#The fourth wall fanfiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wolfgiselle · 7 months ago

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Cage Wi-fi

"Can I ask, once again, how it's even possible we get wi-fi down here?"

Adam knew he was beating a dead horse, at this point, by getting worked up over this, but he was only human. Even in these trying times of Angels and Demons—of cages in Hell that were supposed to hold the literal Devil but, for some reason, also currently held him and the Archangel Michael—he needed things to make sense. Nothing had been going as it should lately. Not for a long time. Yet, here he was, trying to find logic where it seemed none existed.

"I assume the computer and its 'wi-fi' are here for entertainment purposes. There's not much else to do down here," Michael murmured. His face was practically hidden behind the screen. It had been for the last few days. At least, Adam thought it was days (Hell time was different, Cage time worse). Adam hoped Michael wasn't becoming addicted—that was all they needed—but there wasn't anything he could do to get it away from him.

Lucifer, at least, seemed to find Michael's newfound fascination and obsession amusing. "The demons snuck one down. I enjoyed the machine last I used it, so I, uh…let's go with 'asked' them to bring one down."

Adam should've guessed Lucifer was behind this. Even when he searched his brain, he couldn't figure out how a simple laptop could cause much, if any, damage. The whole situation seemed harmless. It was because Lucifer was the one who wanted it that he couldn't help but be suspicious.

His relationship with the Devil was mostly cordial. Michael had made it clear early on his vessel was off-limits when it came to torture or harassment. But the warning had ended up being unnecessary. Lucifer had, at first, focused all of his attention on his own vessel, Sam.

Adam had felt a bit bad then that Sam was experiencing such a thing while Adam was getting off scot-free. But, as he'd understood it, it was Sam's fault they were down there. Sam had decided to jump and take Lucifer with him—dragging him and Michael along for the ride. For such reasons, Adam also couldn't help but feel a little vindictive himself after all was said and done. All Adam had wanted was to see his mother and help save the world.

Lucifer did torture Sam for a while, but he must've gotten bored or finally calmed down because one day—for no discernable reason—he stopped. Sam didn't react as though he'd stopped, though. Instead, he kept screaming and tearing into himself, yelling words like "Stop!" or "No!" even though Lucifer was no longer touching him, basically torturing himself.

It almost made him relieved for Sam's sake (as well as his own) when, not long after, they saw Castiel appear. He shot into the cage with as little subtlety as a flaming meteor to snatch him, somehow managing to grab Sam's body but fly off, leaving his soul behind. He hadn't even spared a glance for Adam, despite Michael's (very much appreciated) attempt to get his attention and remind him.

The results of Sam existing in the cage without his body were a trial of their own. If Sam had seemed off or unhinged before, he was an absolute basket-case now. Lucifer even became desperate enough to try and calm him down, to no avail.

Then, once again, they had a visitor. This time 'Death' of all things. (And had Adam mentioned before he wasn't cut out for this?) While Adam was busy trying to fathom the idea of Death having a physical manifestation—on top of still trying to come to terms with Angels, Demons, and… well, everything else he'd ever thought was fantasy being real—Death retrieved Sam's soul.

Death, at least, was polite enough to acknowledge them. Adam included.

"I'm sorry, but the deal was only for one. Dean made his choice," he had said to him.

He'd immediately understood. It hurt, but he wasn't surprised. Their relationship had been short and brief, and for all they'd gone on about family and tried to appeal to him with that argument, he'd meant what he said when they first met. His mom was his family. She was the one he'd been doing all this for.

After Sam was gone, Adam worried Lucifer would get bored and come after him. After a while of showing no such inclination, though, Adam relaxed.

Adam was also surprised when Michael and Lucifer didn't fight each other. He'd been under the impression that had been the whole point of the Apocalypse. Michael had pointed out that neither could kill the other as long as they were down here. The cage kept whatever was in it alive. Fighting would be an exercise in futility.

The two of them still argued. But it was more like your average brotherly back-and-forth (if you considered disagreements over whether God would return and save them, or whether humans deserved to live or were insignificant ants that polluted and destroyed all God's other creations average).

Adam was doing okay. He figured for a guy stuck in Hell (possibly for all eternity), he was holding together pretty well. There was just some confusion over the computer.

"If we can get a signal down here, could we send messages to Earth?" Adam asked.

"And who were you planning on sending messages to?" Lucifer drawled, his human manifestation sprawled out against one of the corner cage walls. That was another thing that confused Adam. This wasn't their 'true' form he was seeing.

When Michael first appeared to him, he had been pure light. His presence had been so bright and heavy it'd felt both like staring directly at the sun and, somehow, being surrounded by it. Michael had later told him it was a miracle he'd been able to look upon him at all. Apparently, it was common for people to burn their eyes out when directly looking at them outside of a vessel. The Winchester blood that'd made it possible for him to be a vessel for Michael period must have saved him.

This meant he'd seen Michael before and had at least an idea of what an Angel could look like through human eyes. He also thought he'd caught a few glimpses of Lucifer when he was still torturing Sam. But he wasn't sure if what he'd seen was accurate after so long. Or if what he'd seen at the time had been distorted by Michael back then, trying to keep him coddled up within his…well, wings in an attempt to keep the awful things happening in front of him from view. As if not seeing Sam's torture made him any less aware of it happening. In some ways, the not seeing, the not knowing, was worse.

Lucifer's image—if his sneaked looks had been accurate—gave off the opposite impression of Michael's. If Michael was the sun, then the Devil was a black and oily hole, primed and ready to suck off or destroy any of the light that wandered near.

Adam wondered if Lucifer stayed in this humanoid form lately (despite his proclaimed hatred for the species) because he hated what had become of his original form or if it would be presumptuous of him to believe he chose to look that way to ease any discomfort Adam might've once shown at his true but now contaminated, visage.

Surely, the Devil would prefer for him to be uncomfortable? No matter how well they seemed to get along, it made little sense for Lucifer to play nice with the vessel of the brother he'd set out to kill. He'd never question such things out loud, though. Or admit to his confusion regarding the…Angel? Archangel? Devil…? Oh—whatever classification he considered himself now. Adam figured as long as he wasn't getting tortured, the status quo was best kept as it was.

"I don't really have anyone to message," he replied, remembering Lucifer's question after way too long a pause.

"Not even the Winchesters? They're your family, after all." Lucifer said it with little inflection, not at all as if he was intending mockery. But Lucifer knew he hated to be reminded of his blood ties to the brothers and how little such a tie had come to mean. Sometimes, Adam thought Lucifer missed Sam, and that was why he always brought them up when they were no longer a necessary topic of conversation.

"You know, very well, I wouldn't wanna talk to them, even if I could. They already know I'm down here. What else am I gonna say to 'em? 'Hey guys, it's your brother—you know, Adam? The guy you left in Hell? Yeah, remember him? That's me.' Nope—not at all interested in having that conversation. I was speaking in hypotheticals. Like, does social media work down here? Could we actually, like… set up a Facebook page or write a blog and call it "The Hell-Cage Experience? That would probably get a lot of page views even if nobody took it seriously."

"Yeah…I didn't understand half of what you said right there, but the computer should be capable of everything it was when it was on Earth. Of course, if you order something, we're obviously not getting it. I learned that lots of humans used that machine or ones like it to acquire food."

"Yeah." Adam brushed his hand through his hair, mentally shaking his head again at the added absurdity to this already mind-breaking situation. What was his life that he was having a casual conversation about computer usage with the Devil? In literal Hell? Adam needed to get over this. He was starting to sound like a broken record.

Music suddenly started playing from the computer for the first time since the device had appeared. Although Michael's human manifestation (an almost duplicate of himself with an added Angel aura) didn't jump or display any sign of startlement, the place where his wings would be visual when displayed distorted and, for a moment, the room became slightly breezy, portraying the Angelic version of the same thing.

Adam didn't recognize the song but could admit it was catchy. What was Michael even watching? He could admit to being a little jealous that he didn't have his own computer down here to whittle the time away—If Lucifer was going to insist on ignoring the laws of reality and physics by having a working computer down here, couldn't he have at least gotten them all one? Why was Lucifer even letting Michael hoard the thing in the first place if Lucifer had it brought here for himself? No way was he about to ask, though. Not for his own computer or about whatever his Angel companion was watching.

Lucifer had no such compunctions, of course. In fact, looking at that human face, which showed his emotions maybe a little too well, Adam would say the Devil looked a little too much like the cat that had captured the canary but wanted to play more with it before he ate it. Adam was instantly suspicious.

"Sooo…what's that you're looking at, Michael?" Lucifer asked, sounding almost like he already knew and just wanted to hear the answer aloud. The whole thing made the human nervous, and he wasn't even sure why.

Adam glanced back at Michael. He didn't seem horrified, angry, or any other emotion the human might've expected if some joke or prank had been pulled on him like he had every other time Lucifer had gotten the better of him while down here. In fact, if he had to guess based on familiarity with his own facial expressions, he would say Michael looked curious.

"It appears to be a live performance of the Winchester Gospel," Michael said. As if that simple sentence alone was self-explanatory.

"A live performance of…what?" Why were the Winchesters being mentioned again? And by Michael of all people. His Archangel roommate usually agreed with Adam that it was best they weren't discussed. The topic had negative connotations for them all. It only led to bad moods and tension.

Suddenly unable to hold back his own curiosity, Adam deduced that it was safe enough to leave his claimed corner of the cage to approach. It was only Michael, after all. He'd already spent a lot of time cuddled up within his wings. He'd felt what it was like to have that being inside him: for some moments, what it was like to share all thoughts and feelings with another without walls separating their personhood. There might as well be no more boundaries left between them to break.

