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nona-piccolo · 3 years

Text

A Savior

Pairing(s): Reader x Beelzebub

Pronouns: she/her/hers

Warnings: attempted assault, some harsh language

The underworld, or what they liked to call the ‘Devildom’ was rarely silent. It seemed to be one of the busiest places you’ve ever had the opportunity to live in; the constant rush of demons walking by, sometimes in pairs and sometimes alone, the lights from demon-owned stores and restaurants, the loud talking of conversations. Not only did it feel natural, but it felt welcoming. It felt comfortable.

It was a whole different story at night however.

The demons that would walk by had their hoods up, they had their hands stuffed into their pockets that filled your mind with mystery on what they could be clutching in their hands. And the conversations between them were more hushed. Almost nonexistent. The normally bright and lit city was now dimmed; it seemed almost… alarming.

It was quiet now, and that was something you found unsettling.

You should have felt safe.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you felt alone and shaky. You had never seen the Devildom this way. The chill of the night time breeze making you feel completely naked, despite the layers of clothes you wore over your RAD uniform. Silently you thanked Asmodeus for boisterously wrapping you in a light pink scarf this morning. He insisted that its color would match your rosy cheeks. Unsurprisingly, Asmo’s perfume was still gripped to the scarf like a stain. Its light and warm fabric did wonders to keep you from completely panicking as you clutched to it for dear life.

The shadows of the large buildings cast imaginary images in your mind. They seemed to claw at the night sky, so that when you looked up, you could barely see the faint light of the stars. Each street lamp seemed dimmer and dimmer the further you walked, grappling you down a path of darkness.

Suddenly, the scurrying of a small creature jumped from the shadows and onto the street, where it ran ballistically in circles before jolting down the road that you were the only one occupying. You had let out an audible screech at the intrusion of silence, feeling your heart race a pounding rate.

“Goddamnit…” you muttered in a hushed tone, watching the little creature squeak back into the darkness. That thing almost gave you a heart attack. You couldn’t see a thing. You couldn’t hear a thing. Were you even going the right way? You thought the path home was simple and easy enough- you had the Devildom roads engraved into your memory from the months you’ve spent here. It was like looking at the back of your hand. So why were you hesitating now?

You walked around the corner, the tippy top of the RAD building was now officially out of your point of view. Maybe by some luck from God, you’d run into Solomon, who decided that this night would be one of the nights he was staying late from school to research more in the library too. Or maybe Simeon would appear from a late night stroll and wisk you back to the House of Lamentation. Maybe if you turned back now Diavolo would still be at the RAD building working on some wretched paperwork he always liked to complain about. Maybe out of the kindness of his heart, he’d walk you home. He’d make sure you’d be safe.

You lightly scoffed. Why the hell would the literal Prince of the Devildom take out the time of his night to help walk some human home?

No, you could do this. One step at a time, each step getting you closer to the building that you had got to call home, filled with the comfort of each brother. A small smile pulled on your face as you recalled the faces of the seven demons. Lucifer, Mammon, Levi, Satan, Asmo, Belphie… and Beel. The thought of them gave you a slight moment to breathe normally again.

Had you been breathing so heavily this entire time?

No, you told yourself, it’ll be okay. You wanted them to know that you could handle yourself out here. That they didn’t have to constantly baby you. That the Devildom wasn’t as bad as it was portrayed in stories and books. Despite the warnings that Lucifer had given you about other demons when you first arrived here, spending time with such wonderful demons such as the brothers, may have brought your guard down. It may have accidentally caused you to see all demons in a good light.

And that naivety allowed for your mind to wander far enough as to not have heard the several footsteps that dragged close behind you.

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Mammon tapped a finger against the armchair, shifting his sitting position again for the fiftieth time in the last twenty minutes. He must have looked like a madman to the normal person, his head swivelling to the door and to then the hallway and then behind him again and again. He was waiting for something to happen; or to put it more frankly he was waiting for you. Any minute now you would bound through the front door with a big grin on your face, and then Mammon’s ass would be saved from getting into trouble. Lucifer wouldn’t find out that he let you walk home alone and then proceed to hang him from his feet off of the banister for the poor choices he’s made.

Or… that was what he kept telling himself.

Instantly, a shadow of shame fell across the white-haired demon’s face. He couldn’t believe he was more worried about getting into trouble than making sure your life wasn’t in danger. Was he really this selfish? This greedy?

During breakfast time he had pulled you off to the side, begging for you to take his place in searching for the required books on the next project he had due. Mammon had always hated scoping through a barrage of books at the library. It was nauseating and boring; and he had no interest in finding the correct book titles and carding through said books just for a measly literature project.

No. Instead what interested him was the underground gambling ring that he had heard of. The rumors danced through the school for weeks now, and with the many connections Mammon had made over the years, he knew this was a chance for him to make potential easy bank. So the plan was simple; he would get you to do the after school research for him, while he ditched his last classes of school in exchange for going gambling. The difficult part wasn’t the ditching- since Mammon was practically a pro at that- but the fact that he needed to actually persuade you in agreeing to his stupid idea. But even now, you continued to surprise him. Despite knowing how excruciatingly long it could take, and besides the fact that it wasn’t your burden to carry, you still accepted.

Mammon felt like crying.

Despite the hundreds of calls Mammon sent to your phone, you didn’t pick up once.

It’s been hours now and he still hasn’t heard from you.

Lucifer was going to murder him.

Lucifer was going to find out that he made you walk alone at night and he was going to rip his head off of his body and stake it right on the-

“Mammon?”

“EEEEEEEEEEEEK!!” Mammon screamed, throwing his body against the chair with so much force he almost knocked the entire thing over. He didn’t even realize Asmo had made his way into the main room so silently. “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING I SWEAR!”

Asmodeus raised an eyebrow, his hands sassily thrown on his hips as he stared at Mammon with familiar disinterest. His younger brother was wearing his pink night robe, another reminder to Mammon that it was already so late. “Like I’d believe that, but this isn’t about you. I’m looking for Y/N~ Have you seen her?”

The question was an innocent one, but almost automatically Mammon felt his stomach bubble with poison. He suddenly felt sick and queasy, steadying himself on the arms of the chair. “No….” The muscles in Mammon’s shoulders involuntarily flinched. Mammon should have said more, but it was like his body was rejecting it. Like if he didn’t admit out loud that Y/N hasn’t come home yet, it wouldn’t be a reality.

Now, Asmodeus wasn’t dull. It was his pride and ability to understand feelings and communication that allowed him to read the room like an Olympic, and yet in this instance it wouldn’t take a philosopher to recognize something was very wrong. “Mammon, weren’t you with her?” He questioned lightly, eyebrows twitching in annoyance. “I haven’t seen my darling all day, which is already weird since she was supposed to come to my room tonight and help me apply a new face mask. It’s almost 12:30!!” he huffed, inching closer and closer to Mammon’s face as the latter continuously attempted to sink further back into the seat. Hopefully the chair would swallow Mammon whole and save him from this living nightmare.

Mammon shrugged his shoulders as a wordless I don’t know, which only seemed to agitate Asmo more. Quickly he realized that Asmodeus needed to hear actual words.

“Oh boy… is it hot in here? Because I’m sweating buckets ehehe..” Mammon laughed humorlessly, reaching up to fan the collar of his shirt in order to get air flowing over his sweat ridden neck.

“No, I thouft if wash ashually prettie chillie thoday.”

This time, it wasn’t Asmo’s high pitched and whiny voice to respond.

It was a deep and slow rumbling voice, and way more unclear due to the fact that it seemed like said demon had his mouth full of food. A preoccupied Beelzebub was standing over Asmodeus, his giant shadow casted over the lust demon. His arms were full with a variety of different foods he no doubt snatched from the kitchen on the way back to his room for a midnight snack. He cradled the food in his arms like they were his children, ready for him to gobble up as soon as he probably got back to his room. Actually, Mammon was shocked that there was any food left for Beel to even take back to his room, let alone the fact that the ginger demon was standing here in the main hall trying to butt into their business. Usually Beel was uninterested in idle chat that the rest of his brothers were involved in. Banter and arguments were of no interest to Beelzebub.

And yet for some reason, Beel found interest in the conversation that Mammon and Asmo were having.

“I actually haven’t seen Y/N at all today either. She’s not in her room” Beel muttered, slowly taking another giant bite from a rather large sandwich. His eyes were trained down on the floor, clearly bothered by the conclusion that left his lips.

There it was. That was the reason Beelzebub inserted himself into the conversation.

Because of Y/N.

Mammon felt another train of guilt ram into his chest, and he clutched the area above his heart as if it could stop it from bursting. He knew how much Y/N means to Beel. He knew from the many late night talks Mammon and Beel had; how the ginger would once confess to Mammon that he may have liked her more than normal. That he was confused on why her smiles made him feel lightheaded, and that her laughter made her almost ten times prettier than she already was. Mammon had simply brushed Beel off as a lunatic at that time. Beel was a demon, and Y/N was a human. Beel was simply delusional.

But Mammon had watched the two interact from that moment on. All the baking Y/N had done for Beel, when they were the first two to fall asleep leaning on each other after movie night, how Beel made sure to split his food portions with her, how they both pulled away like lightning shocked them when their hands accidentally touch, how he purposefully requested foods that he knew were her favorites. He realized it wasn’t just a fleeting thing that Beelzebub felt. His closed up and simple-minded younger brother truly and deeply admired Y/N.

Mammon felt like an awful older brother in that moment.

“See?!” Asmodeus gestured to Beel with open arms. “Even Beel hasn’t seen her. What is going on?”

Mammon couldn’t even lift his head to look into the eyes of his worried little brothers. The hurt on their faces would cause him to burst. Mammon concluded he had to be one the unluckiest demon in the world.

Before he could answer, someone yet again spoke up. Another familiar face; and one that Mammon had been dreading.

“I thought I’d find you all here. What is all the ruckus about?”

Nope. He spoke too soon. He was the unluckiest demon in the world.

Mammon swallowed his saliva thickly, his throat clogging up almost instantly, making his whole body freeze as if all his blood was turned into ice. He wasn’t the only one; Asmo and Beel had both tensed up at the mere sound of the voice.

Lucifer stood there, his arms crossed against his chest. He was probably waiting for the situation to be explained. He was probably waiting to hear how Mammon had screwed something up this time. How Mammon had managed to cause them trouble yet again. ‘Mammon this’ and ‘Mammon that’. The guilt was written all over his face. They might as well handcuff him and throw him in a prison cell to rot.

Maybe that’s what he deserves.

Unlike the other two, Mammon raised his head slowly to get a look at Lucifer. There were dark undereye circles formed under his striking red eyes, and it was clear Lucifer needed some sleep from the tireless work he probably had today. His eyes looked different.

They looked exhausted. They looked dead. Perhaps they were.

“Lucifer! We haven’t seen Y/N all day, so we were just asking Mammon where she was! I mean, she’s not in her room, she’s not picking up her phone, she’s not anywhere!” Asmodeus hurriedly explained, brushing out a stray piece of hair that had fallen in front of his perfect face.

Beel nodded in agreement, turning towards Lucifer to give him his full attention.

But even with all their eyes now trained on Lucifer, the demon of pride gave none of them his attention; only Mammon. His eyes were narrowed down and zoned in on the cowering man. All color had left Mammon’s face as he tried to stop himself from shaking at the potential news he needed to share to the rest of his brothers- and for the punishment that would be coming as a result.

“Well? Where is she Mammon?” Lucifer demanded, tapping a finger. “Didn’t she walk home with you today?”

The white-haired demon may not be the brightest tool in the shed; but he knew when to admit guilt. He knew that with every second wasted, Y/N was still out there on the streets of literal hell walking home alone. He couldn’t worry about the punishment he may face because of his stupid mistake; her safety should have come first.

He forced himself to speak. His throat made a strange noise when he swallowed.

“I-I… I don’t know,” he said softly. His shoulders were tensed up and his head was dropped forward. As if he was ashamed. “I didn’t walk home with her today… She stayed late doing research at the academy while I went home.”

Lucifer’s eye twitched involuntarily, and his nails suddenly dug into his own arms harshly. “You WHAT?” he yelled, his expression differing from Asmodeus and Beelzebub’s expression.

Asmo’s eyes widened tenfold, and his mouth hung agape. “She’s walking home alone?! Around Devildom all willy nilly?!” he screeched, panic rushing through his veins at an alarming speed. While Asmo’s panicked expression was just as frightening to Mammon, Lucifer’s anger was far worse. He could see all kinds of emotions in Lucifer's face. The wrinkle of anger across his forehead, the fear, wrath, and disappointment portrayed in his eyes.

“Let me get this straight Mammon, she is still out there at 12:30 am in the middle of the Devildom because you decided that you weren’t going to make sure she’s fine, even though that was the job assigned to you. She could be killed! We haven’t got a hold of her yet, and you are just sitting here WAITING?” Lucifer’s voice was sharp and cold, hitting the nail on every point. Even through his cracked exterior, Mammon could tell Lucifer was panicking.

“When was the last time anyone saw her??” Lucifer demanded, quickly zeroing in on Asmodeus. He probably didn’t want to look at Mammon’s guilt-ridden face anymore. And Mammon couldn’t blame him.

Asmodeus’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t look at me! I haven’t seen her for hours Lucifer!” his light eyes filled to the brim with tears, and his voice on the verge of shaking.

“Lucifer,” Mammon began, his bottom lip trembling. He felt sick. “I- I know I should’ve gone to you straight away but I didn’t mean to-”

“Stop talking Mammon. We will discuss this later,” Lucifer spat, still not looking him in the eye. “Asmodeus, go find Leviathan and tell him to try and track down where Y/N’s phone may be. Wake up Satan and Belphegor. They will be the search party.”

Almost immediately Asmodeus rushed out of the room, leaving Lucifer to deal with the other two.

“Beel, I need you to stay here in case she comes back. If she does we-” Lucifer paused his command, scanning the room at an alarming speed. “Beel?”

The room was empty; all that was left was the remains of leftover food disregarded on the floor of the main hall. They hadn’t seen him leave.

All they heard was the front door slam shut.

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Beel was always more of the quiet type.

His brothers were brash and uncooperative; Mammon would get into trouble, and then Lucifer would begrudgingly step in to fix it, and then Satan or Asmo would poke fun at him, causing him to bite back, all the while Leviathan and Belphegor locked themselves up in their rooms doing their own activities. It’s all in a day of the life. And he really loved them for it.

Despite growing up in an environment with loud and dysfunctional people, it wasn’t a necessity to try and gain attention to himself. In fact, he couldn’t care less. He was content with sitting there watching everyone else interact. Usually the only things on his mind were exercising, spending time with his family, and food.

Ah yes, food.

Both a curse and a blessing.

As the avatar of gluttony, Beelzebub was given an eternal and everlasting greed for food. Like a continuous blackhole, his body disintegrated food as soon as it entered his stomach, leaving him to wish there was more. His stomach could never be satisfied or quenched, nor can his hunger ever be fulfilled.

In its very essence; gluttony.

As much as his stomach has caused problems in the past- like Beel eating the entirety of the kitchen in one sitting, leaving none for his brothers- it also allowed Beel to pass the time and do something. It was like a comfort being able to chew on the foods he found delicious. Especially back when he didn’t have Belphegor to talk to. When he didn’t have Belphegor to spend time with.

He remembers laying in bed at night, staring blankly at his twin’s side of the room, wondering how he was doing or where he was. He hoped Belphegor was happy, he hoped he was safe, but most of all he hoped Belphegor missed him as much as he did. When he was gone, it felt like there were two black holes in Beel’s body; one in his stomach, and one in his heart.

And it really hurt.

The late hours of the nights was what Beelzebub dreaded the most. He knew every night his dreams would sweep him into more pain and anguish- he would dream about Belphegor or Lilith again with a faux sense of happiness, and he couldn’t bear it.

Those were the times he was thankful for his hunger. His stomach would rumble loudly in the dead of night, forcing Beelzebub to snap out of his dreams and get up to the kitchen to half-heartedly try and pursue being full.

Yet now that Belphegor was back home, he no longer felt happy to get up out of bed at night to sneak into the kitchen for another meal. It didn’t make him feel happy anymore, it just continued to bother him. Yet it was practically impossible to ignore it.

Thankfully, Beelzebub had something else to help soothe that ache.

You.

Even if his hunger could never be satisfied, being around you could at least make it bearable. He found himself being reluctant in getting up to go to the kitchen when you had accidentally fallen asleep on his arm. And perhaps that little bit of reluctance was what he needed to get his mind off of food.

Through the multiple months, almost a year and a half now, you had become increasingly important to him. At first he recognised how sweet of a person you were. A part of him was worried you’d be swallowed by the burdens and terror his brothers would put you through, and while there were definitely some ups and downs, they all adored you and your more motherly tendencies. It was something they were all lacking in their lives.

Unbeknownst to him though, his connections with you went further than just enjoying each other’s presence. Perhaps you two weren’t all that different; besides the obvious species you were both categorized into. You would openly laugh at his jokes, cook and bake food for him, never once judged him or gobbling down hordes of food in one sitting, you got along insanely well with Belphegor, you were artistic, kind, and intelligent in your own ways. There was a nagging curiosity that told him he should be spending more time with you. And with that curiosity, he found a plane of comfort and safety around you.

It was so instant. It really caught him off guard.

But now you had made it into the top of his list on people he wanted to keep safe; someone very close to his heart.

And apparently you were out there somewhere on your way home. Yet no one could reach you.

Beelzebub didn’t have the heart to tell Mammon or Lucifer that he had also tried to call your phone several times today. Except, he only came to the surface-level conclusion that you must have been too busy to answer his calls. He had no clue you were alone out here.

If he was Lucifer, there would be multiple scenarios flinging through his mind on where you could be or what could have happened to you. As a natural pessimist, Lucifer might have imagined you already dead in a nearby alleyway by some delinquent demon who was out for human blood. Lucifer could be imagining the grimy hands of multiple demons taking you away- somewhere the brothers would have no way of finding you. Maybe part of Lucifer’s panic came from the fact that this would violate Diavolo’s direct order to keep you safe.

But Beelzebub was not Lucifer. Beel did not have a clear head, or a strategic way of thinking through problems.

No, he was all action and instinct, which is probably why he was still running around the Devildom like a lost cause. Half of Beel’s conscience told him it would be worth the risk to wreck multiple buildings until he somehow would run into you. But he needed to stop the itch of destruction that threatened to climb out of him. Lucifer would only be more angry.

In the back of Beel’s mind he made a reminder to apologize to Lucifer for barging out of the house in the way that he did. But he couldn’t waste any more time when you still weren’t home. Especially since Beelzebub was the most adept physically and capably to track and find you.

Sniff, sniff.

Beelzebub paused in the middle of a random city square, sniffing the air like a bloodhound dog. On a normal day this should be easy for him, but the drizzling rain made it more difficult to pinpoint your scent. A familiar scent of dough and bread made its way into his nostrils. The bakery is about two miles north, and the cafe that we went to a few days ago is a few feet away. Oh God, he couldn’t smell people though, were you already taken?? Who would take you? Who would hurt you? Beel could feel the blood pounding in his heart, and he forced himself not to panic.

Beelzebub took another deep breath, sniffing the air rather loudly, trying to pinpoint exact locations. He could smell sweets, a diner filled with dishes of steak and chicken, and some booze.

His stomach grumbled loudly, mixing with the noises of distant thunder. He couldn’t get angry. He needed to calm down.

