”

“No, the pet names.”

Derek’s expression smooths out and he smiles again, a little more tenderly than his usual cheeky grin. “Well, that’s good, because I have plenty more up my sleeve, sweetheart.”

Spencer flushes with pleasure this time and settles back against Derek’s side, observing the blue sea as they settle into silence once more.

“I’m not very used to all of this, by the way,” he says after a while, the sky slowly darkening.

“Used to what?”

“This. Kissing. Dating. Pet names.”

Derek looks down at Spencer to try and get a better look at his face. “Really? You could’ve fooled me.”

“I’ve only ever had one boyfriend before, and this is only the second date I’ve ever been on.”

“Any girlfriends?”

“Not really my area.”

“And this other date, was that with boyfriend number one?”

Spencer shakes his head against Derek’s shoulder. “No, I never went on a date with him. I met him in college and we were friends first, so we never really dated, just fell into a relationship.”

“Ah.” A brief silence settles over them again, but Derek doesn’t let it hang long. “You know I’m not bothered by any of that, right? You could have never dated anyone ever before or have screwed your way round half of California and DC and it wouldn’t matter a single bit. Not if you were here with me, right now.”

He laughs softly as Derek lightens the mood, and something in Spencer’s chest feels like it falls into place at that, like his last anxious reservation has been washed away and he can really move forward, forge onward with this scarily exciting endeavour.

“You’re a good man, Derek Morgan. You know that, right?”

Derek kisses the top of his head. “I do,” he says, “but I’m not sure it’s ever sounded quite as special falling from anyone else’s lips as it does falling from yours.”

Further down the beach, another wave crashes against the shore, and the colours of the sunset fade away slowly. People pack up their picnic baskets and head home, and seagulls attack their leftovers, but none of that matters, because right now, Spencer’s world is Derek Morgan.

Penelope Garcia deserves a medal.

(Yes, I've used that "yeah I guess I'm a genius" sequence in way too many fics, leave me ALONE. )

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds @wifeyprentiss @cmily @love-pyramus @notevanbuckley @hotchscotchh (add yourself to my taglist here!)

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH21

We’ve done it! We’re caught up to AO3! As such, I will be taking the next month off from posting to get AO3 updated and take a short break. I will resume posting on AO3 first, then tumblr right after starting on July 2, 2021! Can’t wait for you all to see the rest of this story! I have a lot of changes coming.

Previous    First    Next      AO3

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

Chapter 21: Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince

The next morning, Adrien’s stomach churned on the way to school. Chloe sat beside him adjusting her makeup while Gorilla was stopped at a red light. Everyone would know about their interview now. He expected backlash, but not like this. Pulling out his phone, he opened the article again.

Ladybug’s #1 Fan Deletes Blog After Scathing Final Video

“It’s like I don’t even know who she is anymore. I thought she was this amazing, genuine person, but in reality, she doesn’t care about any of us,” Alya said in the clip.

“Sources speculate this video was posted in response to the interview Ladybug did prior yesterday afternoon with the daughter of Paris’s own Mayor Bourgeois and the son of famous fashion mogul, Gabriel Agreste. In the interview, Ladybug denounced clout-chasers using her name to get attention, stating that such actions are “dangerous” and “need to stop.” The blogger behind the popular Ladyblog seemed to find fault with these comments and was akumatized shortly after the interview. It seems that bad blood has brewed between the blogger and the heroine even after the day was saved. The Ladyblogger posted one final video lashing out at the superheroine before deleting her blog altogether.”

“Ugh, stop reading that. Who cares?” Chloe groaned, swiping Adrien’s phone from his hands. “That brat doesn’t have brain cells if she believes a nobody like Lila over a superhero.”

“Alya devoted a lot of time to that blog, and she really looked up to Ladybug. She’s probably crushed right now,” Adrien said.

Chloe rolled her eyes and pulled out her lip gloss. “So let her be. She did this to herself by siding with that wannabe. If any of these losers have a brain, then Lila’s going to be finished today. I’ll be shocked if she’s even here.”

“Uh, I think we have other things to worry about.” Adrien pointed to the crowd waiting at the bottom of the stairs as their car rolled up to the curb. Their classmates had formed a wall between them and the inside of the school like a group of knights defending their queen. Lila was waiting safely inside, no doubt. She never liked getting her hands dirty unless she had to.

“You don’t think she’ll get away with this and make everyone hate us, do you?” Adrien asked.

“Everyone already hates me, Adrikins. I have nothing to lose.” Chloe snapped her compact shut and dropped it into her purse. “But it looks like we’ll have to finish the job ourselves. I’m going to need a spa day after working so hard.”

A pit tangled in Adrien’s stomach as they climbed from the car, the angry expressions of their classmates sending a chill up his spine. When they’d done the interview, Adrien expected everyone to be mad at Lila, not him. How did she weasel her way out of this one?

“Oh, look who decided to show up,” Alya said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Where’s your bff Ladybug?”

“She’s got better things to do than worry about you losers,” Chloe said without missing a beat, completely undeterred by the mob in front of them. “Now, move, you’re blocking the stairs.”

“Ya know, I’ve always known you were evil, but this is really low, even for you.” Alya shook her head.

“Yeah! Tricking Ladybug is way uncool, Chloe,” Nino said.

“Yeah!” Several classmates echoed their agreement.

“Ladybug spoke the honest truth. All I did was ask the questions.” Chloe examined her nails.

“Stop pretending to be innocent. I overheard you and Adrien plotting to trick Ladybug into saying incriminating things about Lila, so don’t even lie to us.” Alya shot Adrien a glare that cut through his chest like a knife. “And what do you have to say for yourself? Teaming up with the wicked witch. We all thought you denounced Chloe’s actions, but I guess the silver spoon doesn’t fall far from the table.”

“Ugh, she’s delusional. Come on, Adrikins.” Chloe tugged his arm, but he remained rooted in place.

“No, she’s right. Chloe and I did conspire to trick Ladybug into admitting she and Lila were never friends,” Adrien said, and Chloe shot him a warning glare. “But that’s not actually what happened.”

“Really? So you two didn’t do a live interview where Ladybug said she doesn’t have any non-superhero friends?” Alya quirked a brow.

“Chloe and I originally planned to trick Ladybug, yes, but I didn’t feel right about it, so before the interview, I told Ladybug the truth. She went into that interviewing knowing what we were going to ask her, and she agreed,” Adrien said.

“What?” Chloe gasped.

“What Ladybug said was her choice. Lila’s lies have gotten out of hand, and she knows that better than anyone,” Adrien said.

“Why should we believe you?” Nathaniel grunted. “You teamed up with Chloe, so obviously you’re not the innocent sunshine boy everyone thinks you are.”

“Yeah, Chloe’s the worst!” Sabrina shouted, and Chloe’s gaze locked on her.

“How dare you! You’re not allowed to side with those losers. Get over here!” Chloe demanded, but Alya draped an arm around Sabrina’s shoulders.

“She’s done putting up with your crud, Chloe. We all are,” Alya said. “Lila hasn’t done anything to deserve all the hate from you or Marinette or Ladybug or anybody!”

“So, you losers are really going to believe some random girl who walked in off the street and started telling all of these amazing stories without evidence to back them up over a superhero?” Chloe cocked a hip. “You’re all more pathetic than I thought.”

“You’re the pathetic one! You two and Marinette have been plotting against Lila for weeks, haven’t you?” Alya shot back.

“Whoa, Marinette has nothing to do with any of this,” Adrien said. “This was all me and Chloe.”

“I heard you two talking. You said you were doing it for Marinette, or did I hear you incorrectly?” Alya challenged.

Adrien sighed. “No, we did say that, and I did do it for Marinette.”

“Ha!”

“But not because she told me to.” Adrien took a deep breath and turned to his classmates. “All of you, don’t you miss Marinette? Rose, don’t you miss when she would bring you extra fabric for your scrapbook projects? And Nathaniel, don’t you miss when she’d offer suggestions for your comic books?”

When they remained quiet, he continued, “Marinette left this school feeling hurt and empty. She felt like all of her friends turned their backs on her for a new girl. She poured her heart and soul into everything she did here, and Lila drove her away. Marinette knew the truth, so Lila threatened to take everything away from her. And she did which is why I teamed up with Chloe to stop her. Marinette doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. Not after everything she’s done.”

Everyone was quiet. Even Alya’s resolve seemed shaken, but she squared her shoulders.

“I can’t believe you when you’re standing next to her.” She nodded at Chloe.

Kim pursed his lips, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I dunno, it doesn’t make sense. Marinette would never do something like that. Adrien can be protective of people he cares about, but that doesn’t make him a bad guy.”

“Yeah, Marinette is like the nicest person in the world. She’d never go against someone without a reason, especially if it involves teaming up with Chloe,” Alix agreed.

“And Marinette was always looking out for everyone before Lila showed up,” Ivan said.

They moved to stand beside Adrien, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well, I’m not siding with Chloe, even if Marinette was nice to me sometimes.” Nathaniel crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, I’m done being your bff. You’ll have to get someone else to do your homework from now on,” Sabrina said with a humph.

Myléne flicked her gaze between the forming groups, curling her shoulders. “Sorry, but they’re right. Chloe is always being mean. I don’t really think Marinette is involved, but this seems very typical for Chloe.”

Max tapped his chin with one finger. “It’s true that this type of behavior is very typical of Chloe, but senseless cruelty is atypical of Adrien. However, acting in defense of a dear friend is a trait Adrien and Marinette have demonstrated on numerous occasions, and Lila’s stories can be outlandish at times. Then there’s the issue of the interview with Ladybu-”

“Oh, just pick a side!” Chloe groaned.

“I-” Max glanced between his friends. “I am choosing to abstain from taking sides until I have further evidence. Both Lila and Marinette are my friends.”

“Ugh, whatever. What about you two?” Chloe turned to Juleka and Rose.

Juleka mumbled something no one understood but moved to stand by Alix. Rose cupped a hand over her mouth, shifting between Alya and Adrien.

“Rose?” Adrien prompted.

Her shoulders curled, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t want to pick! I don’t want anyone to fight anymore.” She covered her face with a whimper, and Nino placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he said.

“Nino?” Adrien asked hopefully, but his best bud lowered his head, red cap covering his eyes.

“Sorry, bro. I know you and Chloe have always been tight, but that doesn’t mean she and I have to be,” Nino said, taking a purposeful step toward Alya.

“Well, looks like more people are on my side than yours.” Chloe gloated.

“Hold up,” Alix said. “No one on this side picked you. We just believe Marinette is innocent, and Adrien was acting to protect her.”

“Yeah, you’re still the worst. We’re on Marinette’s team,” Ivan added. Chloe scowled but didn’t argue further.

A cold anger burned behind Alya’s eyes, the hurt she was feeling bubbling just beneath the surface. Adrien shivered. This wasn’t what he wanted when they did the interview. He wanted everyone to be free from Lila’s influence, especially Alya, but Lila’s hooks were in too deep. He never should have let things get this bad. If he’d acted sooner, then Marinette never would have left. Their classmates would be free, and no one would have to feel torn.

When the bell rang, their classmates dispersed, filing into the school one-by-one. Chloe fell into step beside Adrien.

“Now what?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I need time to forget about the fact that I’m Team Marinette.” Chloe shuddered.

“We’ve got enough people who at least believe Marinette is innocent, but we can’t get too cocky. That’s not the same thing as believing Lila is guilty,” Adrien said.

“We’ll figure something out. We just need time and a little precision,” Chloe said.

Adrien gulped, gripping the strap on his bag tighter. For their sake, he hoped they thought of something soon.

♪♫♪ Learn to Let Go ♪♫♪

“Take a deep breath in,” Macy said.

Marinette sat cross-legged on a bright blue yoga mat. Sunlight streaming in from the skylights warmed Marinette’s bare shoulders while soothing music played softly in the background. After the past few days, Marinette’s anxiety was at an all-time high, so a meditation session was in order. She followed Macy’s instructions, but it did little to relax her.

“Now, breathe out all of that negative energy. Let it all leave your body,” Macy continued. “Think of all the things in your life that make you happy and push out the things that don’t.”

Marinette took another breath, but the events of the last two days flashed vividly in her mind. The interview, Ladyblogger, the hurt look in Alya’s eyes when Ladybug captured her akuma, the video… Marinette breathed out.

Alya deleted the Ladyblog. Lila had done the impossible and turned Ladybug’s biggest fan into one of her biggest detractors. Granted, Ladybug might have helped by replacing Rena Rouge, but what was Marinette supposed to do? Working with Alya wasn’t an option after everything—it would have been too painful. Even still, Marinette would be lying if she said watching Alya lose faith in Ladybug didn’t rip another hole in her chest. Despite ending their friendship, Marinette still wished Alya the best, even if she was running with Lila.

“You’re not letting go of the negative energy,” Macy said.

Marinette blinked her eyes open and sighed, letting her posture fall. “Sorry, it’s been a rough few days.”

Macy turned to face Marinette with a smile. “Why don’t we talk about it instead? Maybe it will help if you get it all off your chest.”

“Maybe…” Marinette picked at a loose thread on her pants. She shifted to face Macy, chest tight. “It’s just…my old school. When I left, I didn’t want to look back, but it feels like no matter what I do, I can’t leave it behind.”

“Well, you had a lot of friends at your old school, right? It’s not easy to walk away from people you care about,” Macy said. “Especially when you know someone is using them.”

“I guess.” Marinette hugged her knees to her chest. “I thought I’d been gone long enough to not care anymore, but when Alya got akumatized, I just felt so sad.”

“Of course, you did! She was your best friend.” Macy pulled the tea table closer and prepared a cup. “It’s not easy to see someone you love in that much pain. You’re not a robot, Marinette. It’s okay to care.”

Macy pushed a cup toward her, but when she made no move to accept it, Macy changed the subject. “What about Adrien? Have you heard from him?”

Marinette flicked her gaze to her phone and shook her head. “No. Not since yesterday. I think he’s avoiding me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I dunno.” Marinette shrugged. “He’s been texting me all the time lately, but now all of a sudden, he just stopped.”

“Boys are flaky like that sometimes. Give him time. I’m sure he’ll come around,” Macy assured her.

“I know, and I know it’s probably because of the interview he did with Ladybug.” Marinette sighed. “He probably thinks I’m mad at him.”

“How do you know?” Macy asked.

Marinette shifted to tuck her legs under the table and pulled her cup closer. She stared at her reflection in the tea and shrugged. “Because I thought the same thing when I changed schools behind his back. I thought he’d be disappointed.”

“Was he?” Macy asked.

“No, but I didn’t know that until he talked to me.” Marinette took a long sip. “I just feel bad that he did all of that for me. He shouldn’t have to deal with my problems.”

Macy surveyed her with a frown. “That’s something I’ve noticed about you, ya know,” she said thoughtfully. “You’re quick to shoulder everyone’s burdens when you think they need help, but you never expect anyone to do it for you.”

“I just want to be there for my friends, that’s all.” Marinette deflected as if it were no big deal, but Macy shot her a chiding look.

“Marinette, that’s very noble and sweet, but the same is true for you, ya know,” Macy said. “Everyone else’s burdens aren’t yours to bear. You’re going to break your back carrying so much weight around.” When Marinette remained quiet, Macy sighed. “Well, then I guess I have no choice.”

“What do you mean?” Marinette blinked up at her.

“If you’re running head-first into everyone’s problems, then I’m coming too,” Macy said. “I’m not going to let you do it all alone, and I don’t think Martin and Eliott will either. Adrien certainly isn’t.”

“But-”

“Marinette!” Macy threw her head back with a groan. “What I’m trying to say is… Your friends have your back, okay? So don’t worry about anything. We’re right behind you all the way.”

Macy’s smile was soft and genuine, and Marinette shivered, the fear and uncertainty floating to the surface. She leaned against Macy’s chest as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks, and her friend patted her hair, whispering encouragement while Marinette sobbed. The dull ache that had plagued her all month lightened as each tear carried away her pain.

Macy didn’t let go until her whimpers quieted, and when Marinette sat up, the weight on her shoulders felt lighter. She took a deep breath and exhaled all of her worry just like Macy said. Even if she didn’t have her old friends anymore, she had new ones, and she had to admit—they were pretty hard to beat.

♪♫♪ Daylight ♪♫♪

Adrien faced his mother’s statue in the garden with a sigh. Things were messier now than they had been a few days ago, and he didn’t know what to do anymore. No matter what they threw at Lila, she always managed to wiggle out of it. Would they ever be rid of Lila Rossi? At least some of their classmates still believed in Marinette. She’d be happy to hear that she didn’t lose everyone at Francoise-Dupont.