Once he was practically on top of Michael—trying to get a good look at the screen he'd become affixed to—the Archangel, still perfectly attuned to him and his needs from their joining, moved the computer from his lap to in front of him and bundled him into the cleared space. Now, nothing stopped him from getting a good view of the computer. He was a lot more comfortable, too.

It only took him a couple of minutes to register what he was seeing. An 'understanding' of what he'd seen didn't end up following close behind.

There on the screen, clear as day, were Sam and Dean. At least he was pretty sure it was Sam and Dean. If not, these people were dead wringers, and…. wait, no…that was their Impala. It was definitely them.

"What the fuck am I even watching right now?"

"Weren't you listening? Michael said it was a live performance of the Winchester Gospel."

Adam jumped slightly at hearing Lucifer's voice suddenly coming from behind him. He hadn't even noticed him move. He'd been too distracted by the video—whatever it was supposed to be. Michael rested his cheek on his forehead and held him tighter as if trying to offer comfort.

"Yes, I heard him," Adam answered, trying not to sound too smart or snappish (just because Lucifer had, so far, respected Michael's demand to leave him alone, that didn't mean he was going to push it by being purposefully rude) "I just don't know what you mean by Winchester Gospel. Do you mean the prophecy that said they were supposed to be your vessels for the Apocalypse? What does a…, um, TV show?—with them in it—have to do with that?"

"The Winchester Gospel isn't the prophecy, exactly. Not in the way that you're thinking, anyway. But I guess you could call it that since it was written by a prophet."

"Prophet?" That was the first he'd heard about them. Adam supposed he shouldn't be surprised that prophets were real, too, since it seemed pretty much every other imaginary thing had turned out to be.

"Prophets are humans born with the ability to read and understand God's word. The Winchester Gospel was the written version of the Winchester's story leading up to the Apocalypse. A prophet would have been able to see it himself for documentation purposes; think of a modern-age Bible with the brothers smack-dab at the center of it."

Adam tried to take in this information while being distracted by the scene of a horrified Sam screaming up at his girlfriend as she burned to death pinned to the ceiling.

Yikes.

He wasn't particularly fond of either Winchester right now, but they did get the shitty end of the stick, didn't they? The people around them, or in any way connected to them, seemed to die in rather gruesome ways.

"Wait," he said, realizing something. "If it's like a new-age Bible written by a human, does that mean it's available for anybody to read the same way the actual Bible is? And if it's about the Winchesters and the Apocalypse, we're all in it, too, right? Even me?"

"I am soooo glad you asked," Lucifer replied. It didn't escape Adam's notice that he sounded practically giddy. He moved to where Adam could see him, shooting him a wide smile (frightening) before he huddled beside them and took control of the computer.

Lucifer exited the TV show—which had continued on to another episode—with a casual, "We can watch the rest of that later," and typed something into the Google search bar. Seeming to find what he was looking for with a satisfied "ah, ha," Lucifer turned the computer back around. "See for yourself."

Adam had been briefly distracted by wondering why Michael hadn't fought for the computer when Lucifer grabbed it but focused again as soon as he processed what he was looking at.

"What on Earth? Are you fucking serious!?"

"Well, we're certainly not on Earth anymore…" Lucifer started, but Adam wasn't listening.

The website the Devil had switched to seemed to be some sorta fan-made page. The background was all black, the continuing image of pentagrams a recurring theme. There was a banner with a picture of the Impala in it and a stylized font spelling out the word 'Supernatural' over the top of it.

There appeared to be books for sale on the site with the same series title. Was this supposed to be the Winchester Gospel? These books looked like cheap drugstore romance-novel-trash… Much like the kind Adam's mother would buy and sneak into the cart and then hide under her mattress when they got home. They were one of the only splurges she made for herself. Kate Milligan never realized that her son snuck into her room when she wasn't home (often) to read those secret books. It was the closest sometimes Adam could get to porn before he'd had his own computer at home. These books couldn't be as important as the Bible: Not looking like this.

He reached out and scrolled over to an icon titled 'characters,' determined to answer his question on whether he was included in this trash.

Did he even want to be?

No, not really.

But the idea of being forgotten, not just by the people who'd claimed him as family but by the entire world, instilled a sudden existential dread.

It took scrolling through tons of names he didn't even recognize to finally find his own, and it was with a strange mixture of relief and trepidation that he clicked on it.

A page with a picture of himself and some general information popped up—which was weird enough, but he could get over it; he was most disturbed by the info section and its accuracy despite the brevity.

"Apparently, I'm only in about four episodes of this show and two books. But one of my main appearances doesn't count because it was a ghoul pretending to be me, and the other doesn't because it was Michael. That's bullshit!"

Adam wasn't even sure why he was mad. It's not like he wanted people to be able to watch his life unfold. As he continued to look through his character page, though, he couldn't help but feel robbed—or like he was being made a mockery of somehow.

"Yawn. This is getting boring now."

Lucifer took control of the computer back, and Adam let him, unsure where else to go and not sure he even wanted to see more. He had the sneaking suspicion that being bombarded with this crap had been Lucifer's intent all along and that he and Michael were just along for the ride. 'Why' Lucifer wanted to watch, read, or interact with any of this was beyond him. Maybe he just wanted to watch himself, but Adam didn't think it would be fun to watch the events of their last year or so re-enacted when it was already such a misery experiencing them.

"It'd take forever to read through these books or watch the show. I'm sure none of us want to spend all our time staring at Sam and Dean's ugly mugs, no matter how limitless it currently is. Sooo…I say we check out some of this fan content first. Music videos, fanfiction, blogs, pairings: I don't even know some of these terms, but they all sound interesting. Humans come up with some of the most depraved—"

"Fanfiction!?" Adam practically yelped, interrupting what was sure to be another 'humans suck' rant from Lucifer he wasn't quite in the mood to withstand. Adam hadn't even given a thought to fanfiction. An old friend of his had been obsessed with Star Trek to near insanity and had introduced him to the concept by forcing him to read a story they'd written using the show's characters. Adam had learned a lot about his friend that day, and he'd never been able to watch an episode of Star Trek with a clean mind again. It had made his mother's erotica seem like child's play.

"Well, that's an interesting reaction," was all Lucifer had to say. Damn it! He should've controlled himself better. Adam could already see the cursor heading towards that 'cursed' word.

"Wait! You really don't want to…see any of that…" Adam trailed off, seeing Lucifer was no longer paying attention to him. Michael's eyes were still glued to the computer, and Adam wondered if he'd glanced away from it even once since it'd appeared down here.

"So 'fanfiction' is 'fan' stories written by fans about certain characters and events. I don't see the problem here. What wouldn't I want to see?"

"Weren't you just saying, 'Humans come up with some of the most depraved—' and so on? You telling me you can't imagine what could be terrible about stories possibly written about 'our' lives?"

Adam knew he shouldn't be saying this even as it came out of his mouth. It'd be smarter to let Lucifer think the topic is dull. Maybe part of him wanted Lucifer to suffer what he'd once had to endure. Then again, the Devil had a strange sense of humor. He was just as likely to find the whole thing amusing. What the fuck did Adam know? He'd almost suspect torturing him, and Michael, with fanfiction, was actually part of his motive here if it weren't for his seemingly ignorant confusion on the topic. If Adam had learned anything, it was that Lucifer was manipulative. But he never lied.

"Depraved?" Lucifer asked with new interest, his face inching closer to the screen.

Yeah.

He wasn't faking that.

Adam resigned himself to the inevitable and braced for impact. Being a minor 'character' might be his only saving grace here.

"I wouldn't get too excited. Don't say I didn't warn you when you find something you don't like," Adam warned. Lucifer getting pissed off would benefit none of them.

"Oh, I see. So, this is where pairings come into play. I wonder…"

Adam caught Lucifer's glance at him out of the corner of his eye and the following smirk. So much for that 'saving grace'. He was clearly Lucifer's first target.

"You were so upset about not having many appearances. About being the unimportant brother—the spare—even here."

"Brother—" Michael finally chipped in again, and Adam recognized his warning tone. Lucifer sure liked to kick below the belt and, not so surprisingly, play with fire.

Adam tried to control his face enough so his scowl wasn't obvious, but had a feeling he'd failed spectacularly. He snuggled further into Michael's arms—his only comfort down here—and felt his body relax when the Angel squeezed him even tighter.

Thankfully, Lucifer only rolled his eyes and mumbled what Adam was sure was 'so sensitive' before continuing with his clicking, undeterred.

"Well, look at that! Most of the 'fanfiction' here involves you and Michael in a sexual or romantic relationship. Wow, big brother! Never thought I'd see you degrade yourself this way. Even if it's only in a piece of fiction written by humans."

Michael's posture straightened, and he could almost imagine the look of contempt he'd be sending Lucifer even with his back to him. Adam rubbed the Angel's arm, attempting to return comfort and calm.

"Not that I can blame the humans for speculating about how you two act. You're way too soft on your vessel, Michael. You might as well glue him to your side and be done with it."

"If I wanted your opinion, I'd ask for it."

Lucifer hummed and continued messing with the computer.

"Here's an interesting summary: 'Michael has a boner but doesn't know what to do with it. Adam teaches him one of the pleasures of being human.'"

Adam cringes but isn't surprised. Yeah, that was to be expected. Adam supposed it also made sense that any fan-made material would focus on him in conjunction with Michael. He was the 'character' he'd interacted with the most. He'd literally been inside him (yes, he could grasp the erotic implications).

Adam snuck a look at Michael, relieved to see he looked more confused than angry. He thought about what he wanted to say.

"You realize you've probably been paired up with everybody at least once yourself, right? You're too important. You probably had plenty of 'screen time' or 'page-time,' or whatever the fuck we're going with here."

"And why should it bother me what humans write about me?"

"Well, as you've probably gathered, most of it is porn. Here, let me see the computer for a minute?"