Sniff, sniff.

He perked up, head shooting towards a pathway swallowed by complete darkness. That smelled like Asmodeus’s perfume...

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Raindrops flecked at your face, dotting the surface of your eyes.

Of course tonight of all nights, the Devildom would decide to sprinkle a little bit of rain just to make your night a little better.

Everlasting darkness was a permanent feature that came along with the Devildom, and although it took some getting used to, you really didn’t seem to mind it anymore. The sunshine was a wonderful thing; and something that you yearned and missed from back in the human world. But it was something you could live without.

In your opinion, rain was something you could live without too.

You huffed, swiping the light rain from your eyelashes with the palm of your hand in order to try and see the road ahead of you. You were already so tired as it is. The need for your warm and cozy bed where you can fall asleep and get ready for tomorrow was what kept you moving forward. How long did it fucking take to get home??

Tsk, tsk.

A nagging feeling in your guts caused you to look over your shoulder, staring desperately into the shadows lined across buildings and alleyways. After a minute of silence, you turned back around to continue your way to the House of Lamentation. It was probably nothing anyways… you’ve been hearing sounds this entire time and never once had you run into another demon.

Another glance at your dead phone told you that you needed to hurry back.

You cursed yourself for forgetting to charge your phone before heading to bed last night. That’s what some late night gaming with Leviathan will do to you… And yet you could only blame yourself for being unable to reach 5 cm to plug your phone into the charger before knocking out.

Somewhere in the distance, lightning forked across the sky, followed by thunder loud enough to make your ears ring.

Another glance over your shoulder told you that no one was following you.

You kept on walking, looking up into the street name that you were passing onto now. A small grin on your face as you recognized the dark and washed out street sign. Ha! You were going in the right direction.

For a moment you could hear the hushed whispers of people… and something else.

Breathing.

You had no time to react. Like the lightning above, you felt yourself getting yanked into the alleyway you were just about to pass. You let out a shriek, your heart practically jumping out of your throat as you were thrown against a nearby wall of the alleyway. From the miracle of some vision you had left through the darkness, you were able to make out three figures that occupied the space in front of you, blocking your means of escape. Their heads were decorated with individually different horns, and you knew instantly that they were demons.

Fuck.

You weren’t sure you could even survive a fight with one of these guys, let alone three of them.

The buildings that sandwiched you and the three demons acted like a barrier, shielding you and them from the rest of the world.

“See? I told ya she was a human!”

One of the demons had whispered to the other ones, particularly the middle one, who had his eyes trained on you. He must have been the one to pull you into the alleyway, away from prying eyes.

“Yeah dipshit, we already knew…”

Sweat trickled down the back of your neck and your hands suddenly felt slick, despite how chilly it was outside.

The demon in the middle ignored the banter between the other two, instead choosing to lean in a little closer to you. “Hey little lady, what are you doing out here all alone?” he had a sickeningly sweet tone to his voice, seemingly studying your face. You had no clue if he could even see you clearly from the dark. His constant movements closer to your face made you feel nauseous as you attempted to move back as far as you could with a damn wall behind you.

Your mouth felt too dry for speaking. What did they want? Money? Directions?

You almost laughed at the ridiculous humor of demons needing directions from a human in their own town. Would they really take out the time of their day to yank you off the street for directions?

“I… I-I um was just.. On my way home..” you had attempted to speak with confidence, but it seemed your body had other ideas in showing that. Your voice cracked multiple times, and judging by their waiting faces, you weren’t even sure they heard you.

“On your way home?? Do humans even live here?” the one in the back snickered, trying to lean on the one in the middle to also try and get a better look at you as well. All three of them seemed captivated by the fact that you were a human girl. As if they’d never seen one before. It made you feel small and sick to your stomach. Even though they were simply asking questions right now, people don’t normally pull you into an alleyway just to talk. So what the hell did they want??

“Treta shut the fuck up,” the one in the middle hissed again, elbowing his partner to get him off of his shoulder. You could hear the demon huff as if he had been struck in the stomach.

You swallowed, hearing the blood from your heart pump in your ears. “W-Well uh it’s nice to meet you all, but I should really be getting on my way… My friends are waiting for me,” you mustered up the courage to speak, your eyes nervously flitting back and forth between them.

The demons didn’t seem to want to back off though, as much as you wanted to sprint out of there. “Do ya want us to walk you home sweetheart?” the middle demon spoke up once again. He seemed to be the one most in control regarding their little group.

He also had a pungent smell in his breath, one that you couldn’t put a finger on… It could have been cigarettes.

“Um no.. I’m really sorry… I think I’ll be okay though,” you gave them a shaky smile, praying that it’ll be enough to convince them to leave you alone. You must have been naive to think it was though, because they made no sudden movements to give you some space.

“I don’t think it’ll be okay at all. I want to spend more time with you,” he replied, making you want to yell in frustration. Why couldn’t they take a hint??

You opened your mouth to protest, but the demon had beat you to it. “Not to worry, we can make this conversation quick. Or maybe we can head back to our place,” he gripped your upper arm, leaving you to try and jolt out of his much stronger grip. The other two acted like this was normal, practically standing around you in a ring formation. You were trapped. This situation was already uncomfortable as it is, but you felt more restricted with this stranger gripping your arm in a vice-like hold.

“E-Excuse me!” you spoke up, trying to keep a clear head, your other hand reaching over to attempt to pull the demon’s hand off of you. The attempts were futile however, and you were left there looking pathetic in trying to move something that won’t budge. “I’m trying not to be rude right now, b-but I’m very uncomfortable. I seriously don’t have time for this, please just leave me alone…”

The guy in the middle inched closer to your face, your noses practically touching as you stared up at him. Your eyebrows creased in fear and frustration. As much as you wished he could understand how frightened you were right now, his morals still appeared to be low in the dirt as he simply narrowed his eyes at you. “Why are bitches so sensitive? We’re not asking you to fuck us, we’re just trying to talk with you.”

One of the other demons off to the side decided to butt in aggressively. “What the fuck is the problem? We’re just standing here, shit.”

You really didn’t know what to say in response. You tried to give yourself space, you tried being nice to them, you tried telling them to leave you alone. From the sounds of your breathing, you could tell you were inhaling and exhaling heavily. No matter how much you moved your arm, you couldn’t get it out of his grip. And based on the fact that they were demons, there was no way you could possibly overpower one physically. You couldn’t even move enough to try and grab the pepper spray you kept in your coat pocket.

Something inside you shrank at the sight of them.

They just looked so… hostile.

“You know, you’re really cute for a human. And this is a cute skirt,” the other one chuckled, running his fingers up and down your leg dangerously close to your thigh. Your jaw tensed up, and you cringed physically, too afraid to breathe or move. Any gestures you made weren’t taken well, and as soon as you tried to swat his hand off of your leg, his hand just clamped onto your upper leg tighter forcing your skirt up higher than it should be.

Okay now was a good time to panic. Your heart rate hasn’t managed to slow down at all yet, giving you time to think that you might die from a heart attack before these demons would be able to get you. As dark as it is, you could still see the road on your right, lit up by a dim streetlamp. Maybe if you pushed with your full body force, you could make a run for it. Or maybe… if you screamed loud enough someone out there would hear you.

“P-Please stop,” you croaked out, anchoring your face away from the two on the left to try and desperately look for an exit.

Again, your statement fell on deaf ears. You couldn’t tell who did it, but one of them suddenly tore off the scarf Asmodeus had given to you this morning. It’s beautiful pink color was thrown against the dirty floor of the alleyway. “Just relax,” he drawled. “You’re wearing too much right now, let’s remove some layers.”

“Stop it!! I told you I-” you squirmed even more now, not caring if his grip was tight enough to bruise your arm. You just wanted their grimy hands to stop touching you. A hand slammed down on your mouth, keeping any noise from escaping your lips; the force of it knocking your head back against the brick of the building.

“Shhhhh! Keep quiet or we’ll fucking kill you.”

You couldn’t believe this. The one time you had to walk alone, and this happens. You knew you should have waited for someone to pick you up. You knew you should have turned back to find Diavolo or something. You knew you should have asked someone to stay after school with you; someone like Beelzebub who would never say no to helping you when you needed it. Maybe if he were here with you, you could be enjoying your walk home this late at night.

Hot tears bubbled up in your eyes, and you could feel the contrast of the cold night air against the warm tears sliding down your face. You almost couldn’t breathe anymore.

“Now let’s-” the demon in the middle was cut off as a giant hand reached from the shadows to wrap it’s digits around the demon’s throat.

All four of you had flinched, not realizing that someone else had been in the alley with you this entire time. And now that you could see it, you felt blind for not having noticed the giant man standing behind the demons. He was kind of difficult to not notice.

Whoever he was, he was huge, towering over you and the three delinquent demons despite the fact that he looked to be hunched over.

He wasn’t just huge, he looked solid and muscular, and probably all of you realized that there would be no chance wrestling away from this guy.

The middle demon made a gurgling noise, most likely due to the fact that his entire body was being hoisted off of the ground by just his neck. All the air compressed in your chest was lifted like a curse as the demon chose to let go of your arm to instead trade its place to claw at the hand wrapped around his neck. He was desperate for air, scratching at the stranger’s hand.

He didn’t budge.

Whoever the hell this was, his grip on the middle demon was tight. So tight that you could see the veins and muscles popping out of the struggling demon’s neck.

The demon’s face was turning red.

He was scrambling to breathe.

His chest looked like it was palpitating.

For some reason you still couldn’t move, watching with wide eyes as the life began draining from the demon’s face.

“Hey!! What the fuck?!”

You think it may have been the demon on your left, but he had finally snapped out of whatever daze he may have been in, dashing forward to try and aim a well pivoted punch towards the unknown savior.

Like a reflex, the shadow dropped the choking demon, who was left hacking and coughing on the cold pavement. He was greedily swallowing the air now. And in return, the shadow gripped the fist of the demon who threw the punch. In an instant, he caught the punch midair, proceeding to crush the demon’s fist as if it was plastic.

The demon let out a strangled cry, and you could hear the bones in his hands breaking with a sickening crunch. You covered your mouth to prevent yourself from gasping, gnawing on your tongue as you watched the two demons struggle with their new injuries.

Perhaps the third demon was the smartest, as he made no sudden moves to try and attack the much larger figure.

“Leave.”

You blinked suddenly, eyebrows shooting up as you instantly recognized the voice.

Without another word, the uninjured demon rushed down to pick up his friend. He leaned over to pull his buddy up to his feet, making a run out of the alleyway with the third demon on their tails as if their lives depended on it.

Now… you were left standing here alone with the man who had saved you.

Apparently it was still raining… Apparently you had stopped noticing.

Quickly you wiped the tears from your face with the fronts of your palms.

He was breathing heavily- probably just as heavily as you were- as you both stared at each other in silence for a moment. By the ragged breaths he was taking, it seemed like he had run all the way out here.

And when he stepped closer, close enough that you could see his face, you felt your pulse quicken.

That familiar tuft of red hair, the familiar voice, those familiar purple eyes you were so used to seeing.

“Beel!!” you exclaimed, pushing yourself off of the wall to throw yourself on the demon. Words could not even begin to describe how happy you were to see him again, how glad that he had stepped in when he did. The thought alone that he came out here to look for you made you want to cry.

Unlike the expression he had just a few moments ago, Beel’s face instantly relaxed as he had opened his arms enough to encase your body. You honestly didn’t care that he had to crouch a little more to reach your height. Instead, you chose to bury your head in his neck for some sense of comfort.

Even with all the rain and the heavy winds beginning to pick up, Beelzebub was still a radiator of warmth as you clung onto him, body shaking with little sobs.

And he let you.

Despite you being the one to grapple onto Beel for dear life, his reciprocated grip was just as tight around you, making you wonder in the back of your mind that he might have missed you just as much as you had missed him.

There was a moment or two of complete silence, and once you felt like you got all of your sadness out of your system, you pulled away just enough to look him in the eye. “How did you find me here?!”

Beelzebub sheepishly shrugged, giving you another one of his little smiles to aid in your body calming down.

The worst was over now… You were going to be fine.

“I sort of just… followed a scent,” he finally replied shortly, pulling away to let you go pick up the pink scarf that was sitting on the ground. Its fabric was wet and dirty, the rain allowing for the med and grime to stick to the once beautifully clean scarf.

You grumbled to yourself, saddened by the fact that the scarf Asmodeus had so graciously given you to keep warm was all ruined.

Those jerks.

But even then… you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain. Instead, you glanced over at Beel who was preoccupied on a phone call with someone who appeared to be yelling at him.

“Y-Yes, I found her…. We’re on our way home right now…”

Beelzebub’s shoulders were tensed up and a look of guilt crossed his face in a pout as he was getting yelled at over the phone. He looked like a completely different person now; his serious exterior was replaced with a cowaring expression as he was scolded. You assumed the man over the phone was Lucifer…

There was still a light-hearted part of you that wanted to laugh at the sight of someone as frightening and strong as Beelzebub being reprimanded- but your exhaustion prevented it. Honestly, all you could think about was curling up in bed and going to sleep.

And perhaps you wouldn’t have been able to if Beel hadn’t found you.

You paused for a moment, studying the redhead with a light smile. A tugging feeling was replaced in your chest, as you had the sudden urge to do something a little bold. Making your way over to him, you stood up on your tiptoes to give him a light kiss on the cheek. It snapped him out of his conversation with Lucifer, causing him to look down at you with wide, confused eyes.

“Thank you by the way,” you mumbled, nervously picking at your fingernails, hoping the gesture could prove how thankful you were.

You watched him swallow thickly before putting on a smile and speaking to you once again. “You’re welcome… now, I think we should go home.”

And you couldn’t agree more.

#obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me #obeyme #beelzebub x reader #beelzebub x mc #lucifer #mammon #asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus

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ohmyjinsus · 3 years

Text

today was a fairytale

choi soobin x gender neutral! reader

first date fluffy winter nonsense || 2.5k

I’ve decided to stan txt and I really want to hold soobin’s hand…. that’s it 🤡 it's august why am I writing about a christmas date someone shoot me

summary: after 2 years of crushing on soobin he finally asks you out on a date, where you go skating and cling onto him because you’re absolutely terrified

“I don’t think this is right.” These skates feel way too loose. You were sure you told the girl at the rental booth the right size. Maybe you misspoke.

“Let me see,” Soobin says, looking over at you. It took him no time at all to tie his own laces. Clearly you don’t know what you’re doing.

He kneels in front of you, moving your leg so your foot rests on his thigh. You watch as he undoes your laces.

“What is this y/n?” He’s smirking. You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. They’ve been on and off since he picked you up earlier, but now that you’re here with him, they feel stronger.

“I told you, I haven’t been skating since I was a kid.”

“You’re supposed to tie the laces around your ankles too,” he tells you, looking up into your eyes. “Just so you know for next time.” He takes your other foot, fixing your laces there as well.

“Who says there’s gonna be a next time?”

“You’ll be a pro by the time I’m done with you, don’t worry.” He stands up, holding out his hand. You take it, getting up slowly. “There you go.”

He turns towards the rink, so you try to take a step next to him. You’re not used to being in skates at all, so you immediately lose your balance. Thankfully Soobin is prepared for this, and catches you quickly.

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, trying to ignore the fact that you’re practically in his arms.

“Take little steps.” You nod as he lets go of you.

Holding your hands out in front of you to keep your balance, you do as he says. Soobin’s a little bit ahead of you, trying not to laugh at your snail’s pace.

“Help me,” you say, “don’t just stand there.” He immediately returns to your side and takes your hand. Once you feel his fingers interlaced with yours, you feel a bit more calm. “Okay, let’s go.”

With Soobin next to you, it doesn’t take long to get to the rink. Walking up the steps is a bit difficult but he goes up first, then turns around to help you up. Once you’re on the ice, the panic rises in you again.

“I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.” He takes both your hands this time, pulling you gently. As your feet start to glide, you get scared. “I’ve got you, y/n.”

When you glance at Soobin, you smile. When he first suggested you go skating, you told him it terrified you. You were afraid he would make fun of you for being scared about something as simple as this, but he promised to take care of you. He also said if you got on the ice and decided it wasn’t for you, you could stop right away and he’d take you to do something else, no questions asked. That meant the world to you.

“You good?” He asks. You nod, so he lets go of one of your hands, moving so he’s directly next to you instead. You try to take a tiny step forward. “You have to glide, y/n, you can’t just walk on the ice.”

That makes you laugh. You try to muster up some courage and move forward a little bit. Right away, you start to lose your balance. Your grip on Soobin’s hand tightens and you reach over to grab his arm with your other hand.

“I’m gonna fall, oh my god.”

“Do you want to turn around?” He asks quietly.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, squeezing his hand, “I believe you, I’m sure I can do this.”

He smiles at that, pulling you with him. You keep your deathly grip on his arm as the two of you move forward. As you glide along, he guides you on when and where to move your feet. By the time you make one lap around the rink, you feel a bit more confident. You don’t let go of him though.

You go around twice more, talking about what else you’re going to do after this. Soobin brought you to a Christmas festival. The ice rink is just a tiny part of it. There are carnival rides on the other side, which Soobin says he’ll take you on. He also promises to buy you a hot drink as a reward for facing your fear of skating.

After a little while, you point out a bench in the middle of the rink, asking if you can sit down for a second. He leads the two of you over, helping you sit down before taking a seat next to you.

“Are you tired?” He asks. You shake your head.

“I’m having fun.”

“Me too.” You realize he hasn’t let go of your hand, not that you mind.

You can see the lake from where you’re sitting, which you point out to him. All the Christmas lights make it look even prettier. Soobin also points to the ferris wheel and the tube ride, which he demands you go on. You tell him yes of course. You want to spend as much time as possible with him, although you would never admit that.

“Should we keep going?” You ask him, once you’ve caught your breath.

“Sure.” You let him stand up first, quickly checking the time on your phone. While you’re looking away, Soobin somehow loses his balance. When you look back, he’s on the ice.

“Oh my god,” you reach out your hand, which he takes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he’s laughing, so you can’t help but laugh too.

“You literally fell for me,” you say as he gets up.

“I did.” He’s blushing. You avoid his eyes as he helps you stand. You can feel those butterflies coming back now. “I thought you would be the one to fall though.”

“I fell for you ages ago,” you say, playing along. You’re telling the truth.

When you met Soobin in first year, you immediately thought he was cute. All your friends agreed that he was your type. Over the next two years, you bonded over group projects and study sessions. You quickly became friends, spending your lunch breaks together and walking home side by side. It was during one of your study dates in the library that Soobin asked you out on a real date.

You didn’t believe him at first, but he told you he’d been crushing on you for a while and wanted to spend some time with you outside of school. The two of you had hung out together before, but only ever with other friends, seeing movies or hanging out at someone's house. You were shocked when he suggested it, but said yes right away. You’re extremely glad you did.

You do a few more laps around the rink, talking about anything and everything. After you get the hang of it, Soobin drops your hand.

“What was that for?” You ask, slowly moving alongside him.

“You should try skating on your own.”

“No.” You grab his hand again. “I refuse.”

“You just want to hold my hand, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you admit. Hopefully he won’t notice you blushing.

“Good,” he interlaces his fingers with yours. “The feeling is mutual.”

After about 5 more minutes, you suggest the two of you take a break. Soobin agrees, and the two of you make your way off the rink. Once you’re sitting again, you pull off your skates and put your shoes back on. You drop your skates off at the rental booth and head towards the rides.