He flicked his gaze down to his phone with a sigh. They hadn’t spoken since before the interview. Adrien couldn’t bring himself to after everything that happened with Alya. She was bound to know the truth now—that he’d teamed up with Chloe to stop Lila, despite how she’d refused. How much more pain had he caused her by trying to fix her problems? He was afraid to know. He’d betrayed her wishes, but hopefully she’d understand that his heart was in the right place. She was all his heart ever talked about these days. Avoiding her was agony, and his heart ached every time he looked at his phone.

“I don’t know what to do, Mom,” he murmured. He shifted to press his back to the statue, resting his cheek against her lap. “No matter how hard I try, it’s never enough. Sometimes I wish you were still here to tell me everything will be alright.”

He closed his eyes, listening to the birds chirping and the hum of the city beyond the walls. When had life gotten so complicated? He longed for freedom for so long, but he never imagined what it would cost. The pain he would endure. But he’d take this pain over isolation. He never wanted to be locked up again. One day he’d be free from his father’s control, then he and Marinette could be together whenever they wanted. One day…

“Adrien?”

He sat up, cheek sore from resting against the stone. When had he fallen asleep? Red and black spots filled his vision, awakening his heart with a jolt.

“Ladybug?” He blinked, rubbing his eyes as if expecting her to be a dream.

“Sorry, I was just passing overhead, and I saw you sitting down here. I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he insisted. “Stay. I could use the company.”

“That makes two of us,” she said, taking a seat beside him with a sigh. “We really made a mess of things.”

“Yeah…” Adrien rested his chin on his fist. “I don’t know how she gets away with it every time.”

Ladybug leaned her head back with a sigh. “Lila is crafty. She targeted Alya specifically because she knew she’d be her most powerful ally.”

“I just feel so bad. I was hoping we could finally make everyone see the truth, but it looks like we just made things worse. Marinette was right, I shouldn’t have gotten involved,” he said, “but I couldn’t help it. Not after everything Lila has done to her.”

“You really care about this girl, don’t you?” Ladybug smiled.

His cheeks warmed, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, more than anything. But I feel like all I ever do is cause her trouble. She’s probably furious with me.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ladybug said. “From what I know of her, a gesture like that would mean the world to her, and I’ll bet she’s not as angry as you think.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because you wouldn’t go out of your way to help her if you didn’t share a special bond. You’re probably just as important to her as she is to you,” Ladybug said. “Talk to her. I think it will make you both feel better.”

Adrien pulled up his messages, thumb hovering over her name. Ladybug was right. The longer he avoided her, the longer they’d both feel this pain. Marinette would understand. He loved her, and he believed that she loved him too. Everything would be alright in the end so long as they had each other.

“Thanks, Ladybug,” he murmured.

“I’ll leave you alone now.” She palmed her yoyo but hesitated, turning over her shoulder. “That girl is really lucky to have someone like you watching over her.”

With a flick of her wrist, she tossed her yoyo and shot off into the rooftops. Adrien drummed his fingers on his thigh, then stood up and headed into the house. Gorilla was playing a game on his tablet in the foyer when Adrien found him.

“There’s somewhere I need to go.”

♪♫♪ Death of a Bachelor ♪♫♪

Marinette hummed to herself while waiting for the kettle to boil. She stole glances at her phone, but it stayed quiet. Maybe he was just trying to figure out what to say. He was bound to call sooner or later.

When the doorbell rang, her heart jumped up to her throat. She raced to the front door, hoping her clumsy footsteps didn’t betray her eagerness. Taking a composing breath, she opened the door.

His head was low, one hand shoved in his pocket, and he looked up at her through timid eyelashes. He opened his mouth, but no words came out, his fear written all over his face. Marinette smiled, gesturing him inside, but he remained rooted in place.

“Marinette, I-”

“I know,” she said.

“You’re not mad?” he asked.

“Adrien,” Marinette sighed, giving him a gentle, scolding look. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You are the sweetest boy I know. How could I ever be mad at you?”

Adrien stood stiffly in silence before his shoulders began to shake. He gripped fistfuls of her shirt, wetting her shoulder and nuzzling into her neck. Marinette held him, letting all of his worry wash between them like rain flowing down a roof. When clouds grew too heavy, they unloaded their burdens on everyone below, so Marinette stood under Adrien and let him rain.

“I’m sorry!” he cried. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay. I forgive you,” Marinette whispered, trailing her fingers through his soft hair. “I forgive you, Adrien.”

His sobs quieted, and he sat up, rubbing a hand across his red nose. The kettle on the stove screeched, and Marinette gestured him in again.

“Come on. I’ll make us some tea,” she said.

Adrien sat at the table, combing his fingers through his hair. She passed him a cup with a smile and took a seat beside him.

“I take it things didn’t go as planned with the interview?” Marinette asked.

“Not exactly,” Adrien grunted as if that were an understatement and took a sip. “Alya and some others still believe Lila is innocent, but there are a lot of us who think you are too.”

“Adrien.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have gotten involved.” He swirled his finger around the rim of the cup. “But I couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. You mean the world to me, Marinette.”

Marinette’s heart fluttered, and she took a sip to hide her blush. The chamomile wasn’t strong enough to calm her nerves when he said things like that to her. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to pass out.

Setting her cup down, she cupped his cheek, tilting his chin to face her. “Thank you for looking out for me. It’s really sweet, but you don’t have to solve all of my problems. Sometimes it’s okay to just let things go.”

“Yeah…” Adrien sighed.

“Promise me you won’t get involved anymore. Lila will dig her own grave eventually. It’s better if we just let it go and move on,” Marinette said.

Adrien leaned into her touch, pressing a soft kiss to her palm.

“I promise,” he murmured.

Her pulse quickened when those gorgeous green eyes softened on her. The air hung heavy around them, warming her skin from her cheeks to the very fingertips touching his skin. Goosebumps tickled the tiny hairs of her arms, Adrien’s magnetic pull drawing her in.

Marinette slipped her fingers behind his neck and tugged ever-so-gently. Adrien leaned forward, eyelids hooding. His lips parted, warm breath swirling against her own. Marinette closed her eyes, tilting her head to finally give respite to the tension that had been building between them for weeks.

But relief never came.

Her father threw open the front door, and the sparks between them crackled. They jolted away from each other, clumsily grasping for their cups as her dad waltzed in with a fresh loaf of bread. He read the tension between them, and undoubtedly, noticed their rosy cheeks.

“Am I interrupting something?” His eyes narrowed.

“No, Papa!”

“No, sir. No way.” Adrien took a long sip and cleared his throat.

“Are you sure? I was just bringing up some fresh bread to go with dinner. I can leave if you two are-”

“Papa!” Marinette growled.

“Actually, I should get going. My father will want me home soon.” Adrien stood up. “Thanks for the tea.”

“Yeah, no biggie,” Marinette insisted.

Adrien hesitated, flicking a quick glance at her dad, then lifting her hand to his lips. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles before fleeing out the front door. Marinette sat back, letting out a ragged breath.

“I ruined a moment, didn’t I?” Her dad winced.

Marinette offered him a smile, jumping up to place a kiss on his cheek. “It’s not the first time.”

“Is everything alright?” Marinette’s mother came through the door. “I passed Adrien on the stairs, he was redder than the strawberries on the cake we baked for Manon’s birthday.”

“I interrupted a moment,” her dad confessed.

“They were having a moment?” her mom gasped excitedly.

“Maman!” Marinette groaned.

“My little girl’s growing up so fast. She’s already got her first boyfriend. Before we know it, they’ll be bringing their kids over for Sunday brunch.” Her dad rubbed the tears forming in his eyes.

Marinette covered her face, willing this all to be a dream, but alas, she couldn’t fly away.

“Do you think Adrien would ever take an interest in baking?” her dad asked, and Marinette let out a moan.

“I’m going to my room. Call me when dinner’s ready,” she said.

“Next time Adrien comes over, we promise not to interrupt!” her mom called as she made her way up the stairs.

“That’s enough!”

“Should we invite him to dinner?” her dad asked.

“Good night!”

Marinette slammed her trap door shut and flopped against it with a sigh. She’d almost kissed Adrien—again! And after confessing how important they were to each other. Did this mean they were dating? Neither of them said the l-word, but maybe sometime soon…

She covered her face and giggled. Her boyfriend Adrien. She could get used to that.

[gr0vndz3ro]

Fucking Fame

Idol!Bakugou x Idol!Reader(NSFW)

Warnings:NSFW,18+, cursing, thigh riding, slight degradation??, unprotected sex

Word Count:3,656

Crossed off: Popstar AU

Tag list: @gallickingun​ @prismaroyal​ @shoutodoki​ @sadistiks​ @keigod​ @honeytama​ @shoutogepi​ @hawks-senseis​​

A/N: Happy forth of July to my fellow people in the USA enjoy some smut. This is my first piece for the @bnhabookclub​  bingo event, but I hope that you guys really enjoy it :3

“We’ve been driving for hours, PLEASE tell me that we’re close to the venue. I think I’m going to die.” You say as you throw yourself against the couch in your tour bus. You were currently heading to where your next concert was supposed to be located. It wasn’t far enough in distance to warrant taking the plane so here you were, trap inside this boring bus.

“You should be relaxing for the show tonight. And your supposed to be on vocal rest until we get there, so stop focusing on when we are going to arrive and just do what you’re told.” Your manager doesn’t even bother looking up from her laptop while you throw your fit. You roll your head over to where she sat and sigh dramatically hoping to get her attention so the two off you could do something more entertaining, but when she continues typing you give up. Moving your feet off of the side of the couch, you get up heading back toward the little hang out room. 

You shut the door behind you and take a seat on one of the comfy chairs and pull out your phone checking out tonight’s show and venue. After typing in your password you can see that the show tonight was one of your combined shows with a well known band that your agency wanted to have a show with to help boost your ratings. You had tried refusing doing a combined show but in the end your manager and team won. You knew that it would be good publicity but there was apart of you that wanted to be able to achieve your fame without having to piggy back off of others. Seeing as this was your first tour though, you didn’t have much say in things. What bothered you the most though, was that you had never even met this band before. At the least with other shows, you had a day or two to get to know whoever you were preforming with but this time it was almost as if you were thrown to the vultures. 

So you took it upon yourself to look them up. The band had consisted of 5 members. There was their lead singer, Izuku Midoryia, who seemed to be the face of the band, appearing in the most amount of interviews and seeming to have the biggest general following. The lead guitarist and back up singer, Shouto Todoroki, seemed to be more of the band’s mystery man and the ladies favorite. The second guitarist, Eijirou Kirishima, looked to be the life of the group, appearing at as many meet and greets and almost always staying after shows to talk to fans. There was the base guitarist, Denki Kaminari, who seemed to get in the most amount of newspapers and magazines. Never for any super bad reasons but it seemed to be for really stupid things like accidently breaking a hotel microwave by microwaving glass. And then there was the drummer.

Katsuki Bakugou.

According to article after article, he was the group bad boy. He had no filter and was often never brought to interviews due to past appearances. He didn’t put up with the fakeness of celebrity life and called every person who was apart of it out on it. The band’s PR team constantly had to log him out of his twitter due to vulgar debates. You were also able to find multiple scandals' involving him and other female celebrities and fans to which he never responded to with more than a wicked smile. But other than his hot headed ego and promiscuous relations, there wasn’t much else you could find. You searched for a half hour to try to see if you could find anything else about who he was but nothing came up. Eventually you gave up on your efforts to try to uncover any actually useful information on the man, instead decided to waste your time by taking a nap until you arrived at the venue. 

It felt like only seconds had passed before you were being nudged awake by your lovely manager. She explained to you that you had arrived at the arena and gave you direction to where your dressing room was going to be. The band had already preformed the sound check so you were free to take your time while getting ready seeing as they wouldn’t need you for a bit before it was time for your own mic check. You made your way through the poorly lit halls to where your manager had told you your dressing room was. When you finally come across the door you believe to lead to your room you push it open and quickly enter. Your make your way over to were the vanity was and take a seat. While reaching over to grab your products for the night, your attention is caught by the sound of the door opening. There in the doorframe was the same man you were unable to find any information on. Although you were confused as to what he was doing in your dressing room.

“Um can I help you?” Your eyes trail after him as he beelines toward the couch before plopping down. You raise your eyebrow at him, questioning how comfortable he was making himself. “Make yourself comfy I guess” He continued to ignore you while moving his arms behind his head as he closes his eyes. “Are you just going to sit there and ignore me? What are you even doing in my room?” You were now standing next to where you were just seated, hands against your hips as you question him. He shuffled on the couch looking over at where you were.

“Your room? I don't think you got the memo princess.” He sat up from his spot on the couch, still taking an obnoxiously large amount of room he spoke again. “This is our room. The other dressing room was too small for all 5 of us so the two of us are sharing. Besides...” He looked you up and down, suddenly feeling very small under his glare, “wannabe brats like you don’t get a private room. Sorry about your luck your highness” You’re stare hardens at his words, angry now flowing through you.

“Well you don’t have a private room either so what does that say about you?” Crossing your arms you wait for him to come up with some clever response. You make your way over to wear he was, prepared to shove him out of your room so that you could have some peace and quiet before tonight.

“Why you little-” You cut him off before he can finish his sentence.

“You know what I think. I think that your other bandmates probably got sick and tired of your ‘I’m the best person here and everyone else can fuck off’ attitude and forced you to go to some other room. How pathetic do you have to be for your own friends to find you obnoxious?” Your words leaving your mouth like venom, not even caring how mean you sounded. When he shot up from the couch and stormed right infront of you, you still stood your ground. You weren’t going to back down. He kept coming closer and closer to you until he was barely a step away, his face merely a few inches from yours. A breath hitches in the back of your throat, as you feel your body betray you. Just his presence alone was soaked in intimidation. You go to speak up again to tell him to back off but you feel the words get trapped and fail to get out. A smirk covering his face as he notices as well. 

“Oh? Not so big and tough now are you? You should learn to hold your fucking tongue, especially when you’re talking to someone who could end your whole career.” He holds you in place with his killer stare, Vermillion eyes staring into your own. You swallow whatever lump had formed and spoke up.

“Oh yeah? You and what following? I’ve heard about you ya know. Everyone knows that you call out everyone for living such fake lives. For taking advantage of their fame and sleeping with whoever they want just because they’re famous and they know they’ll do what ever they say. Yet you’re exactly the same. You pick up chick after chick as they all practically fling themselves onto you. You’re just a fucking hypocrite and I know you’re not going to do shit because you’re all talk.” Confidence pouring from your mouth as you take a step away from him, trying to create distance between the two of you. But he quickly takes another step forward closing your attempt.

“You almost sounded jealous there, what do you wish you could be one of them?” His smirk so wide you could see his gums poking out. You scoff at his remark.

“As if I would ever be with someone like you.” A look of disgust taking over you face at even the thought of sleeping with him. But like a disease, the thought continued to spread in your thoughts and slowly your face began to heat up. Suddenly the little space between you felt hot and you were wanting nothing more than to leave the room and distance yourself from him, but he had different plans. 

“Is that so?” He continues stepping toward you and you back away from him. This continues until you feel you back hit the wall next to where you were once getting ready. A gasp leave your lips at the sudden contact but are quickly brought back by a hand on your jaw, turning you toward his face. 

“Yes t-that’s so” You curse yourself at the stutter that manages to escape, the tension in between you finally getting to you, against your own wishes. A deep chuckle makes a shiver shoot down your spin.

“You don’t seem to confident in that answer. Come on where did all of that sass go? Don’t tell me the brat has lost her fight.” His free hand makes its way to the wall behind you, effectively caging you in-between it and his broad chest. 

“I didn’t lose anything and I’m not a brat.” You clench your teeth, sure he could feel it through his hold. His grip tightens slightly against you as he brings you closer to his face. So close that you could now feel his warm breath fan across you as he spoke.

“Then prove it princess. Show me that you’re not just some goodie two shoes who’s gonna cry if she doesn’t get her way.” His face hovering just barely in front of yours. You look into his eyes and think about what he said. You could very easily just brush past him and walk out but it was something about the way he was staring you down that almost didn’t make you want to go. So, against you better judgement, you did the exact opposite. You raise your arm up, bringing it to his forearm. Moving your fingertips up the muscles of his thick arms, you watch goosebumps litter his skin. Once you get to his bicep you switch to having your full arm feel him as you continue to travel all the way to his neck, where you run your hand around the back of his neck, finger tips spreading throughout his hair. Bringing your eyes back to meet his, you take a handful of the soft locks and lightly tug it, earning a throaty groan from him. Using the leverage of control over his head, you bring him down so you are at level with his ear.

“Why don't you make me?” You say as you lean forward, giving his ear a small nibble before returning back to your spot against the wall. His face grows red at your sudden forwardness, and you chuckled before letting a smirk cross your lip. But when you watch as his eyes darken as he drinks you in, you find yourself subconsciously biting your bottom lip. His eyes flicker down to see you release your lip before bring his own to come crashing down.