Lucifer arched an eyebrow at him but pushed it over. Adam was clearly being humored; he hoped he could find what he had in mind.

It was easier than it should've been to navigate the website. And it took less time than it should've to find something inflammatory.

"Look at this," Adam said, passing the computer back. Adam took a perverse amount of pleasure in the blank expression that came over Lucifer's face as he realized what he was reading. Adam might not agree with most of Lucifer's anti-human dogma. But he could get behind his belief in their depravity. The human imagination could be downright vile.

"Did you want to read the summary of that one out loud? Or maybe you'd like to check out the story itself." Adam hoped Lucifer didn't call his bluff and actually attempt to read what he'd found. Adam had no desire to hear such things and was sure Michael would find it equally traumatizing. It might even have Michael agreeing with Lucifer about humans being disgusting and all deserving to die. Now that he was thinking about it… showing Lucifer such a thing and daring to taunt him might not have been such a good idea.

"We're moving on to something else. There's nothing of value to see here," Lucifer growled. His hands were clenched, and his eyes glowed a burning red. If Lucifer had had laser vision, the computer would be a smoking, charred pile of unworkable parts.

Adam relaxed.

Lucifer was clearly pissed, but it wasn't at him.

"How about some videos, or… Oh, here's a fan song."

The look on Lucifer's face now scared Adam. More than the one he'd given the computer after reading the summary of the story that ‘must not be named or explained.'

A tune started up, and Adam frowned at the almost immediate mention of Sam and Dean. Adam wasn't sure what he was supposed to be waiting for. Lucifer was watching him with what could only be anticipation. It was clearly an Apocalypse song, and he could only assume he'd be getting a mention. It was nearing the chorus when he heard the first hint of himself: a mention of the writers forgetting someone. He just knew that had to mean him.

And then he heard the actual chorus.

"We are never ever saving Adam ever!? Really?"

Someone had written an actual song about how forgettable he was. Sam and Dean's perspective added extra sting to already painful mockery. Was this all he was to anyone who knew his story? An unremarkable, unimportant joke.

It was one thing for Lucifer to tease him: Lucifer was just being Lucifer. And this was obviously his revenge for managing to make him uncomfortable. It was a separate issue to know his fellow humans could think so little of him when he'd only ever tried his best to be respectable. When he'd been willing to give his body over to do what he'd believed to be right. When he'd only wanted to see his mother and now might never be reunited with her again.

Lucifer smiled at his reaction. But Michael, who'd always been so unnaturally attuned to his emotional state, straightened up. He flared his wings in a way that made his presence seem towering and finally put in his two cents.

"While I'm not averse to studying the Gospel—as it may have answers to our current predicament and shine a light on what has been happening among the host since I have been gone—I have to protest this obvious targeting of Adam for your sick entertainment. I've told you time again that my vessel is off limits."

"And you haven't seen me lay a finger on him. Have you?" Lucifer sneered. Adam wondered if this would escalate into another 'bitch-fight-argument.' (Man, was he glad Michael wasn't currently paying attention to his thoughts.) Experiencing more of this Winchester-based crap didn't appeal to him in the slightest: Not with how he'd been depicted. He wasn't much in the mood for listening to them go back and forth, either, for however long they'd decide to have a go.

"Can't we just decide on something that won't make any of us angry? Maybe get started on that learning Michael mentioned. Because he had a point, you know? There's a good chance we could learn about what's been happening while we've been down here. It hardly benefits us to be uninformed."

Some of Michael's tenseness relaxed, and a slight breeze from his wings told Adam they'd also been put away. Adam turned to look at Lucifer again.

"We could get info on what's been happening in Hell too." Adam's careful not to say what he's actually thinking: that Lucifer could see Sam again and learn how he's doing. Lucifer's obsession was one best not spoken of; he'd deny it anyway.

Both Angels agreed with Adam with only a little grumbling and a couple murmured insults from Lucifer that Adam pretended not to hear. Lucifer was just upset they'd managed to ruin his fun.

Now that they had a plan, they just needed to put it into motion. Adam reached towards the computer again slowly, wondering if Lucifer would put up a fight about handing it over, but he shoved it at him instantly. Adam guessed Lucifer didn't want to have to put in the work if he couldn't fuck with them anymore. Adam wasn't about to complain.

Adam settled the computer into a position far enough from him so Lucifer could still see the screen. It'd been paused on the YouTube video for the song he'd been so hurt by. With a quick type of 'Supernatural mvs' in the search bar, it directed him to other options. Lots of options! Man, this show was popular. He hardly knew where to start.

Adam clicked on a couple random vids but got nothing out of them beyond further confirmation of Sam and Dean's life sucking, their codependent relationship, and the strange homoerotic tension between Castiel and Dean which the fans not only noticed but seemingly loved.

"Well, those weren't very helpful. Why don't we look up some videos focusing on the Angels."

Adam did so, and this time hit paydirt. These videos focused a lot more on the Angels and what they'd been up to. Some of it was hard for him to follow without the context, but he was focusing on trying to absorb everything until—

"You killed Gabriel?" Michael didn't yell, but his voice seemed to boom and almost shake the cage from being so powerful. The grip Michael still had around him was equally strong. Adam was grateful he couldn't actually die down here. And that he didn't need to breathe. Otherwise, the hold would have already suffocated him. Adam tried to pay attention to what Michael was actually saying.

Gabriel?

Right, Gabriel.

Apparently, Lucifer had killed him.

The video was still going, but nobody was paying it any mind. He reached a hand out to pause it, trying not to attract the attention of either of them. Michael was angrier than Adam had ever seen him. Adam trusted Michael to not want to hurt him, but that didn't mean he couldn't end up collateral damage. His ribs could attest to that.

Would this be the inciting incident? The thing to finally turn them to violence? Adam supposed Lucifer's response might be the determining factor.

Lucifer looked surprised. Adam wondered if he'd forgotten that he'd killed Gabriel or if he simply assumed nobody would ever find out.

"It wasn't Gabriel's place to interfere. He helped Sam and Dean get away, kept waving his Angel Blade around in my face, and seemed very protective of the humans, above all else. He'd clearly been down on Earth too long and became too accustomed to their ways. What else would you have had me do?"

"Maybe not kill your brother. You were always Gabriel's favorite: The only one to enjoy his pranks. The only one who could understand his jokes. You taught him to fly. Even during our fights, he never once took sides. He had to know you were in the wrong, but his love and worship for you prevented him from ever truly standing against you. Were you truly incapable of subduing him long enough for you to get away? You couldn't appeal to him… or talk him down—someone who once loved you that much?"

Lucifer, for once, appeared lost for words. (Talk about family drama. And he thought his issues with his own were bad.) Adam suddenly had a lot of questions he'd never thought to ask: What happened to an Angel when they died? Did they stop existing? Did they have their own afterlife? Was it better than here? He supposed it had to be.

There was still no answer from Lucifer. Adam knew better than to dare ask any of his questions now. His mouth would stay firmly shut while letting them sort this out. No way was he getting in the middle of this.

"Your silence might as well be an admission of guilt." Michael was trying his best to sound all-commanding and unemotional. The bond between him and Adam that let Michael perceive what he was feeling, however, worked both ways. Right now, he was feeling a grief Adam hadn't yet felt from him before. Not even their fall into the cage had elicited such an emotional response; he'd mostly just been angry then.

"Like you're squeaky clean being Dad's loyal soldier. You'd have killed him yourself if it'd been an order from God. Just like you threw me down here on his orders. You're the last person who'd have any right to lecture me on betrayal: on family loyalty." Lucifer sneered again as he practically spat the words.

Michael glowered and shot right back: "Your actions led to me striking you down—not just God. If you'd just listened—"

"—Here we go again: 'If you'd only just listened and followed orders like every other Angel, we wouldn't be in this situation right now. If you'd only just listened and been a good puppet soldier, none of this would've happened,'" Lucifer mocked with a roll of his eyes. "Don't take any accountability for your own mistakes. The 'Great and Powerful Archangel Michael' doesn't make mistakes. He's just Daddy's perfect boy. Well, it doesn't seem like he's coming down here to rescue you, does it? God has abandoned you too! Despite your enduring loyalty and stupidity."

"Faith is not stupid," Michael retorted. "And must you insist on talking poorly of our father?"

"He's the reason we're both down here, Mikey. The reason we're all down here. Apparently, he doesn't care about your vessel, either—despite insisting we prioritize these humans above all else. What excuse can you even give for that, huh? Are we meant to believe that he just… what? Didn't notice our Apocalypse: Didn't notice one of his Archangels dying and another falling into the cage? 'He who supposedly sees all'? What's more likely? That he hasn't realized or doesn't care? About any of us."

Adam didn't much appreciate being brought up in this conversation, especially when said conversation was a reminder that nobody seemed to care that he was here (aka: In Hell). Secretly, though, while he'd never tell Michael, he agreed somewhat with Lucifer; God didn't seem invested in any of them. One of the things that had brought him closer to Michael—that had made him sympathetic—had been his…well, 'toxic' relationship with his father. Even easier to empathize with was Lucifer's hatred towards that same father due to a disillusionment Michael had yet to overcome.

"We're down here to pay penance," Michael shot back in defense. "Father is hardly going to reward failure."

"Well, he certainly doesn't reward loyalty. What's your human paying penance for? What did he theoretically do wrong in this scenario? He was just doing what he thought was right, wasn't he? Doing what you and the other Angels told him to?"

Michael seemed to struggle with this, and Adam tried peaking up at him to see if he could catch his expression. Adam was curious what excuse he'd come up with for this one, if any; he wouldn't even be mad at the insinuation that Adam could've done something deserving of spending an eternity down here when he'd managed to make it into Heaven before.