You’re walking along, telling Soobin about your first time on a ferris wheel, when he casually takes your hand. It catches you off guard, making you pause for a second. He just smiles, telling you to finish your story. You do, trying not to focus on how close he is to you.

As you make your way across the festival, you can’t help but notice all the couples around you. Walking with Soobin’s hand in yours, you figure the two of you must fit in. It feels natural, being with him like this. You know it’s only your first date, but you hope there’s many more after this.

When the tube ride is in sight, you pull Soobin that way first. Dragging your tubes up the stairs is horrible. He notices how much you’re struggling and offers to take yours as well. You agree, handing it to him. Once he’s got both of them under his arms, he starts to struggle too. You tell him to give yours back, but he reassures you he can do it. You can’t help but laugh, watching him trying to be strong and tough for you.

When you’re at the top, you take lanes right next to each other. As you sit there, waiting to be pushed down, you look out at the festival, mesmerized by all the pretty lights.

“If I win this race, you buy me hot chocolate,” you say to Soobin, looking over at him. He meets your eyes and laughs.

“And if I win, you buy me hot chocolate?” You shake your head.

“You’re buying either way.”

“I literally brought you here.” You’re about to argue back, but then it’s time to go.

He gets to the end first, of course.

“I win,” he says the second you get to the bottom, next to him. You roll your eyes, pretending to be hurt. “I hope you brought your credit card.”

The two of you grab your tubes, pulling them back to the stack at the side. You don’t let him take yours this time.

“Can I interest you in a hug instead?” You ask, as the two of you leave the ride, walking back to the other carnival rides.

“That works too.” He stops walking, so you turn to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms immediately go around your waist. The first thing you notice is how good he smells, but then you realize that’s creepy and push the thought out of your mind.

“Are you going to let go or-” Soobin whispers after a few seconds. You wrap your arms around him tighter.

“I’m cold.” He laughs, pulling you closer. After a few more moments, you pull away. As you let you go, Soobin keeps his arms around you. When you make eye contact with him, you start to feel anxious again. He’s not looking away.

You realize how easy it would be to just stand on your tip toes and give him a quick kiss. You wonder if he’s feeling the same way.

“Ferris wheel?” You say awkwardly, trying to break the moment. If you stay there any longer, you’ll lose your mind. You’ve thought about kissing Soobin too much over the past few years. The thought of it actually happening is too much to process right now.

“Let’s go.” He grabs your hand, pulling you in that direction. Thankfully there aren’t too many people around, so the line isn’t long.

You get into your seats, facing each other. As the ferris wheel starts to move, Soobin takes your hands in his.

“Are you still cold?” You shake your head.

“I’m much better now.”

“Good,” he says, squeezing your hands, “I still need to get you that drink before we leave.”

“We have to leave?” You say it without even thinking. It makes Soobin laugh.

“It’s almost 9:30 y/n, your parents will kill me if I don’t get you home at a reasonable time.” You roll your eyes at that.

“Promise you’ll take me on another date soon.”

“I will.” You’re surprised at how quickly he responds. “I really like you, y/n.”

“I really like you too, Soobin.” He smiles at that, which makes you smile too. You don’t know how you managed to land someone as adorable as him, but you know better than to question it.

“You do?” He asks, teasing you. You might be imagining it, but it seems like he’s leaning towards you.

“I do,” you reply, instinctively leaning forward as well. You pray he makes the first move, because you’re too nervous to do it yourself.

He holds your gaze for a few seconds. That’s when you realize he’s as nervous as you are.

“Soobin-”

“What are you thinking?” He cuts you off.

“Kiss me already,” you reply right away.

“If you say so,” he laughs. A second later, his lips are on yours. You close your eyes, trying to remember everything about this moment. You can’t believe how perfect your day has been, and now you’re having your first kiss at the top of a ferris wheel. It’s like a fairytale.

When he moves away, you pull him back for one more kiss. You can feel him smiling against your lips, which makes your heart flutter.

When you lean back, you suddenly realize the ride is ending soon. Your eyes must go wide because Soobin asks if you’re okay. He seems extremely concerned.

“Should I not have done that?” You shake your head, as the ferris wheel starts to slow down.

“You definitely should have,” you reassure him. “We just have to get off soon.”

Soobin looks confused for a second, glancing around. When he sees the rest of the carnival rides in the distance, he seems to realize. He must be as flustered by the kiss as you are.

The ride comes to a complete stop and the operator opens the door for you. With Soobin’s hand in yours, you step out, saying a quick thanks as you do.

“Should I take you home now?” He asks, as you head in the general direction of the entrance.

“I suppose,” you sigh, linking your arm in his. “I wish I could stay with you a little longer.”

“Me too,” he responds. “But I don’t want your parents to hate me.”

“That’s a good point.”

“I’m going to be around for a while, so I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.” That makes you stop in your tracks. Soobin stops too. “What?”

“You’re going to be around for a while?” You ask quietly. He avoids your eyes.

“I mean, I’d like to be,” his voice sounds hesitant. “If you want.”

“Of course I do,” you tell him. “I adore you.”

Soobin bends down to give you another kiss. You feel a lot more at ease this time.

“I adore you too.” You grin at that. “So when are we going skating again?”

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jeni182 · 4 years

Note

Hi here's a prompt: Andrew keeps insisting it's 'nothing' right? So now Neil is hell bent on making him admit that it isn't, so he's trying various things to do so, including making him jealous.

First, I’m sorry this took so long! Second, I know this is probably not what you had in mind and I’m sorry for that. This is just where my mind took it, and I think I just didn’t want to see Neil making Andrew mad on purpose to get him to admit it bc I’m fragile okay I HOPE THIS IS FINE.

_________________________________

Andrew’s mouth was cold.

Usually, it was warm, and Neil knew it would warm up soon enough, but he’d been sucking on an ice cube right before they kissed, and Neil was enjoying the novelty of a cold mouth on his own.

They were at the Columbia house in their room, in their bed, in their feelings. Neil was, anyway. He suspected Andrew was too, but he’d never admit it.

That was the thing though, wasn’t it? They’d been doing this for a year now. They’d been together practically every second. They’d stood together and fought together and taken each other apart together, after slowly and carefully building trust bit by bit.

Neil pulled away from Andrew’s mouth, panting slightly. Andrew turned his attention to Neil’s neck instead, and he had to fight against the urge to close his eyes.

“Hey.” Andrew stopped and looked at him. “One of the soccer guys asked if you were my boyfriend.”

Andrew’s face didn’t change. “So?”

Neil shrugged. “I didn’t know what to tell him.”

“You? At a loss for words? Wonders never cease.” Andrew didn’t lean down to kiss Neil again, and Neil knew he wouldn’t. He’d wait until it was made clear that Neil wanted to keep going. He sat up instead. They faced each other on the bed and Neil looked down to the soft black blanket Andrew kept on it because he liked rubbing his feet against it at night.

“Seriously, though. What should I have said? Are we?”

“Are we what?”

“Boyfriends?”

Andrew tilted his head just slightly, his mouth turning down a bit at the corner. “No,” he finally said, and moved to leave the bed. Neil stood with him to stand in front of him.

“So, what then? It’s been a year Andrew. This is still nothing? This is still just a fun way for you to pass the time?” Neil hated the way he sounded. This wasn’t him. Whining and carrying on about labels. He didn’t even need a label, really. He just wanted Andrew to admit that yes this was something and yes Neil was something.

Andrew patted his pockets like he was looking for his cigarettes. “Fun is objective, don’t you think?”

Neil crossed his arms, clenched his jaw, and threw his cards on the table. “So, you’d be totally fine if I hooked up with someone else? Since this is nothing and I’m nothing?”

Andrew’s head snapped up and his gaze met Neil’s. He could see a muscle tic in Andrew’s jaw, but all he said was, “Do what you want.”

He left the room. Neil didn’t follow him.

****

They were quiet with each other after that. Still together, still connected. It was like Andrew was inside his own head constantly, but Neil didn’t mind. He didn’t really know what to say anyway. He was still thinking about it but pushing Andrew to admit something he wasn’t ready to didn’t seem like a good idea.

They were in the library one day, studying for midterms. Neil felt good about this, because Andrew despised the library and the fact that he was here at all was, Neil was pretty sure, just to be with him. They sat across from each other, both reading. Neil, a history textbook. Andrew, something that looked very unacademic.

Neil startled a little when someone slid into the seat next to his. He’d gotten too comfortable here, he thought for the millionth time. He was out of immediate danger, sure. But for how long?

He looked to the person next to him, and it was a guy he vaguely remembered from one of his math classes.

“Hey, Neil.”

Neil didn’t say anything. He looked at the guy confused. He didn’t know his name. Tad or Jake or Brad or something similar to the hundreds of other white guys at this school who all looked exactly the same to him. Brown hair, eyes, a nose maybe, taller, weakness is in their lack of speed.

Tad or Jake or Brad cleared his throat, eyes flicking to Andrew before landing back on Neil’s face. Neil looked at Andrew too, who was still staring at his book, eyes not moving.

“I just wondered if maybe you want to study together? This statistics final is gonna kill me, and I know you’re so good at this.” He flashed Neil a smile of straight white teeth.

Neil shrugged. “I guess, sure.” He needed to study, too, after all. He didn’t think he’d have a problem, but his scholarship was dependent on his grades and the last thing he needed was to risk it now that his choices were to go pro or die.

“Perfect. Here’s my number.” He reached over and used Neil’s pencil to write his number on the corner of his history textbook, which seemed unnecessarily rude. He squeezed Neil’s arm and left with one last glance at Andrew. Neil watched him leave before shrugging to himself and looking back down at his book. He could feel Andrew’s eyes burning a hole in the top of his head a minute later.

“What?” he asked, without looking up.

Andrew didn’t answer. Neil did look up at him then, confused. He was staring at Neil with his normal blank expression, but there was something about the tightness around his mouth, the slight narrowing of his eyes that Neil didn’t like.

“What’s wrong?”

Andrew stood, shoving his book in his bag and leaving the library without looking back. Neil started to follow him but stopped. Whatever Andrew was pissed about, he probably just wanted space to sort it out. Neil knew by now that bugging Andrew to talk was only more likely to send him deeper inside his shell. So, he stayed in his seat, wrote flashcards to study, and thought about Andrew the whole time.

He let him have until after dinner before he tracked him down to the roof. Andrew was there like he was always there. Sitting at the edge with his knees pulled up, arms circling them loosely. A bottle of vodka at his hip and the acrid scent of cigarettes on the air. Neil took a seat beside him and looked out over the glowing lights of campus.

Neil waited for Andrew to talk first. Whatever this was, he was here as silent support until otherwise requested.

“Did you set up your date?”

Neil looked at Andrew in surprise. “Date?”

“With statistics boy. He seemed awfully eager.” Andrew threw his cigarette off the side and immediately lit another one.

“You mean to study? No, that exam isn’t until next week.”

Andrew snorted. “Oh, Neil. You can’t be this clueless. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you mention hooking up with other people and then you agree to study with a guy who looks at you like he’s already fucked you.”

Neil’s hackles rose immediately. “I seem to remember you telling me to do what I want. Or did I hear that wrong?”

Andrew threw the new cigarette off the edge, too. Even though it was only half spent. “No, you didn’t.”

“Then why are you complaining?”

Andrew took a swig of the vodka in answer, and Neil grabbed it from him before he could take another.

“I don’t plan on hooking up with anyone else. I don’t want to hook up with anyone else. I still don’t swing for anyone but you, in case you’ve forgotten. That guy was asking me to study, and I agreed. I’m not going to manipulate you into admitting that there’s something here by fucking someone else. If you really think I’d do that, you don’t know me at fucking all which is a shame, because I know you, Andrew.”

Andrew laughed with no humor. It was sad, and Neil thought maybe a little broken. “You don’t know me.” Neil’s chest tightened to the point of pain. Because he did know him. He knew this man, knew him better than he knew himself sometimes.

“Yeah?” Neil leaned into Andrew’s space and Andrew did not lean away. “I know you’re afraid of heights, and you’re afraid of me. I know you think as soon as you admit to yourself - to me - that this isn’t just two guys getting off together, it becomes real. It’s one more thing for you to lose in a life where you’ve lost so fucking much. It’s one more thing someone can hold against you when they want to hurt you again.” Neil leaned closer, and not getting any resistance from Andrew, he placed a kiss on his neck. Andrew shivered. “I know you’ve never had this, because I’ve never had it either. And I know it’s scary, because I’m scared too. But Andrew,” Neil sighed and leaned back again, “I’ve been nothing my entire life. I still feel like nothing sometimes. You are my something, and the fact that you also think I’m nothing is fucking soul crushing sometimes. As much as you don’t want to hear it, you are everything.”

Andrew looked from Neil to campus, and Neil watched his throat work as he swallowed hard. He closed his eyes before looking back to Neil.

“Are you going to study with that guy?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.” Neil honestly didn’t know if the guy was flirting, but if it was something Andrew took this seriously, he would take it seriously, too.

“I don’t want you to.” He took out his pack of cigarettes but didn’t light another one. He just flipped it over and over in his hands.

“Why?” Neil couldn’t help but ask.

Andrew looked at him, pale and washed out from the artificial lights, but eyes still bright as they landed on his.

“Because you are everything, too.”

AO3

#aftg #tfc #andrew minyard #neil josten #Andreil #fic prompts #my fics #jeni182 #andreil fluff

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kumiwrites · 4 years

Text

a cold brew

A handsome stranger picks up the journal you forget at a café. His only intention is to return it to you, but he finds himself seeking out your company more and more as your lives intertwine.

Pairing: Pro Hero!Todoroki Shouto x University Student!Reader Genre: Fluff Words: 4107 Warning(s): None AO3 Link

A/N: This is my first finished BNHA fic! I love Shouto so dearly, he is such a pure bean, and I just indulged myself with this all day instead of doing work for my meeting. I hope you enjoyed!

The first time you run into him is a coincidence.

You’re in your third year of university. With that comes late nights studying at the library, and a lot of caffeine pumping through your veins most hours of the day. It’s late, and you really don’t expect anyone to come into the café ten minutes before closing for a cup of coffee.

Heterochromatic eyes lock with yours, and you can’t help but smile at the handsome man that holds open the door for you as you’re leaving. You thank him as you pass, only stopping once you’re a few steps past the store to stare back at him for a moment. You’ve definitely seen that face before, with the distinctive half-white half-red hair, but you can’t quite place it.

“Oh well,” you murmur to yourself, heading back to your apartment.

Shouto places his usual coffee order, knowing he has a long night of paperwork to do. As he waits for the espresso machine to churn out his drink, he notices a black notebook on the table nearby and picks it up, flipping the cover open in an attempt to find the owner. A name and phone number are written at the bottom of the inside cover.

“Someone named [Name] left their notebook,” he tells the barista, accepting the paper cup from them.

“Ah, I think that’s the girl that just left. I’ve never seen her here before, though, so I don’t know if she’ll be back anytime soon…”

Shouto nods, tucking the notebook under his arm. “I’ll return it to her, then.”

“A-are you sure? We can just hold onto it and see if she returns—”

“It’s okay.”

The barista nods as she returns to wiping down the counter.

“Have a good night,” Shouto says to her as he exits, glancing in the direction you had gone.

Fresh out of the shower, you’re wringing out your wet hair with a towel when your phone buzzes from the counter. When you look, it’s from an unknown number.

“Weird.”

unknown number, 9:37pm

I found your notebook at the café. I think I held the door for you when you left. When can I return it to you?

You’re surprised by the text, and immediately go to your bag, rummaging through the contents before realizing that you did indeed leave your journal behind. God, you hope he doesn’t read any of it.

[name], 9:42pm

Thank you!! I can’t believe I left it behind. Do you want to meet tomorrow morning? I’ll buy you a coffee as a thank-you.

You sigh softly to yourself, hanging up the wet towel on a hook as you wait for your phone to buzz.

unknown number, 9:44pm

There’s a place near the station next to the café you were at today that has good cold brew. Do you want to meet at the station?

[name], 9:45pm

That sounds good. You have the half-white, half-red hair and pretty eyes, right? What’s your name?

He’s caught off-guard by the comment about his ‘pretty eyes.’

unknown number, 9:46pm

Shouto.

[name], 9:46pm

Is 9am okay with you?

He hums in thought for a moment. He has to be at the agency at eleven for a briefing, which gives him around two hours of extra time. A happy coincidence, he thinks.

shouto, 9:46pm

Yes. Have a good night.

You’re surprisingly nervous, having spent an extra ten minutes fiddling with a piece of hair that refused to sit right on your head no matter what you did to it. You settle for twisting the hair back and clipping it in place with a barrette, not wanting to be late for your coffee… date? No, exchange. Drop-off. Deal. Not a date.

Shouto isn’t expecting you to be so excited when you approach, waving at him enthusiastically. You’re wearing a pair of grey ankle pants with a white plaid pattern and a nice white blouse loosely tucked into the high waistband. Business casual, much like his own outfit.

You clutch your canvas bag to your side as you come to a stop in front of Shouto. He’s in a black turtleneck with white vertical stripes and a pair of black chinos, rolled up at the ankle. The turtleneck makes his hair colours stand out. With one hand holding his phone, the other is at his side, your notebook in plain sight.

“Thank you again, Shouto-san,” you say, bowing your head to him as he hands you the journal. You tuck it safely into your bag. “I’m really indebted to you.”

“You would’ve done the same,” he replies. “The café is this way.” He begins walking in the direction opposite of the café from the night before, and you fall into step next to him. There are hushed stares and whispers from people as you walk by, and you can’t help but feel yourself want to curl up into a ball and roll away; you hate it when people stare.

“There are a lot of people looking at you, Shouto-san,” you whisper to him, growing more confused as some are clearly itching to approach the two of you.

He’s surprised you haven’t realized who he is at this point, but it’s a refreshing reaction. “I wonder why.”

Your eyebrows furrow together, and you readjust your bag on your shoulder as the two of you reach the café. Shouto holds open the door for you.

“You like their cold brew, right?” you ask, watching as he nods in confirmation. You turn to the cashier and order two, but as you’re reaching for your wallet, Shouto taps his credit card against the machine and ushers you along to the other end of the bar counter. You pout. “It was supposed to be my treat.”

He gives you a small chuckle. It’s a cute expression on your face, and he’s surprised by how it makes his heart skip a small beat. “Don’t worry about it. I wanted to.”

You’re still pouting when the barista hands you the two cups, and you withhold Shouto’s from him as you shuffle past him and to one of the empty tables by the window. He laughs softly to himself as he takes two of the paper straws from the holder and brings them to you, seating himself across from you.

“Here,” he says, holding one out to you. You eye him suspiciously before accepting it and sliding him his drink. “Thank you.”

“Thanks for the coffee,” you grumble, stabbing your cup in the opening with the straw and taking a sip. It’s a bitter flavour at first, but by the time you swallow the sip, it’s sweet on your palate with a subtle, floral aftertaste. “Wow, it is good.”

He nods in agreement, his elbows propped against the table as he drinks. “I found this place one day while I was leaving work.” He especially likes how the baristas never really bat an eye at him, treating him just like everyone else. It’s hard to come by a place like this sometimes when his face is plastered on the news so often.

It’s also hard to come by someone who doesn’t recognize him immediately.