Both of your lips meet in a fight for dominance, not wanting to just let him win and loose your ground. Your hands still tangled in his hair as you find yourself tugging on the stands as you fight for air. The sensation only further driving Bakugou to want more. His hand moves away from the wall and to you hip as the other travels to the back of your neck, pulling you further into him if it was even possible. Your lips move in perfect harmony as he pushes himself into you, his thigh separating your legs as he kept you pinned against the wall. You gasp as you feel his hand grab your ass, but he takes advantage of it and dives his tongue into your mouth. They meet in a battle of dominance, exploring every dip of each others mouth. Eventually he takes charge and you feel yourself moan into the kiss. Oblivious from the heated kiss, you had hardly noticed Bakugou’s hand slid down to the edge of your skirt until you felt him take a handful of your ass and squeeze. 

You pull away from the kiss looking him in the eyes, lust glazed over them. You squeezed your thighs together but instead of getting any relief from the presser, it caused you rind down onto the thick thigh that was holding them apart. The friction making a surge of pleasure rip through you and the need to feel again grew. So you roll you hips forward, moaning from the rough jeans against your almost naked core, protected only by thin lace. It was almost as if something had came over you as you continued rolling your hips against his muscular thigh getting yourself closer to your own release. That was until two firm hands landed on either side of you hips, haltering your movement. 

“Are you so desperate that you’re trying to get off by riding my thigh? If you want more all you have to do is ask princess.” Leaning down so that his head was right next to your ear, making sure you heard his next sentence. “Go ahead, I want to hear you beg for it.” The feeling of his lips on your neck make your hips involuntarily move as he searches for the sweet spot, but as soon as he finds it you’re a puddle of whimpers in his fingertips. 

“Pl-please Bakugou- ughh- I need more” Barely able to get the words out any louder than a whine. Desperately trying to receive any form of please the man infront of you was willing to give to you. You shutter as you feel him chuckle against your skin.

“Is that all you got? You’re going to have to do better than that if you want this dick at all.” He returns to kissing against your neck, just light enough not to give you the pleasure you so desired.

“Fuck! Bakugou please! I need you to fill me up and fuck me until I can’t walk. Please I need your fat cock to just split me open.” If you could hear the words you were saying right now you would probably die of embarrassment but the amount of lust taking over your body made you not even think twice at the lewd confession. You feel his grasp on your hips tighten, his finger tips digging into your soft sides, surely leaving marks, as a groan leaves his lips at your begging. Quickly, he moves his hands from your side to underneath your hips, picking you up before placing you down on the sofa he once was on, pinning you between the soft cushion and his hard chest. You two met again in a passionate kiss, much messier than the first, spit was everywhere but you couldn’t care less you just wanted all of him. As he reached down to pull the drenched lace down your thighs you could feel his hard on press against your thigh and you couldn’t help but feel even more turned on by the fact he was liking this as much as you were. Pulling away from the kiss you feel him pant against your lips.

“Call me Katsuki baby, I want to hear you scream my name as I destroy this pretty little pussy of yours.” He almost couldn’t tear his gaze away from your soaked core, wanting nothing more than to devour you then and there. “Next time I’m going to have to eat you out but for now I want to feel you around me instead.” You feel yourself clench around nothing at the thought of there being a next time.

But suddenly your attention is grabbed when you feel his head press against your entrance, your head shoots down to see his massive cock rubbing against you, gathering all your slick with each stroke. Teasingly, he stops right as his tip is aligned with your hole, causing you to squirm as you craved to feel him deep inside you.

“Please Katsuki I can’t take it any more, I need you!” You bite down on your lip as you feel him start to push into you, feeling yourself stretch around his head as it dips further into you. Clenching around him at the pleasure of him filling you up.

“F-fuck Y/N you gotta stop squeezing me like that.” He struggled with trying to slowly push into you at how tight you were, so he did the next best thing. Thrusting his hips forward, he forces himself passed though the squeezing grip into you until you are filled to the brim with his cock. His head dipping back in ecstasy at how your walls hug around him. “Shit you’re so fucking tight.”

“P-please move.” Tears collect in your eyes at how full you were. Sure you may have been with other guys before but no one ever made you feel this full. Slowly he pulls out of you before rutting his hips forward to fill you back up. The way he was positioned, causing him to hit your g-spot. A moan leaving your lips as he starts moving his hip again, starting to pick up the pace before eventually he is slamming into you at an unforgiving speed.

The feeling of his vein dragging against your walls as he slams into your spongey wall causing you to cry out at the amount of intense pleasure you were feeling. Your hands make there way to his back, digging your nails into the muscle as you try to somehow control how you were feeling.

“Is my little princess already going to cum?” A yes barely makes it out of you as a mutter of profanities follow soon after. His hand reaches down to press into your clit causing a wave of heat to flood through you. While rubbing little circles into you, he leans down, kissing and sucking on your neck before speaking again. “Come on then baby girl, let me hear you. I want everyone in the whole building to know who’s making you feel this good.”

“God you Katsuki!! You do! Holy fuck you’re gonna make me cum” Your back arches as his pace becomes sloppy but he keeps increasing in power. You can feel the couch shaking at the intensity at which he’s slamming into you.

“Cum for me princess, cum all over me.” If the pleasure from him hitting both of your sweet spots wasn’t enough, the addition of his lewd words burning into your ear was enough to make you see stars. As he continued his assault on your body your vision went white as you chased your release, clenching tightly around him as your hands dragged down his back, marking it as your own as you felt yourself cum around the thick cock that pulsed inside of you. Watching your face be taken over in pure bliss and the feeling of you milking his dick had Bakugou painting the inside of your walls white within a few thrusts.

His pace started to slow down helping the both of you ride out your high. The room was filled with the sound of both of your uneven breathing as you both attempted to catch your breath. After a few minutes he pulled himself out of you and you immediately felt empty. He watched as his seed tried spilling out of you as you clenched at the sudden emptiness, and quickly brought his finger down to scoop it back up and push it back into you. He looked into your eyes as a smirk takes over his face.

“Maybe you aren’t as much of a goodie two shoes as I thought.” He grabs your hand and helps you to stand up and you feel your knees buckle under the weight. An arm is wrapped around you waist, stopping you from falling to the floor. As he held you, you felt his cum run down your thighs. You were about to ask him a question when a knock came from the door.

“Y/N you’re need for a mic check, make sure you hurry up because they’re waiting for you.” You heard the voice of your manager from out side of the room and a look of panic crosses your face but Bakugou just chuckles.

“You heard her princess, your audience awaits. We’ll just have to pick up where we left off after the show.” An evil smile on his face as he lets go of you and nudges you toward the door. As you step out of the room and make your way toward the where the stage was, you realized one thing.

That fucker didn’t give you back your underwear.

[leossmoonn]

mind games [part eleven]

masterlist | part ten | part twelve

zuko x fem!reader fluff, angst smau (it has the social media elements, but not as much as the last series)

avatar: the last airbender

summary - being zuko’s best friend is the easiest thing in the world. until he gets a girlfriend and you realize you’re in love with him

warnings / includes  (this counts for any/all chapters) - fighting, suggestive, language, crying, alcohol, cheating, talk about injuries, making out, alluding to sex, talks about sex. you are sokka and katara’s older sister. you, mai, and zuko are seniors in college, sokka and suki are juniors, katara, aang, and toph are sophomores.

note - so for this one im gonna be switching pov’s. so for the first half it’ll be 2nd point of view with y/n and the second half it'll be like 2nd point of view but with jet (hope this made sense lol)

————

“so, how has living with jet been?” aang asked. 

“really good,” you smiled. “he’s a really good housemate. he cooks, actually cleans. doesn’t mind that i had to take up a little more closet space.”

“wow, sounds like you have the perfect man,” suki smirked. “i do,” you sighed dreamily. 

you and jet had been dating now for a little more than 4 1/2 months. you two decided that it was time to move in together. you two had already practically been living together so it seemed right to start the next phase of your relationship. you weren’t at jet’s, though. you were at an ice cream shop downtown with your friends. 

living with jet was amazing, as stated, but you rarely saw your friends. college was coming to an end, too. with you and between that and looking for jobs and picking up extra shifts at the JD, it had been very busy. but you had just finished all your finals and was now ready to graduate in the next week, so you were able to relax, finally. 

“how about you guys, how have you been?” you asked. 

“really good! i can’t believe you won’t be at school with us,” katara frowned. 

“yeah, i hate to admit it, but i’m gonna miss you,” sokka said. 

you chuckled, “thanks, sokka. well, i’m not planning one really going anywhere. i’ll just be out of school, which thank the spirits for that.”

“must be nice knowing you don’t have to deal with finals anymore,” toph suck her tongue out in disgust. 

“yeah, i definitely won’t miss that,” you snorted, taking a bite of your ice cream cone. 

“have you found a job yet?” toph asked. ”i’ve found a few. i have yet get interviews, though. i’m waiting until the july to so i can enjoy there summer,” you explained. 

“makes sense. we’ll miss you at the JD,” katara said. 

“yeah, you’re the only one who makes good frappuccinos,” aang chortled. 

“i know. zuko and katara just can’t grasp the recipe,” you teased. 

“i can! i just prefer to make the tea. it’s a lot easier,” katara deafened. 

“don’t worry. i agree,” you smiled. your phone vibrated on the table. 

you turned it over, seeing that there as a text from zuko. 

“is that zuko?” aang asked. “yeah, how did you know?” i asked. 

“he’s been missing you lately,” sokka explained. 

“oh, really? we hung out a couple weeks ago, though,” you said. “exactly. he knows you been busy so he hasn’t asked you to hang out yet, but we told him you’re less busy now,” aang said. 

“oh,” you frowned. “well, he asked if we could hang out today. you guys okay if i go?”

“yeah, of course! we’ve been here for hours, anyways,” suki said. 

“great. still on for the sleepover tonight?” you asked, getting up and grabbing your purse.

“you know it! have fun,” katara smiled. 

“will do,” you smiled back, waving goodbye at them. 

you walked to your car, getting in and driving to your friend’s and sibling’s house. you parked in the garage, going in and seeing zuko on the couch. 

“hey, stranger,” you smiled, taking off your shoes. 

“hey, long time no see,” zuko smiled, getting up. you hummed in reply, opening your arms out and hugging him. 

“i’ve missed you,” zuko whispered. 

“i’ve missed you, too. i’m sorry i haven’t reached out,” you sighed, pulling away. 

“no worries. we aren’t kids anymore. we have our own life,” zuko smiled reassuringly. 

“right. so, you said you wanted to talk about our plan?” you asked, walking over with zuko to the couch. 

“yeah. so, how do i approach her?” zuko ask. “well, i wouldn’t suggest doing it over a date. do it at night so you can go somewhere else and sleep immediately. you two are living together, right?” you asked. 

“yeah,” zuko nodded. “great, well, just tell her you need to talk to her. don’t hint at anything, be neutral about it all and break the news to her,” you explained.

“easier said than done,” zuko chuckled. 

you furrowed your brows and studied his face, seeing the guilt and confusion in his eyes. you leaned against the couch and put your hand on his forearm comfortingly.

“are you sure you want to do this?” you asked. “i am,” zuko nodded. 

“are you sure? like 100% positive?” you checked with him.

zuko chuckled, “yes, i am. plus, i…i like someone else.”

your eyes widened, “o-oh. this is new info. who is it?” your heart started to race and you began to feel very nervous thinking about who he could like.

“i’d rather not say just yet,” he said, averting his gaze from you. 

“alright. well, no pressure,” you smiled softly. your phone then started to vibrate in your back pocket. you pulled it out, seeing that jet was calling you. 

you answered it quickly. “hey, babe, what’s up?”

“hey, when’re you coming home?” jet asked. 

“oh, um…” your voice trailed off as you looked at the clock. “tomorrow? i’m hanging out with zuko right now, and you know i’m having a little sleepover with the girls.”

“oh, right,” jet muttered. you furrowed your brows as he sounded annoyed and sad. you stood up off the couch, holding your first finger up to zuko to let him know you’ll be back in a minute. 

you walked into the kitchen and leaned against the island counter. “hey, you sound sad. everything okay?”

“yeah, i just miss you,” jet sighed. you smiled, “i miss you, too, but i haven't seen zuko or my friends in a while.” “i know, i know. i wasn’t going to make you come home, don’t worry,” jet said. 

“i didn’t think you were. i know you’re understanding.”

you and jet sat on the phone in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before you spoke up. you did a little awkward cough before speaking. 

“so, um, i better go,” you said. 

“oh, yeah, yeah, of course. i’ll see you tomorrow,” jet said. 

“see you tomorrow. i love you.” “i love you, too,” jet smiled, hanging up the phone. 

he sighed and gently threw his phone on the bed. he laid down, running his hands through his hair and down his face. he felt so jealous. so jealous of you and zuko. he knew it was silly since you have been nothing but loyal to him, but the unwanted thoughts of you and zuko still crept into his mind every so often. he was thankful you two didn’t live together anymore and that you lived with him now, but jet was beginning to think that wasn’t enough. 

even though you and zuko weren’t living together and didn’t hang out as often, you two were constantly texting and calling. jet often found you downstairs late at night texting zuko, smiling and laughing at whatever he said. it made jet’s blood boil to see another guy making you happy, especially since it was a known fact - not between you and zuko, though - that you had a thing for zuko a while back. jet was positive that you still had a thing for him, no matter how much you denied it. 

he sat up on his bed and grabbed his phone, getting up and going to the only person he knew would understand; mai. 

he drove to her house, going up and knocking on the door. mai answered the door almost immediately, a surprised but pleasant smile on her face. 

“hey, jet. what’re you doing here?” she asked. 

“i was just seeing if you were free. y/n and zuko are hanging out, and we haven’t hung out in a while,” jet shrugged. 

“right, right. well, come in,” mai held the door open for him. jet stepped in with a smile, walking into the living room. 

“i like what you did with the place,” jet noted, looking around at the new furniture and decorations. there were a lot more brighter colours than he remembered.

“thanks. ty lee said i should make the place more lively,” mai chuckled. 

“glad you took her advice,” jet smiled. 

mai nodded, “are you hungry? i was just about to eat some leftover pizza.”

“yeah, sure. you got any beers?” jet asked. 

“yep,” mai said, going over to the kitchen. “make yourself comfortable!”

“thanks,” jet said and sat down on the couch. 

mai came in with a pizza both and a six pack bottle of beer. mai and jet watched tv for a while, getting drunk on the beer. after a while of silence, mai decided to ask jet about what he thought about you and zuko. 

“so, you jealous of zuko and y/n, too?” zuko asked. 

jet’s brows raised, “w-what?”

mai smirked and turned fully to him. “that’s the reason why you came here, because of zuko and y/n.”

jet sighed, turning to her. “yeah. you caught me.”

“they act like they’re dating each other,” mai rolled her eyes. “zuko is always like “y/n this”, “y/n that”, “look what y/n said”, “sorry, i’m talking to y/n”. god, it’s all so annoying.” “and they always stay up late talking to each other! like, i understand they’re each other’s best friends, but we’re here, too.” “right!” mai nodded. “i wouldn’t be surprised if they were making out right now.” jet frowned and looked down. “you think they are?”

“mmm, i wouldn’t doubt it,” mai shrugged. 

jet looked up at mai, his eyes meeting her’s. he studied her face for a few moments, his eyes roaming her face and stopping at her lips. mai noticed his gaze and smirked, scooting closer to him. she put her hand on his thigh, her fingers snaking up his leg. 

“m-mai, what’re you doing?” jet stammered. his heart was racing a million beats per second. 

“c’mon, we both know zuko and y/n are in love with each other. plus, i’m pretty sure zuko is going to break up with me soon. let’s just have some fun, okay?” mai gave jet a flirtatious look, biting her lip and batting her lashes. 

jet sighed, looking into mai’s eyes. he knew in his heart that you weren’t cheating on him with zuko, or anyone, but the just thought of you with zuko, kissing him, running your fingernails all over his back, moaning his name, it clouded jet’s mind with anger and fear. without thinking rationally, jet smashed his lips onto mai’s. 

both melted into the kiss immediately, grabbing at each other and pressing themselves closer to each other. after a few moments of kissing, jet pulled away, looking a mai with wide, shocked eyes. the kiss with mai honestly felt amazing.

mai smiled at him, taking his hand into her’s. “wanna go upstairs?”

jet nodded furiously, getting up off the couch, mai leading him up to her bedroom. 

————

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note - hey guys, sorry for not posting this series for a while, but im back now so :)

taglist is open, just lmk if you wanna be on it for this series by messaging me, commenting, and/or send me a message!