Michael's arms clenched around him again, but softer this time and without the anger. Adam didn't manage to get anything from his expression (Adam admitted to stupidity in hindsight; Michael's face was hardly a display of emotion, and there was no reason for this time to be any different), but Michael let out an almost audible sigh. His Archangel's emotions, unlike the rest of him, were anything but tame. Adam could feel the conflict and confusion as strongly as if they were his own.

Lucifer seemed to grasp from Michael's sudden silence that he'd scored his first point in this back-and-forth because he smirked, suddenly confident from this small but important victory. At any other time, Adam might have been amused and grateful that Lucifer was getting through to Michael on the whole 'God issue.' Right now, though, Lucifer trying to use this to distract from him having killed their brother and then throwing Adam into the argument made Adam furious.

'Screw it,' Adam thought, 'I'm done shutting up.'

"Look, obviously, none of us are having the time of our lives down here, but it doesn't really do to dwell on the whys and hows. We have to make the best of our situation while still being ready to take any chances that turn up to get out of here. This, right here—" Adam shook the laptop to remind them both that it was there. "—this is the closest we've gotten; the only information we have available."

Lucifer stared at him. He could sense he had Michael's attention as well.

"Michael's got a right to be mad. His brother's dead, and he's only just found out. Lucifer, you have a right to be mad too. About being stuck here again, I mean. But that doesn't mean you have to take it out on Michael since it wasn't even his fault this time. You told me, yourself, that fighting down here's pointless, so maybe stop trying to instigate one." Adam glared at Lucifer, trying to look braver than he actually felt. "And stop using me to antagonize Michael. It's hardly very creative of you."

"Your vessel's got bite, Michael. Real Winchester trait."

"Milligan," Adam corrected in further irritation. "Can we please just—" Adam shook the computer again in frustration. "We were really getting somewhere. Do you two wanna keep fighting about something neither of you can do anything about, or do you want to get educated? Cause I'm telling you, right now, if it turns out there was some way outta here we didn't know about that this did and we miss it, I'll find a way to make the both of you regret it…" Adam took another look at the both of them as they stared at him—Lucifer with an arched brow and Michael curiously—and felt his temporary bravery abandon him.

"…somehow," he muttered in a much weaker, lower voice.

For some reason, his outburst seemed to kick the two of them into gear. Michael suddenly arranged the laptop and the both of them so he had better access to the controls while still having a firm grip on him. Adam wondered if it was a good idea for Michael to be in charge—given his previous immersion (more like obsession) with said computer—but Adam figured he'd already said his piece. For now, he just wanted to feel like he was accomplishing something.

Neither Lucifer nor Michael apologized, but Adam assumed by their behavior that it was implied. Lucifer, at least, would never lower himself enough to do so—and Adam knew Michael would never do it in front of Lucifer, who'd no doubt use it as an excuse for further mockery.

Sometimes, seeing the devastation that was their relationship made him happy about never being able to build anything real with his own brothers. If having siblings caused one this much pain and drama, maybe he was better off without them.

Michael continued with the video route since they'd already proven useful. (And Adam's heart did ache for Michael about the Gabriel situation. Of all the stories Michael had told Adam of Heaven, the ones involving the trickster Angel had been his favorite.)

These videos involved more Angel drama: Drama that Adam still lacked some context to entirely understand. He could tell it was bad, though. And not just from the tenseness and feelings Michael was projecting from their bond.

"Raphael is dead too," was Michael's next despondent comment. The hurt practically emanated from him at this point—a dark rolling cloud of misery over his usual sunny brightness.

"Well, you can hardly blame me for that one. I think Castiel might have single-handedly done more damage in these videos than I managed during our entire apocalypse escapade. I'd be in awe if it weren't so insulting." Lucifer certainly didn't look amused.

"Much as I hate to agree with you, there is something seriously wrong with that Angel. He seems incapable of following orders or respecting authority. There's no need to make light of our prophesized battle by referring to it as an escapade, though, Lucifer."

"Sure. Disrespect of authority. That's the problem." Lucifer's eyes rolled back so far in his head that Adam feared they'd get stuck that way. His sarcasm was so thick Adam could drown in it.

The videos kept going and kept getting progressively worse.

"At this point, the question we should be asking is if there are any angels left. Also…what's so special about Castiel that his death never seems to stick."

Neither Michael nor Lucifer appeared to like the implications. They both had to know the most likely reason for Castiel's constant revivals was God's favor. How Castiel could have earned said favor without trying when even Lucifer and Michael's fanatical bids to garner attention had resulted in radio silence, Adam didn't know. It just left the increasing impression of God being that crappy, absentee father Lucifer had painted him as, whether Michael was able to admit to it yet or not.

Purgatory, Soulless Sam, The Trials, The Angels Falling, The Mark of Cain, The Darkness: The hits never stopped. And…wait, was that supposed to be God? The guy writing the Winchester gospel and pretending to be a Prophet? What? When Michael and Lucifer said nothing, Adam decided to do the same. They either hadn't reached the same conclusion (noticed) or didn't want to discuss it and were ignoring it. Adam could get behind that.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this—feel free to slap me if I'm being ridiculous, 'cause I'm probably way out of line here—but…do you think maybe…we might actually be safer down here? Everyone up there seems to be cursed or something."

Apropos of nothing, without the slightest warning, Lucifer disappeared.

Adam stared at the now empty space. Gone. Just like that. Adam tensed and grasped onto Michael's arm around him, worried he or Michael might be next. Michael held on just as tight, also wary. Only after a few minutes of neither of them going anywhere did he lower his guard.

"Was it something I said?" Adam asked, suddenly feeling the need to whisper. "Did I jinx it?"

"Of course not. Lucifer must have been summoned."

"Who would or could summon Lucifer out of the cage?" He asked, then almost knocked himself out from the force of his own palm meeting face at his stupidity.

"Winchesters," both Adam and Michael ended up saying simultaneously.

"But why?" Adam asked.

"They must need an Archangel for something." And, boy, was Michael mad; the increased thunder and lightning noises from outside the cage evidence (representation) of his vast displeasure.

"They needed an Archangel, and they chose Lucifer?" That was dubious. Lucifer might help—especially if Sam was doing the asking—but he'd hardly do it for free. God knows what other mischief he'd get into while up there.

Given how they'd just been talking about a curse, there was also a good chance Lucifer would be killed. Adam felt weird thinking about it. Lucifer drove him crazy, and he was hardly a pinnacle of moral righteousness. But Adam would miss him. Adam had gotten used to thinking of Michael and Lucifer as his eternal companions. Now, one of them was gone. He couldn't help but grip Michael harder again, still slightly scared that he'd vanish, too, and Adam would be alone. That would be the end of his sanity right then.

"If the darkness destroyed the world…or whatever it is she does, would it affect us, too? Could Lucifer even defeat it?"

"Everything would be affected. The last time the darkness had to be shut away, it took the combined power of God and all four of his Archangels. Even then, it was still difficult and resulted in grievous injuries. I don't see how it could be accomplished unless God has returned to fight and decides to bring us all back."

Michael didn't even look hopeful while saying it, proof this new information and situation had him out of sorts. Adam just had to hope that if Michael was summoned, Adam would be taken as well. The Angel would still need a vessel, after all. Adam doubted Dean had suddenly changed his views on possession. Adam could also admit to jealousy at the idea of Dean taking his place in this instance. Dean hadn't wanted to be Michael's vessel, but Adam had been filling that role for so long now he no longer knew any other way to be.

"So what are we supposed to do now?"

"There's nothing we can do," Michael admitted reluctantly. Adam knew Michael hated feeling helpless and not being able to do anything. Michael hadn't known a day of idleness until he found himself here. Adam had promised himself if they ever escaped, he'd insist on a vacation. They both deserved one, and there were so many places Adam had never gotten to see while alive that he thought Michael might get some pleasure from now.

"We should be on our guard, though, I'm guessing?"

Michael nodded against his back.

For a moment, Adam wanted to say, 'screw this,' and hide again in his angel companion's wings as he had so long ago. To forget everything and make that feathery embrace his entire world. It was strange, almost, how that seemed like a simpler time. It certainly hadn't seemed simple at the time.

"You just wanna watch some more of this Supernatural crap? It won't take our mind off anything, but I'm sure there's still much to learn. Why don't we look up some videos about ourselves? I'm sure we must have at least a few. Oh, and your brothers! We could find some about them too. See what they'd been up to before…well, just before. I hope this computer doesn't run out of power. Now that I'm thinking about it, it already should've run out if it was going to. You'd been messing with it for days before we'd even commented. I'm not even going to ask what had you so engrossed." Adam knew he was babbling but also knew Michael wouldn't mind. He'd told Adam before that he liked knowing what Adam was thinking but had difficulty figuring it out.

Adam rearranged himself again until he was comfy and brought YouTube back up. He was determined not to think about their imminent demise, the possibility of Michael disappearing, Lucifer being dead, or the Winchesters (despite them being prominent in everything and, therefore, impossible to ignore).

No.

None of those things existed right now. Adam and Michael were watching fiction. Pieces of a TV show. It had nothing to do with their lives at all. If he thought of it that way…maybe it would make these viewings easier to bear? Put less of a strain on his heart and his mind.

Adam took a deep breath, ready to start the next set of videos.

"You ready?" He asked Michael.

"It's only pragmatic to learn all we can. You said something similar yourself."

"Okay, what have I said about using my own words against me?"

"To not do so. Though I'm slightly confused about whose I should be using if not yours."

Adam sighed and shook his head.

Angels.

Hopeless.

All of them.

"Let's just get watching."

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fandomfics · 2 months ago

Text

Different Tropes for Different Folks

A Tumblr Made Me Do It fic

Pairing: Deadpool/Wade Wilson x Mutant Pyrokenetic gn Reader

Description: Wade tries using different romance tropes he's seen on Tumblr to get his crush to notice him as more than just a friend.