You hum softly, your chin resting in your hand as you shake your cup gently, the sound of ice jostling like music to your ears. “You work nearby then?”

“At the end of the street.” He keeps it vague, but you don’t pry, which he also likes. “What about you, do you work?”

You shake your head. “I’m in my third year of university. So lots of studying, but no job yet.”

He nods; that puts you at around the same age as him. “What program?”

You’re very forthcoming with information, and you delve into a small description of your program. It’s something you’ve dreamed of studying when you were a child, and you’re quite happy with where you are at the moment.

Shouto likes the way your eyes light up when you’re passionate about something. It reminds him a little of Izuku, and how he essentially looks like a child in a toy store whenever he talks about something he loves.

An hour and a half passes by in the blink of an eye, and you’re surprisingly sad to hear that Shouto has to leave to attend a meeting in twenty minutes.

“Do you have any plans for the day?” he asks as he pushes in his chair, holding his hand out for your empty cup.

“I have a class at one, but I’m free after three.”

He hums softly, dropping your cups into the recycling bin as you give the barista a wave and a soft ‘thanks’ before following him out of the shop. “Do you want to get dinner, then? I should be finished work at five.”

You’re surprised by how forward he is, but you nod enthusiastically. A handsome stranger inviting you to dinner after a pleasant morning coffee? Sounds like something out of a romance novel.

“Meet me here at five-thirty, then?” He gives it a thirty-minute buffer in case he’s running late.

“That sounds perfect,” you say, visualizing the time blocks in your head. The next two hours gives you enough time to finish your work for today’s class, and the two hours after class is enough for you to get most of your readings for tomorrow’s class done. “See you tonight.”

He smiles, giving you a small wave as he turns on his heel and strides down the street.

You’re on cloud nine.

Thank god for lecture recordings, because you haven’t been able to process a single word of your class. You’ve been thinking about Shouto all day, and you honestly feel like a school girl with a stupid crush. That’s okay with you, though; even if it doesn’t go in the direction of a flourishing romance, you know you and Shouto will remain friends. You can feel it in your gut.

You’re waiting in the same café as this morning, your second cup of coffee sitting empty next to you as you work through a hefty reading for tomorrow’s class. Your eyes are glazing over a little, so you decide to people watch for a bit. It’s good timing on your part, because Shouto walks by the window at that very moment. He locks eyes with you, and you let out a laugh as you wave to him.

“You’re early,” you say as he sits down across from you.

“So are you,” he replies, smiling as you put down your pen. “I wasn’t sure if I’d finish on time, but I ended up getting everything done early. I was just going to get a coffee and wait for you.”

You nod, turning your paper back to the front page and tucking it into the plastic folder you use for your readings. “I was doing the same.”

After you push your chair in, Shouto holds out a hand to you, and you give him a questioning look.

“I’ll hold your things,” he says, motioning to the canvas bag slung over your shoulder with all of your school supplies.

“O-oh, that’s okay,” you reply, surprised. “It’s not that heavy.”

“All the more reason,” he says, smiling as your cheeks flush and you reluctantly hand him the bag. He secures it over his shoulder, motioning for you to lead the way as you exit the café once again.

The bag somehow completes his look, and you can’t help admiring how nice it looks on him.

“Do you like soba?”

The question surprises you, but you nod. “I do.”

His face lights up like a Christmas tree. “There’s a noodle place nearby that does a delicious cold soba, do you want to go there?”

You nod again, smiling as he begins leading the way, excitement clearly making him walk faster than normal.

Coffee dates and dinners with Shouto become a regular occurrence over the next four weeks. He walks you home after every dinner, and it’s gotten to a point where you’re comfortable enough with one another that you’ve both dropped the honorific.

It’s nice knowing there’s someone who wants to spend time with you at the end of a busy workday.

There’s a knock on your door, and you try to smooth out your hair one last time before rubbing your hands on your thighs and opening the door. Shouto is on the other side, a bag of groceries in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

“Special delivery,” he says, and you can’t help but smile from ear-to-ear as he steps inside and kicks off his shoes. He takes a moment to admire you; you’re wearing a simple dress, loose and flowy, leaving your shoulders bare. He likes it on you.

“My hero,” you feign a swoon. Shouto laughs, and you grin as you take the bottle of wine from him and set it on your kitchen island.

“Your apartment is very nice, [Name].”

You hum, giving him a moment to take everything in and look around. “Thank you, I had a lot of fun decorating it.”

Shouto had asked you this morning if you wanted to get dinner again tonight, but you had countered with an offer of cooking with him, to ease up some of the strain on both your wallets. You’ve taken turns treating each other, which has been a refreshing change of pace from lazily thrown-together foods that you can barely call meals.

“Are we making soba?” you tease, peering over his shoulder as he begins unpacking the bag of groceries. You left the menu up to him, and as soon as you had given him the power, he eagerly began asking about any allergies and what foods you like.

He shakes his head, gently flicking your forehead as he folds up the plastic bag and hands it to you. “No, we’re making your favourite.”

The bag of pasta and accompanying ingredients for your favourite sauce, placed unceremoniously on your kitchen island, make you clap your hands together in excitement. He bought everything for your favourite pasta dish. “Really?”

He places his hands on your shoulders and guides you to the kitchen sink, motioning for you to wash your hands. “Really.”

Shouto is surprisingly competent in the kitchen; his knifework is what impresses you most, as you watch him dice onions in such uniform pieces that you’re a little awestruck (part of that may also be because his sleeves are rolled up to his bicep, which leaves you with a nice view of his muscular arms). Your knifework is sloppy at best, with little care for how the pieces look as long as they’re somewhat similar.

The onion doesn’t bother you much, considering you’re just watching him from the side, but clearly the knife isn’t sharp enough because Shouto’s eyes are tearing up from the fumes. You laugh softly, leaning into him and gently wiping away one of the stray tears that start to trail down his cheek.

“Stupid onion,” he grumbles, collecting the diced onions into a clean bowl as you nudge him to the side so you can mince the garlic.

You can’t help but think that he’s adorable. But your favourite part of all of this is that he has one of your favourite aprons on, and you wonder how many people can say Todoroki Shouto has worn their apron and cooked food with them.

“Can you boil water for the pasta?” you ask, grinning as he’s washing his hands. “The pot is in the bottom drawer next to you.”

You hear the pots clamoring against one another as he pulls it out and fills it up with water. The two of you move comfortably with each other, and you’re surprised by how well the first meal you’re cooking together is going.

“I’ll make the sauce,” Shouto tells you, holding his hand out for the spatula in your hand.

“Are you sure you can handle the responsibility?”

He huffs, poking you in the cheek as he takes it from you. “Go sit down.”

“No, I want to finish it with you,” you mumble, unhappy with his sudden desire to take charge.

“Go sit,” he repeats. He sets the spatula down and spins you around, hands on your waist as he pushes you to one of the stools on the other side of your kitchen island. “I want to finish it for you.”

The feeling of his hands around your sides makes you blush a little, which sends you into a quiet submission as you listen to the suddenly bossy man. You rest your cheek against your crossed arms and watch as he begins cooking the sauce, his broad back turned to you.

Next thing you know, Shouto is setting a plate down in front of you, dusted with grated parmesan on top as he wipes down the counter and places his plate next to you. He unties the apron and folds it neatly, setting it down next to the sink as he grabs two forks and takes his seat next to you.

“Thank you, Shouto,” you say, smiling as his leg brushes yours when he scoots his seat closer to you. “It looks amazing.”

“Hopefully it tastes good, too,” he chuckles. He watches as you take the first bite, and your face melts into an expression of delight. It makes him smile.

“Yummy,” you confirm to him, eyes closed as you hold the fork between your lips for a moment before setting it down next to your place. “It’s perfection.”

Shouto takes a bite and confirms your critique: it tastes really good. Maybe it’s because he’s cooking for you.

The plates are cleaned off in record time, and you hum in satisfaction as you turn to Shouto, your knee pressing into his leg. “So, so good. One of the best meals I’ve had in a long time.”

“You’re exaggerating,” he mumbles, a little embarrassed by your high praise.

You shake your head. “I’m not, I haven’t had a good home-cooked meal in a while. I just never have time to put it together for the most part.”

He knows he’s blushing, and he averts his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll cook more often for you, then.”

Your face lights up. “Wait, I have a dessert for us,” you tell him, hand resting against his thigh for a moment as you hop off the stool and pull two ramekins out of the fridge. “I made crème brûlée earlier!”

Shouto’s surprised, to say the least. The two of you didn’t really give yourselves much time to plan the night out, so he wasn’t expecting anything else other than what he wanted to cook for you. He watches as you pull out a blowtorch and the granulated sugar, spooning enough to cover the entire surface of each ramekin before lighting up the flame. The sugar caramelizes quickly, and he finds himself mesmerized by the intense concentration on your face.

In less than five minutes, you set out two perfectly torched desserts, complete with small silver dessert spoons, and Shouto is excited. He hasn’t had crème brûlée in quite a while.

This time, it’s your turn to watch as he takes the first bite, and when he nods in approval, you clap your hands together. “You like it?”

“It’s so good,” Shouto murmurs, taking a second bite. The ramekin is cleaned out in the blink of an eye, and he finds himself wanting more.

“You can take some home,” you tell him, taking his dirty dishes to the sink and soaking them in warm water and soap. “I made quite a bit.”

He hums in approval.

“Do you want to watch a movie? We can finish the wine and just relax for a bit before you have to go.”

He really doesn’t want to go.

You set the wine glasses down on your coffee table, the half-full wine bottle next to them as you turn the T.V. on. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Anything you want to watch,” he tells you. Shouto is standing at the sink, and he begins washing the dishes, despite your protests. You pout, scrolling through the options available for you to stream as Shouto pats his hands dry and makes his way to sit next to you on the sofa.

You decide on a psychological thriller about a serial killer and settle into your seat as you tuck your legs beneath you.

Shouto gets comfortable as well. He finds that he's very tempted to put his arm around your shoulder, but he stops himself for now, settling for the back of the sofa instead.

The wine is slowly finished and you’re completely enthralled by the movie, but he can’t stop watching you from the corner of his eye. The inner struggle continues for a bit, until the part of his brain yelling at him to just do it wins out.

His arm drops from the sofa to your shoulders, and you smile a little to yourself as you scoot closer to him, your leg pressing against his as you settle into your new position, as if it he does it all the time and it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

When the movie ends, you groan from having been in the same seat for so long. You stretch your arms in front of you before collapsing onto his lap, your face turned so you can look at him.

“That was a good movie,” you say softly, pushing your now-messy hair out of the way so you can see him clearly.

“It was,” he confirms, his fingers brushing the remaining strands out of your face.

You bury your face into his side for a moment before sitting up, turning to watch him for a moment. “Thanks for spending so much time with me, Shouto.”

You always find new ways to catch him off guard. After nearly a month, you still surprise him. “I should be thanking you, [Name].” Finding out what he does for a living hasn’t changed anything about your friendship, aside from the initial shock and subsequent occasions where you call him after a major case and ensure he’s safe and out of harm’s way. “The past few weeks have been amazing.”

You smile, your hand resting over his thigh as he leans towards you, brushing back your hair from your neck. His hand presses against the bare skin, and you can feel the goosebumps on your arms. Your heart pounds against your ribcage as his forehead gently rests against yours, his hair tickling you.

“Can I kiss you, [Name]?”

You nod, unable to tear your eyes away from his. Your heart is pounding so unbearably loudly in your ears, and your breath catches in your throat with the way he’s looking at you.

When his lips meet yours, his fingers tangle in your hair, and his other hand comes to rest on your bare thigh. You press your hand against the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you as your lips move against his.

“Shouto,” you whisper, your face flushed as you pull away for a moment.

“I’m going to kiss you again,” he says softly, and sure enough, his lips crash against yours. He gently lowers you onto your back, one knee propping him up over you as the other presses between your legs. Your hair, splayed across the white suede of your sofa, makes Shouto want to see what it looks like when he dishevels it. His kisses trail from your lips to your neck, and you let out soft breaths as he marks the tender skin. When he pulls away, he’s satisfied with the bruises he’s left.

“Shouto,” you gasp, and he presses another kiss to your lips in response.

“Yes, [Name]?”

You take a moment , your eyes darting from his eyes to his swollen lips and back to his eyes. “Shouto, I…” you pause, but the look in his eye urges you to finish your sentiment. “I think I’m falling in love with you,” you whisper, fingers tangling in his hair as he watches you with soft eyes.

His heart clenches, and he lets out a soft sigh as he kisses you again, taking your breath away. “You are?”

You nod, tears threatening to pool in your eyes. You’ve never seen the look in his eyes before.

Shouto smiles—a genuine, heartwarming smile—and he presses his lips to the shell of your ear, his breath tickling you. His voice is so gentle, so tender, as he whispers, “Good. Because I’m falling for you, too.”

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto #todoroki shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #reader insert #fluff #a cold brew #kumi writes

399 notes · View notes

wind-on-the-panes · 3 years

Text

I’ll do a breakdown of that egregious thread shitting on fanfic because ajhsdfjlslkfjlkjsfljsd oh my god what a TRAINWRECK this is so BAD

I CAN’T EVEN GET MAD so I’m gonna have FUN with it

[Image description: A tweet by the account @benedict_rs, with a profile image depicting a light-skinned brunette female that says “it's incredibly bleak how many contemporary aspiring writers cut their teeth on fanfiction, a form that actively teaches you to write worse”]

GREAT START! EYE-CATCHING! CLICK-BAITY! A good way to begin a twitter thread! people will wanna see what else you wanna say! Why does it teach you to write worse? Gimme substance

MORE BELOW, IT’S SO LONG. (for image descriptions: all the images are tweets unless specified, and they are from the same person)

[Image description: "but some published writers start with fanfic" yeah EL James and Cassandra Claire--they're fucking terrible]

mmmm

[Image description: A screenshot of the Google search page, with the query “published writers who started with fanfiction”. The top result is from the Lawrence Public Library named “21 Authors Who Write Fanfiction”. It’s unfolded, saying: “In no particular order, here’s the most comprehensive list that I could make of authors who have also dabbled in fanfiction writing: 1. Cassandra Clare, 2. E.L. James, 3. Marissa Meyer, 4. Meg Cabot, 5. Naomi Novik, 6. Neil Gaiman, 7. Lev Grossman, 8. S.E. Hinton]

Top result on Google, but only losers rely on that alone without exploring more, so:

21 Authors Who Write Fanfiction - The link featured above

7 Authors Who Wrote Fanfiction

Fans Turned Pro

I mean, you can take Orson Scott Card up on his word and say he didn’t write fic, and say the term “fanfic” didn’t exist in the Brönte sisters’ time, but Neil Gaiman has declared repeatedly he wrote fic. So did Seanan McGuire. So do many more. So like. Lmao good luck saying they’re shit writers.

[Image description: controversial take: low-effort formulaic lowest-common-denominator writing is bad actually ]

Agreed!

What’s your point? Oh, you’re saying fanfiction is necessarily “ low-effort formulaic lowest-common-denominator writing”.

Okay, at this point it would be useful to know what’s the framework she’s working with. Meaning, what does she consider “fanfiction”? Because Neil Gaiman doesn’t follow her definition at all. Actually, many amateur fic writers who write long/deep/elaborated fic absolutely don’t... follow that definition.

So what’s her definition of fanfiction? Let’s see her next tweet to get an explanation!

[Image description: "But fanfic is often queer." Great; but did you know that queer literature exists outside of fanfic? It's a lot more meaningful to read legitimate queer stories than to mash your plastic action figures together.]

or not.

Also, there’s so much to unpack lmao

“Great; but did you know that queer literature exists outside of fanfic?”

Why, yes! It’s really good to have multiple queer spaces in literature. Multiple.

It's a lot more meaningful to read legitimate queer stories than to mash your plastic action figures together.

When kids mash their action figures together, they’re creating meaningful stories for themselves. They’re projecting their personal experiences into a fantasy world, and weaving narratives to makes sense of the world through fiction.

Saying fanfic writers “mashing their action figures together” isn’t “meaningful” or a “legitimate queer story” is implying the construction of narrative using fiction as a conduit and an object of reflection is moot.

That’s also basically saying that any kind of imaginative constrution, like constructing theories and picking stories apart to speculate, can’t create meaning every time it implies creating scenarios within fictional universes.

By the way, a lot of queer stories are covert in in a normative paint because they’re from times and places where they can’t exist out in the open. So it takes a lot of imagination and speculation to figure queerness in narrative in a professional critical space.

What I interpret from that tweet is simply “I don’t know how queer literature works outside of my own bubble, also fuck you for ever being excited about a story and letting your imagination wander/sharing your impressions and perspectives about it, ever.”

Two points that don’t even connect, but we don’t have anything that resembles an explanation of why this is being said.

[Image description: If anything, the popularity of fanfic has served to erase meaningful queer literature. Queer kids shouldn't learn what it means to be queer by reading recycled Disney IP. You have a lineage. Study it. Honor your ancestors.]

[Image description: Lin-Manuel Miranda wearing a hat, slowly turning his head from one side towards the the person in front of him, with a fake constrained smile and big, confused eyes. He blinks twice, confused, then looks back to the side and to the front again]

I’M JUST LSJFAFJALSKFJLKAJSFKLJASFKLJASKLFJLAJFKLAJSF

“If anything, the popularity of fanfic has served to erase meaningful queer literature.”

WHAT? HOW? IN WHICH SENSE? WHERE’S YOUR PROOF? WHAT??????

Queer kids shouldn't learn what it means to be queer by reading recycled Disney IP.

HOW IS THE INTERPRETATION AND UNDERSTANDING OF QUEER IDENTITIES PORTRAYED THROUGH A SCENARIO THAT’S ALREADY EASILY UNDERSTOOD AND ATTAINABLE TO THAT QUEER PERSON IS INHERENTLY BAD IN ANY WAY?

You have a lineage. Study it. Honor your ancestors.

“LINEAGE”??? “ANCESTORS”??

OH MY GOD WHAT ARE THOSE WORDS YOU THINK TOU’RE BEING DEEP HERE OH MY ENTIRE FUCKETY GOD.

[Image description: IMO arguing that women need fanfiction is profoundly misogynistic. I'm a woman, and I can read and write actual stories. I don't need training wheels.]

Women “need” fanfiction because the mainstream literature paths, from the highest professional publication to the base fact that little girls are considered “dumb” and their ideas not taken into account. It’s one of the many alternative paths that strenghtens community and make them heard. Calling it “training wheels” is so insulting in so many levels.

[Image description: but hey if any of you actually believed in social justice in publishing, you'd be more concerned with Amazon's working conditions instead of shitting your pants because someone questions the value of your Harry Potter slash. An article named “‘I'm not a robot’: Amazon workers condemn unsafe, grueling conditions at warehouse” is linked in the tweet]

I GOT WHIPLASH AT THIS SUBJECT CHANGE

[Image description: "buh everything is fanfiction because it uses letters and words that existed in previous works of literature" please stop talking]

*facepalm* Why are you saying this? What’s your point? You’re not making any point, this “argument” is senseless!! Do you have examples?

[Image description: btw if you're gonna use an identity-based argument I'm Puerto Rican diaspora so you're out of luck, sorry]

[Image description: Confused John Travolta meme gif]

Like we say here, “what does the asshole have to do with the pants?”