@theblueslytherin @thatarthistorynerd @coldlilheart @akiris @serenitytomothings

[organic-guacamole]

showtime

episode 211 let's go

ok first of all, this is the second to last episode guys... I don't even wanna think about how much pain I'll be in after next week's episode

mr mazzara doing the recap-

this is so weird to me and I don't know why

WHY DIDN'T YALL JUST ASK BENJAMIN FOR HELP, THATS LITERALLY HIS THING

is Nini giving out the cards a callback to season 1 when Natalie Bagley said that Nini gave her a card or something on opening night of another musical?

STEPHY AS THE ENCHANTRESS OMG YES

Ricky in the crown gives me Harry styles in that photoshoot vibes

he's so pretty.

ok but why did we never see Ricky and Ashlyn interact before? it's been like 5 seconds and I already love how they bounce off each other and it's just so natural

OH THEY REALLY DON'T HAVE ANY UNDERSTUDIES-

well that explains a lot...

so Ricky fell on top of Ashlyn and all that broke for both of them was their wrist-

insert Jake Peralta *coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool no doubt no doubt no doubt*

of course howie was amazing as the beast, were we expecting anything less??

Ricky is so beautiful and I will not shut up about it....

let me enjoy this before the makeup crew slaps mud on his face.

Nini and Ricky talking to eachother? in a civil manner? wasn't she avoiding him just in the last episode? hm ok

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH THEY CANT EXPRESS THEIR FEELINGS JUST LIKE ME HAHAHAHAHA THIS IS HILARIOUS, WHATS NEXT? THEY CUT EVERYONE OFF CUZ THEY CANT HANDLE EMOTIONS? ...ha

yes Kaden and Rico, my favourite east high boys 🥰

I mean....where's EJ?

THERE HE IS

EJ AND GINA IN THE BACKGROUND... doing something idek

KOURTNEY'S MOM IS BACK YAY

Howie is a shining star, ofc ofc

the smallest fOrk

can't wait to see the fork burst into song about how she deserves more than to be used to eat salad😌

the duster and the bluster.... ok😃

hi Gina!

hi- oh wow I didn't know Robbie Rotten was in this show!!!!!

the portwell look.

that my friends, is a married couple's look✋

GOSH EJ WHAT DID THEY DO TO YOU

aww Gina's so excited for this

D word?

Die?

Delicious?

Dom Toretto?

"good, clean fun all alone with someone I dig...a lot"

sir that does not sound very clean to me

SEBLOS

Seb looks so cute standing there next to pope Carlos

DID THEYEY REALLY LIGHT ANTOINE ON FIRE-

I NEED TO SEE THAT

Seb's reading Carlos better than big red read the script in episode 102, this is great development after the "fight"

Kourtney really just made the best outfit for herself and let the rest of them suffer

the way Gina immediately goes to hold on to EJ after the announcement

"tonight we're going to put the U in UTAH"

...

"hey where are you from?"

"TAH"

SEB'S SINGULAR CLAP KILLED ME-

he's officially salt lake city's resident thanos

just wity clapping because for some reason I have a feeling he doesn't know how to snap his fingers...don't ask why

Ms Jenn do you mind encouraging your leads before the show? idk just an idea

pepto bismol product placement smhsmh

those flowers are bigger that big red himself-

*bops along to the opening theme*

that whistle at the end slaps everytime

WHY IS THE AUDIENCE SO MASSIVE

I guess they're all here to see Ms Jenn go on as a fork after Nini decides to *go her own way*

wow i am so funny

so they couldn't do many group scenes cuz of covid, but this 300 person crowd is cool? nice

OO THE VIOLIN GIRL FROM EPISODE 6 IS IN THE ORCHESTRA

HOWIEEEEEE

"Mr Caswell", he said, in the loudest voice possible while backstage at a show that's about to start.

Mazzara what are you trying to pull-

I usually like Benjamin but I don't like his tone

"iS yOuR wHoLe FaMiLy HeRe?" LIKE YOU DON'T ALREADY KNOW THATS A SOFT SPOT FOR EJ

"we've had some good conversations these past few weeks"

right so what's going to happen after you graduate?

what does he think of you not going to Duke?

what did he say about you giving the sweatshirt that's been in the family for 3 generations to a girl you're not even dating?

good old Mr. M

therapist Mr. Mazzara, they all need it.

start with Ricky though.

"Michael Bowen"

dude why did you shave, now you look less like "hot lumberjack" and more "creep at the gas station"

OH-

does she not like Mike anymore?

why does it sound like jennzzara started dating and now they just sit back and talk smack about everyone in their freetime

break the fourth wall-

uhhhh im scared

why am I scared

he's scary

hehe flowers for Ricky, obviously for Ricky, ObViOuSLY

oh boy poor Michael

this man is in love, rip

why does Ms Jenn always look at people with her eyes open so wide

LILYYYY

I'm only excited because I really like the idea of lily and Ricky being friends, nothing more.

ha this guy's got jokes

a MOAT AROUND THE SCHOOL

wheeze

also he's very pretty.

"the wolves and very talented humans"

how dare he forget to mention the very talented wolves and normal humans, smh erasure

"being nice, what a concept" ted talk by Lily who still doesn't have a last name

did she just say lol out loud

same with the hug emoji last episode-

go touch some grass babes

the way he didn't say no, but said he didn't know how the east high kids would react-

not saying he does want to date her but that's an interesting thing to think about, also another thing to write an essay analysis on just to leave it in my drafts for a few months

awww lily genuinely trying to help him

sorry guys, I've been taken by the Lily charm (didn't know it existed until now but oh well)

REMEMBER WHEN I SAID I'LL NEVER SHIP PORTWELL?

just look at me now

the Lily wink I can't she's so cute-

HELP ME I'M BEING HELD HOSTAGE BY LIL-

David Attenborough?

oh nvm it's Benjamin narrating the show in a really weird British accent for some reason.

STEPHY GOT MORE LINES YAY GOOD FOR HER

also is this to show that Nini doesn't care about being the star of the show anymore? the way she's supporting everyone else even though she's a fork?

I would pay for a special of the full musical ngl

OOO THE TRANSFORMATION WAS SMOOTH

shockingly

yo where did the makeup come from

man I wish I was a theatre kid

THIS IS STEPHY'S EPISODE NOW IDC✋

my girl is starring

"needs an X-factor"

Simon Cowbell creeps in

"it's a yes from me"

and them boom, he takes Nini and mistreats her horribly and then she comes back to theatre after deciding music isn't for her👍

"I thought she just hog-tied him?"

don't ask sebby, it's better if you don't know.

imagine they spotlight the wrong person and this dude is just some random person that likes writing down stuff during shows.

Ms Jenn just let them do what they rehearsed (at some point we never saw) or else this is gonna end horribly wrong

"help"

same Carlos, same

I love how seb is just his translator rn

I thought he said "great displeasure" instead of "greatest pleasure"....help?

big red coming out from throwing up to see his girlfriend star is the cutest thing in this show.

Ash and Gina dancing is so fun

I'm imagining them practicing at night at their home, watching the movie for the 100th time and making sure their one dance together is perfect

KOURTNEY YES

HOWIE IS IN LOVE AHHHH

I LOVE HOWIE SO MUCH

SEBBY

THIS SCENE HAS SO MUCH GOING ON I CAN'T KEEP UP

THIS IS SO GOOD

HOW???

no because I'm actually crying

I'm dead serious.

we need this musical released as a special

big red is so proud and I love to see it

Natalie: "if you do not by at least 20 dollars in concessions, you do not support art"

rando in the audience: "but I pay for ad free Spotify"

Mr Mazzara clapping in the distance

Gigi, the guy you like is talking to you, complimenting you and hyping you up

YOU LUCKY LITTLE FEATHER DUSTER

aw EJ teasing her about the chocolates in a way that doesn't make her feel bad? take notes Richard

JORDAN FISHER

there is no rest of the show idc Jordan is it for me

THE WIG CAP ON RICKY OMG

they look like they're high and having "deep" conversations on the floor

THE MEAN GIRL WITH THE EYES-

@sunshine-julie-molina YOU HEAR THAT

Natalie really just be coming for them all

Howie what is happening rn

I'm scared

"did you enjoy it"

"very much"

dude wants a kiss so bad

ASHLYN OMG

NO DON'T DO IT BECAUSE OF LILY, PUT YOUR OWN TWIST ON IT

I want a Jordan autograph please

just keep swim- oh pushing...

Gina is literally a giant next to him and I live for it

am I about to cry for the 3rd time in this episode?

yes.

Ricky's leg kicks under the table makes me so happy aw

the portwell glances will kill me.

ah yes, mashed potato snow

Mr. M.... I'm not a theatre kid but even I know you can't have your phone on backstage.

Howie please just do it

CHIP'S BIG LINE I CANT

I LITERALLY HAD TO PAUSE IT AMD SCREAM INTO MY MASK FOR A SOLID 2 MINUTES (I'm not at home rn) HES SO CUTE

oh ok bye Jordan

oo tea

NOT HIM BEING STARSTRUCK BECAUSE HE'S MEETING HIS FUTURE BROTHER IN LAW-

"we're all just glad Gigi has a big brother figure in her life"

excuse me for a few thousand hours while I laugh hysterically

THE CAMERA ZOOM ON EJS FACE AND EVERYTHING-

STOP EJ LOOKS LIKE HE'S GONNA CRY BUT I CAN'T TAKE HIM SERIOUSLY WITH THE STAGE MAKE-UP

someone else said this already but I think it's hilarious that they had to bring in 2 guest characters to create some portwell angst

omg this really is Cici's episode, found family is their thing

elevator music lol

I'm gonna bet that big red took the harness for his surprise for Ashlyn without realising what it was

did Ms. Jenn just....tell her most mentally unstable student....to commit suicide....on a disney show...was that....I'm very....well....what the actual-

oh and there she goes running off instead of trying to make it right

oh wow Nini's the hero, she's gonna save the show 🤩

😐

the judge is doing a sudoku

honestly if I went to the hsm show as well, I'd come prepared for this one too

Lily why are you looking like that-

I WAS JUST STARTING TO LIKE YOU DON'T MESS THIS UP

wow ok, there goes that.

omg

what if Howie was acting weird because he knew what Lily did and wanted to tell Kourtbut Lily threatened him so he was scared to-

anyways see y'all clowns next week when we all simultaneously lose all motivation for the week without Fridays to look forward to.

[miracle-sham]

Die Like the Butterfly Shoot With Their Guns.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 2, Day 7: Guns} |

Chapter 1 of Sheltered by Darkness not yet Moths to the Flame.

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] | | [Chapter 2] |

———

| Sometimes a family can be a gang comprised of eleven vigilantes, and their AI robot, fighting against the father of one of their own. |

| Or alternatively: after falling through the cracks, they do what they must to survive. And if that means committing crimes in order to bring down the Big Butterfly and all the other corrupt businesses in the city, then so be it. |

———

| Tonight's the night. Half of them will strike one of the Big Butterfly's warehouses that just so happens to contain some fancy new gun tech. Besides, it'll be in better hands with them than the Big Butterfly or his associates. Now all that matters, is that nothing goes wrong! |

| Word Count: 3,322. |

| Warnings/Tags: Cyberpunk/Criminal/Gang Au, Explicit Language/Swearing, Hacking, Breaking and Entering, Theft, Mentions of Bombs and Guns, Mentions of corrupt/shady businesses, Fluff, Gang/Team as family/family dynamics, Found Family. |

———

| A/N: It is Cyberpunk Au time! This is a twoshot, so have a looksy to see if you can find all the snippets of foreshadowing I've set! Also this is mostly Action/Fluff but beware of the warnings regardless. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

Rain patters against the concrete, sound mixing with the low hum and high buzz of electricity. The ground is slick with murky puddles that never seem to clean the pavement. Still just as filthy as before, permanently dyed with dried bloodstains, mud stains, electric scorch marks, and far worse. The air is heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke, ozone, and that ever underlying decay that clings to the city.

It's dark—dead of night—but the streets are awash with flickering neon lights. There are a few others haunting the street though most of them are sticking to the areas of light, avoiding the shadows.

Which is where Marinette, also known as the ruthless gang leader Fantôminou, is lurking.

Jason—Red Hood, her co-leader—snarls as he drops down onto the shadowed fire escape beside her. “We've got a rat. Someone's tipped off the big Butterfly and security has been increased around the perimeter. Most likely interior security increased too.”

Fantôminou flexes her glowing clawed gauntlets, “I suppose we should check in with our local pied piper, before we strike, hmm?”

There's a bzzt in her earpiece as the channel is hijacked by the familiar voice of their gang's hacker, Max aka Raijack. “I wouldn't worry about that if I were you, our pied piper has already been contacted. Whoever they were, they didn't reveal which location we were targeting, so it's just a general security increase.”

She hums. “Raijack, link us up with the rest of the strike force.”

“Got it, 'Minou.” He responds, and not a split second later, the earpiece makes another bzzt and there's the faint ping of the rest of the channel being alerted at someone joining.

“Look, I think you could totally pull off the—oh, who just joined the channel?” Adrien, Cheval Mallet, asks in surprise.

“Just me and our anthill tiger.” Red Hood announces, snorting at the glare Fantôminou sends him.

Silence echoes across the line before a scrabble of hushed but excited voices causes a ruckus.

Fantôminou sighs, “I know we're all excited to hit the big Butterfly hard by stealing some of their new fancy gun tech. But let's leave the yelling for when we inevitably set off the alarms!”

“Hey!” Raijack protests. “I'll have you know I have produced a new virus that has a ninety-eight per cent chance of not setting off any alarms!”

Red Hood rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, but you've still not worked out how to get your viruses to deactivate the bombs in the crates yet, huh?”

“I will one day, until then it's your job to stop the bombs from triggering the rest of the alarms!” Raijack counters with a huff.

Fantôminou sighs again, this time with an added sprinkling of are-you-kidding-me. “Red Hood, Raijack. I can and will kick your asses if you do not shut up so we can discuss final prep before we begin the pesticide protocol.”

Bumping shoulders with her, Red Hood snorts again. “I've got nothing against being beat up by someone as pretty and buff as you Minou, you know that!”

“Oh, I think we can all agree to wanting to get crushed by Minou's guns.” Cheval Mallet pipes up once more.

Fantôminou sighs very wearily. “Nevermind, are you all ready?”

Red Hood salutes at her, and despite his mouth being covered, it's easily telling that he's grinning cockily underneath. “I'm ready. My guns are ready, and I've got the bomb defusal kit at the ready.”

“I may be holding my horses but I'm saddled to giddy-up on the go!” Cheval Mallet cheerfully announces.

“This has to be one of your worst attempts at horse puns yet.” Raijack comments, “otherwise, I'm in position and ready to hack on your call, Minou.”

Red Hood exchanges a glance with Fantôminou as silence falls over the earpiece channel. “Hold up, where's Arsenal? Shouldn't he have checked in by now?”

Taking his hand gently, Fantôminou gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“He already did but because you two had your issues getting into position and avoiding the unexpected police patrol, Arsenal had to deal with another issue that popped up which would've threatened our plan,” Raijack informs, sounding nonplussed.

“Well, you don't sound concerned.” Fantôminou points out the obvious. “Has he got back up?”

There's the faint tapping of a keyboard through the earpiece channel before Raijack responds, “Chèvrapide is on her way to back him up, don't worry.”

“Then that's everyone accounted for. Let's rock and roll.” Red Hood orders, dropping from the fire escape and landing in the rain-slick alleyway with ease, conveniently right beside the hoverbike they had stashed here.

Fantôminou hops down after him, except she manages to flip and expertly land in the driver's seat. “I'm driving Jay, you're the one with the guns after all,” she all but states, putting one gauntleted hand up and flexing just to hammer in the point, “I'm close range only right now and you know it.”

Red Hood throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey! I'd never complain about getting to watch you drive this beauty of a hoverbike.”

Fantôminou snorts. “Just get on, pretty bird!”

“Well, if you say so, pretty kitty!” Red Hood teases back, vaulting onto the back of the bike behind her. He wraps an arm around her waist and rests the other hand on his sheathed-for-now gun.

She revs the engine of the hoverbike and steers out of the alleyway with practised ease. There's no directions on the hoverbike's holoscreen, but it's not like they need any—the directions to where they need to be outside the warehouse have already been memorised by each and every one of them.”

Down the left street, take the right at the T junction, pass under the flyover street, then take a further two lefts and then straight on until the block of office buildings forming a protective extra layer between the warehouse electric razor wire tipped fencing and the road. Easy.

“All networks in the office buildings have temporarily shut down. As far as the tech will be concerned, it'll look like the networks just decided to not work today.” Raijack announces through the earpiece channel, voice coming through slightly more robotic than usual.