Masterlist

⚠️Warnings⚠️

Italics are 4th wall breaks, violence, language, fluff

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*Wade Wilson dawning his well known Deadpool suit sits in a plush armchair in a library*

I have the most raging heart boner for you, reader. A heart-on if you will. This crush is actually emotionally crushing me. Maybe you're oblivious or just want me as a friend. I guess there's only one way to find out...Put you into every romance trope until I have my answer. Que the intro!

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You and Wade Wilson have been friends a long time, best friends in fact. You know every dirty little secret about each other, or so you think. Lately he's been acting weird, well... weirder than usual.

"Hey Wade, what's up?" You say as you walk into the kitchen of your shared apartment.

"Gotta mission for us, gonna be a doozy. Probably take weeks. Just you and me. On an island. With a bunch of other people."

"Okay," you draw out the word, "who's the target?."

"Some shit stain human trafficker, one of the higher ups, but we have to play the long game, get info on their base of operations."

"Sounds fun!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When you arrive to the the tropical island resort by boat the beautiful white sands and crystal clear waters draw you in, they're unlike anything you've seen in person before. You admire your surroundings as you walk down the dock, smelling the crisp clean air, feel the warmth of the sun on your skin.

"Oh yeah, we're married. Well fake married. I did a lot of research for this mission, and it's our best bet." Wade whispers.

You're stunned and unsure how to respond, so you thread your arm through his and continue to the resort.

"Checking in for the Wilsons." Wade says with a smile.

"Yes, three weeks in our honeymoon suite for the newlyweds! Congratulations!" The receptionist offers a smile back.

"You got those little do not disturb door hangers? We are definitely gonna need one of those if you know what I mean." He winks and the receptionists smile falters a bit before handing him the keys.

. . .

"Oh my god Wade, this is gorgeous!" You exclaim looking around the spacious room. A breeze gently wafting through an open window blows the curtains into the room where a plush king sized canopy bed rests. On the other side of the large room is a living area with a couch.

"How did you afford this?"

"A Merc never reveals his secrets!" He replies with a wink. "I guess I'll take the couch." He looks at you waiting for you to say something.

"Okay!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was not, in fact, okay. I guess I should have made sure there weren't couches in the room. Fuck. One bed trope, useless.

I read a fic where there were too many beds and they still confessed their love for each other! Next step is getting caught somewhere we're not supposed to be so we have to kiss.

Hehehe

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You spend the first few days casing the resort and making preparations for the arrival of your targets. At some point you find yourselves on the way out of the managers office when you're almost caught.

"Kiss me!" You whisper yell to Wade when you hear someone behind you in the hall. Without hesitation he pushes you against the wall and kisses you hard. You lean into it, making a show of it as the footsteps approach, Wade moves down your jaw to your neck to give you a better view. A Soft small moan escapes you when he hits your pulse point and you feel him smile into your neck as you slap your hand over your mouth.

His chuckle reverberates against your skin and you can feel his hands gently moving down your back and grabbing at your ass. Your hands hold the back of his head to keep him close as you keep an eye out for the owner of the footsteps. You feel him harden against you and his hips roll as he lets out his own soft moan in your ear, sending a wave of arousal through you.

"This is a restricted area, no guests allowed."

"Oh, shit! Sorry." You say breathily as you push Wade off of you and take his hand, running down the hallway with a giggle.

When you're finally out of earshot Wade speaks up, "Sounded to me like you enjoyed that. We should almost get caught more often."

You roll your eyes and laugh, "felt like you enjoyed it... I'm sure you could find someone to fuck around with while we're here if that's what you're looking for."

His face falls a bit, but his smile remains, "Can't do that Honey Bunny," he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer as you walk through the lobby, "we have to keep up appearances as newlyweds." He whispers.

A chill runs down your spine when you feel his hot breath on the shell of your ear. You've always loved Wade as a person, a friend. You've never thought of him as more though, never wondered what it would be like to be with him in that way. You certainly are now though.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Okay, we're onto something here. Definitely need more opportunities for flustering. That little moan. HEAVENLY. I need to hear more of that.

We still have forced proximity, being emotionally vulnerable, maybe I can get myself captured so they are forced to confront their feelings for me. So many options, so little time.

I wonder if you'll hate me for all this later on...? Like when I tell you I did all this will we have a moment where you feel betrayed and I'll have to win you back. Or if I don't tell you and you find out through some other nefarious means like my mortal enemy trying to steal you away from me.

I mean, it's not like I'm lying to you, I'm just manipulating events to give me opportunities to woo you in unconventional ways. Eh, I bet you'll think it's a funny story.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The following morning you sneak away to enjoy some time to yourself on the beach. As you watch the sunrise you hear footsteps behind you, glancing back you see Wade.

"You know, if you aren't going to use the bed to sleep in in the mornings, I will gladly take it..." He says stifling a yawn as he sits at your side.

"Why are you awake?"

"I heard you leave, you were loud as fuck stomping around like a god damn T-Rex!" His elbow nudges your side.

"Bullshit." You lean into him with a chuckle. "You could sleep through a hurricane."

"I...had a nightmare." He studies his hands, "couldn't go back to sleep. So figured I'd come find you so we can go pretend to be married at the spa. Couples massage?"

"you know you don't have to deflect every time. You can talk to me about these things, if you need to."

"No, it's fine." He gives you a half hearted laugh. "Already forgot about it."

"Must be bad if you don't feel like talking." You lean your head on his shoulder.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Oh wait, fuck! This is my chance for emotional vulnerability!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"You died and I couldn't do anything to stop it."

"Wade, I know that you would do anything in your power to keep me around even if it's just to annoy me another day. BFFFs. Couldn't get rid of me if you tried anyway." You squeeze his arm as you raise your eyes and see a look you can't quite place.

"Like I'd ever want to do that." You hold his gaze for a moment. You're drawn to the way he's looking at you, like he has so much to say but he's speechless. A fucking first.

Tension crackles in the small space between you until out of nowhere a frisbee nails Wade in the side of the head.

"Are you okay?" You say stifling a laugh.

Wade picks up the frisbee and flings it as far as he possibly can into the sea, "Hope you can swim asshole! My blind roommate has better aim then you, and she's a coke fiend!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Thanks to the teen with terrible aim and timing worse than Tommy Wiseau for the whole near-kiss-that-gets-interrupted thing. Not really what I was going for, but the lil shit head set that train in motion.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A week later you've made friends with the wife of the target. Yourself and Wade have joined them for dinner, and the drinks are flowing freely.

"How did you two meet?" She probes.

"Well," Wade starts, "we both got hired for the same job. Kept yelling at me needing to fuck off, I wasn't the one getting paid for it. Yadda yadda yadda. Turns out it was a clerical error, and love at first sight." He looks into your eyes, and you swear you see nothing but sincerity before he wraps an arm around your shoulder and kisses your forehead. "You absolutely loathed me though, said I looked like I needed a hug from a bear...while covered in salmon chunks." He laughs.

You playfully bat at his chest, "Only a little bit." A smirk graces your face thinking back to your first encounter. "He saw how good I was and asked me to help with his next gig. The rest is history."

"History that involved me begging you to help me again and again just so I could be around you. You kept hurling those cute little insults at me too."

. . .

"I think that went really well. Before you know it they're going to be inviting us to their suite for a party."

"And just how do you plan on making that happen Pookie?"

"Colombian Marching Powder."

"Oh, you naughty lil thing you! When Feige is away the mice will play!" He claps his hands excitedly.

"You did good at dinner by the way. Coming up with that on the fly."

"I just told em what actually happened. I've watched enough romcoms to know that the basis for any good fake marriage is the meet-cute. So it's gotta be something I'll remember. I came up with like five other options but they all involved tigers or Icelandic death metal bands and I was starting to-"

Suddenly pieces start to connect in your mind, "When you told me you did a lot of research for this mission you meant just watching a bunch of romcoms didn't you?"

"I also took an acting class." He says proudly ignoring your eye roll. "Patrick Dempsey's school for wayward actors."

"You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, but you love it!"

You hide your smile as you turn away, you do. You can't deny his off the wall behavior is what kept you hanging around Wade, never a dull moment.

"You don't have to keep sleeping on the couch... I'll share the bed with you. I better not wake up with you spooning me though."

"No promises!" He says taking a running leap onto the bed landing with a giggle.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Quite an interesting lil development. Looks like hitting you with everything at once is working. Soon enough you'll realize-

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Wade, why are you talking to yourself in the closet? Again." He lets out a little scream and covers his eyes with one hand as light floods the small space.

"Can't a guy talk dirty to himself while beating his meat in a dark closet in peace? Have some respect!"

You raise your hands in mock surrender, "okay, well I'm going to bed, good night you fucking weirdo."

"Oooh, I'll join!!

"Remember, no spooning!"

"Your loss really."

. . .

"Psst....hey."

your eyes open slowly in the dark room, "hmm?"

"I know you said no spooning but this is nice."

You look down and realize that at some point in the night you've bundled yourself close behind him and thrown your arm over his side. You scramble away and turn onto your other side without a word.

. . .

Another few days have passed and you've further ingratiated yourself with the target's wife. You've planned after dinner drinks in their room, and this is when you and Wade will strike.

After partying it up with the couple, a night of drinking and drugs that Wade actually partakes in and you pretend to partake in, you manage to chloroform them and tie them to chairs facing each other.

While they're out you and Wade search the room for for anything related to the trafficking ring, but come up with nothing.

"Guess we're gonna have to have a good ol torture sesh!"

. . .

You hear a groan behind you as the target wakes up, "show time!" Wade hops up and stands between them facing the man.