[Image description: anyway. A macro created by her says “SFF authors when Amazon kills its employees and runs racist smaer campaigns agains union organizers” beside a sleeping black man with the tag “i sleep”. Below, it says “SFF authors when someone makes fun of fanfic” beside the same photo of the black man, but now very distorted and with lights coming out of its eyes with the tag “real shit?”]

SHE INSISTS ON THE WHIPLASH? SHE’S DOUBLING DOWN? AND SAYING IT WAS A “JOKE”?

[Image description: "Fanfic is collaborative" "it's about community" nah sorry it's all corporate IP. Ultimately, someone else legally owns it, and you are choosing to give a corporate entity your creative energy.]

"Fanfic is collaborative" "it's about community" nah sorry it's all corporate IP.

What do you mean by that? That corporations get capital from fanfic, moral or otherwise? That fic isn’t collaborative or communitary? This is another clickbaity sentence with no elaboration so... what? Because she COULD make an argument here, she just chooses not to look like she’s Too Smart to discuss obvious things.

Ultimately, someone else legally owns it, and you are choosing to give a corporate entity your creative energy.

This almost makes sense. Ultimately, someone else owns the IP of the character/world you’re building, and you’re doing it for free.

But that’s why there are so many creative people go and charge to do that: writers, artists, letterers, musicians, researchers, set designers, make-up artists, etc etc etc - they are all pouring creative energy to do movies, books, comics, commissions etc for someone else.

I can only see two coherent interpretations possible here:

Either

1) Pouring your creative energy in any work that isn’t legally owned by you is reprehensible, which means only original creatives who keep all/most? IP rights use that energy in a worthwhile way

2) The problem of fanfic is pouring your creative energy into another person’s IP for free

If it’s #1, then creativity is some hazy whimsical quality that loses value as a breadwin, which is obnoxious and conceited. If it’s #2, then the value of one’s work needs to have, at least in part, a market value, making it ridiculously utilitarian and spiteful.

[Image description: Those of you who claim that fanfic is the only refuge for queer creatives--you were the same ones who tried to drive Isabel Fall to suicide. There are queer writers creating original fiction, but you're actively hostile to them for being too radical.]

This is the only tweet that kind of have some logic. If the thread was only this one tweet, she’d be kind of right.

UNFORTUNATELY, blaming fanfiction as a contributing factor for this horrible situation AND accusing people who (wrongly) say fanfic is the only queer refuge for creatives to be the same ones creating the awful Isabel Fall situation is -- what’s you train of thought? Why? What’s your evidence, what’s your ARGUMENT?

I’m like, super tired rn so I’m not even comment on everything she COULD have said, even AGAINST fanfic, or every ounce of conceiteness she dropped here. I’ll leave that to the archeologists or the notes or whatever.

Anyway, guys. Thanks for reading. Stay ishpookeh. Keep writing whatever you fucking WANT

#fanfic #fanfiction

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archived-mononokeland · 3 years

Text

dreaming of love in everlasting friendship [ ✿ ] hanahaki!reader x leviathan

Warning: angst, blood, hanahaki

“ dreaming of love in everlasting friendship “

[ leviathan x hanahaki!reader ]

[ ✿ ]

You thought it was fictional.

You thought that there’s no way a disease that’s only existed in media and nothing else could exist. But then again, you’re living with a group of the strongest demons. So who were you to say what was in the realm of fiction and what isn’t?

But even if it was, you wish it didn’t exist.

It started when you left Leviathan’s room after a gaming session. You vividly remember his grin, and what he said with it, “Thanks again for helping me get that SSR card! You’re a true best friend!”

And that’s when the petals flourished.

Such small little things got you leaning on the wall in the hallway for support. Initial shock got to you. It wasn’t every day that you coughed up bloody petals after all. A thought came across you, but you couldn’t believe it. . .right?

But perhaps you needed more evidence to back that up.

A visit to Satan’s room and vaguely explaining if you could borrow a, ‘book about Devildom and human diseases’. With only a few questions that you shrugged off, you returned to your room with two armfuls of books.

And now here you are, sprawled across your bed with books messily scattered around. At least the scent was nice. But finally, and unfortunately, you found what you were looking for.

“Hanahaki,” the passage reads, “is a disease manifesting in the respiration system, where it takes form of a flower sprouting inside the organ. Hanahaki is not a contractible disease, and the infected can only get it if they are in the receiving end of unrequited love.”

Your eyebrows pulled to a frown. A frown that would go deeper and deeper as you read on.

“The only way to a cure of this disease is either getting the other party to return said love, or get a surgery done to remove the flower.” The book explains, “The latter is paired with the consequence of forgetting everything about the other party from the moment the infected fell in love, and onwards. These includes every memory they have of the other party, from direct encounters to mentions of their names and everything in between.”

The moment you fell for Leviathan. . .when was that? It felt impossible to pinpoint exactly when. In fact, you felt it was more of a long term process than just ‘boom! in love’.

So how much would you forget about him then? That thought itself scares you.

“If Hanahaki is not cured, then the infected would die.” As if on cue, a series of coughs racked up your throat, with a gentle flurry of bloody petals falling in your hands. Tears stared to blur your eyes, tears you only wiped and continued reading. “Life expectancy of someone with Hanahaki is approximately two years. However, when the infected comes in contact with the significant other for more than 6+ hours a day constantly, the time would be cut short to one and a half years.”

Your hands were shaking. You didn’t notice that before, but it was something you expected. The blood on your hands seem to taunt you. One and a half year of life expectancy, huh?

At least you’d be gone out of their lives by then.

Just a little bit more, you pushed yourself to read. “There is no deadline, so to say, of when the infected can get cured. As long as they are not dead, at any point in Hanahaki they can take the measures mentioned previously to remove it.”

You’ll stop there. Taking several deep breaths. You closed the books and put them in the mess of other ones around you. Hopefully Satan doesn’t mind you borrowing these for a longer time.

With a heaved sigh, your body fell onto the bed. Despite your mind muddled as it is, with your drooping eyes, you fell into slumber.

【 ✿ ∙ ✿ 】

It’s now a week before your depart from Devildom.

You haven’t really visited him much, Leviathan noticed. Actually, it felt like you were. . .avoiding him? No, it can’t be, right? You were his true best friend! But then again, he’s a yucky otaku, so of course there’s a reason you might avoid him. . .

Each breakfast and dinner, you’d hurry up and finish your food to scurry off to class. Each time you saw Leviathan down in a hallway, you pretended to not see him and go the other way. Each invite out for lunch, if Levi was involved, you’d turn it down instantly.

Where did he go wrong in the friendship?

That question plagued his mind for a long time now. And he decided he wants answers. At least to get you some closure of sorts before you leave for the end of the program. . .

“Hey!! There’s an event going on in Mononoke Land, and it’s a co-op one. You gotta help me with it.”

The text stood in the message box silently. His finger hovered over the send button but. . .hesitancy found itself within him. He huffed, and pressed the button with a small ‘ding!’ coming out of it.

You’ve read it. Levi knows because of the symbol next to his text. With a few seconds pause, the dots finally appear on your side.

“Okay! I’ll come to your room in a bit.”

A smile surfaced itself on the demon’s face. Thankfully someone else in this house has Mononoke Land—albeit it took some nagging on Leviathan’s part for you to download it. But still! It felt nice to have another person to share your passions with. Levi was unapologetically himself no matter what, but for someone to get it? It felt nice.

Soon, a knock sounded from the door. “Come in!” Leviathan exclaimed, followed by the click of it opening.

“So,” You started, pulling your D.D.D out of your pocket, “What’s the event about? I haven’t seen any co-op needed ones from Mononoke Land of all games.”

The demon noticed you opening the game to check it out. He grinned, “The devs are trying new things. This one has it that there’s two rare monsters that you gotta catch and trade with someone for their evolution. Both forms are saved in your MonoDex and you get your reward!”

He sees your eyebrows raising in a bit of curiosity as you checked out the event in the game. What he didn’t see was that your eyes were clouded with focusing on anything that involved him.

“Yeah I could’ve just asked someone on an online forum to trade with me, but—“ You hope he didn’t notice your breath hitching,”—it’d be more fun to spend it with you.”

Your clutch on your D.D.D. grew tighter. You hope he didn’t notice that too. “Thanks,” was all you could breath out for a moment, “So I’m guessing we’ll be searching around Devildom?”

“Well, someone mentioned that they’d spawn from The Fall to The Mausoleum.”

“Cool.” You offered him a smile. You feel a choked feeling grow, but you ignored it. “Should we get going?”

“Yeah! I gotta be at the top rank!”

【 ✿ ∙ ✿ 】

Devildom had an atmosphere way different from the human world; that much wasn’t hard to see.

Not only had the gray sky been a huge change of aura, but the streets alone gave a sort of mystical feeling. Like you’d see in a movie. But then again, you couldn’t say you expected anything less, nor more.

But everything seemed brighter with Leviathan around, you’ve noticed.

While you spent most of your time in his room, in R.A.D., in the dining room—the roads you’ve grown familiar walking on lit up in a way you’ve never seen before.

Too bad he didn’t feel the same effect.

“Hey!” Leviathan himself called out, dragging you from your thoughts, “That’s the other one over there! In the Royal Library!”

At this point, you’ve already caught one of the monsters for the event. It’d resembled a flower, and judging by the name—which was so wisely named “Flowermoon”—it was a Moonflower. Now you had to catch up as the demon ran into the building.

It was rather rude to barge into a library while running loudly, you thought. But oh, what joy it brought you to see that smile on his face.

Thankfully, Levi hadn’t caused as much as a commotion when you caught it (it resembled another plant, named Arborvitae, but it didn’t matter) . It didn’t take him even a millisecond to ask to trade right away, to which you obliged. Now the event was done, with you and him placing at the Top 2 to finish it.

Shaking himself off of his euphoria, he looks at you with a smile, “Thanks for coming with a yucky otaku like me on something like this,” you wanted to refute it, but flowers almost came up instead, “I really had fun. Even if it mean being around a bunch of normies and going outside.”

Your heart clenched.

“It’s no pro—“ That sentence couldn’t be finished as you finally broke. He just had to be so. . .him. Unbelievably dorky. As a result, you doubled down coughing to the nearest wall. The world was spinning, the blood was clear on your tongue.

But. . . he can’t know.

Before the petals had a chance to slip out of your mouth, you kept it all in with the help of your hand. Fortunately, none came out. Unfortunately, the blood was clear on your hand.

Leviathan called your name in shock. You snap your head at him. “That’s. . . That’s blood, isn’t it. . ? Are you okay?!”

The flower tastes bad in your mouth, and yet you forced yourself to speak, “Y-Yep, am just fine.”

He looks at you inridiculously. Not that you can see him as your head hung once again to fight a wave of coughs. “N-No you aren’t, I’ll bring us back to the House—!”

You forgot what happened next. Everything just went dark.

【 ✿ ∙ ✿ 】

The memory after that was a bit distinct. You managed to convince the others that you were fine (how you did it, you’ve forgotten. You just knew it involved some yelling). And finally, the day to return had arrived. The day to return back to the human world.

Simeon and Luke had gone ahead, leaving you and Solomon. You secretly hoped the two of you could somehow have a meet-up in the human world, but you still had his contact in your D.D.D., so that was a matter you’d settle later. With a wave, a smile, and one final goodbye, Solomon stepped through the portal.

Now. . .

You turned around to face all the demon brothers. All you’ve grown to love. Each of them gave their own special goodbye message to you, with words that you’ll hold close to your heart; you’re sure of it.

Then came. . . Levi.

Your lungs tightened up. Just a bit more, you urged, until this is over. The feeling hit a great boost as his arms wrapped around yours in a hug.

His words were static now. You wished you could hear it, just one last time. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t. . . you couldn’t discern whatever he was saying. You just nodded and hoped no one saw tears almost spilling from your eyes.

He pulled away. You did too. The world was spinning, you noticed, but you had to pretend it didn’t. With a last wave, you stepped through the portal yourself.

As the glowing door from two worlds closed, the first thing you do was collapse on the floor coughing. Flowers and petals were the last thing you saw that day.

【 ✿ ∙ ✿ 】

The summer break passed by like a breeze.

The flowers never stopped, just less intense than before. Made sense, you no longer hung around Leviathan as much—or at all, really. Each message he sent you—other than in the groupchats—you just tried to ignore. It probably hurt for both of you, but. . .

Either way, the letter still came like last time. The invite letter for joining yet another exchange program, this time, for a new year of school. You smiled faintly, threading every word in your mind. It’s a little different from the last one, you’ve noticed.

However. . .

You crumpled up the paper and threw it in the trash can. The action left a bitter taste in your mouth, but it’s a choice you’ve arrived to for quite some time.

You wouldn’t be back for another year. And the year after that. And the next.

✿

For the sake of both of us,

You thought, hacking up another round of petals and flowers,

I’ll be gone out of your life.

#obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me scenario #shall we date #angst #tw blood #tw implied death

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peppersonironi · 4 years

Text

For @duketectivecomics‘s Duke Week Day Six: All in the Batfamily

Summary: Duke gets woken up at night and is roped into a strange initiation ceremony into the bats. Despite initial chaos, Duke finds that he is actually enjoying himself, and that maybe being a part of this family isn’t such a scary thing. Throwing a glitter bomb at Batman is definitely scary though.

“Are you ready?”

Duke opened his eyes, to find Dick Grayson hovering a few inches away from his face. “Gah!” Duke let out, scrambling backwards on his bed till he hit the headboard. “What are you doing?”

“Poor reflexives,” Duke looked past Dick to find Damian frowning at him, “And he should have known we were present before waking.”

“Settle down, kid,” This time Jason spoke, “Not everyone is as freaky as you.”

Duke blinked the sleep away from his eyes, and surveyed the scene before him. Dick was still by his bed, grinning. Damian and Jason stood behind, along with Cass, Tim, and Stephanie. Wow, when was the last time he’d ever seen all these guys together in the same room without killing each other? Duke had a worrisome feeling that he was the reason for this strange behavior.

“Um,” Duke asked, “What’s going on? It's 2 am.”

“We’re welcoming you to the family!” Dick’s grin grew impossibly wider.

“But I’ve been here four months?”

Tim shook his head. “But you haven’t had a proper welcome, yet. We had to wait till everyone was here, and Steph insisted she be a part.

“Heck yeah!” The blonde teen said, “I’m a part of this family, whether you like it or not! Bruce even gave me an allowance!”

“You tricked him into giving you his credit card,” Jason replied dryly.

“Like you haven’t done that before.”

“I don’t bother tricking him.”

Duke looked back and forth at the exchange, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening.

“That doesn't answer my question.”

Damian sighed. “In order to truly be a Wayne, you must go through the initiation period.” “That's not ominous at all.”

“Tour,” Cass said, “You learn things. Not bad, fun.”

Duke nodded. “Thank you, Cass.” He was still confused, but at least she was trying.

“If you would get dressed, we have much ground to cover.” Damian sniffed, but even Duke could tell the kid was excited.

Dick backed away from the bed. “We'll be right back, Duke, get ready!”

*****

Five minutes later, Duke found himself hastily dressed and standing in the entrance hall of Wayne manor. His siblings were arrayed in a semi-circle before him, all of them in weird red robes. They had managed to set up tiki torches at intervals around the room, adding to the atmosphere of doom.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the bonding between two families. That of the Thomas' and that of the Waynes.” Duke blinked at Tim. “Why are you making it sound like we're getting married?”

“Shh!”

“In this great ceremony, We accept you, Duke Thomas, into our fold. After this day henceforth, you will be one with the bats.” Tim took a deep breath and continued reading from the scarily large book in his hands. “The bonding day is set in three parts. The first, a display of power. You shall be shown our places, and our things, so that you are made privy to the goings on in the lives of Gotham's most secretive family. Next, You shall be given tasks by each member of the clan – excepting Bruce – that you must complete. Fail even one, and be warned.” Tim stared Duke down. “You have been warned. The final and most dangerous stage of all …” Tim stopped reading, and every single one of the gathered Waynes began to stomp their right foot. This went on for several seconds. “Is … Cake. Do you accept the challenge, Duke of the Narrows?”

Duke sighed. He didn't quite like the sound of this, but he might as well. “Sure.”

Jason whooped, and even Damian cracked a smile.

“Well,” Steph said, “let's get on with it!”

* * * * *

“And it was in this room that Dick broke his first chandelier.”

Duke paused, staring at Jason who had taken over as tour guide after Tim started foaming at the mouth. “First?”

The now recovered Tim grinned. “Yup! He's broken twenty three and a half in his fifteen year stay at the manor.”

Duke nodded. “Alrighty then.”

“Over here are some pictures of Bruce's great-great-great-great-great-great-great something aunts. If you look closely, you'll see the outline of mustaches. Bruce made us erase them.” Stephanie bounced by, pointing out exactly which paintings she had decimated.

The tour had been going on for almost an hour now, and Duke would be lying if he said he wasn't having fun. Sure, he had seen most of the stuff here, but the stories that went along with them were amazing. It was sweet to know which room Dick insisted they have a family movie in, back when it was only him, Bruce, and Alfred. It was hilarious to find out that the strange purple splotch on the love seat in one of the east wing's drawing rooms was from the time Damian insisted on trying slushies. Or the many tails that arose from the kitchen. From Bruce attempting to cook (He'd always wondered why Alfred had banned him) to the time Jason sleep walked himself into making beignets.

Cass had insisted they tour the air vents (He didn't know you could get into them, let alone that they could fit people, and wasn't quite sure what to do with the information) and trying to get Jason squished in was a highlight of the night. Cass also showed Duke the best hiding places in the manor, in case he ever needed to hide during a prank war. Or Bruce.

Stephanie knew the places with the thinnest walls, and also other tricks for listening in on conversations. She said she'd never had to use the information, but Duke wasn't convinced.

Dick explained the pros and cons of each chandelier in the manor, along with a very detailed instruction pamphlet on getting yourself onto one. Duke promised himself he'd never try.

Tim knew all the best wifi spots in each wing. Somehow, the wifi wasn't the exact same in every part of the house.

Jason knew the best sniper perches, and how to get there. Also, the coziest spots in the library, primed and ready for any avid bookworm. (Duke was actually excited for the second. He really did enjoy reading, but usually stuck to his room)

Damian was very solemn as he brought Duke to random places around the house that were apparently Alfred's (The cat's) and Titus' favorite hang outs. “In case you need a friend who is not as fallible as humans.”

The tour ended on the roof, each sibling taking to their claimed section. Duke was permitted to choose his own, and did so. He ended up picking a quiet outlook on the forrest, over the west wing.

Duke was given a few minutes of peace, not noticing till a little ways in that he was alone. Huh, he thought, this is kind of nice.

“Alright, Narrows,” Duke turned to find everyone staring at him, “You ready for the fun part?”

* * * * *

“Now lift up your left foot two inches … got it!”

Unfortunately, the first challenge that was given to Duke by Dick, had him breaking his earlier promise to himself. For you see, Duke Thomas now found himself wrapped in the crystal and gold of Wayne Manors largest chandelier.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Duke asked for the seventh time.

“Perfectly!” Dick replied, but the snickers and filming phones of his siblings made Duke question the acrobat's words.

Duke shifted on the chandelier and heard a soft cracking noise. He froze, terror rushing through his entire body.

“That was just me!”

Duke looked to down to find Stephanie pulling a couple twigs from her hair, and snapping them in two. She had a manic grin on her face. Oh, she knew exactly what she had done.

“Just don't do it again!”