“So no security cams?” Fantôminou checks cautiously, circling like a hawk around the small stretch of street between her and the office building she and Jason will be entering through. The rain has slowed to a drizzle but that doesn't make the circling in it any less mildly uncomfortable, at least inside it'll be dry.

There's the familiar clack of keys once more. “Not quite, they're a little harder to crack than entering in through the backdoor via someone's unprotected webcam in the office. Thank you, Shodan.” Raijack pauses, keys continuing to clack in the background. “Unfortunately, the Big Butterfly's got tech security smart enough to keep the security system on a closed network so I can't hop from webcam to computer to network to cams. However, they didn't account for Markov, suckers!”

Red Hood snorts. “Isn't Markov a little obvious for this kinda mission?”

“Oh, did I forget to tell you?” Raijack says, in a voice that very clearly conveys he didn't forget so much as purposefully neglected to mention, “I recently upgraded Markov, outfitting him with the currently most highly advanced cloaking system. Thanks to some help from Fantôminou's knowledge of cloaking and camouflage fashion.”

Red Hood leans his head onto Fantôminou's shoulder. “I'm hurt, you knew and didn't tell me? I want cloaking guns! Think of how much cooler I'd look with them!”

Fantôminou merely hums in an unamused response. “Raijack wanted it to be a surprise.”

He huffs. “I see who your favourite person in our gang is then!”

“You're right! It's me!” Cheval Mallet cheers, jumping into the conversation.

“Fucking 'ell!” Red Hood curses under his breath. “I thought you were gonna mute whilst getting in position.”

Cheval Mallet's laugh cuts in and out across the earpiece channel. “And when did I hay that!”

“Hacker voice, I'm in!” Raijack interrupts. “Looks like the security system was perfectly untouched by whatever minor error caused the main networks to crash, how lucky. Which is to say, looping is in process, and we now have free entry.”

“Got us a place to park yet, though?” Red Hood asks.

Raijack doesn't immediately respond, but the sound of the garage door connected to the office building opening, is answer enough. “I might.”

Fantôminou snorts. “Thanks, Raijack. Hood and I need to split here right, just until we get past the fencing right?”

“That's right.” Raijack responds, “good luck, and Markov and I will see you all on the other side.”

“Break a leg, or three!” Red Hood calls over the earpiece. “Preferably some else's though!”

Fantôminou pulls the hoverbike into the garage, keeping her gaze ahead. “If I could elbow you without fucking up my parking, I would.”

Red Hood cackles quietly in response, trying to at least keep to the stealth part of the mission plan.

In the blink of an eye, the hoverbike is securely parked. Perfectly hidden in plain sight but easily accessible for a quick and clean getaway should nothing go wrong. And well, if something were to go wrong, there's not going to be any hoverbike left for evidence. Though, that's not to say a small part of Fantôminou's brain doesn't anxiously hate how they're practically sitting on top of bombs ready to blow up at the slightest hint of things going wrong. However, they've been through enough strikes like this for the concern to be mostly easily ignored.

———

With the hoverbike parked, Fantôminou and Red Hood part ways.

Fantôminou heads up through the internal stairwell connected to the garage, whilst Red Hood takes one of the external doors leading to the office building next door.

The stairwell is like any other maintenance stairwell. Grey concrete walls, metal railings and steps. Even Fantôminou's light footsteps clang loudly against the ridged metal stairs. It's cold, just as cold as the garage was and barely warmer than it is outside in the rain. The air is stuffy but at least the respirator hidden beneath the bandana wrapped around her mouth makes it bearable to breathe. Other than the aforementioned clanging of steps, and her breathing, Fantôminou is alone with the ominous silence of a liminal space.

The stairs stretch on upwards for what seems far longer than it should, but eventually, Fantôminou reaches the final steps to the roof entrance door.

The door is unlocked, and so Fantôminou opens it as quietly as possible. She walks out into the rain once more and scrunches up her nose. A quick glance of the roof yields no immediate signs of danger or anything of note, so she continues to the edge of the roof.

Fantôminou rests one foot on the lip of the roof and flexes her gauntlets, lights switching off for stealth. Carefully, she turns around and crouches on the lip, gauntlets gripping the edge and toes of her boots braced against the wall. Bit by bit she descends, gauntlets making it more than easy to stay attached to the wall.

Two-thirds of the way down, Fantôminou climbs onto a window sill. The fence is only a metre below, with a further four-metre drop. No security drones in sight, yet—but no alarms have been triggered yet either.

A shadow drops down the building and over the fence on the other side of the compound. Not a second later is the double buzz of the earpiece signalling that someone is in position.

Fantôminou smirks beneath her face coverings, not one to be so quickly outdone she leaps forwards in a dive—spinning midair as she begins to plummet. Clearing the razor wire fence with room to spare.

She hits the ground in another diving roll, and immediately uses the momentum to throw herself up and run towards the nearest warehouse building. As soon as she reaches the wall, she double-taps her earpiece to send the double buzz signal to others.

A moment later comes the third double buzz, soon followed by the fourth and final signal.

“Markov is covering our air support.” Raijack's voice clips across the earpiece channel, “Fantôminou, you and Red Hood are on opposite ends of the same warehouse. I've unlocked the doors for you. You know the drill.”

“Thank you, Raijack. Entering now.” Fantôminou responds, she slinks over to the warehouse doors and cautiously pries open the now unlocked door.

Fantôminou heads straight for the terminal, and knows Red Hood is doing the same. Slipping Raijack's new and improved virus into one of the terminal's ports. Seconds pass.

“Interface secured,” Raijack informs.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Red Hood prowling over to her. She nods to him and taps into the terminal with her gauntlet.

Red Hood readies his bomb defusal kit as she instructs the internal warehouse drones into delivering the goods to them.

The drone, blinking yellow—a sure sign of Raijack's virus in effect—hovers over and drops a large black cased crate before them.

As soon as the claws of the drone release the crate, Red Hood is immediately on it, pulling it open and weeding out the bomb.

They wait with bated breath. Red Hood tinkers away. The earpiece channel is silent as the team focuses.

He hisses through his teeth, and Fantôminou tenses—ready to grab him and run, in the worst case—but he only packs the kit back away and sighs in relief.

He taps the earpiece thrice—signalling success.

Raijack and Cheval Mallet don't respond, so Fantôminou and Red Hood stuff their haul into Fantôminou's Miraculous, for ease of transport, and begin making their way towards the warehouse the other two were hitting.

By the time they reach the nearest warehouse doors, the earpiece triple buzzes. Success, again.

They pause only to exchange a nod between the two before continuing to meet up with Cheval Mallet and Raijack—no rendezvous needed this time so far.

It takes forty seconds to cross halfway to the other warehouse, where they meet the other two along with Markov in the middle.

Cheval Mallet waves a hand and the five of them skulk over to a small shed off the side of another warehouse. He raises his horseshoe weapon and calls out, “Bon Voyage!”

The portal forms and Markov flies through first. The remaining four exchange glances then bolt forwards, racing to see who can get through first.

The blue light blinds them all for a second, despite how used to the power they are.

“Mission success!” Fantôminou cheers breathlessly once the blue fades, throwing her hands up in celebration.

“WOOH!” Cheval Mallet yells, jumping up and punching the air.

Red Hood snorts, “but more importantly I so won!”

Raijack hums, “let's see what Markov has to say about that.”

Markov makes a series of boops and beeps, yellow LEDs flickering. “Red Hood is correct, he won the portal race.”

“YES!” Red Hood crows.

“Oh come on!” Raijack grumbles.

Footsteps and clapping approaches. “Well done,” Félix praises, “but perhaps leave the celebration until after you've all gotten into jammies.”

Cheval Mallet giggles, “Flicks, I can't believe you can somehow still sound pretentious whilst saying something as childish sounding as "jammies"!”

Félix raises an eyebrow, “you say this every time I call pyjamas that. Now come on, I've ordered pizza and Roy, Alix, Luka, Artemis, Kori, and Bizarro are already waiting for you lot, in the lounge, so we can get the party started.” He turns on his heel and walks out of the utility-changing room.

Markov, as the only one not needing to change, shows the tongue-sticking-out emoji on his LED screen and zooms after Félix.

Jason, Marinette, Adrien, and Max all start changing out of their gear as quickly as possible.

“Oh no!” Adrien gasps, half undressed, suddenly remembering something. “We forgot to take the motorbikes back!”

Marinette groans, “I knew I was forgetting something!"

Facepalming, Jason sighs. “We were all too caught up in everything going well for once.”

Max snorts. “Oh don't worry! I anticipated this, all it took was a little hacking into our hoverbikes and now they're on autopilot to one of our empty storage bases.”

“Oh. Well, that's good then.” Adrien says, looking a little embarrassed.

“Yeah… anyway come on, we don't want to keep your cousin and the others waiting any longer! They'll eat all the pizza!” Marinette exclaims.

They all finish changing into loungewear and pyjamas just as music starts to play from the lounge and so frantically, they all dash towards it, trying to shove each other out of the way and laughing playfully as they do so.

They've won a battle, they've successfully gotten in and out with a good haul of gun tech. No alarms tripped, nothing went wrong. Hoverbikes undamaged and on the route home. For once, everything went smoothly. And that, is cause for an evening of celebration.

Leaving the worries of the rat for tomorrow.

———

In a dark observatory with a closed butterfly window, a folder is tossed across a desk.

Papillon glances down at the folder with indifference. He rests his elbows on the expensive polished wood and steeples his fingers. “You said you had acquired information that you believe will interest me?”

The man in a black suit sitting opposite Papillon, smiles patiently. “My informant went through quite the lengths to acquire this. Why not take a look inside.”

Papillon purses his lips, “this better not be a waste of my precious time, Lex.”

Lex Luthor raises an eyebrow in amusement. “I assure you, Gabriel, you will find what is inside most interesting.”

There's a moment's pause as Gabriel waits. Nothing happens. He nods and then opens the folder. He spreads the papers inside in arc across the desk. In the middle of the papers, is the photo of a smiling teenage girl with bright blue eyes, and blue-dyed hair. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” He reads out, lips curling into a contemplative frown.

“Poor little girl,” Lex croons mockingly, “missing—presumed dead—after her parents' bakery was destroyed in an Akuma attack. Her name should be familiar to you though, won your one-day derby hat competition at her school.”

Gabriel's fingers still mid-steeple, and he moves one hand up to his chin in thought. “Ah yes, I remember that designer. The one with the feather derby whose design was stolen and copied. That signature embroidery was impressive work.” He recounts.

Lex grins, “yes, however most distressingly, it would seem this up and coming star of a designer has lost her glow.”

“How so?” Gabriel responds, furrowing his brows.

“Well you see, my informant has found… evidence, that our poor little designer here fell through the cracks into the shadows after the loss of her parents and bakery. It's rather obvious that the larvae have taken her as their own, some of their masks and clothes fit perfectly with what we know of her unique incorporation of her signature, as well as stitch work.” Lex explains, waving a hand towards the rest of the photographs and documents spread from the folder.

Gabriel frowns and eyes a few of the other papers with interest. “I see, that is most unfortunate.”

“But.” Lex cuts in before Gabriel can say anything more. “I'm well aware you're plenty familiar with fixing larvae with damaged wings and frayed wires. As such, a strange little cold case brimming with potential for your program, would do quite nicely for your collection, wouldn't you say?” Lex insinuates, rising from his seat as he continues, “rescue the poor larvae, craft it a chrysalis, and nurture the Pupa into something radiant. Not unlike what you did with the Macrothylacia Rubi, and your replacement wife.” With that, Lex smiles smugly down at Gabriel and then strides out of the observatory, not giving Gabriel a chance to respond.

And leaving Papillon to the folder and his musings.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| Behind the Names: Fantôminou is a portmanteau of Fantôme (Ghost/Phantom) and Minou (Kitty). And she's called that because I thought the Black Footed cat fit her, and they're nicknamed Anthill Tigers. They also have the highest successful hunting rate! |

| Raijack is a portmanteau of Raiju (lightning dragon) and jack plug (the connect-y bit on headphones into a phone for example) but is also a play on the word Hijack. |

| Cheval Mallet is an evil horse spirit that offers rides to weary travellers and kidnaps them. Yes, there is a reason behind this. It's covered in Chap 2 |

| Chèvrapide is a portmanteau of Chèvre (Goat) and Rapide (Fast). |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I’ll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

[willexx]

If you still think Luke is anything but a Slytherin, you are wrong

@unsaid-emily and @moony221b made me post this against my will, so if you do not understand a word of what I am saying, blame them.

Okay so I think we have to talk about ambition first. We obviously know that Luke is ambitious when it comes to his music, but he has a drive to succeed throughout everything he does. 

1) Booking gigs: Homeboy would not stop doing the absolute most when it comes to booking gigs because he knows the only way to succeed is to have your name out there. How are you going to have your name out there? BY PLAYING!!! The drive and ambition that he had to make sure they did not waste a single second when it came to booking places to play is very apparent. THEY PLAYED BOOK CLUBS!!! COME ON!!!!

2) Writing music: Luke isn’t going to write something unless it is the very best! It’s Luke. The only way he’s going to book gigs is if he has good music. You literally see him crossing things out when writing Unsaid Emily because he wants it to be perfect (although that could be because it’s for his mom, but we’ll get to that later). Luke is the kind of guy where if he gets an idea, he doesn’t stop until it is perfectly executed, and that’s that on that.

3) His ambition to make sure Julie joined the band and wasn’t mad at him anymore!!! HELLO!!!! He had his heart set on Julie joining the band and he was not about to stop until he got it. Help finish the song she started for her friend? Ask her 5,000 times until she caves because of the “I’m getting my way” mentality going on? Making sure it goes perfectly? YEP!!!!!! Not giving up and ambition goes hand in hand with one another, and this could not be more clear CONSIDERING NOT GIVING UP IS A SLYTHERIN TRAIT MY DUDES. Then he would not stop until Julie wasn’t mad at him anymore. Waiting hours until she got home to perform a little song? Signing them up to perform? Making sure Julie knew that he would never do that to her again? DONT GIVE UP BABAY.

4) He wanted revenge on Bobby for stealing his songs and he wasn’t about to give up on that, even though Julie begged him not to. Enough said. It’s the ambition for me.

5) Did you see him try to get Julie to notice him during EOG or do you just not have eyes? AMBITION.

6) The Orpheum: This could be put under booking gigs, but I feel like this is entirely different. He worked his entire life to get this one gig. He lived for playing at the orpheum. Even when he died, it was still something he had his mind on. I��m not sure how many people still hold onto their dreams after death AND achieve them, but I know it’s not many.

THE CHARM! Slytherins have a lot of charm and they use it to their advantage, most of the time to get what they want. We see this try to happen when he asks where the kitchen is, but tbh when doesn’t Luke have the charm up to 100. STRONG LEADERS! Luke is definitely the leader of sunset curve CONSIDERING HE’S THE LEAD SINGER, LEAD GUITARIST, WRITES ALL OF THEIR SONGS, ETC. FIGHT ME. THEY’RE SMORT! Literally if you look at Draco Malfoy, he was second in his class (Hermione being the first). They’re not stupid at all, but they can be a little dumb sometimes, and I feel like Luke is the perfect example of this. He is an excellent songwriter and guitarist, which takes a lot of smarts!!! He just lacks in other areas SLYTHERINS BREAK THE RULES WHEN NEEDED! Luke is a rule breaker and that’s that on that. He left school, ran away from home, tried to get Julie to leave school, had her leave home out of the window, etc. He fully believes rules are meant to be broken. CONFIDENCE! You’re gonna tell me Luke Patterson isn’t confident? In front of MY salad? I don’t think so. He knows he’s talented, he knows he’s attractive, and it shows. The sleeveless shirt and “I’m our lead singer” should be enough to convince you of this one. RESOURCEFUL! Slytherins are very self reliant and able to do what they need to do on their own. When Luke ran away, he had to learn how to live and provide for himself. Granted he had the guys, but he was still on his own!

CUNNING! He’s gonna do what is needed to achieve what he wants, even if it’s not the moral route. He uses his ghost abilities a lot to do things, like signing up for the show where they played finally free, playing the orpheum, haunting bobby, etc.

ACHIEVEMENTS! GOALS! SUCCESS! Need I say more?

FAMILY ORIENTED! Slytherins are superrrrrrrrr family oriented. Sometimes not in the best ways and just “gotta keep that bloodline pure” type of way, but a lot of times they genuinely love each other because they understand each other. Luke loves his family, but he loves his music and dreams more, and he’s going to go after that no matter what. If a Slytherin finds someone to be friends with and have them be part of their “found family,” THEY ARE GOING TO BE SO LOYAL TO THAT PERSON AND LOVE THEM UNTIL THEIR DYING DAYS. IF THAT AINT LUKE WITH HIS BAND AND JULIE THEN IDK WHAT IS. I REALLY DONT.