"Mornin' punkin!" He flicks the man on the forehead and he flinches.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm Deadpool," he says gesturing to the suit he dawned while they were out cold, "and this hot piece of ass, full pun intended, is my lover from the fire nation on a mission to find the avatar."

Both you and the target look to Wade in confusion before he continues. "Now, you're going to tell me all the dirty little details of your little ring or I'll start peeling your wife like an onion, and not in the sexy way."

"I swear I don't know what you're talking about about, please, just leave us alone." The man starts to sob as a wet spot forms at his crotch.

"Oh...you do not inspire fear as a leader should. Pookie, are you sure we got the right couple?"

Before you have a chance to speak the woman frantically pleads, "please, don't hurt us! I promise, we won't say anything, just let us go!"

"I don't think we got it wrong..." You chime in ignoring the woman. "Maybe he took the same acting class as you." You shrug.

"With a face like Hugh Jackman's, I would have remembered this stud." He finds their passports to confirm their identities. "Yup, these are them."

You move to stand next to the woman, extending your palm in front of you and igniting a flame the size of a softball. You watch it flicker as you speak. "Tell us what we want to know and we won't torture you...much."

"I need information on your base of operations."

"That's public information, it's a multi-million dollar retailer, you don't -"

"Not that dumbass, the trafficking ring." You bring the fire close to the woman's face, she's clearly far more composed in the face of the danger you're presenting her, "hmm, I think she's actually the target here."

Wade turns to see what you see, a stoic woman, no longer pleading, just waiting for what comes next.

"Shit. Family meeting!" Wade yells as he pulls you away from the couple, "We're gonna have to put a different spin on this. You stay here, I need to go get something."

He leaves the room and you're left with the whimpering man and his badass wife. You stand before the man, trying to determine if his wife loves him enough to tell you what you need to know to avoid him being harmed when you feel the prick of a knife at your throat.

"Fuck."

"You really should pat down your victims better."

"Wade's the one that does the groping, not me." You retort casually.

Just then the door swings open and Wade bursts in with a skimpy police costume over his suit and a boom box from the early 2000s playing If You Seek Amy by Brittany Spears.

"You know shes not really saying- ah, shit." The door closes behind him and he drops the boom box. "Alright, let's talk this out. This was all just a big elaborate stripper gram sent by your friends! For your anniversary!"

"Cut the bullshit," she says holding you firmly to her, "you move a muscle and this knife plunges right into-"

Shots ring out before you know what's happened and blood splatters across your face.

"Nope. Not happening." He reaches out a hand and you take it, "Let's go."

You manage to make it to the hallway and round the corner before you hear voices ahead. Wade ducks into a room marked employees only and you follow suit finding yourself in a cramped linen closet, chest to chest.

"Well this is cozy." He whispers as you grab a towel to wipe the blood from your face.

"Well, we wouldn't be in this situation if you hadn't shot her!"

"She was going to murder you!" He whisper yells as he yanks off his mask.

"She was going to use me as leverage to get away and we could have followed her Wade."

"Not a risk I was willing to take."

You roll your eyes and go silent, listening to the commotion beyond the door. "We're gonna be here a while."

His arms wrap around you unexpectedly and he embraces you tightly. "You said you knew I'd do anything in my power to keep you around. So suck it up buttercup."

"Damn, you got me there." You say returning his embrace.

When you pull away as much as you can in the small Space you find the courage to ask something that's been on your mind, "when you said it was love at first sight...was that part... True?"

"Abso-fuckin-lutely Honey Bunny."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Because, as in any good romcom, I was a little bitch with insecurities. I look like the love child of a piece of pizza that fucked Freddy Krueger and then got pushed into a wood chipper."

"Just because you aren't conventionally attractive, doesn't mean I'm not drawn to you. I see more than just what's on the surface. I see someone that matches my freak in the best way possible." You stare deep into his eyes and pull his face to yours.

"Is this sexual tension? Did I find the right trope? Are we finally doing this?"

"Shut up and kiss me Wade!" He follows your orders immediately. The kiss is long and deep, full of years of desire that you didn't realize weighed so heavily on you. All this time the love you felt for him wasnt just that of a friend, it was more.

"Is that your gun or are you just happy to see me?" You smile when you finally pull away.

"Yes"

"Yes what?"

"To both."

"I will light you on fire Wade Winston Wilson"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

And that, dear reader, is how you realized you love me.

"I was there, it happened yesterday. Get out of the closet...and stop calling me reader!"

"Okay Hunny Bunny."

#fanfic #mdni #deadpool movie #deadpool x reader #deadpool fanfiction #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #deadpool 3 #deadpool x you #fourth wall #ryan reynolds #deadpool 2 #marvel cinematic universe #marvel characters #marvel

41 notes · View notes

oliverreedmasterass · 1 month ago

Text

Words: 3k

Synopsis: Greta Van Fleet attend a midnight screening of Rocky Horror and discover something extraordinary. Could this possibly be the best night of their lives?

Warnings: language

Chapter 1

“I can’t believe you two have never done this before,” Josh couldn’t help but muse to himself as he, Jake, Sam, and Danny walked from their parked car to the small indie theater sitting in the outskirts of Nashville.

“We really let them down, I think,” Jake agreed, looking at Sam and Danny with pity.

Sam and Danny looked back at the twins, who were both wearing costumes that they couldn’t wrap their heads around. Sam had asked Josh earlier if he was really sure he was legally allowed to be walking around in public wearing nothing but a golden speedo and a white robe. Josh had retorted that he looked good, so it wasn’t a crime. Jake, while covered up significantly more, was wearing all leather, which made him squeak with every step. They had tried to get Sam and Danny into corsets but, not knowing what they were getting themselves into, Sam and Danny had made their stance firm that they were going to remain in their street clothes, thank you very much.

“I’m just glad we’re getting out tonight,” Danny admitted. “I feel like you’ve all collectively been going through it.”

Their group chat had been flooded with negativity over the past few weeks, to the point where Danny was starting to wonder if they needed to go on a retreat to another haunted cabin to clear their minds. Hearing about Jake’s sapped creativity, Josh’s chronic perfectionism, and Sam’s overwhelming lack of direction made him worried. This was what happened when they took a break from the studio and touring: they tended to get trapped in their heads to a concerning level. It had been Josh’s suggestion that they meet up for a movie night, and Danny couldn’t be more relieved that everyone accepted the invite. It was time for a little escapism.

They made it to the front doors of the theater, and Josh looked around at his friends in glee. “Get ready for the best night of your lives,” he told them, wiggling his eyebrows.

“We played at Madison Square Garden,” Danny murmured under his breath. “That’s gonna be pretty hard to beat.”

Josh tore open the front door and flung himself inside, prepared to be greeted by a hoard of other cult classic film fanatics. What he was met with, instead, was a dead lobby with only a single high school employee standing behind the cash register next to the borderline empty popcorn machine. Jake joined Josh’s side and frowned at the scene.

“Maybe we got the date wrong?” he murmured to Josh. All that Josh could give in return was a half-assed shrug.

“You guys here for Rocky Horror?” the teenager asked them, looking up from his phone.

“We were told it was gonna be the best night of our lives,” Sam replied, unable to stop himself from mocking his older brother. The teenager gave a small smile, but it was obvious that he felt bad for the four men.

“The troupe all caught food poisoning. I’d be more than happy to get my manager to still play the movie for you though, considering you made the trek out and all,” he offered. Everyone looked around at each other. A part of the magic was having the actors in front of the screen, bringing the movie to life. The other fun part was having a packed theater full of superfans.

“Are we the only ones here?” Jake had to ask. The teenager nodded, his lips pursed with an apologetic look. Jake was ready to throw up his hands and call it a night. It would probably take him the rest of the evening to peel his body out of the leather clothes anyway.

“I think we should still do it,” Danny chimed in. “I mean, I’ve heard so much about this movie, I really do want to see it.”

“You’re still gonna be considered virgins at the next screening we go to,” Josh looked between Sam and Danny. “This won’t count.”

Sam and Danny shrugged. They really didn’t know what Josh was going on about with virgins and stuff, so they could care less.

And so, with their tickets scanned and their arms loaded with rice, toast, and newspapers, they made their way into the empty theater. “We have to be in the front row, that’s where the action is,” Josh chirped, rushing towards the screen.

“My neck is gonna hurt,” Sam whined. He went in the opposite direction and planted himself in the center seat of the back row, throwing his hoodie up over his head and placing on some dark sunglasses. Danny looked back at his friend, sighed, and joined Jake, who was sitting in a more respectable place in the center of the theater.

“What should I anticipate?” he leaned into Jake’s side. Jake’s clothes let out a tiny squeak.

“Josh is about to become the most insufferable version of himself.” Jake paused and seemed to be pondering something. “I probably will be too. Sorry in advance.”

Out of habit, Danny clutched onto the arms of his seat to brace himself. Especially in an empty theater, there was no knowing how out of hand things were going to get. Sam seemed to be two steps ahead of Danny in reaching this conclusion, because he was sinking farther and farther back into his seat, trying to disappear.

The projector flicked on, which was met by applause from Jake and Josh. After the Fox logo briefly flashed onscreen, a pair of vivid red lips appeared. Josh immediately let out a primal scream and tore his robe off, baring his exposed chest to the screen. Jake joined his brother, standing in the aisle, and jumped up and down in antici[...]pation.

As the mouth sang the opening, Jake and Josh bellowed along at the top of their lungs.

“Michael Rennie was ill the day the earth stood still, but he told us where we stand…”

Danny shoved his fingers into his ears and felt the dread wash over him that he should have just stayed home and watched golf.

“Sing along, you know this one!” Jake said down to Danny, smacking at his arm with the back of his hand. Danny shook his head with a frown.

“I literally don’t.”