“Don't worry, Duke,” Dick called, “You're almost done! You just need to chill for a bit longer. I'm gonna toss up this candy bar, and you need to eat it. Just try not to look like Superman when he sees kryptonite. If you don't catch it, you fail.”

Duke took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay, I'm r-”

The candy bar was flung up a second before Duke expected it, causing him to fumble and reach out a bit to far to grab it. The chandelier swung dangerously, and Duke let out a scream. A moment later, however, the swinging calmed down, and Duke paused long enough to register the roaring laughter coming from bellow him.

“Stop!” Duke said, “This isn't funny!”

“Yeah, it kinda is.” Tim was the first to speak, after having to lean heavily on Steph. “You forget, Duke, that each and every one of us had to go through this. It's great to see someone else panic. One of the few pros to Bruce's adoption addiction.”

Duke glowered. “Just stop laughing.”

“Chill, Duchess,” Jason grinned up at him. “Just eat the candy and you can come down.”

Duke sighed and unwrapped the kit-kat that had given him the worst fright of his life – and that included everything he saw on patrol. He gingerly broke it in two, put on a gruesome grin, and took a bite.

Everyone cheered, and Duke's grin became slightly more genuine. “You have completed the first task,” Tim said in a solemn voice. “Let us move on.”

Everyone filed out of the room, and Duke started to panic. “Hey wait! How do I get down!”

* * * * *

“I don't know if I can do this.” Duke sat in the batchair, Alfred having moved graciously to allow Duke to complete his task.

“It's simple Narrows,” Jason said, “Just press the button and ask the question. Simple.”

“But does it have to be … that?”

Jason looked very serious as he answered, “yes.”

Duke sighed. “Here goes nothing.” he reached forward and press the unmute button. “Hey, B?”

Batman's growl came through the speakers. “What are you doing awake, Signal? It's the middle of the night.”

“But you're awake.”

“I'm part of the night patrol. You're not. So what are you doing awake?”

“I need to ask you a question.”

Bruce sighed. “Go ahead.”

Duke sighed and looked back at his sibling who were all grinning maniacally. He turned back to the computer. “Does Santa exist?”

Bruce let out the most long suffering sigh Duke had heard that week. “One of your siblings better not have put you up to this.”

Duke looked at Jason, who was frantically shaking his head. “No, B. It's just, the freaking devil is real, right? And the greek gods, and a whole bunch of other stuff? So why not santa?”

Bruce sighed. “Good night, Signal,” and he logged off.

“Not our best,” Jason said, shaking his head, “next time we should ask how babies are made.”

“NEXT TIME?!?!?!!?”

* * * * *

“You can get it down in one gulp if you try hard enough!”

Duke looked over skeptically at Tim, who was making Duke drink a special blend of espresso, five hour energies, and Monster.

“You just need some ambition!”

Duke gulped. “Ambition to die?”

Tim sighed. “Just do it. If you don't, you'll fail the challenge, and you DON'T want to find out what happens then.” His point was emphasized by every single one of the bats unleashing their personal batglares upon him.

Duke grimaced, grabbed the venti Starbucks's cup, and gulped it down. He swayed for a moment. “I'm never sleeping again.”

Tim grinned, “Nope!”

* * * * *

Damian's task was relatively simple. His pets had to approve of him. They'd already gotten Alfred's, Titus', and Bat-cow's approval, and they were outside trying to find Jerry the turkey.

“Got him!” Stephanie called from bushes, and a loud squawking ensued. She walked over, carrying the bird and placing in front of Duke.

Everyone stood still for a moment, then Damian spoke. “He approves.”

Duke grinned. “Great, what's the next challenge?”

Damian smirked, and Duke's stomach dropped. The eleven year old turned around and whistled sharply. Large wing beats sounded from far off and a huge shape appeared on the horizon. As it approached, Duke could make out what appeared to be a large, fuzzy dragon. The animal landed right in front of Duke, and Damian continued.

“Thomas, meet Goliath.” the tiny terror turned to the beast. “Goliath, decide his fate.”

* * * * *

“So, what do you have for me, Cass?” Duke asked warily. He knew Cass was the nice one, but he wouldn't put it past her to choose something … questionable.

Cassandra smiled sweetly, leaned forward, and whispered in Duke's ear, “hug Jason.”

Duke sighed. That wasn't too bad. He turned around and faced Jason head on. “So, what did she sa-”

Jason was cut off by Duke launching forward and wrapping his arms around Jason's huge chest.

The young man sighed. And wrapped his arms around Duke. “Eh,” he said when he saw the looks he was getting, “Duchess isn't too bad.”

Dick grinned. “Does that mean I get a hug?”

Both Duke and Jason tensed. “On the count of three,” Jason whispered, “We run.”

Dick grinned and opened his arms.

“One.”

He took a step forward.

“Two.”

Dick smiled. “Come on, guys!”

“THREE!! RUN!!!”

* * * * *

“Now pour delicately, Master Duke,” Alfred said as he instructed Duke on how to properly have tea. Everyone had insisted on going to Alfred before Stephanie's challenge, which had Duke worried slightly, but he honestly enjoyed having tea.

“Don't forget to have good posture,” The butler continued. Duke frowned slightly. Maybe this would be longer than he thought.

* * * * *

“Now a tad more glitter. You can never have enough!”

Duke followed the instructions, finishing up the glitter bomb which Stephanie had taught him how to make. He wasn't sure what it was going to be used for, but he knew it wasn't gonna be good.

“Great job, Duke!” Stephanie grinned, then turned to Dick. “How much longer till Bruce gets back from patrol?”

Ah. Yeah, this definitely wasn't going to be good.

“Five minutes,” Dick replied, “Everyone in position!”

And so Duke found himself dragged into the Batcave, glitter bomb behind his back, and a hastily memorized instruction to throw and run in his mind. Five minutes later, the batmobile rolled into the cave. Bruce jumped and and came over to Duke.

“What are you still doing up?”

“Bruce, would you ever disown me?”

Bruce frowned and pulled off the cowl. “No, Duke. Of course not.”

Duke nodded. “Would you ever break your no-kill rule just for me?”

Bruce smiled and shook his head. “Never.”

“Okay, most important question,” Duke paused and took a deep breath, “Would you ever blame me for something that isn't my fault?”

“Not if I can help it, I promise you that.”

Duke took another deep breath and nodded. “Alright.” He then in one swift movement pulled out the glitter bomb from behind his back, and threw it at the Dark Knight of Gotham. The Caped Crusader. The Batman.

Duke turned and bolted, leaving a stunned Bruce Wayne in his wake. Once he was in the stairwell, he turned in time to see Bruce completely covered in purple glitter. He looked down at himself, then up to the heavens.

“STEPHANIE!!!” He yelled.

* * * * *

“That was legendary, Narrows!”

Duke grinned back at Jason. Sure, lobbing a glitter bomb at the guy who was currently giving you a home (not to mention said guy was THE BATMAN) had been one of the worst experiences of his life, but even he had to admit it was funny.

“Seriously, Duke,” Tim replied, “I don't think I could have done that.”

“And the dialogue leading up to it!” Dick grinned as he sat next to Duke on the couch.

“It was worthy of cake,” Damian replied, a smile on his face.

“Speaking of cake!” Stephanie announced as she strolled into the room, a large cake in hand. On the top read 'one of us'. She set it down on the coffee table in front the sofa.

Cassandra grinned as she handed Duke the cake knife. “One of us,” she said, and the chant was soon picked up.

“One of us! One of us! Once of Us!”

Duke grinned as he sliced through the cake. Everyone cheered.

“So how do you feel, Duke? Got the crazies yet?” Stephanie asked as she collapsed on the sofa.

Duke grinned. “Not yet.”

Jason laughed. “Give it some time, kiddo.”

Duke settles back and took a bite of his cake – blue velvet – and pressed play on the movie. Everyone settled down, eating cake and enjoying The Incredibles.

* * * *

A few hours later when Duke was the only awake, Bruce quietly walked into the room.

“How'd initiation go?”

Duke sighed contentedly. “Good.”

Bruce smiled. “Get some sleep. You did well tonight.”

Duke didn't bother trying to figure out the implications of that sentence, opting instead to settle back into the cuddle pile. Cass, tucked under his arm, Damian on his lap, Dick wrapped around his other side, Stephanie atop Jason, and Jason and Tim woven into the chaos of limbs. It was warm and strangely comfortable.

Duke sighed, smiling. It's nice, he thought, belonging.

#dukeweek2020 #duke thomas #batfamily #sibling bonding #batsiblings #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #being part of the family

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 4 years

Text

Imagine: PRT THREE.

Reader gets a surprise visit from nasty Erik.

This was requested for another part. May be the final part because I didn’t plan for this lol. Wrote this today.

Part One. Part Two.

You had a certain pep in your step that didn’t go unnoticed. Heading towards your Micro Biology classs, books in hand and a blush on your face, you try and discreetly enter the classroom only to find eyes on you. Head down, you pull your hoodie further over your head, sitting down slowly so you wouldn’t gain anymore attention.l

Erik put it on your pussy last night. You ended up spending the night and fucking another two times after the first. After each hard fuck this man’s fat dick would just plump up and harden with the tiniest look in your direction. He loved the way you looked dressed in his large t shirt with your curly hair pulled back from your face. He would kiss your cheeks and stroke it with his thumb lightly, causing you to bite your lip and blush profusely.

He knew what he was doing to you. He was your new addiction and it had only been one night of him. As you open your laptop to begin typing, the vision of him burrowing deep inside of you with your legs over his shoulders had you rubbing your hands over your face. Your shoulders begin to bounce with excitement as you laugh, still perplexed that you even opened your legs and gave your tight pussy away to a 30 year old man.

A hung, freaky, pro of an older man.

“Miss Y/N?”

You hadn’t noticed that your Professor had been calling you the entire time.

“Your research paper, please?”

Your heart sank.

Fuck. You forgot to grab your written paper from your desk within your dorm this morning when you came back around 6:00 am. Brandy, your room mate and close friend, was knocked out on her bed, snoring and all. Brandy didn’t have an 8:00 am class like you did. And to top it all off your paper was also on a flash drive you forgot to bring to class.

“I’m so so sorry, I-“ you shake your head with disappointment in yourself. So much for a 100%

“I forgot to grab it from my desk this morning. I didn’t wake up to the alarm.”

Your professor nodded his head slowly, “Okay, you know how I feel about late assignments, correct? That will be a five point deduction from your grade, Miss Y/N.”

Your professor left it at that, returning back to the discussion about virology and parasitology.

“You know, this shit ain’t really like you, Y/N.”

That deep voice made you laugh. Your assigned partner and school friend, Lakeith, has to have something to say about everything you do.

“Lakeith, mind your business for once, please.” You sass in a hushed tone.

“I would if I wasn’t enjoying the fall of a supposed future Nurse Practitioner.”

With a death glare, you turn to him, his chestnut eyes always a hypnotic thing for you. Then he decides to smile, showing off his dimples.

They weren’t deep like Erik’s but they were still something.

“I got my shit on lock, Sir, worry about scoring higher than me on the TEAS, Mr. Future RN.”

“Baby girl,” he chuckles low, “My shit always on lock. Coming up in here like you just left a dick appointment.”

Your heart flutters. Was it that obvious? I mean, the dick appointment was hours ago but damn it was still written all over your face. You decided not to respond to that portion. He didn’t need to know.

“So, somebody hitting that and you down played every chance I offered? Wow.” He laughs to himself, leaning in towards you, practically all up in your grill.

“You getting some dick, Y/N?” He smiles, his shiny teeth almost blinding. Damn him for being this fine.

“Why are you checking for me so much?” You roll your eyes into your head.

“I’ve been checking for you. Don’t act brand new because you let some other nigga wow you.”

He smelled like cinnamon. Lakeith always smelled good.

But Erik smells like sandalwood and citrus.

Even Erik’s sweat smelled like cologne. The thought of him had you shivering down the spine, you focus your attention back on your typing.

“Yeah, you got a noticeable arch in your back that wasn’t there before.”

You heard a chuckle from Lakeith’s partner in crime, Marvin. Both of them, two Kappa brothers that joked like teenagers.

“Fuck you.” You fire back, flipping him off, “sit on it and spin, nigga.”

“Yeah, okay,” He puts a base in his voice, “I’ll have your little ass sitting and spinning on something if you keep playing with me, big headed ass.”

“You started with me!” You argue back, trying your best to keep your voice low.

“Whatever,” he shoves your head, “do some damn work.”

Kissing your teeth, you throw your led pencil at his head, watching him scrunch his face with discomfort, rubbing the spot that stung.

“Bitch ass,” you end the argument there, cracking your knuckles to get back into the grind. Lakeith wasn’t about to fuck up your A average.

How about Erik and his big Daddy dick fucking you? Remember, he said you can come see Daddy anytime you wanted some dick.

You press down over a series of keys, typing out something like dmcbcdjendh.

———————————-

“And again, this tutoring shit will not help me get through Calculus I. I don’t need some student tryna teach me.”

You ball up the flyer that your calculus teacher gave you for tutoring help. Tossing it in the recycle can, you march out of her office, fuming with fists balled and cheeks puffed out. Yes, you were a straight A student but the last calculus exam you took you received a 79 on it. That had you crying into a bowl of cookies and cream ice cream. Now, she was offering you tutoring yet again. The students who tutored acted so self righteous. She didn’t need for any them laughing at her behind her back or hounding her because they had the upper hand at the moment.

“Y/N!” Your young, chipper, Calculus teacher called out to you. She reminded you of Daria but less moody and socially awkward.

“Yes?” The annoyance in your voice was clear.

“Would you like another referral? There is a guy on campus who is here as a Graduate Student receiving his Doctorate. I graduated with him and he’s basically a genius. If you want, I can set you up over the next few weeks to meet with him during library time.”

Another teacher? Maybe this would help. She lectured crappy and it had you zoning out every few seconds. You had to result in teaching yourself.

“What’s his name?”

She motions for you to re enter her office. Closing the door behind her, you take your once vacated seat, staring at her accomplishments from M.I.T.

“His name is Erik Stevens. He is back getting his Doctorate in Engineering.”

Your Calculus professor handed you his business card. It was laminated, perfect watermark and everything. She didn’t understand the pure shock on your face. How could you forget that name after you moaned it and imprinted it within the hippocampus of your brain.

“Is there something wrong?” She asked with a slight smirk on her face. You must have looked crazy.

“No!!” You take the card, placing it in your hoodie pocket, “No, I just thought of something out of nowhere. You know how that happens sometimes.”

“Yeah,” she laughs it off awkwardly, “Give him a shot, Y/N. He’s really good at what he does.”

“Mhm,” you felt a sudden wetness in your panties. He sure as hell is good at what he does. Even your own teacher recommending him to you had you horny as a bitch.

This fucking man.

“I’ll give him a call today.” You look up at your teacher one last time before grabbing your bag, exiting her office.

//////////////

Erik: Call me and put that pussy on the phone, lol. I wanna hear her talk to me cuz I know she wet as a motherfucker.

You bite on your thumbnail while sitting in one of the study rooms within the Library. You were surrounded by Lakeith and a few other Micro Biology class mates to study for the next exam. You didn’t inform Erik about him tutoring you yet because you wanted to drive over to his apartment and tell him in person.

Y/N: It is wet, but I’m in study group right now I can’t show you. 😩

You were NEVER this damn bold with a guy.

“Y/N, you’re supposed to be the one writing on the white board what the fuck you doing?” Lakeith startles you from your sexting.

“Shit, my bad,” you stand up, grabbing your phone and expo marker. The group began telling you information to write out, your mind in tune with education. After applying the top to your marker, you hear a soft knock on the door as if knuckles were tapping it. Craning your neck, you make out the outline of a guy around 6’3, new balance on his feet and a navy blue Champions sweatshirt with matching pants. He had a black North Face beanie on his head, with an artistic pair of gold rimmed glasses on.

At first glance you didn’t recognize him but the moment you stepped closer to the door to open it, a deep pleasure ran through your veins like lava. With a sly smirk on his face, he leans into the door further, staring down at you while curling a single finger for you to come here. He bit down on his bottom lip the moment you were staring at him face to face, the only barrier between you both was the door. He jiggles the door knob, motioning with a tilt of his head for you to open it before he did. Sighing nervously, you open the door, his body smelling like testosterone and patchouli. The thought of the pheromones he produced after sex had you buckling at the knees.

“You in here studying?” He asks with a whisper.

You knew eyes were on you at that door.

“Yes, Biology.” You respond, but not with a whisper. You didn’t need any of them wondering why you were being secretive.

“What kind?” He asks with a tilt of his head, his finger discreetly stroking your hand. You pause to breathe, shifting on your feet.

“Micro.” You meet his gaze, blinking away as soon as you saw the heavy lust there. Why did he have to bring his fine ass over here? Clearly he was in the library the entire time. He did say he’d been watching you around campus and he wanted your thick ass for a long while. So maybe he was watching you study with friends?

“Were you keeping an eye on me, Erik?” You smirk.

“That’s all I can keep on you for now, ma. Ain’t like I can keep this dick on you while you in front of your friends.”

Erik looks over your shoulder. His eyes fell on Lakeiths. He knew from that moment that homeboy wanted you. It was all over that niggas face.

“Let me help I know a lot about Micro Biology.”

Erik wasn’t asking really because he pushes past you, fully within the room. You shutter slightly before closing the door, taking in calming breaths.

“Can we help you?” Lakeith speaks for the group like he was the leader.

“Nah, looks like y’all need it though,” Erik takes it upon himself to spread your notes out on the desk, craning his eyes behind his glasses to read what you had. He takes his other hand, stroking his gotee before turning to the white board.

“Y’all sure y’all know how to study for this?” He asks with a joking tone. Lakeith and Marvin share a look before turning back to Erik.

“Yeah, we got this, bruh. You looking at the top students in the class.”

Erik nods his head slowly, “How about you, Y/N? He speaking for you like he know you smart.”

Lakeith laughs, “we work close together all the time. I know she got it going on.”

Erik lifts a single brow, taking your notes to stack neatly, “Y/N, this nigga always speak for you?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, staring from Erik to Lakeith. There was clearly a weighing of dicks in this room but Erik would come out on top for sure, gold metal and all.

“Not always, but he has a habit to sometimes,” you hide your smile, focusing back to the white board.

“Y/N,” Erik calls for you. He had the right to do that you felt. He opened your pussy up and ate your pussy like a bowl of ice cream, licking his fingers and all. He could call you and you would answer.

“Yes?” You turn to him, giving him your undivided attention.

“You want me to help you study? I can do that right now I got time before my evening class starts,” he places his hands in his pants pockets, waiting for your answer. You both knew you would say yes, and you didn’t hesitate either. This could lead to what you needed.

“Okay, sure,” you try and pack your things but Erik was already on it, zipping up your back pack and throwing it over his shoulder. He walks to the door, opening it for you to leave first.

“You not gonna say goodbye to your little friends?” He says with a smirk before licking his lips.

“Bye y’all, see you this Wednesday,” you step out of the study room, Erik’s arm around your shoulder. Before you could leave the library, Erik pulls you in between an aisle full of history books, slamming you against the shelf. He pauses, trying to keep the solitude of the library at bay.

“Who is that little nigga?” He asks you with a calm that had you squirming.

“His name is Lakeith.” You respond with a whisper.

His eyes look from your toes and back up to your face. Erik takes off your hood, your messy curly bun frizzy from wearing it all day.