I feel like I touched on pretty much everything but I will leave you with this one last thing.

Luke Patterson in green. 

[oldsmobile-hotdogs]

Questions for crossover jatp ghosts crossover fic: I hope Julian and the sunset curve boys talk about the fall of the Berlin Wall and the Yugoslav wars that happened when they were alive + Bill Cilnton. I wonder what pat and the band would talk about considering that they would of been kids when pat died? Do you think Julie would think of Les Mis and Hamilton cos Thomas and Kitty are from about the same time period as those musicals? I hope Julie calls Fanny Mary poppins.

Anon, or "Mimi", or "Lulu", or, heck, maybe even "Carl Birtles": Update: Not Carl Birtles. Carl Birtles sent me an ask and is cool, actually.

Stop. Right now. I'd say stop while you're ahead, but you are so far away from ahead at this point it's laughable.

For everyone confused, this is that "commenter from AO3" I joked about making a 2017-esque story time video about.

A couple days ago I uploaded the first chapter of a Julie and the Phantoms/BBC Ghosts crossover fic.

You know what? I’m gonna promo it here bc it’s my callout post and I can shill if I want to: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30681704/chapters/76661471

It was generally very well received and I've had a blast interacting with readers.

Except for this.

Honestly, there's so much to get into, so I’m putting it under a cut:

This was their first correspondence (email notif bc I deleted the comment, the deletion to be explained later):

(Funnily enough, the links very much do not work on AO3, making the comment only more jarring)

I gave you *so much* benefit of the doubt when I saw this comment, and assumed that maybe you're an ESL user, just very enthusiastic to share ideas, and I pretty much said so in my reply, but know that at that point I'd already had friends- who fucking know about this, don't you dare think you're getting me alone- tell me that you were being very demanding.

Below was my reply (another email notif):

I'm gonna be honest, I think I responded really well to what I was given, and now that I'd replied, I was pretty certain the situation was dealt with. You, evidently, didn't agree, as shown by your reply to my reply:

A word of advice: when replying to someone, at least pretend like you read what they wrote.

At this point I'm left wondering two things:

What do they expect from me, if a general reply is not it?

How much more shit do they have waiting to tell me to put in my- reminder, JATP/BBC Ghosts crossover, rated T, comedic- fic?

In order to avoid finding out either, I freeze the thread on AO3. I'm liveblogging all of this on Discord.

It's then that I notice that the username on AO3 isn't clickable, so even if I wanted to block or report them I couldn't. I assume, therefore, that they've deactivated, and since them seeing their comments gone and getting angry was the only thing stopping me deleting the comments, I delete the comments.

It's also at this point I see "Mimi" never left kudos. I guess I don't deserve praise until I mention "Bill Cilnton".

There's relative calm for a short amount of time, until I get another comment:

This one is much kinder than the others and doesn't mention any specific, weird, historical events, so the extent to which I think this is "Mimi" is debatable, but bestie I'm weirded out enough that anything that even uses the enter bar unnecessarily and misses out conjunctive words like "because" and "and" is going to activate fight or flight. Update: Carl Birtles is not Mimi or Lulu. Carl was just being genuinely kind and I misinterpreted it and that's on me.

However, "Carl"'s case is not helped by the fact I can't click his account either, that AO3 offers me the ability to report it as spam, and that guess who replies to "Carl"'s comment: Update: Carl, having done nothing wrong as he has, is therefore also a victim in the situation that is being replied to by Lulu. It would seem Lulu is trying to correct??? some of Carl's commentary.

You must think I didn't get a 7 on my English Literature GCSE because you seem to underestimate my ability to compare two texts.

So clearly this is "Mimi", who has also just replied to "Carl". "Lulu" is also deactivated, and I've fallen off the end of my tether, let alone reached it, at this point so I mark it as spam. "Carl" gets to stay bc he said the idea for the crossover was good. Update: Carl also gets to continue to stay because I have it on good faith that he's a stand-up dude.

So at this point you've readily admitted through your inability to shake up your writing style to using at least one sockpuppet to convince me to talk about the "Yugoslav wars".

If "Carl Birtles" is the real(-est) of them, and "Mimi" and "Lulu" are the sockpuppets, by the way, I have questions and ideas about what you do on your free evenings and I want them neither confirmed nor answered. Update: This is slanderous and I want to apologise wholeheartedly to Carl for making assumptions about him and judging his character. Once again, he is not Mimi or Lulu. He's just a normal, cool guy.

And now you come to me, on the day of my daughter's wedding on a different platform, leave me an anon ask in the exact same format as you're so fond of, and expect any different ??

Well, yeah, then I guess I'll give you special treatment this time.

Here's exactly why I will never include anything you have told me to include:

Julian and the Phantoms discussing the Berlin Wall would be highly inappropriate for the largely fluffy, cracky tone of my fanfiction, especially given how recently the event occurred, how many Eastern Germans still experience prejudice to this day because they were born within the old borders of the DDR, and because of how nuanced this, essentially proxy war, was and how ill-informed a huge amount of the world is on the actual factors in play during this time and the Cold War in general.

Julian and the Phantoms will not discuss Yugoslavia dissolving, nor the fallout and conflict that resulted, because it was genocidal. There is nowhere I can fit Julian, pantsted, casually asking Luke “hey do you remember when the Herzegovinas were killed en masse by the Serbs?” Not gonna happen.

They won’t discuss Bill Clinton because all of them know who the current world leaders are: they don’t have amnesia, they’re ghosts. The fic is also rated T, so it would be inappropriate to make any explicit reference to “sexual relations”. None of them play saxophone.

Julie wouldn’t think of Les Mis or Hamilton because Thomas is Regency, not French Revolution, and Kitty is Georgian, not Colonial.

Julie won’t be calling Fanny Mary Poppins because she is perpetually stuck in a white dress, doesn’t wear a hat, doesn’t own an umbrella or a purse and was not the nanny or housekeeper of Button House.

The ghosts will not discuss the marvels of modern transportation or how long it would’ve taken to cross the Atlantic on dinghy because the ghosts have seen Friends. The house irl is on a flight path. They know airplanes exist. Alison and Mike pulled up in a car.

I will probably have the phantoms and Willie talk to Pat and Julian about being from the ‘80s and ‘90s. That I will actually probably do.

The Captain will not mention FD Roosevelt because, again, they all know who the current world leaders are, and I doubt he expects a ‘90s pop punk band to have any insider knowledge on the man.

It was interesting to think of the phantoms’ grandparents having been alive during WW2. I wasn’t lying. But there is nearly nothing I can do with this information.

But above all: both sets of ghosts have already adapted to modern life. Because the shows are shorter, and meant to actually be able to fit jokes in them.

If you want to see any of this, write your own damn fic. I don’t own the concept of a JATP/BBC Ghosts crossover.

What you will not do, “consonant-vowel-consonant-vowel”-nim, is hound me on multiple accounts and then change platform to hound me again. I’m absolutely not having it.

I have never received an interaction quite like this before, and I cannot help but wonder if this is because this is my first work in the Ghosts/HH/Them There/Six Idiots/Yonderland/Bill fandom: that this is where you primarily camp out.

So it’s at this point I ask the Them There/Six Idiots fandom if they have/if they know anyone who has had a run-in with this person or thinks they may have, or if anyone perhaps even knows who this is? Maybe I’m just one of many. Maybe this is a necessary fandom evil I was unaware of.

This experience has left me royally freaked out, as one might imagine, especially since my anxiety in general has been acting up due to it being exam season. I want to thank everyone who’s read my rambles on Discord and on here and even listened to them irl and offered support from the bottom of my heart.

I’ve enabled comment moderation on the fic. I will continue to write it, and I will put exactly what I, and only what I, want in it.

Believe it or not, I wanted to do literally anything else today.

Anon: Fucking Leave Me Alone.

Update: Just reiterating: Carl is not Mimi or Lulu. Carl is a cool dude and I want to sincerely apologise for having brought him into this mess, passing judgment on his character, and making him feel like he should stop practicing English online.

[the-edge-of-great]

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ JATP WEEK - DAY FIVE: FRIENDSHIP/ FOUND FAMILY ♥

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The evening began with: “Why is there a door on the ceiling?”

Currently, they’re here: “Don’t—Julie, if I get stranded up here, I swear—”

Julie laughs “Relax,” she says.

“Relax.” Flynn rolls her eyes. “You’re not the one on the roof!”

“It was your idea to go first!” Julie bends down, scooping a blanket into her arms. “Here, take this.” She’s on her tiptoes, shoving the blanket through the door and only slightly panicking when the table she’s standing on wobbles.

The blanket disappears from her grasp. “Grab the snacks too,” Flynn says.

Julie shifts to the right, and the table and dresser she’s using as a base tips with her. They left their snacks by the beanbag chairs: a bowl of popcorn and a bag of chips. Just as she’s sighing over having to climb back onto this untrustworthy tower, the guys poof in downstairs.

“Hey!” she calls.

Reggie spins around. “Hey!”

In seconds, they’re in front of her. Alex immediately catches her hand when everything wobbles and she waves her arms to balance herself. “Jesus,” he mutters, grabbing her other hand for good measure. “What’re you doing?”

Julie smiles sheepishly. “Trying to get on the roof? And can one of you hand me those snacks?” she asks, pointing.

While Luke retrieves them, Reggie gazes up at the open trapdoor. “Oh, you finally found the door?”

“Yeah!” She lets go of Alex to grab the popcorn bowl, but she can see his hands hovering nearby. “I can’t believe we just noticed it. Flynn! Here.” Julie stretches her arms up with the bowl tight in her grip. “Don’t spill this.” She sends the chips up next.

As soon as her hands are free, she’s holding onto Alex again. “I think I can make it up there,” she says thoughtfully.

“Are you sure?” Alex says. “I’d much rather you fall from this height than that height.”

She pretends like she doesn’t hear him, letting go of his hands. She stretches up, curling her fingers around a metal bar inside of the doorway. With a jump, Julie kicks her legs through the door and hooks her heels against the panel door. Using all of the strength she acquired in gym class (which is actually a lot, mind you), she pushes herself onto the roof.

As she’s shuffling back her foot slips through the hole, and her body rolls forward. She gasps, the guys yell, and Flynn jerks her back. She might have a bruise on her arm tomorrow, but her heart is beating too fast right now to care.

Once she’s next to Flynn, safely away from the trap door and under the blanket with the popcorn bowl in her lap, she sighs. “See?” she says. “Easy.”

“Okay,” Alex admits from behind. “I wasn’t expecting you to spider monkey that shit.”

Julie laughs.

As the last traces of sunlight finally melts into the night sky and a cool breeze sweeps through the streets, Flynn huddles closer to Julie, whose head is in Reggie’s lap. Luke is laying down next to him while Alex is still upright, forearms resting on his knees, staring off at nothing like he’s in a trance.

“Reminds me of high school,” Luke says suddenly.

“Yeah,” Reggie agrees, chuckling. “I remember the panic trying to climb up here too.”

“I remember Bobby kicking out a window by accident,” Alex adds.

Julie snickers; Flynn giggles into her side.

“Alex stopped helping us,” Reggie tells Julie, stroking a hand through her hair. “He was mean then.”

“Still mean,” Luke argues. He laughs when Alex scoffs.

“Hey, I think he has a pass,” Julie decides. “I mean. He has to put up with you two.”

“Thank you!” Alex cries. He leans over Luke to fist bump her. They’re grinning at each other.

Reggie hums. “Those are rude words to someone you’re using as a pillow right now.” Julie tips her chin back to look at him. “I love you, Reg.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah.” He’s chewing his lip to fight a smile, but it’s not working. “Love you too, Jules.”

They talk well into the night, sharing stories, trying to throw popcorn in each others’ mouths, swapping ghost theories (“If you fell off the roof, could you poof somewhere safe before you hit the ground?” “Probably, but would it actually matter?” “I would rather not hit the ground, thanks.”).

“Alex?” Flynn asks.

“Hm?”

“Did you ever date in high school?”

He chuckles. “No. Well—” Alex thinks it over then shakes his head. “No.”

“He didn’t date, but he got around,” Reggie explains, throwing a knowing smirk at Alex. Luke laughs.

“Well, I mean, I couldn’t date.” Alex rolls his eyes when Reggie and Luke continue to grin at him. “Do you know what would’ve happened if I’d walked into school holding hands with a guy?” He shakes his head and laughs, but it’s cold and sarcastic.

Julie looks back at him. He isn’t looking at anyone now, but Luke and Reggie are watching him. Luke leans into Alex, nudging his elbow into his side and grinning when Alex looks back at him with a faint smile.

“I know times have changed,” Flynn says softly, “but sometimes, I have nightmares that that’ll happen too.”

“If anyone tries to fight you, tell me,” Julie replies, serious. “I’ll square up.”

Flynn laughs out loud. “Honey, you can’t fight.”

“Yes I can!”

“You’ll hit someone and apologize immediately.”

“Nuh-huh! You’ve been to my family gatherings. You know how vicious my cousins are for food—I can survive anything.”

“Ooh, don’t know if I’m excited for a family gathering or not,” Alex admits, chuckling.

“Julie files her nails, so the ends are sharp in preparation,” Flynn says.

“No, no—” Julie laughs. “It’s not in preparation. My nails just… always happen to be long around that time.” An idea pops in her head, and she sits up suddenly. Flynn whines. “Sorry. Guys, look at what I did last night.” She offers one hand to the guys and the other to Flynn.

She knows it’s Luke who takes her hand before she looks over because of the way her heart picks up at him dragging his thumb over her knuckles. Alex and Reggie are too focused on her nails to notice the soft smile between her and Luke.

“Are those ghosts?” Reggie exclaims.

“Whoa,” Alex says. “Those are really good.”

“She can sing, she can draw…” Luke trails off, shaking his head.

“She can dance,” Flynn adds.

“Triple threat!” Reggie cheers. He high-fives her.

“She can…” Flynn snickers. “Maybe fight someone?”

“If somebody hurts you,” Julie sings, “I’m gonna hurt them too.”

Flynn dissolves into a contagious laughter that sends Julie into a fit. Their voices echo over the neighborhood roofs in the otherwise quiet night. Julie leans into Reggie, who’s quickly infected by the laughter. It spreads to Luke and Alex immediately, and then they’re a mess on the roof, red in the face, sides hurting from laughing too hard—and they don’t even know what’s funny anymore. 

They’re up there for hours, chatting under the glow of the moon piercing through LA smog.

Really, there is nowhere else Julie would rather be.