Jake left Danny’s side, to Danny’s relief, and joined Josh so they could continue to holler at the top of their lungs and flail up and down the aisle. Danny thought it couldn’t get any worse until the two started conspiring.

“We should do the performance!” Josh shouted to Jake, holding his hands and looking at him with a wide grin. Jake was so gobsmacked at the suggestion, all he could do was eagerly nod, his eyes wide.

“I call dibs on Janet!” Josh announced to the theater. “Which makes Jake Brad.”

“I wanna be Meatloaf too,” Jake added, motioning down to his leather garb. “It would be a crime to let this costume go to waste.”

“You can be the background characters!” Josh pointed at Danny, nearly smacking him in the face, and then Sam, who had fully planked to the floor in the background, hoping he could go unnoticed for the rest of the evening.

“Come out, Sammy!” Jake barked. “You gotta shake your ass!”

“I don’t wanna,” Sam’s soft whines wafted down from the back row. Danny managed to hustle around Jake and Josh so he didn’t get in the way of their continued dancing, and jogged up the stairs to join his friend. Whether it was to coax him down or hide alongside him, Danny wasn’t entirely sure yet.

“You doing okay?” he softly asked the curled up ball on the floor. All he got in return was a grunt. “If I got popcorn, would that help?” Sam’s low grunts came to a halt.

“Can you get it with extra butter?” he unfurled himself and bat his eyelashes up at Danny.

“You got it, bud.” Danny retreated back down the stairs and booked it to the concessions stand. Whatever it took to get Sam as backup for whatever chaos Jake and Josh were about to unleash. It was looking more and more like an all hands on deck type of situation. It had been a while since he had last seen the twins look that energized, and he was terrified.

“Everything okay?” the high schooler looked at Danny with concern.

Danny was quick to reassure him. “Oh yeah, just wanted to get some popcorn.”

“We, er, really don’t have that much left,” the high schooler trailed off as he peered into the machine. Danny took a peek as well and noted that there were definitely more kernels than actual popped corn. He mulled it over, and then finally shrugged.

“Got an ICEE machine?”

“Yup.”

“That’ll do.”

A few minutes later, Danny returned back into the theater and was almost immediately taken out by a flying bouquet. “Gah!” Danny hollered out, spilling part of the blue ICEE down the front of his white shirt. “Darn,” he grumbled down at the growing stain.

“You gotta throw the bouquet to me, Betty!” Josh called from the front of the theater. “Quick, before the scene changes!”

Danny knew that it was best to play along and ask questions later, so he made sure to pelt Josh in the face with the bouquet. Unphased by this, Josh held it up for everyone to see.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” he mouthed along with Susan Sarandon’s character, Janet, who was plastered on the screen.

As Danny trudged back up the theater stairs, still bummed out from his destroyed shirt, Jake and Josh broke out into an enthusiastic lip sync to “Dammit Janet.”

“Here’s your drink,” Danny stated with a monotonous tone. Sam looked up at him in confusion.

“I didn’t order a drink?” he whispered.

“Just, take it,” Danny sighed, placing the blue ICEE in Sam’s hands. While he looked uncertain at first, it didn’t take long for Sam to start happily slurping down on it, without a single care in the world. Danny gazed back at the front of the theater, where Jake was now on one knee, proposing to a surprised Josh with one of his hoop earrings that he had hastily unfastened from his ear.

“Oh, J-A-N-E-T, I love you so,” Jake sang along with the film, forgetting that he was supposed to be lip syncing.

“Wanna hide with me?” Sam looked at Danny in between sips of his drink. Danny couldn’t help but shoot Sam a small smile when he saw that his tongue and lips were already starting to turn blue.

“Kind of,” Danny admitted. “But I also really want to watch what’s gonna happen.”

At this point, Josh was singing along to the track at the top of his lungs in a falsetto wail, running circles around Jake, who was struggling to catch up with him. Danny was frankly dumbfounded by the entire experience. He had always associated sex and scandal with Rocky Horror, but what was playing in front of him felt more like the opening to some goofy romcom.

Things started to make more sense to Danny when the scene shifted to Janet and Brad getting stranded with a flat tire, and approaching a spooky castle to use their phone. Josh was upping the ante at this point in his performance, juggling between Janet and Riff Raff. It was hard to watch him force all of his lines out before he had to shift characters, and Danny found himself dragging Sam down to them.

“No, no,” Sam choked out in shock. “I need to stay incognito.”

“No one else is here,” Danny tried to comfort his distressed friend. “It’ll be okay, just let loose.”

“If they try to make me sing, I’m leaving,” Sam warned Danny.

“That’s only fair.”

Danny led Sam to Jake and Josh and gave a small wave in front of their faces.

“Sam and I want to join you,” he spoke quickly when there was a break in the dialogue.

“It’s about time!” Josh snapped out of character. Jake nodded enthusiastically.

“You can be Brad,” Josh instructed Danny.

“Which means I’m Janet, right?” Sam’s face contorted into a scowl.

“You’ve got the legs for it, sugar,” Jake joked in a creepy voice, leaning into Sam’s side. Danny held onto Sam’s coat sleeve to keep him from booking it out of the theater.

“It’s astounding, time is fleeting, madness takes its toll…” Josh began to sing along with Riff Raff, opening up his arms to his friends, encouraging their participation.

“What’s happening? I don’t know what’s happening,” Sam whispered to Danny.

“Nice improv, you’re really keeping in character!” Jake congratulated him. Sam looked beyond lost.

“But listen closely…” Josh continued.

“Not for very much longer…” Jake joined in the song.

“I’ve got to keep control!” Josh hollered. Danny and Sam gaped at Josh, who was now wiggling around like he had a thousand bees shoved in his golden speedo. As he roared along to the soundtrack, Jake pushed Danny and Sam forward, which caused them to both call out in surprise, barely catching themselves before they tumbled to the floor.

“What was that for?” Sam barked back at his older brother in shock. Jake shrugged back at him.

“LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN!” boomed around the theater.

“This is the dance number!” Josh hurried to Sam and Danny’s side to enlighten them. “They tell you all the steps in the song, you just have to follow along!”

Sam opened his mouth to release yet another complaint, but was stopped in his tracks when Jake, Josh, and Danny took a jump to the left, taking him with them.

“Oh Christ!” he yelped out, flailing around.

Danny was having an admittedly better time than Sam. It didn’t take him long to catch onto the dance moves, taking a step to the right, putting his hands on his hips, bringing his knees in tight, and then doing the pelvic thrust. Before long he found that he was singing along with the film, and had broken away from his friends to give himself more space to dance around.

Perhaps the sight of Danny having the time of his life was enticing. By the second chorus, Sam had started to come around. His movements were exaggerated, and his previously furrowed brow was long gone. Sam Kiszka was deeply enjoying himself at Rocky Horror. So much so that he started to lose control. Danny chuckled at his friend’s clumsiness as he started to teeter over while he was doing the pelvic thrust. That laugh came to an immediate stop when, instead of toppling into the screen, Sam went straight through it. Danny’s eyes bulged and he shook his head, trying to make sure he had just seen what he thought he saw. He couldn’t believe it, but it seemed true.

Sam had disappeared.

Still uncertain, Danny crept to the screen and pulled it away from the wall, looking behind it. No Sam. He gazed back up at the rest of the theater, scanning around for his friend, just in case he was playing a prank and hiding. But Danny wasn’t seeing him anywhere.

Beside him, Jake and Josh were still dancing, entirely oblivious to what had just happened. While Danny was typically a more strategic and thoughtful problem solver, the panic that filled his body from head to toe was overboding.

“Sam’s gone!” he shrieked. That did the trick, getting Jake and Josh to stop their dancing. They scanned around the theater, like Danny had done just seconds earlier. Jake scratched his head.

“Like, to the bathroom?” Josh tried to put the pieces together. He was troubled by how horrified Danny looked, but couldn’t conjure up any explanation that seemed fitting.

“Through the screen!” Danny managed to sputter out. Jake and Josh shared an uncertain glance. Apparently today was the day that Danny officially went off the deep end. Jake was on the verge of recommending they take Danny home so he could sleep it off when his eyebrows shot into his hairline. Above their heads on the large screen where the Rocky Horror characters were still dancing was Sam, dressed in a matching suit to the cast, looking around in confusion.

“How in the hell…?” Jake trailed off, unable to form a coherent thought.

Josh had evidently spotted Sam as well, because he was already running towards the screen at full speed. “We have to help him!” Josh called out, before disappearing. Danny and Jake both gawked at the empty place where Josh had just been. Then, slowly, their eyes tracked up to the screen. Josh was now standing next to Sam, wearing a similar suit, flamboyant sunglasses, and a tiny hat. Seeing that Josh had successfully crossed over, Danny gave it no thought. Without a word, he hurried behind his friend, eager to get to Sam and comfort him.

This left Jake standing alone in the theater, squeaking uncomfortably in his leather. He mulled over his situation. It would be best if he stayed in the theater to get help if they needed it, right? But he was really jealous of his friends. He had always dreamed of being in the Rocky Horror Picture Show. It wasn’t fair that they all got to experience it, and he didn’t.

That thought was enough to get Jake to jump through the screen, into the blinding light.

Chapter 2 coming soon!

#gvf #greta van fleet #jake kiszka #danny wagner #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #gvf fanfiction #gvf fic #greta van fleet fanfiction #gvf fanfic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic #sammy gvf #danny gvf #jake gvf #josh gvf #fourth wall

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justaravingwritingdesk · 3 months ago

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Kim Dokja, His Exclusive Skills, His Theme and How They Relate to Each Other: An (Incomplete) Essay

Another ORV epiphany came to me while reading a certain ORV fanfic.