“Damn, you ain’t even fix this after I was all in yo’ shit last night.” He laughs with a deep raspy tone.

“I didn’t have time,” you whine, pouting like a baby.

“Why the fuck are you so cute? He had a slight tendrill of anger building up, you could tell from how his brows furrowed, “why you so damn cute, lil mama? Out here having these weak dick niggas craving you.“

You swallow spit, shrugging your shoulders nervously, “I don’t know.”

“What I tell you about that I don’t know shit?”

You forgot he didn’t like for you to tell him that.

“Sorry.”

“All you gonna do is say the shit again. But it’s cool, I know you remember how this strong dick nigga had you crying.” He was even closer now, breath on your cheek.

“I mean, to be honest, aint like you can do much about being the cutest bitch on campus. Cutest bitch with the tightest pussy.”

You could feel him grabbing your breasts with no restraint. Anybody could spot the both of you. You watch as he unzips your hoodie, the thin t shirt you wore underneath giving him a clear view of your big ass nipples.

“Y/N....shit,” he takes both, pinching your nipples and playfully slapping them.

“Big ass titties.” He kisses your neck on both sides with a little tongue.

“Erik,” you moan out with a shiver.

“I’m the only one allowed to put it on you, you hear me?” He whispers. Erik pulls you from the shelf by the collar of your shirt, palming your ass hard before slapping it.

“Daddy is gon’ be all in your shit girl, you wait and see,” he bit your ear, taking you by your hips to make you grind on him from the front. It was the wildest shit ever. You never did anything like this in public. For the most part it was kissing and ass grabbing but not this.

Erik pulls one of your legs up, his hands on the shelf while he dry humped your crotch.

“Damn, babygirl, that leg all the way up there, huh?” He pulls you with three quick pumps over his clothed and now fully hard dick. You could feel it against your leg and it was long as hell. He had you so open last time...Damn, he was gonna do that shit again.

“Let me stop before I have a big ass nut,” he chuckles, lowering your leg but never moving his hand away from your ass, “girl, when we get back to my place, I swear to God your ass is mine.”

————————————

“You’re so hard, I can feel all of that big dick, Daddy.”

You moan while grinding on his crotch, wet pussy wrapped around his bare dick. The minute you stepped out of his car and entered his apartment, he started undressing you without a word. Now here you were, fully naked and coating his dick with that good sticky shit. Erik has his fingers on your clit, rubbing in a slow circle while he instructed you to keep wetting his dick down to his balls.

Erik places his fingers within his mouth before grabbing your waist, angling you and making you bounce on his dick in rhythm with his grinding. It was an erotic sight to see, legs spread wide, pussy wet, hard dick all slick.

“Fuck, Y/N, got me ready to buss a fucking nut, damn girl!” He slaps your ass, “You ain’t all sweet, your little ass a fucking devil. What kinda sweet girl put a pussy like this on a nigga? Ain’t never heard of that.”

Erik grabs his dick, smacking your pussy with it, “Get on your fucking knees. Go on, ma, get down there.”

You were on your knees now, grabbing his dick with one hand, licking yourself off of him.

Damn this girl.

“Y/N, don’t be shy girl, c’mon, lil mama,” Erik motions for you to take him more, “open up...yesss, just like that. Mhm, good girllll.”

You gag on him. He was just so big. You had to stop and look at his dick like it was from another world. He laughs at your tear stained face and swollen lips. The spit on your chin he had a lot of fun with it seems, smearing it in with his fingers.

“I ain’t say you were done,” he jerks his dick, smacking you in the chin, “let’s go, ma, dick ain’t gonna suck itself.”

You grab him up, sucking him again. This time, he was fatter than before. What the hell was this! Your pussy was leaking, no lie. You could feel it on your thighs. Fuck if you weren’t sucking his dick. Erik rolled his eyes, head falling back when your tongue snaked up his dick.

“And you was tryna play scared?! Shit,” he shakes his head, “scared of what Y/N? You ain’t afraid of all this big dick.”

Erik grabs your hair, fucking into your mouth. You grab his thighs, eyes on him while he fucks your mouth.

“Damn, I’m balls deep in your mouth.” He grunts, pushing one final time before releasing your mouth, a thick stream of spit caught on your lips.

“Sloppy mouth bitch.” He slaps you with his dick. You were so astonished. He just hit you with his dick.

“Fuck. Me,” he looked from his dick to your wet face, “Come ride Daddy.”

You climb up, watching him apply a condom again. You pout with sadness, looking down at him roll the condom over all that spit on his dick. The vision was covered and it had you rolling your eyes.

“Fuck you doing all that for?” He caught that shit.

“If you fuck me raw I won’t act like this,” you speak in a timid tone. Erik licks his lips leaning back to admire you.

“You want some raw dick?”

You nod yes.

“Ard...take the condom off then.”

Quickly, you snatch it off, throwing it to the ground.

“Like I said, a slut for this dick,” he pulls you over him, “Get up here and fuck me since you want it raw. Fuck this dick like you tryna mold my shit in that little kitty.”

You squat over him on your tip toes, rubbing his dick over your clit a bit before lowering over him. He slaps your ass extremely hard, the connection complete and your lips in a full pout now.

“Yeah, thats my fucking girl, such a good little girl. Making that face I like, that dumb struck face with all this dick in you balls deep, fuck.”

You start bouncing, hands on his shoulders and head thrown back.

“Ohmygodddd ohmygoddddd.”

He was really hitting different. It was so much pressure you were sure to squirt. The dick was knocking on your walls for a squirt in return. Damn, his big dick was all the way in there. Shit didn’t make no sense.

“You hear all that?” He speaks to you but you were dickmatized, “you are splashing on me, girl! What the fuck!” You sure were. You could hear it loud and clear.

“Yes I am, oh my Godddd,” you gasp.

“Yes I am, Daddy. I’m so wet, Daddy.”

“You taking this big dick girl, it’s okay for me to keep fucking you like this? Fuck, Y/N this pretty pussy so wet.”

His hands were everywhere. He was low on the couch, hips pumping up into you with his eyes low and on your face. You were in an eye lock with him and it made the moment even better.

“Never thought you would be bouncing on this dick did you?” You both shake your heads at the same time, “I already know I just wanted you to agree with me, sexy bitch.”

You watch as he presses his hand into your back, lifting your leg with the other hand, pounding into you, beating your shit in.

“Damn, ma, I got you looking possessed,” he says all of this while fucking you deeper, flesh smacking louder, “mhmmm, this cool? Huh? Daddy hitting that spot, right?”

You were in no shape to speak. This man had a tight grip on your leg while he beat the brakes off your pussy.

“Shit better than the first time? You getting all of me girl ain’t no holding back. You want this raw dick you taking it like a big girl.” He slows down, making you feel every inch. It was literal murder.

“You a big girl,” he looks down at the way his dick was fucking you, “big girl when you getting this pussy fucked.”

“Fuck, yes.” You moan out. You’d be a big girl and take anything. This man had you wide open.

Damn, hold up, shit,” Erik slips out, arching you over the couch now. He used your shoulders, pushing you down so your face was pressed into the cushions. Your ass was pointed so far up, pussy spread wide for him to slip inside with ease. Your pussy was already wet anyway so he would be in that shit with no problem real soon.

“Throw this phat ass back on me.”

You move with as much energy as you could force. He had you tired. You move your hips seductively while throwing it back, your eyes on him to watch his every reaction. You watched him take in a deep breath, several to be exact, trying his best to control the urge to cum.

“This little pussy finna make me buss.”

You were about to buss from the way his head stroked your sweet spot.

“Ahh, I’m about to cum, Daddy,” you grab the back of the couch, legs shaking and cum spilling out like warm sugar.

“Pussy so sweet, Y/N,” he grabs your hips, taking control now while drilling you. The change of pace had your mouth wide open and eyes glossy from the pressure.

“Damn, you really in there!” You yell, back muscles flexing from the intense feeling. This man was stirring your guts around like a bowl of noodles.

“You putting it on me Daddy I don’t wanna stop!!!” You yell with literal tears in your eyes. You were being completely honest. You didn’t want him to ever stop. You wanted him to keep going and going.

“Putting it on this tight pussy?” He asks with a smirk, “This my tight pussy, you hear me? My tight pussy, little mama.”

“Yes, it’s for you!” You couldn’t believe it, you were cumming again, “DADDY MY PUSSY!!!”

The way you reacted to him had his balls tight and dick rippling, ready to cum.

“Best believe little girl I’m taking. this. SHIT.” He started fucking then stoping, fucking then stopping, like a pattern of torture. Your body would jerk forward in surprise, and then he would stop for about three seconds leaving your clit a throbbing mess. Each time he started back up you would gasp, the surprise of it leaving you motionless and breathless.

“Mhm,” he stops, slapping your ass, “Mhm.”

You reach back, hoping for him to grab your wrists. When he does, you prepare for the pounding of your life. Arching more, you feel him increase momentum, eyes growing lower and lower each time. He had you hooked. That’s it. You were fucking Erik Stevens from now on.

“How you feel about me bussing this pussy open?” He says in a breathless tone.

“I feel so good, Daddy.”

/////////////////////

You watch as he sucks on your nipples, your shirt lifted over your head. You just got out of the shower, your legs weak. He had you against his front door, wet hair all over your face and chest arched forward into his mouth. You cry and do it loudly like a whiny brat, his tongue flicking your nipples in the best way.

“Daddy...stop...” you push at him weakly.

He starts sucking like a damn baby and you extend your head back, hitting the door with a loud thud.

“Chill out,” you say between breathless moans. He was a damn animal for you.

“Daddy, what the fuck,” you rub your thighs together, “ooo...stop,”

He doesn’t say a word as he tongues and sucks on your titties. Nipple play never aroused you this much. Erik was a man of firsts for you. How was it that you could feel your pussy throb and drip from this? His eyes meet yours while he flicks his tongue over your right nipple. Damn, he was a fine motherfucker with a mouth you wanted to sit on. Imagine having a tongue like that slipping from front to back and side to side in your slit.

“Daddy eat my pussy,” you ask with no regard.

“Suck on that pussy?” He lifts with spit on his chin, “If I eat it you ain’t going no where for the night cuz im only gonna fuck you again.”

“So?” You sass, “plus, I’m gonna be here more often anyway. My calculus teacher recommended me to you for tutoring.”

He looks at you with dark eyes of lust while twirling your nipples, “Damn, forreal?”

“Yeah, I figured you could reward me with more dick if I do well.”

“Yeah, I can do that. But that means you gotta do well though.”

You kiss your teeth, “Okay, I’ll do my best.”

“Put that bag down and undress. Squat over the couch with that pussy sitting over the edge, okay?” He said it so casually, his naked chest looking edible.

“Okay,” you put your bag down, undressing again. You know you looked a mess but he didn’t care about that shit. Walking to the couch, you watch him as he takes a hit from his blunt. You get into position, arching with your legs wide and pussy sitting for his mouth. Erik admires you while blowing smoke from his lips, walking over to you and getting on his knees.

“You gon pop that ass and pussy while I eat your juicy shit from the back?”

“I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

“Good.”

You could feel him turning around, his arms up and on your ass, spreading you wide. You feel his lips kissing your pussy, eyes closing with bliss. He tongues your folds apart, his tongue dancing with your nectar. He slobs, then slurps, slobs, then slurps, a continuous pattern. Each time you would flinch, your clit jumping each time he did it. Fuck if you would get your pussy ate from someone else. He knew your pussy like the back of his hand. His tongue started flicking upward, only the tip of it teasing your clit and inner folds. It moved all over, Erik working that thing. You claw at the couch, turning your head no matter how painful to try and watch how he did that. This man was full of surprises.

“Daddy, how you doing that?” You ask with a sweet tone. He responds with a sloppy kiss to your clit. You fall against him, giving in to his dance.

“Fuck, Daddy.” You start popping your ass, the feeling of his gold slugs making you shiver. Shit, he was making you cum. Already this man was making you squirt. You were overwhelmed.

“SHIT,” you shake, pussy squirting in his mouth. He applauds you with a slap to the ass before going back to work. Now your clit was overworked and sensitive. The more he slobs the more you cum. And just like that, you were creaming.

“Oh, fuck yeahhhhh.” You talk into the couch cushion beneath you.

“My dick hard again. I told you.” He stands, dick ready to rip through his sweats.

You could hear your phone ringing, sure that it was Brandy but all that didn’t matter, Erik had you up in the air. You could see yourself in his mirrors that he had on his living room wall over his TV. You were so small compared to him. He’s taller, extremely taller, and so toned and cut, not one part of his body was covered with fat. He looked into that mirror too, eyes on you at times but also on the way he held you up like you were as light as an infant, bringing you down over his dick. Each time you both connected he would look back at you to catch your reaction. It didn’t matter how this man fucked you, it was great each time.

Erik walks over to the mirror while he still bounced you, turning sideways now, those full lips of his pouty and his eyes low and hazy.

“Creaming on me something serious,” he rewards you for that buy fucking up into you quickly. Your toes curl, hands around the back of his neck squeezing.

“Y/N, damn,” he scrunches his face, hands palming your ass to keep you up and open for him, “Baby girl, look at me.”

You look at him, moans stuck in your throat.

“Why you letting me take this pussy like this? You not afraid to fall for a nigga?”

You were already falling. It was only day two. He knew what he was doing. He played the game well.

“You not afraid to fall for me?” You catch your breath, “you’re not afraid to get pussy whipped by a girl like me? A little mama?”

“Nah, ma,” Erik shakes his head with a smirk, “not at all.”

You blush, your pussy gushing further over him. He may be your fuck buddy now but the thought of him being more excited you. He made you forget about your ex. Erik was the man of your dreams now a reality.

“Shit, I’m about to have a big fuck nut!!!” You watch as he fucks you at full throttle, body bouncing, wet pussy sliding, moans and groans loud for the entire apartment complex to hear.

“Fuck, girl!!!!” Erik slips out, resting you on the floor while cumming on your face and titties. You catch as much as you could and scrape up the rest to put on your tongue. Erik watched you with primal eyes, his sweat dripping on you. The sweat that smelled like citrus and patchouli. While you tasted and swallowed his cum you wished he would cum in you. You know why but damn his dick was good that’s where you wanted it next! You could only beg for it honestly.

“Ard, ma, time to get up we got some studying to do.” He picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder. You watch him pick up your back pack Erik walking you back to his bedroom. How were you going to study and get through the semester with Erik’s dick in you at any given opportunity? This was going to be tough. Erik drops you on the bed, your body bouncing. As you sit up and fold your legs, Erik opens you bag while his blunt rested between his lips, pulling all of your things out that you needed.

“I’m serious about this studying, shorty. Education is important. You want me to help you out you gotta pay attention to everything I tell your little ass, Aight?”

“Okay, whatever you say, Erik.” You pull your hair up into a top knot bun.

“Gotta work hard for what you want,” he looks at you, a smirk growing on his face, “you hear me talking to you?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Daddy Erik when I’m in that puss, professor Erik when we hitting these books,” he takes a puff of his weed, “you smoke?”

You take the blunt without answering, smoking a little.

“Aight, what you get on your calculus exam?”

You felt embarrassed to say. You knew he would frown at you if you told him what it was.

“I’m an A average student, Erik.” You try and ease away from answering his question. His eyes were on you like he was ready to fuck you yet again.

“Ma,” he shakes his head, “just tell me. What you get?”

“A fucking 79.”

“You can do better but that’s better than shit I’ve seen. Stop beating yourself up, Y/N.”

His words had you dripping on his bed. You bounce, titties jumping and a seductive smile on your face. Your eyes focus on him, his still hard dick pointed to your mouth. He bites the corner of his lip, eyes peeking at the way your big ass titties looked bouncing. With a shake of his head and closed eyes, Erik grabs you by the chin, making you look up at him. He opens his eyes real slow, trapping you.

“Just suck my dick again, ma. You did that shit right the first time. I like the way you look chocking on my stick.”

Yep, this was going to be difficult.

@dameshaemonique @sheisexcellent1 @blktinkerbell

#killmonger imagine #killmonger x reader #killmonger fanfiction #black panther killmonger #erik killmonger #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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livingdeadinsideyourhead · 3 years

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Free Music in a Capitalist Society - Iggy Pop's Keynote Speech Transcript

Hi, I'm Iggy Pop. I've held a steady job at BBC 6 Music now for almost a year, which is a long time in my game. I always hated radio and the jerks who pushed that shit music into my tender mind, with rare exceptions. When I was a boy, I used to sit for hours suffering through the entire US radio top 40 waiting for that one song by The Beatles and the other one by The Kinks. Had there been anything like John Peel available in my Midwestern town I would have been thrilled. So it's an honor to be here. I understand that. I appreciate it.

Some months ago when the idea of this talk came up I thought it might be okay to talk about free music in a Capitalist society. So that's what I'm gonna try to talk about. A society in which the Capitalist system dominates all the others, and seeks their destruction when they get in its way. Since then, the shit has really hit the fan on the subject, thanks to U2 and Apple. I worked half of my life for free. I didn't really think about that one way or the other, until the masters of the record industry kept complaining that I wasn't making them any money. To tell you the truth, when it comes to art, money is an unimportant detail. It just happens to be a huge one unimportant detail. But, a good LP is a being, it's not a product. It has a life-force, a personality, and a history, just like you and me. It can be your friend. Try explaining that to a weasel.

As I learned when I hit 30 +, and realized I was penniless, and almost unable to get my music released, music had become an industrial art and it was the people who excelled at the industry who got to make the art. I had to sell most of my future rights to keep making records to keep going. And now, thanks to digital advances, we have a very large industry, which is laughably maybe almost entirely pirate so nobody can collect shit. Well, it was to be expected. Everybody made a lot of money reselling all of recorded musical history in CD form back in the 90s, but now the cat is out of the bag and the new electronic devices which estrange people from their morals also make it easier to steal music than to pay for it. So there's gonna be a correction.

When I started The Stooges we were organized as a group of Utopian communists. All the money was held communally and we lived together while we shared the pursuit of a radical ideal. We shared all song writing, publishing and royalty credits equally – didn’t matter who wrote it - because we'd seen it on the back of a Doors album and thought it was cool, at least I did. Yeah. I thought songwriting was about the glory, I didn't know you'd get paid for it. We practiced a total immersion to try to forge a new approach which would be something of our own. Something of lasting value. Something that was going to be revealed and created and was not yet known.

We are now in the age of the schemer and the plan is always big, big, big, but it's the nature of the technology created in the service of the various schemes that the pond, while wide, is very shallow. Nobody cares about anything too deeply expect money. Running out of it, getting it. I never sincerely wanted to be rich. There is a, in the US, we have this guy “Do you sincerely wanna be rich? You can do it!” I didn’t sincerely want to be rich. I never sincerely felt like making anyone else that way. That made me a kind of a wild card in the 60's and 70's. I got into the game because it felt good to play and it felt like being free. I'm still hearing today about how my early works with The Stooges were flops. But they're still in print and they sell 45 years later, they sell. Okay, it took 20 or 25 years for the first royalties to roll in. So sue me.