[starsbythepocketful12]

headcanons cause i’m in flarrie hours

they are THE couple when it comes to halloween costumes

all their outfits for big events (parties, gigs where dirty candy and/or jatp perform) are coordinated

carrie my femme queen & flynn my nonbinary lesbian darling

go to protests & marches together

flynn lends carrie books by her favorite Black female authors & carrie lends her books by her favorite sapphic poets

they make playlists about each other but the other doesn’t know they do it (julie & kayla are the only ones permitted to know of the existence of these playlists & have been sworn to secrecy, though julie has a strong suspicion carrie also makes playlists about flynn and vice versa)

have a joint pinterest account for their wedding moodboard

carrie adopted a tiger cub and named it flynn for their three month anniversary

they go to the mall together every other weekend and shop, which they both love to do and when they get home they always model the new outfits they bought

flynn squeals every time they see a dog in public and always runs over and asks if they can pet it and carrie always watches her with such a fond look that the owner almost always makes a comment on what a lovely couple they are or asks how long they’ve been together (something that has actually been happening since even before they were dating, and back then you can imagine the flustered ness it caused)

flynn often comes to watch dirty candy rehearsals, cheer them on, make sure they’re staying hydrated/taking snack breaks and that carrie’s not overworking herself

carrie is the first person that flynn tells she wants to DJ professionally and carrie gets her her first gig

eventually flynn gets into producing as well and ends up making a track for carrie, who writes lyrics to it and it becomes dirty candy’s most successful song to date

carrie says i love you first one saturday afternoon while they’re watching a movie on flynn’s computer in her room. flynn laughs at a joke and carrie looks over at her, her beautiful, incredible girlfriend, and simply can’t resist the urge to say it

flynn’s shocked into silence so carrie panics and leaves and doesn’t answer flynn’s messages

that night flynn shows up at the wilson mansion and throws rocks at carrie’s window until she comes out

flynn is upset with carrie for running out and ghosting her and carrie’s trying to defend herself so they argue but then flynn interrupts carrie by kissing her and breathlessly saying, “i love you.” carrie kisses her and not another word on it is said

carrie steals flynn’s hats

they’re not really PDA-y, they just happen to engage in a lot of unconscious, casual affection, like flynn often absentmindedly intertwines their pinkies and carrie doesn’t realize her arm is around flynn’s shoulders until she’s doing it

even after months of dating will still flirt like they’re in their enemies who are secretly very attracted to e/o era

flynn really loves art, particularly murals, so she drags carrie to a lot of gallery openings and museums

at one point when flynn’s going through a hard time carrie enlists all their friends for help making a giant mural full of drawings of things that make her happy

flynn happy cries when she sees it and is pretty much always seen hugging carrie for the rest of that night

only really cuddle when one (or both) of them is sleepy, though flynn does often sit on carrie’s lap

before starting to date, carrie would tease flynn for having stuffed animals during their sleepovers at flynn’s until they started dating and flynn started spending more time at carrie’s and flynn discovers that her girlfriend’s a little hypocrite

flynn has a younger sister and brother (sister is six, brother is four) and they absolutely ADORE carrie and think she’s the coolest and carrie thinks they’re the cutest

flynn’s like no they’re little demons and carrie’s says who says demons can’t be cute? you once called me a demon right, and im cute, aren’t i? and flynn rolls her eyes and fights back a smile

flynn also has a college aged older sister who she looks up to a lot, like that’s her hero and absolute role model, so naturally carrie’s terrified to meet her, and though she tries to appear intimidating at first, she can’t keep up the act for long and starts being friendly with carrie pretty much right away

one day they’re supposed to go on a date but carrie’s sick and forgot to text flynn telling her not to come so flynn shows up at her house but stays anyway to look after her

flynn reads to her and makes her soup

trevor & flynn play video games while carrie naps

flynn makes jewelry in her free time and consults carrie for her thoughts on every piece (in junior year she starts selling them at school & turns out to be quite the entrepreneur)

they have an inside joke about cosmo and wanda

a couple of the dirty candy members sometimes jokingly flirt with flynn and are like “watch out! we’re gonna steal your girl!” and carrie gets possessive and apologizes for it pretty quickly but flynn thinks it’s hot so it works out pretty well

will watch bad rom coms to make fun of straight people and throw popcorn at the screen when they get together

pet/nick names: care, baby, babe, love, (from carrie to flynn who shuts down upon hearing it) honey, (flynn to carrie, who becomes very giddy the first time flynn says it in a text message) sweetheart

if you couldn’t tell before they ofc have an enemies to friends to lovers arc

move in together after graduating, neither planning on going to college (julie goes to berkeley and nick some other place in california where they have lacrosse cause that’s the sport he plays right) and their parents think it’ll be a disaster but it actually goes really well

the first couple of weeks they fight more, all petty arguments mostly out of the stress of moving, but they always talk it out

it doesn’t take long for them to be happy they’re living together and feel really glad they took that step

two years after graduating flynn gives her a promise ring

carrie cries her eyes out and replies “of fucking course, you dumb fuck” when flynn asks if she’ll take it

ten years later carrie’s a successful pop star/choreographer & flynn’s a record breaking producer/DJ and they’re about to buy a house when they realize they never got married

it’s just a moment where they’re relaxing together on the couch and suddenly are like. oh

and proceed to burst out laughing

it’s a small ceremony, thrown together in just three weeks

carrie wears a short, light pink dress with a heart cutout in the back that would probably be more suited for a high school sophomore’s spring fling but no one cares

flynn wears a suit, and is walked down the aisle by her older sister

they both tear up upon seeing each other and sob through the vows (the traditional pre written ones, they wrote vows for each other but they recite them to the other when they’re alone, so it’s something special only they can share)

julie & kayla are the maids of honor, nick and alex are the best men

julie & luke’s five year old hernando is the ring bearer & alex and willie’s three year old umi is the flower child

trevor, flynn’s older sister and parents cry

even flynn’s now teenage younger siblings, who as of late have often been stereotypically cynical and moody shed tears

jatp perform at the reception (they have also become a hit band at this point)

when they get back from the honeymoon the first thing they do is get a dog

they adopt a golden doodle rescue named stella

a couple years later they start talking about kids and look into getting a sperm donor

because they love being competitive they do little games to decide who will be the one to carry the baby

it’s all jokes though, they decided at the start of the process that it would be flynn for the first kid and carrie for the second

but then SURPRISE flynn has twins

a boy and a girl named tyler and ollie (who’s who i won’t tell you cause fuck gender)

they don’t even talk about carrie getting pregnant now cause they’re busy with the babies and trying to manage their careers but one night, when the kids are eight, and flynn has just flopped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh after putting them to bed, carrie puts down her kindle and quietly says that she wants another kid.

they talk for hours because while flynn wants another kid too, when you’re both celebrities with demanding jobs and people constantly trying to peer into your life, that decision involves even more factors

they decide to have another kid and carrie chooses to take a step back from her career for now-she’ll return to it eventually but for now she wants to be able to just be a parent without worrying about work and not have to deal with the guilt that comes with working when she feels like she should be being a parent

though the kids have always been their main priority and they have done quite well dividing their time between work and being with them, and have done decently shielding them from the public eye (majority of the pictures of ollie & tyler that the public has are blurry candids, and the few high quality ones are from when they were three and they no longer look like that anyway so it’s all good)

it’s a harder process for carrie to get pregnant as she’s almost 40 and flynn was 31 when she had tyler and ollie

but it happens though they’re careful about choosing the sperm donor-even briefly consider asking reggie or nick-because with this kind of thing there’s always the risk that other parent could track down where their kid ended up and want to be a part of that kid’s life later on which is uber complicated for many reasons so they get those scary possibilities out of the way by just finding someone who they know wants to be in the child’s life

preston choi, a thai & korean american mathematics professor ends up being their guy

he’s immensely genuine, sweet, respectful, polite, and gentlemanly

when he came out at fifteen his parents kicked him out of the house

it was a long and difficult journey but they’re in a decent place now

but it’s not the family he wants to have and he’s tried but has yet to find a partner

but doesn’t want to wait to have kids so here he is, more than happy to co parent with flynn and carrie

so that’s what they do! tyler and ollie become big siblings to miles wilson-choi on december 10th, 2044

miles grows up in the most multicultural home ever, being fluent in 4 languages (English, AAVE, Spanish thanks to their tia julie, Korean, and Thai) all their life

tyler & ollie welcome preston and miles into the family with open arms, as well as the addition of korean and thai cuisine to the already amazing dinner tables they had of soul and caribbean food

when miles is seven carrie goes back to work full time, with preston’s assurance that he’s got this when her and flynn are busy and tyler and ollie (who are now fifteen) promising they’ll help out as well

at that point the long awaited julie and the phantoms/carrie and flynn wilson collaboration FINALLY happens

flynn wins her 28th grammy for it, leaving her tied with beyoncé for most grammys won by any woman ever (its julie’s 14th, luke’s 6th, and carrie’s 12th, and the band’s collective 10th cause alex never did any solo projects and reggie released one country album but it didn’t win any grammys rip though it was nominated for 2 CMAs)

[holyhellpod]

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/

[bran-who-writes-theoretically]

Julie and the Phantoms

~What I want~

-Y’all didn’t ask for this but guess what here are my thoughts anyway. They are based in nothing and are solely what I want. So here’s everything (I hope) in no particular order.

1. Let’s talk about Juke just to get it ~out of the way. TBH I cannot get around the age gap between Madison and Charlie. It’s so hard for me to see past it. I’m only a few months younger than Charlie and I literally could not imagine dating someone who was even in high school at all. I understand they wanted the guys to look the same age through the series so they had to cast older but.... eh. The only way I could really accept Juke would be if they kissed in the series finale just before the guys moved on. But really? I’d love to see them realize that they can’t be together because he’s dead. It would be SO interesting to see that, them having to stomp out the crush because it could only end in hurt for them both. I’d love to see them become super close/best friends. They have a connection, it just doesn’t have to be romantic. Also I’d really like to see her maybe end up with Flynn??? That would be so refreshing. You almost never see queer leads for kids shows and that would be awesome (P.S. even though it’s fine to ship Juke, even though I personally don’t, do NOTTTTTTTTT. I repeat NOT! Ship Madison and Charlie. I’ve seen other actors in older fandoms stop talking to each other because of fans shipping them. Please don’t do this to anyone. Remember he’s 21, and she’s 16).

2. Ghosts. They need to stay ghosts. Trust me, I want them to come back to life as much as y’all, but I don’t think there are any ways that they can bring them back that doesn’t feel like a cheat. Plus, I really really want the heartfelt goodbye from the guys in the last episode before they move on. What can I say? I love my bittersweet endings. Could you imagine the material they could give us? They could even bring Julies mom in to help the boys cross over.

3. I NEED to see more of the guys in the 90’s. I have a ton of questions. Some of which are: was Bobby always kinda to the side? How long was Luke gone? I want to see Reggie and Alex’s life. Who’s house was the studio at? (We can cross out Luke and Reggie, we’ve seen their houses/where they were.) but I have my own theory that it was Alex’s house before Julie’s family solely based on the reason that that’s why the guys were in there and why Alex lingers. But then that poses the reason why did his parents leave the house? Maybe because it was too hard to live there when they lived there with their son? But then that poses the question if they “forgave” him for being gay?

4. Reggie, I know he wasn’t intended to be, especially since I heard the “that was pretty hot!” scene was improvised, but I need him to be bi so bad. I am not sure I’m right, but I only have seen three (?) canonically bisexual characters on screen in my twenty years of life. And that’s Cheryl from Riverdale (😒) and my personal fav, Eleanor from The Good Place, and we also have a sprinkle of Korra in there. I literally cannot think of another. But lookie here! They’re all women, where are my bi guys (if you know any male bi characters? Send them my way👀). But seriously, Reggie has such potential to be great Bi rep! If I had seen a character like him I might have realized and accepted my sexuality way before I did. Because ironically I had a sexuality crisis at seventeen because a guy friend grabbed me by the shoulder and asked for my help not too different from Luke singing to Reggie lol!

5. Hollywood Ghost Club. I would really love to see more about it. I’m pretty sure I know what’s going on, Caleb most likely made a deal with the devil. But I’d love to see the guys and Julie help free all of the other trapped spirits he’s lured into the club. Also, on the topic of ghosts as a whole, I wonder if there’s any negative effects on a ghost staying non earth too long. It happens a lot in movies/books. They almost turn into a wraith, a darker version, only a shadow of themselves. I wonder if it applies here too.

6. Oh dang, CASPER. As per my previous posts as I was writing this, I was backhanded with memories of one of my favorite childhood movies, which I just recently watched again. Above I say maybe Julies mom could help them cross over. But remember how Luke promises to talk to Julies mom once they cross over? What if they do just that. A line that struck a chord while watching the movie was from the mother’s scene when she comes back: “let’s just say you know three crazy ghosts that kept their word.” And y’all, when she said that line not gonna lie I nearly cried thinking about that for the show. She also mentions that because her family loved her so much, she doesn’t have any unfinished business. I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t have any unfinished business either. Casper came out in.... you guessed it.... 1995. So I wouldn’t be surprised if they got some inspiration from it. Not to mention that it’s also a kids movie that has some pretty serious moments that kinda shocked me with how sad they were rewatching as an adult. I guess that’s why I loved it so much.

7. Carrie. I really want to learn more about Carrie and Julies dynamic. We know they were friends (I’m assuming with Flynn too?) and had a falling out. But why? And in the last episode she’s clearly proud of Julie after the performance, so I really want them to make up and have her be part of the group again. And maybe learn the truth about the guys?

8. Willie and Alex, god I want them to be together so bad. Of course, Caleb owns willies soul, so that’s not great, so I’d definitely love that subplot of the group trying to free the ghosts of the HGC. We didn’t see Willie too much this season, so I hope we do get more time with him. Also, I absolutely need a big musical number like Perfect Harmony between Alex and Willie. The only time I’ve ever seen a scene like that between gay characters has been in Rock of Ages (an adult musical) with “can’t fight this feeling” and it was hilarious and I need something like it for this show because it would be super cute 🥺.

9. Not particularly a theory but I’m really wondering how long Caleb is going to be in Nick. Julie has already stated that she’s kinda over him, and that it would be unfair to lead him on... so what happens when he realizes she probably won’t take the bait. Other than that, I really hope Sasha has fun playing Caleb through Nick, it has the potential to be great.

10. I’m not exactly sure what their unfinished business is going to be, but I’m almost certain it has to deal with Julie somehow. But the ending absolutely has to be the guys moving on. The ending has to be big though. They have to play somewhere awesome and then they find out... they’re done here. I’d honestly like a whole episode just dedicated to their goodbye. The way I see it, the second to last episode can end with them smiling after the performance and then that smile fading just a little bit, because that was when they realized. Then the final episode will be then telling Julie (and anyone else who knows about them by then) and finally moving on. Here I’m torn. I’ve mentioned both above but let me get more in depth. Version one: the one I originally came up with. This dealt with when the guys are ready to move on, Julies mom would come and help guide them into crossing over. I really liked this idea for a while, until I watched Casper again. Version two: the one I now like better(?) is the guys moving on, and after they do, Julies mom comes back (where even Ray and Carlos can see her) because “let’s just say you know three crazy ghosts who kept their word.” Could you IMAGINE??? It would absolutely reduce me to bawling I want it right now. The reason I like this one a little more is because we can skip to a little while after everything, and she gets a sign from them (just like her mom sending her the flower in the S1 finale) to show that they are still watching over her. And then we fade to black.

So that’s most of my thoughts on this show, if there’s typos in this I absolutely don’t care at all I wrote this instead of doing college work.

[geekgemsspooksandtoons]

Bioshock Rebirth Part 1 told in a humorous way

Showed this to @feckinatlas like some of the others. I had this in my draft oh wait. Yeah this is part of my Bioshock Rebirth AU, my reimagining/reboot of the Bioshock franchise. While I don’t wanna write a full on novel because I’m lazy like that. Yet I wanted to make a funny recap. Originally this would of been part 1 and 2. But I decided to keep as 1 right now.

Basically was inspired by stuff like the ByteSize recaps of The Last Of Us. So if you want to know the full story but keep it short. Despite some parts seem long and deep. Yet this is told in a humorous way. Hopefully you enjoy it. Including the night before I am uploading this. I decided to add Booker’s parts because I imagine him as a boss.

Part 1.

Archie: My aircraft was shot down and now it crashed into the ocean near this lighthouse! What the Hell is all this!? Andrew Ryan? An underwater city called Rapture? Weird looking people trying to kill me? Weird diving suit monsters with drills? Little girls holding giant needles? What the Hell is going on down here?

Atlas: Oy lad! My name is Atlas. I’m the leader of the rebellion going against Ryan. He’s an asshole and I made the distress call. We need to take Ryan down and we need your help.

Archie: Okay man who I trust and grow to admire as a father figure who reminds me of myself. Hi two ladies.

Daisy: Hey there I’m Daisy. I’m Atlas’s 2nd in command and....I guess I’m gay with Diane.

Diane: We had a weird history.

Archie: Ah no judgement there. :)

Atlas: Now we need your help rescuing this young girl Ryan has imprisoned. We don’t know why she’s imprisoned but we need to save her.

Later.

Elizabeth: I’m Elizabeth and I want to go Paris! But I’m stuck in this tower. :( But you’re real and that’s so awesome! :D

Archie: Hi Elizabeth! I’m here to rescue you! 

Bluto: Who in the fuck wants her out!?

Archie: AH SHIT HE’S A BIG DIVING SUIT MONSTER! 

*When they get out.*

Elizabeth: Oh my God it’s so great out here!

Archie: Oh crap I’m starting to like her.

*As they explore Rapture more.*

Atlas: Ah crap they’re working like a team! She’s using these small tears to help him out while he shoots stuff!

Elizabeth: I feel like I’m gonna lose my mind and go crazy seeing all this death and unpleasant stuff. :( Especially after meeting that Steinman guy.

Archie: You’re going to be alright. Nothing is gonna hurt you. Don’t become apathetic. We’ll get through this together. :)

Elizabeth: I feel comfortable with you. :)

Atlas: Now since that Big Daddy is dead. Put that Little Sister out of her misery!

Archie: Oh Hell no man! There has to be another way!

Brigid: Do not hurt my little ones. Hello young man and young girl. Use this thing to free them from their torment.

Archie: Ah thanks lady. :)

Atlas: Don’t trust her Arch! She’s responsible for them!

Archie: But she’s trying to help them! :(

Booker: Argh! I work for Ryan’s personal guard! You’re Atlas’s Dog. I’ll send my troopers to get that girl back. Including I’ll wonder if I should capture or kill you!

*After going around unpopulated and some populated parts in Rapture for nearly a week.*

Archie: Ah man Tenenbaum’s safehouse is pretty nice. And these Little Sisters are kids and are great. :) Yet Brigid seems weird around. Especially she looked like I looked familiar. Even Atlas did so too. And sometimes he says these three words sometimes and my head hurts.

Later.

Julie: These are my franken trees.

Archie and Elizabeth: Woah!

Later.

Cohen: I’m Sander Cohen and I’m a weird and disgusting artist guy! 

Archie: Ugh I don’t like him.

Elizabeth: Me neither.

Jasmine: Hi I’m Jasmine and I’m a stripper. :)

Archie: This Jasmine lady is very nice. Glad we were able to rescue her.

Later.

Bluto: Argh! Give me back Elizabeth! I’m trying to protect her! 

Archie: We need to stop the Proto-Daddy! We have to kill him.

Elizabeth: No I can’t kill the closest thing I had to a protective brother.

Archie: I understand that Elizabeth but we have to stop him or he’s gonna cause more death and destruction. I would love if there was another way. Including there’s no turning back if you have to stop him.

Elizabeth: I understand but let me be the one who has to put him down. I’m not going to enjoy this.

*Puts him through a tear that sends him into space as he falls from orbit.*

Bluto: Nooooo! You were my best friend Elizabeth!

Elizabeth: :(

Archie: I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sure he was a great friend. *Hugs her to comfort her.* You’re still a good person.

Booker: Argh! That’s it boy scout let’s fight! Why the Hell aren’t you mutating? Why are you so badass? How are you able to kill so many of my troopers with some what ease! Fight me boy scout! I’ll show you how a real soldier fights!

Archie: Okay gruff old man!

Booker: No you beat me! I just want my daughter back! She’s the only important thing in my life! She deserves better than this. :(

Elizabeth: You’re my father. 

Archie: I’m not gonna kill you because while you’re an asshole. You don’t wanna hurt children and you still love your daughter. Now let’s go Elizabeth. 

Later.

Atlas: Alright Arch we’re close to getting to Ryan. How about you go to Ryan and take him down. Whether you kill him or not. I’ll take care of Tenenbaum and Elizabeth since they trust me a lot. Even though with Tenenbaum she still doesn’t trust me fully.

Archie: Thanks Atlas. You’re a great friend. :) Now excuse me while me and some others go to Ryan. You can take care of the two closest people I’ve known in my life. I’m sure they will be in good hands.

Later.

Archie: It’s over Ryan! 

Ryan: A man chooses. A slave obeys. A broken slave has no purpose. You’re a broken machine who’s entire life was a lie. 

Archie: Bullshit. >:(

Ryan: Would you kindly? Familiar phrase.

Archie: Ah my head hurts AND OH MY GOD ATLAS KEPT USING THAT PHRASE AND I’VE BEEN SEEING WEIRD SHIT LIKE ME WANTING TO KILL YOU!

Ryan: Yes he has and you saw that Fontaine was involved in your process. Now beat me to death with this golf club so you can prove you’re just a slave.

Archie: Hell no old man! >:( *Takes the genetic key and goes back to Atlas.*

Later.

Archie: Atlas how did you know of the WYK plans?

Atlas: I don’t know what you’re talking about boyo? But hey did you know Elizabeth’s lips taste like strawberries? She tried to kiss me you know.

*Atlas gets knocked out by a wrench and Archie finds the two ladies tied up.*

Elizabeth: Oh my God you came back! I found out I was born full of ADAM!

Brigid: Yes he did thank goodness you came back. Atlas terrorized us! 

Archie: I’m here to save you two from Atlas because he’s been lying to me about a lot of stuff. *His radio gets called.* Hello?

Atlas: Code Yellow. >:)

Archie: AHHHHH! I’m slowly dying and it’s more raw now! My life is flashing right before my eyes! 

Elizabeth: Oh no Archie! :(

Brigid: We need help and have to find the stuff to stop him from dying! We owe it to him!

Archie: I’m slowly losing my mind! I’m dying! I’m remembering everything! Andrew Ryan! Frank Fontaine! Yi Suchong! Brigid Tenenbaum! Jasmine Jolene! the Lutece twins! Johnny Topside! What the Hell happened to me!? What is my life!? I’m remembering everyone I met in Rapture! I’m not 23 and actually 5 years old!? My name is Jack Ryan!? What the Hell happened to my life!?

After that he wakes up.

Archie: Brigid knew who I was! I’m angry! >:( She had a hand in ruining my life!

Elizabeth: Archie no! I forgave Brigid! Please don’t hurt her!

Brigid: Ah yes you’re pointing a gun on me that I made sure has no ammo. I think you finally remember everything. :(

Archie: My real name is Jack Ryan. I’m actually 5 years old. I literally was ordered to snap a puppy’s neck by Suchong. Frank was gonna use me to save Elizabeth and kill Ryan! You were one of the people responsible for ruining my life!? And you didn’t tell me when you found out it was me!? I’m not a actual human because of what you, Fontaine, and Suchong did to me! I was supposed to be a slave! What the Hell did Johnny Topside do to me!? >:O

Brigid: Yes I had a hand. But I feel great shame. You were meant to be a sleeper agent. But Johnny discovered you. He couldn’t handle the idea of someone like you going through that. So he kidnapped you, punched Suchong in the face, and he had help reprogramming you. I felt empathy as well. This happened when I realized what I did to the Little Sisters. Me and him changed your life. We gave you the name Archie. While the Lutece twins made sure you were in a place where Fontaine could never find you.

Archie: Johnny did that?

Brigid: Yet due to the experiments done on you. Along with you going through military training. You became stronger than you ever were. Yet it was your own choice to become a soldier.

Archie: Woah.

Brigid: Fontaine used Johnny’s death as propaganda. As if Johnny was the first to rebel against Ryan. In a way he did. But the truth was that all Johnny wanted for you was a normal life. In a way he was practically the real Atlas in a way. Since Atlas was inspired by him. Including some of Johnny’s traits and memories went to you in a different way. He became a slave to give you freedom. And I feel terrible that I couldn’t save him. :( You don’t have to forgive me. 

Archie: I forgive you. ;_; *Breaks down crying as Brigid, Elizabeth, and the Little Sisters hug him. Because before this. He showcased he was more human than he ever was.*

Later.

Archie: We gonna stop Frank! 

Atlas: Oy you fucking mistake! You were the closest thing I had to a son! You were meant to be my Ace In The Hole! Yet you didn’t kill Ryan! You got too close to Mother Goose, the Little Magician, those brats, and anyone else! Johnny Topside ruined everything! Tenenbaum betrayed! So you know what, I’m gonna take the woman you’ve grown to love! She and all the ADAM in this city are gonna make me a lot money! You are gonna die alone because you have everything I didn’t have!

Archie: Johnny Topside was more of a father than you ore Ryan could ever be! >:(

Atlas: That’s it time for the disappointment wrench! >:(

*Hits him with the disappointment wrench.*

Elizabeth: No! ;_;

Atlas: My secret is out! I gonna get the Hell out of this city! Everything’s gone busto!

Archie: We gonna save Elizabeth! He has the genetic key! We need to kill Frank Fontaine!

Daisy: We the remaining rebellion can help you!

Archie: That’s great! But I’m worried we may need some Little Sisters help to free Elizabeth! I don’t want to put them in danger.

Brigid: Don’t worry I’ll trust you and we believe in you. We’ll help however we can.

Later.

Archie: It’s okay Elizabeth! I’m coming! Holy shit Frank is that you!?

Atlas: I’m half transformed by this ADAM and using some power from Elizabeth. Now time to go mano a mano against you.

*Both men just scream battle cries at each other as they fight to the death.*

Atlas: I’m so angry at you! I’m gonna beat you to death! Meaning you can’t save this woman you’ve grown to love! 

*Miranda, Sally, and some Little Sisters free Elizabeth so she can use a tear on him.*

Atlas: Ah crap! 0_0;

*Archie screams a battle cry as he stabs Atlas in the chest with a ADAM syringe and hangs him brutally down a glass ceiling. Resulting in the death of Atlas/Frank Fontaine.*

Archie: Hooray we did it! :)

Elizabeth: Yes we did it! :)

Daisy: Fontaine is dead! Ryan is gone! Let’s make Rapture a place where a community can safely live at. :)

Archie: I’m not alone anymore too. I have a family now! 

*Two months of changing stuff as much as they can. Since there is the scary risk if Rapture is found by the surface.*

During that time, relaxation, relationships developing. Also this.

Jasmine: I’m sorry that I sold you for money. I know you must hate me. 

Archie: I forgive you. :) I understand and you’re my birth mom.

Jasmine: Thank you. ;_; *They just hug each other.* I’m so proud of you.

[wavesmp3]

i, spy; hansol x fem!reader spy au wc. 1.8k

a/n: another piece that was originally meant for sha’s lost for words challenge, i had so many ideas for where this was gonna go, but this wip has been collecting dust for two years now lol

--

NEW YORK, USA END OF JULY, 2018

And with three shaky knocks on the frame of your door, you’re pulled from the comfort of your sofa and plush pillows to peer out of the peephole. And by the time your eyes register whom the messy, chestnut colored hair belongs to, the air has already left your lungs. You swing the oak door open, and pull the boy inside. 

“What are you doing here?” You whisper as if they could hear you, perhaps they could. 

“It’s okay,” he says holding on to your arms, “I’m okay.” 

“Why the fuck aren’t you in Seoul right now?” 

“How do you know, I’m supposed to be in Seoul?” A smirk fights its way onto the curve of his lips. 

You shift uncomfortably and mutter something about being better at hacking than you were before. And when his eyes do that dumb sparkle thing that would’ve had you weak in the knees two years ago, you shrug his arms off yours. 

“You should leave.” 

“But you don’t even know why I’m here.” He whines, and if it wasn’t for the way you missed the gruff of his voice and the touch of his hands, you would’ve kicked him out long ago. But despite the empty promises you’ve made to your bosses and clients alike, you do. You miss Hansol. More than anything. 

“Fine,” you huff giving in to the temptation dancing under your goosebumps, “why are you here?”

He smiles then, a free smile, that reminds you of the winter you spent roaming around South America ignoring calls and texts from everyone but him. 

“I left them,” he says as if it’s a simple mundane thing, “I left the agency,” he repeats letting the weight of his words sink into the ends of your nerves. 

And you can only utter one thing: 

“You fucking idiot.” 

MANILA, PHILIPPINES SEPTEMBER, 2016

Your phone buzzes with a text. 

Remember why you’re here

You scoff and shove your phone back into your purse, pulling the straps of your heels over your ankles. You quickly fit some last minute equipment to the inside of your thighs, and leave the hotel room. When you reach the elevators, you press the down button although it’s already been pressed presumably by the boy near the wall fumbling with his tie.   

He lets out a frustrated groan, and walks closer to where you’re standing, waiting for an elevator to appear. “Would you happen to know how to tie a tie?” 

And because you think he looks cute with his thick brows furrowed in frustration, you say yes and take up his tie in your hands. He tilts his head down, and watches your fingers tie the tie around his neck. You take note of the way your stomach flutters when his breath hits the ends of your fingers. You finish, smoothing out the ends of his tie, and meet his eyes which are already settled on you.

He opens his mouth. You expect a thank you, but instead he says, “You look beautiful.” And with the way his words leave his lips, it sounds like a compliment that should've been given by your best friend who has been secretly harboring feelings for you instead of some guy you just met. So you chuckle, and mutter a small thank you stepping into the dinging elevator which had just appeared. 

You press the second floor, and he follows in behind you pressing the floor above the one you were headed to. 

“Ah,” he mutters noticing which floor you had pressed, “you headed to that party, huh?”

You decide you like entertaining the naive boy, and respond with, “Sadly, yes.” 

He laughs at that, the sound filling the elevator like smoke. 

“Can I just suggest one thing?” He asks, brushing an imaginary piece of lint off your shoulder. And with the way his eyes gleam back at yours, the naiveness from just moments before suddenly gone, you think he might want to give something more than just a suggestion. 

Silence is the only thing that escapes from your parted lips. He takes it as a yes. You had meant to say no. 

He leans in so that his lips are nearly touching your ear and whispers, “Next time,” his hands flutter over the leg of your dress, then tap the spot where the holster fitted around your thigh holds your gun, “choose a better dress to hide your gun.” 

To say you’re flustered, is more than just an understatement.

You flick his hand away from your leg and pull the holster up your thigh yourself. 

“There,” he mutters, observing the new holster placement as if it's his job “much better.” The smile on his face signals that he likes the way confidence escapes you from your pores. So you stand up a little straighter, and push your shoulders back. You should’ve made some mindless threat to ensure the seemingly harmless boy kept quiet, but instead your curiosity acts against your better judgement, and you hear yourself asking, “how?”

The elevator dings, the sliding doors opening to his floor. He leans in close one last time and whispers, “Takes one to know one.” 

He saunters out of the elevator, and walks as if in a hurry to someplace else, but when the doors close, his eyes find yours, a shining sparkle in a sea of brown and beige. 

When the doors finally shut, you want to melt into the cold metal of the elevator floor.

So much for harmless and naive. 

When your phone buzzes from inside your purse, you’re bitterly reminded of how they’re watching. You read the text.

You know better

And they’re right. You do. 

So when you can’t shake the feeling on his hands against your thigh and his lips next to your ear later that night in the middle of your mission, you’re ashamed more than anything else. 

MEXICO CITY, MEXICO  END OF OCTOBER, 2016

You take a seat at the bar. You shake your head, and Carl, the bartender who you’ve become familiar with in the past two weeks, moves away to attend to other customers. 

“So you travel?” Asks a voice behind you. And when you turn to look at the person, you’re bitterly reminded of the odd turn of events in Manila which ended with lingering thoughts of a boy whose name you didn’t even know. Thoughts of the boy who was now standing in front of you in a bar in the center of Mexico City. 

You scoff, “Spare me the bullshit, please.”

He laughs taking a seat on the barstool next to you. You think the way he brushes his leg against yours might be intentional. “So how did Manila go?” He asks leaning dangerously close to you. 

“Oh wouldn’t you like to know,” you say wishing you had a drink in front of you to wash down the silence. 

“Actually,” he begins, his tone sounding more like the boy who asked you to tie his tie for him, innocent, boyish, mundane even, “I wanted to say sorry. I think I might’ve overstepped myself back in Manila,” you only hum in response, so he tries again, tentatively asking, “did you mind?”

You spare him a side-eyed glance, “Only a little.” You answer more truthfully than you had intended. You don’t miss the small smile painted on his face by the color of your words. “So what brings you to Mexico then?” You ask. 

“Work,” he replies with a smirk looking over your shoulder. “You?”

“Break,” you say bored. “So, I never got your name.” 

He turns his head towards you, “Well, you never asked.” 

So you do. 

“Vernon,” he says. You tell him yours except that it’s not your real name, and you presume the name he gave you isn’t his either. 

“So Vernon, what do you like to drink?” 

He thinks for a moment before saying, “Scotch.” 

“Carl,” you call who nods already starting to fix your drinks. You clink your glass against Vernon’s, “To Manila,” You both down the drink. And then a couple more. 

And with each rush of alcohol against your throat, the goosebumps on your skin seem to grow. You aren’t sure if it’s the alcohol or him brushing his knee against yours. But either way both you and the alcohol in your veins are enjoying it. 

And by the time you start feeling the effect of the scotch, Vernon’s thigh is almost flush against yours. You could’ve sworn there was more space between each barstool. He turns his stool around so that his back is leaning against the bar. You don’t miss the way his eyes narrow at something or rather someone else in the bar. The methodical tapping of his finger against his empty glass seems too calculated for the laid back nature of each gulp of scotch. 

You feel a little foolish. You aren’t sure if that’s because of the alcohol or because of the way your stomach still churns when his thigh ghosts against yours. You take another large gulp of scotch and follow Vernon’s gaze across the bar. You tell yourself you do so because you’re curious instead of something as pathetic as jealous. 

You expect his gaze to be laid upon someone pretty, easy to pick up and take home, and as misogynistic as that sounds, you don’t blame him. With the life the two of you live there isn’t much time for something as idealistic as relationships. So imagine your surprise when you follow his gaze across the bar to two English looking men talking in hushed tones and paranoid glances over their shoulders over an open laptop and a locked briefcase. 

You chuckle, “When you said work, I didn’t think you meant in the bar.” 

He only responds with an absent-minded hum, too focused on observing the two men. 

“This entire thing,” he mutters, “it’s off-radar.” 

Now, this peaks your interest. 

He turns back around to face the bar. “And those two men are the reason why.” 

You think it’s all too easy. You don’t tell him, but you think it’s fake. So you continue to obviously observe the two men. When the men leave, you turn back around to the bar. 

“No, no,” Vernon says, shaking his head, “keep watching them for me.” 

“Oh, well it’s kinda late for that,” you pause, Vernon stares at you working out what you mean, “they already left.” 

“Wait what?” He doubles around at the now empty booth. 

“You kinda suck at this,” you note, taking a sip of your drink. 

“Shit,” he grabs your hand and drags you away with him to the obscure hallway in which the two men left through.

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