Some of us who couldn't get anywhere for years kept beating our heads against the same wall to no avail. No one did that better than my friends The Ramones. They kept putting out album after album, frustrated that they weren't getting the hit. They even tried Phil Spector and his handgun. After the first couple of records, which made a big impact, they couldn't sustain the quality, but I noticed that every album had at least one great song and I thought, wow if these guys would just stop and give it a rest, society would for sure catch up to them. And that's what's happening now, but they're not around to enjoy it. I used to run into Johnny at a little rehearsal joint in New York and he'd be in a big room all alone with a Marshall stack just going "dum, dum, dum, dum, dum" all my himself. I asked him why and he said if he didn't practice doing that exactly the way he did it live he'd lose it. He was devoted and obsessive, so were Joey and Deedee. I like that. Johnny asked me one day - Iggy don't you hate Offspring and the way they're so popular with that crap they play. That should be us, they stole it from us. I told him look, some guys are born and raised to be the captain of the football team and some guys are just gonna be James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause and that's the way it is. Not everybody is meant to be big. Not everybody big is any good.

I only ever wanted the money because it was symbolic of love and the best thing I ever did was to make a lifetime commitment to continue playing music no matter what, which is what I resolved to do at the age of 18. If who you are is who you are that is really hard to steal, and it can lead you in all sorts of useful directions when the road ahead of you is blocked and it will get blocked. Now I'm older and I need all the dough I can get. So I too am concerned about losing those lovely royalties, now that they've finally arrived, in the maze of the Internet. But I'm also diversifying my income, because a stream will dry up. I'm not here to complain about that, I'm here to survive it.

When I was starting out as a full time musician I was walking down the street one bright afternoon in the seedier part of my Midwestern college town. I passed a dive bar and from it emerged a portly balding pallid middle aged musician in a white tux with a drink in one hand and a guitar in the other. He was blinking in the daylight. I had a strong intuition that this was a fate to be avoided. He seemed cut off from society and resigned to an oblivious obscurity. A bar fly. An accessory to booze. So how do you engage society as an artist and get them to pay you? Well, that's a matter of art. And endurance.

To start with, I cannot stress enough the importance of study. I was lucky to work in a discount record store in Ann Arbor Michigan as a stock boy where I was exposed to a little bit of every form of music imaginable on record at the time. I listened to it all whether I liked it or not. Be curious. And I played in my high school orchestra and I learned the joy of the warm organic instruments working together in the service of a classical piece. That sticks with you forever. If anyone out there can get a chance to put an instrument and some knowledge in some kids hand, you've done a great, great thing.

Comparative information is a key to freedom. I found other people who were smarter than me. To teach me. My first pro band was a blues band called The Prime Movers and the leader Michael Erlewine was a very bright hippy beatnik with a beautifully organized record collection in library form of The Blues. I'd never really heard the Blues. That part of our American heritage was kept off the major media. It was system up, people down. No Big Bill Broonzy on BBC for us. Boy I wish! No money in it. But everything I learned from Michael's beautiful library became the building blocks for anything good I've done since. Guys like this are priceless. If you find one, follow him, or her. Get the knowledge.

Once in secondary school in the 60's some class clowns dressed up the tallest guy in school in a trench coat, shades and a fedora and rushed him in to a school dance with great hubbub proclaiming "Del Shannon is here, Del Shannon is here." And until they got to the stage we all believed them, because nobody knew what Del Shannon looked like. He was just a voice on some great records. He had no social ID. By the early 60's that had really changed with the invasion of The Beatles and The Stones. This time TV was added to the mix and print media too. So you knew who they were, or so you thought anyway. I'm mentioning this because the best way to survive the death or change of an industry is to transcend its form. You're better off with an identity of your own or maybe a few of them. Something special.

It is my own personal view having lived through it that in America The Beatles replaced our assassinated president Kennedy, who represented our hopes for a certain kind of society. Didn’t get there. And The Stones replaced our assassinated folk music which our own leaders suppressed for cultural, racial, and financial reasons. It wasn't okay with everybody to be Kennedy or Muddy Waters, but those messages could be accepted if they came through white entertainers from the parent culture. That's why they’re still around.

Years later I had the impression that Apple, the corporation, had successfully co-opted the good feelings that the average American felt about the culture of the Beatles, by kind of stealing the name of their company so I bought a little stock. Good move. 1992. Woo! But look, everybody is subject to the rip off and has to change affiliations from time to time. Even Superman and Barbie were German before America tempted them to come over. Tough luck, Nietzche.

So who owns what anyway. Or as Bob Dylan said "The relationships of ownership." That’s gates of Eden. Nobody knows for long, especially these days. Apparently when BBC radio was founded, the record companies in England wouldn't allow the BBC to play their master recordings because they thought no one would buy them for their personal use if they could hear them free on the radio. So they were really confused about what they had. They didn’t get it. And how people feel about music. ‘Cause it’s a feel thing, and it resists logic. It’s not binary code. Later when CD's came in, the retail merchants in American all panicked because they were just too damn tiny and they thought that Americans want something that looks big, like a vinyl record. Well they had a point but their solution was a kind of Frankenstein called "The Long Box." It didn't fool anybody because half of it was empty. It had a little CD in the bottom. You’d open it up and it was empty. Now we have people in the Sahara using GPS to bury huge wads of Euros under sand dunes for safe keeping. But GPS was created for military spying from the high ground, not radical banking so any sophisticated system, along with the bounty it brings, is subject to primitive hijacking.

I wanna talk about a type of entrepreneur who functions as a kind of popular music patron of the arts. It’s good to know a patron. I call him El Padron because his relationship to the artist is essentially feudal, though benign. He or she (La Padrona) if you will, is someone, usually the product of successful, enlightened parents, who owns a record company, but has had benefit of a very good education, and can see a bigger picture than a petty business person. If they like an artists’ style and it suits them, they'll support you even if you’re not a big money spinner. I can tell you, some of these powerful guys get so bored that if you are fun in the office, you’ll go places. Their ancestors, the old time record crooks just made it their business to make great, great records, but also to rip off the artist 100%, copyright, publishing, royalty splits, agency fees, you name it. If anyone complained the line was "Pay you? We worship you!" God bless Bo Diddley.

By the time I came along, there was a new brand of Padron. People like this are still around and some can help you. One was named Jack Holzman. Jack had a beautiful label called Elektra Records, they put out Judy Collins, Tim Buckley, the Doors and Love. He'd started working in his family record store, like Brian Epstein. He dressed mod and he treated us very gently. He was a civilized man. He obviously loved the arts, but what he really wanted to do was build his business - and he did. He had his own concerns, and style, and you had to serve them, and of course when he sold out, as all indies do, you were stranded culturally in the hands of a cold clumsy conglomerate. But he put us in the right studios with the right producers and he tried to get us seen in the right venues and it really helped. This is a good example of the industry.

Another good guy I met is Sir Richard Branson. I ended up serving my full term at Virgin Records having been removed from every other label. And he created a superior culture there. People were happier and nicer than the weasels at some other places. The first time he tried to sign me it didn't work out, because I had my sights set on A&M, a company I thought would help make me respectable. After all they had Sting! Richard was secretly starting his own company at the time in the US and he phoned me in my tiny flat with no furniture. He said he'd give me a longer term deal with more dough than the other guys and he was very, very polite and soft spoken. But I had just smoked a joint that day and I couldn't make a decision. So I went with the other guys who soon got sick of me. Virgin picked me up again later on the rebound. And on the cheap. Damn. My own fault.

Another kind of indie legend who is slightly more contemporary is Long Gone John of the label Sympathy for the Record Industry. Good name. John is famous with some artists for his disinterest in paying royalties. He has a very interesting music themed folk art collection – its visible online - which includes my leather jacket. I wish he'd give it back. There are lots of indie people with a gift for organization who just kind of collect freaks and throw them up at the wall to see who sticks. You gotta watch 'em.

When you go a step down creatively from the Padrons who are actually entrepreneurs you get to the executives. You don't wanna know these guys. They usually came over from legal or accounting. They have protégés usually called A&R men to do their dirty work. You can become a favorite with them if your fame or image might reflect limelight on their career. They tend to have no personalities to speak of, which is their strength. Strangely they're never really thinking about the good of their parent company as much as old number one. Avoid them. If you’re an artist, they’ll make you sick or suicidal. The only good thing the conglomerate can do for you – and they’ve done it recently for me - is make you really, really ubiquitous. They do that well. But, when the company is your banker, then you are basically gonna be the Beverly Hill Billies. So it's best not to take their money. Especially when you’re young. These are very tough people, and they can hurt you.

So who are the good guys?! They asked me when they read this thing at BBC 6 Music. Well there are lots of them. If fact, today there are more than ever and they are just about all indies, but first I want to mention Peter Gabriel and WOMAD for everything they've done for what seems like forever to help the greatest musicians in the world, the so called world musicians to gain a foothold and make a living in the modern screwed up cash and carry world. Traditional music was never a for profit enterprise, all the best forms were developed as a kind of you’re job in the community. It was pretty good, it was “Yeah, I’m a musician, I’m gonna skip like doing the dishes or taking the trash out.” It's not surprising that all the greatest singers and players come from parts of the world where everybody is broke and the old ways are getting paved over. So it's crucial for everyone that these treasures not be lost. There are other people of means and intelligence who help others in this way like Philip Glass through Tibet House, David Burn with Luaka Bop, Damon Albarn through Honest John Records. Shout out to Hypnotic Brass Ensemble. Almost all the best music is coming out on indies today like XL Matador, Burger, Anti, Epitaph, Mute, Rough Trade, 4 A D, Sub Pop, etc. etc.

But now YouTube is trying to put the squeeze on these people because it's just easier for a power nerd to negotiate with a couple big labels who own the kind of music that people listen to when they're really not that into music, which of course is most people. So they've got the numbers. But the indies kind of have the guns. I've noticed that indies are showing strength at some of the established streaming services like Spotify and Rhapsody – people are choosing that music. And it's also great that some people are starting their own outlets, like Pledge Music, Band Camp or Drip. As the commercial trade swings more into general show biz the indies will be the only place to go for new talent, outside the Mickey Mouse Club, so I think they were right to band together and sign the Fair Digital Deals Declaration.

There are just so many ways to screw an artist that it's unbelievable. In the old vinyl days they would deduct 10% "breakage fees" for records supposedly broken in shipping, whether that happened or not, and now they have unattributed digital revenue, whatever the **** that means. It means money for some guy’s triple bypass. I actually think that what Thom Yorke has done with Bit Torrent is very good. I was gonna say here: “Sure the guy is a pirate at Bit Torrent” but I was warned legally, so I’ll say: “Sure the guy a Bit Torrent is a pirate’s friend” But all pirates want to go legit, just like I wanted to be respectable. It’s normal. After a while people feel like you’re a crook, it’s too hard to do business. So it’s good in this case that Thom Yorke is encouraging a positive change. The music is good. It’s being offered at a low price direct to people who care.

I want to try to define what I am talking about when I say free. For me in the arts or in the media, there are two kinds of free. One kind of free is when the process is something that people just feel for you. You feel a sense of possibility. You feel a lack of constraint. This leads to powerful, energetic, sometimes kind of loony situations.

Vice Media is an interesting case of this because they started as a free handout, using public funds, and they had open, free-wheeling minds. Originally a free handout was called Voice and these kids were like “Just get rid of the old! I don’t wanna be Vice, yeah!” Okay. By taking an immersive approach with no particular preconceptions to their reporting, they've become a huge success, also through corporate advertising, at attracting big, big money investment hundreds of millions of dollars now pumped into Fox Media and a couple of others bigger than that in the US. And they get it because they attract lots of little boy eyeballs. So they brought us Dennis Rodman in North Korea. And it’s kind of a travesty, but it’s kind of spunky. It's interesting that capital investment, for all its posturing, never really leads, it always follows. They follow the action. So if it's money you're after, be the yourself in a consistent way and you might get it. You’ll at least end up getting what you are worth and feel better. Just follow your nose.

The second kind of freedom to me that is important in the media is the idea of giving freely. When you feel or sense that someone that someone is giving you something not out of profit, but out of self-respect, Christian charity, whatever it is. That has a very powerful energy. The Guardian, in my understanding, was founded by an endowment by a successful man with a social conscience who wanted to help create a voice for what I would call the little guy. So they have a kind of moral mission or imperative. This has given them the latitude to try to be interesting, thoughtful, helpful. And they bring Edward Snowden to the world stage. Something that is not pleasant for a lot of people to hear about, but we need to know.

These two approaches couldn't be more different. To justify their new mega bucks Vice will have to expand and expand in capital terms. Presumably they'll have to titillate a dumb, but energetic audience. Of course all capitalist expansions are subject to the big bang – balloon, bust, poof, and you’re gone. As for the Guardian I would imagine that the task involves gaining the trust and support of a more discerning, less definable reader, without spending the principal. There is usually an antipathy between cultural poles, but these two actually have a lot in common in terms of the energy and nuisance to power that they are willing to generate. I wish red and blue could come together somehow.

Sometimes I'd rather read than listen to music. One of my favourite odd books is Bootleg: The Secret History of the Other Recording Industry by Clinton Heylin. I bought the book in the 90's because a couple of my bootlegs were mentioned. I loved my bootlegs. They did a lot for me. I never really thought about the dough much. I liked the titles, like Suck on This, Stow Away DOA or Metalic KO. The packaging was always way more creative and edgy than most of my official stuff. So I just liked being seen and heard, like anybody else. These bootleggers were creative. Here are two quotes from the dust jacket by veteran industry stalwarts on the subject of bootlegs in 1994.

"Bootleg is the thoroughly researched and highly entertaining tale of those colorful brigands, hapless amateurs, and true believers who have done wonders for my record collection. Rock and roll doesn't get more underground than this." – that was David Fricke, the music editor of Rolling Stone "I think that bootlegs keep the flame of the music alive by keeping it out of not only the industry's conception of the artist, but also the artist's conception of the artist." – that was Lenny Kaye from the Patti Smith group, musician, critic and my friend.

Wow!! Sounds heroic and vital!

I wonder what these guys feel about all of this now, because things have changed, haven't they? We are now talking about Megaupload, Kim Dot Com, big money, political power, and varying definitions of theft that are legally way over my head. But I know a con man when I see one. I want to include a rant from an early bootlegger in this discussion because it's so passionate and I just think it's funny.

This is Lou Cohan "If anybody thinks that if I have purchased every single Rolling Stones album in existence, and I have bought all the Rolling Stones albums that have been released in England, France, Japan, Italy, and Brazil that if I have an extra $100 in my pocket instead of buying a Rolling Stones bootleg I am going to buy a John Denver album or a Sinead O'Conner album, they are retarded."

So the guy is trying to say don't try to force me. And don't steal my choice. And the people who don't want the free U2 download are trying to say, don't try to force me. And they've got a point. Part of the process when you buy something from an artist. It’s a kind of anointing, you are giving people love. It’s your choice to give or withhold. You are giving a lot of yourself, besides the money. But in this particular case, without the convention, maybe some people felt like they were robbed of that chance and they have a point. It’s not the only point. These are not bad guys. But now, everybody's a bootlegger, but not as cute, and there are people out there just stealing the stuff and saying don't try to force me to pay. And that act of thieving will become a habit and that’s bad for everything. So we are exchanging the corporate rip off for the public one. Aided by power nerds. Kind of computer Putins. They just wanna get rich and powerful. And now the biggest bands are charging insane ticket prices or giving away music before it can flop, in an effort to stay huge. And there's something in this huge thing that kind of sucks.

Which brings us to Punk. The most punk thing I ever saw in my life was Malcolm McLaren's cardboard box full of dirty old winkle pinkers. It was the first thing I saw walking in the door of Let It Rock in 1972 which was his shop at Worlds End on the Kings Road. It was a huge ugly cardboard bin full of mismatched unpolished dried out winkle pickers without laces at some crazy price like maybe five pounds each. Another 200 yards up the street was Granny Takes a Trip, where they sold proper Rockstar clothes like scarves, velvet jackets, and snake skin platform boy boots. Malcolm's obviously worthless box of shit was like a fire bomb against the status quo because it was saying that these violent shoes have the right idea and they are worth more than your fashion, which serves a false value. This is right out of the French enlightenment.

So is the thieving that big a deal? Ethically, yes, and it destroys people because it's a bad road you take. But I don't think that's the biggest problem for the music biz. I think people are just a little bit bored, and more than a little bit broke. No money. Especially simple working people who have been totally left out, screwed and abandoned. If I had to depend on what I actually get from sales I’d be tending bars between sets. I mean honestly it’s become a patronage system. There’s a lot of corps involved and I don’t fault any of them but it’s not as much fun as playing at the Music Machine in Camden Town in 1977. There is a general atmosphere of resentment, pressure, kind of strange perpetual war, dripping on all the time. And I think that prosecuting some college kid because she shared a file is a lot like sending somebody to Australia 200 years ago for poaching his lordship's rabbit. That's how it must seem to poor people who just want to watch a crappy movie for free after they’ve been working themselves to death all day at Tesco or whatever, you know.

If I wanna make music, at this point in my life I'd rather do what I want, and do it for free, which I do, or cheap, if I can afford to. I can. And fund through alternative means, like a film budget, or a fashion website, both of which I've done. Those seem to be turning out better for me than the official rock n roll company albums I struggle through. Sorry. If I wanna make money, well how about selling car insurance? At least I'm honest. It's an ad and that's all it is. Every free media platform I've ever known has been a front for advertising or propaganda or both. And it always colors the content. In other words, you hear crap on the commercial radio. The licensing of music by films, corps, and TV has become a flood, because these people know they're not a hell of a lot of fun so they throw in some music that is. I'm all for that, because that's the way the door opened for me. I got heard on tv before radio would take a chance. But then I was ok. Good. And others too. I notice there are a lot of people, younger and younger, getting their exposure that way. But it's a personal choice. I think it’s an aesthetic one, not an ethical one.

Now with the Internet people can choose to hear stuff and investigate it in their own way. If they want to see me jump around the Manchester Apollo with a horse tail instead of trying to be a proper Rockstar, they can look. Good. Personally I don't worry too much about how much I get paid for any given thing, because I never expected much in the first place and the whole industry has become bloated in its expectations. Look, Howling Wolf would work for a sandwich. This whole thing started in Honky Tonk bars. It's more important to do something important or just make people feel something and then just trust in God. If you're an entertainer your God is the public. They'll take care of you somehow. I want them to hear my music any old which way. Period. There is an unseen hand that turns the pages of existence in ways no one can predict. But while you’re waiting for God to show up and try to find a good entertainment lawyer.

It's good to remember that this is a dream job, whether you're performing or working in broadcasting, or writing or the biz. So dream. Dream. Be generous, don’t be stingy. Please. I can't help but note that it always seems to be the pursuit of the money that coincides with the great art, but not its arrival. It's just kind of a death agent. It kills everything that fails to reflect its own image, so your home turns into money, your friends turn into money, and your music turns into money. No fun, binary code – zero one, zero one - no risk, no nothing. What you gotta do you gotta do, life's a hurly-burly, so I would say try hard to diversify your skills and interests. Stay away from drugs and talent judges. Get organized. Big or little, that helps a lot.

I'd like you to do better than I did. Keep your dreams out of the stinky business, or you'll go crazy, and the money won't help you. Be careful to maintain a spiritual EXIT. Don't live by this game because it's not worth dying for. Hang onto your hopes. You know what they are. They’re private. Because that's who you really are and if you can hang around long enough you should get paid. I hope it makes you happy. It's the ending that counts, and the best things in life really are free.

#iggy pop #idk if anyone posted it here already #I'm just too lazy to look up so #here it is!

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