If Exclusive Skills and Attributes are truly manifestations of a person's cultivated skills from before and during the apocalypse – which, as we've seen from Yoo Sangah and Lee Gilyoung and even Asuka Ren (Peaceland's creator), actually does apply – what does that say about Kim Dokja?

Kim Dokja and His Range of Skills in Comparison to Other “Readers”

Kim Dokja, as we know, starts with Exclusive Skills all related to the theme of "reading". Unfortunately, those same skills are the only ones he gains through his own independent work; his other skills, like Song of the Sword, are given to him as a prize for completion of a scenario or, in the case of White Pure Star Energy, acquired through bartering. This would limit him severely if not for the nature of his "reading" skills allowing him to use the skills of a select range of characters of whom he has a certain level of understanding. The fact that the benefits balance his disadvantages just right is an excellent use of misdirection to pull focus away from those details.

Now, the existence of other readers have been hinted at since the start of the novel, teased in the Chungmuro Station scenario with the mention of the "Prophets" and then confirmed with the beginning of the King's Path scenario. One would think that out of over 1200 readers – a fair amount of which died in the first scenario – at least one or two would've had attributes or skills related to reading. Yet, none of these readers had any – this is excluding Han Sooyoung, of course, whose disposition is a Writer's. And thinking outside the box, surely there were some avid readers out there with dedication rivaling that of Kim Dokja's, but not aimed towards TWSA? Well, regardless of whether such people existed or not, the fact remains that Kim Dokja is the only person known with skills so closely related to reading.

Kim Dokjaʼs Theme in Relation to His Skills

Kim Dokja aligns his character – pun not intended – with that of a reader's. This is a passive and active notion present throughout the novel. It's to the point that it becomes the norm. This is both to Kim Dokja's advantage and not. Examples of the former are numerous, but one specific example of the latter is when he attempts to learn Way of the Wind. It should be mentioned that norms, being norms, tend to exist in such a way that we recognize it mostly on a subconscious and not on a conscious level, and thus we become blind to it. That is why it is only because of Han Sooyoung's mocking comments that Kim Dokja once again realizes where his strengths lie as a reader.

The “Fourth Wall”

Now, as readers, it is a fact that we are mostly detached from our reading material when we are just beginning to read. We begin to immerse ourselves the more we read and the longer read. This is also true to other forms of entertainment such as theatre, film and music. It is not limited to the fictional view; it applies as well to the non-fictional. For example, when reading an autobiography or watching a documentary, is there not a subconscious sense of disconnect, telling separating us from the material we immerse ourselves in? That feeling is, in theatrical terms, our own personal "fourth wall".

The Fourth Wall serves a variety of purposes, but most prominently it serves to create a divide between the audience and the play. It protects the viewers from feeling too involved in the performance while also protecting the integrity of the story performed in the play from the personal opinions of the viewers. In ORV, we clearly see the Fourth Wall skill performing the latter function: protecting Kim Dokja from the meddling of the constellations. What we do not clearly see is the way it corrals Kim Dokja to his role by withholding core information from him: namely, his attribute window and his non-TWSA-affiliated pre-apocalypse memories. While we see the Fourth Wall having its own self-governing autonomy that allows it to function without Kim Dokja's conscious input, sometimes even overriding it, we also see at one point how Kim Dokja still possesses control over it. This is because the skill itself, while subconscious in nature, is undeniably a part of him. The revelation that the alternate 1863rd Dokkaebi King assumed the role of his Fourth Wall does not change this. Power levels and probability cost aside, I highly doubt the Dokkaebi King could do such a thing without serious repercussions, especially considering the implications. It would be more likely for Kim Dokja's Fourth Wall to fuse with the Dokkaebi King instead, with their resulting amalgamation gaining the abilities and attributes of both. However, this is all ultimately mere conjecture.

Let's explore another perspective. Theoretically speaking, the Fourth Wall detaches Kim Dokja from his new reality by cutting off the most important components of immersion: connection through emotion and memory. Both have examples present in the novel. Emotions are cut off when Kim Dokja experiences heightened stress or pain, while memories are blocked off, making them seem new when they flood back in (case in point, Welcome Prison, Nirvana and Eater of Dreams.) This helps Kim Dokja view everything as an extension of the novel, barring the the select few he knew pre-TWSA, with himself and his mother as the best, if not the only, examples. Rewording that to be more precise, he sees most everyone as characters and not people.

Kim Dokjaʼs Past and How It Relates to the Formulation of His Theme

Now, rewind a little. Memoir of the Underground Killer. His mother's masterpiece, her ultimate lie and the same story that tore apart their own. Simply speaking, to Kim Dokja and Lee Sookyung the book is a cover-up, a lie; therefore, it is fiction. This is the truth they, and only they, know. Everyone else, from the public to the media to his relatives, they think the book is the truth. That the book is made of 99% truth and 1% lie contributes to the ruse. This creates a paradox. The Kim Dokja in the book is as close as possible to the Kim Dokja in reality. The only difference is that one is the son of a murderer and the other is a murderer himself. In the eyes of the public this does not matter. Reasoning that the apple does not fall far from the tree, they see both Kim Dokjas as one and the same. The media are vultures, preying on a young Kim Dokja for tidbits he will not, cannot give. So they spin stories based on truth and rumors and speculation, turning him into yet another animal in the media circus. Combined with the bestseller status of his mother's book, Kim Dokja is essentially reduced to being a character. He has no real means of defense from reality. This is especially true of his pre-TWSA days. So, he creates his own personal Fourth Wall, to separate the real him from the world's version of him. The consequences are numerous. Memory repression is only one of them. Passive suicidal ideation is another.

This essay has gone on long enough. I have things I wanted to say but forgot and I am way past my bedtime so I'll end this here.

Recap: The theme of Exclusive Skills reflect one's disposition. Kim Dokja's focus on reading, and prevent him from acquiring anything substantial outside of direct bargains and skill benefits. The Fourth Wall separates the audience and the performance. It is a two-way wall. Kim Dokja is both protected and guided by the nose by his Fourth Wall. Kim Dokja knows well what it is like to be a real person yet still viewed as fictional. He does not want to be mere fiction, but he cannot imagine anything real for himself. His comfort character is a sunfish regressor. He hates being referred to as fiction but his coping mechanism is adopting the persona of a fictional character. He survived for thirteen years after a suicide attempt by gorging himself on a webnovel and nothing more. The full name of the novel is "Three Ways to Survive in A Ruined World"; his nickname for it is "Ways of Survival". Ironically, his world has been ruined for a long time. The three ways are not explicitly named. Kim Dokja's way of survival is Reading.

Conclusion: Kim Dokja is an utter mess and I regret ever wanting to be him. Nope. Sounds nice in fiction; In reality, not so much.

Also, I lost count of how many times Kim Dokja was mistyped as Kik Dokaj 😂 so if you are a kind soul please ignore any typos

#orv #kim dokja #fourth wall #essay #dammit #analysis #ways of survival #skill theme #theme analysis #character analysis #incomplete #word vomit #fanfiction made me realize #also on ao3 #author pls don't hate me #kim dokja is a mess #one and only reader #lampshading much?

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faroreskiss · 9 months ago

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The Hero, The Guilt and The Chocolate

Summary: Days of peace were still upon you, but you had to ruin it with your thoughts of the previous life you had. Time tries to calm you down, but not in a way one would expect. Oh Nayru, how do you explain a typical office job to someone like Link? Or corporate slavery?

Based on this fic. Can be read stand alone.

Read on Ao3

Ah… Winter was finally here, or was it already leaving? It was proving really difficult to tell with all the portals making you jump from one place to the other. You never thought different times would also mean different seasons.

It was getting… tiring, no, exhausting… mundane, even? You never thought this could happen. Here you were, pretty much risking your life every day you went out, even for a walk, with your favorite heroes, even involved with one or two (or three?) in a situationship way.

You were dealing with magic, learning a language that doesn't even exist where you come from, acting as an interpreter, trying (not) to reveal mysteries of all Links. And now you were saying to yourself that it was getting… boring?

Oh how weird human nature is.

A few of you were staying in the Forge in Hyrule Town tonight and sleeping on makeshift beds prepared by the Smith’s grandpa. Old Man insisted that you were all fine, that you had bedrolls, to no avail.

Of course now was one of the calmer times, albeit rare. You took the mug of hot chocolate you prepared in silence in the small kitchenette and looked around the room. You liked the silence of the forge, except the gentle crackling of fire… And of course, the lowkey snore of the Sailor, who somehow managed to roll himself ON the Captain like a ragdoll.

You were pretty sure he was aware, any of them would be. They were all seasoned adventurers who probably had to be vigilant as they slept outside, having a “bunny sleep” as they said where you came from. Instead of rolling him off, the Captain simply let him. A smile cracked near your lips as you turned to look outside.

You watched the snow slowly gather on the hills, covering the ground like cotton candy, the steam coming off the mug fogging the window. Roofs of the small houses and shops in the town were also slowly building a layer of snow on their thatched tops. How long would it last?

You thought of the routine of the people who live in Hyrule Town. A simple life. If not for the current adventure, the Smith would also have a similar one. Wake up in the morning, have breakfast, go to the Forge and work through the orders, spend some time with Zelda, talk to Minish…

You sighed. Wasn’t it also how your life was when you were in Post Calamity Hyrule? A simple routine, plenty of fresh air, time dedicated to learning. It was boring, but you liked “the boring”. It was such an awkward feeling to miss your previous “life”, even though you had another one before it.

Your “real” life. Where you had to wake up before dawn, get into crowded buses, have coffee as breakfast, sit on a chair a minimum of 8 hours a day, deal with people you’d rather not see, and make ends meet. Spend time with a loved one if you could find the energy. In the end, be so exhausted that you did not really have time for what mattered.

You sighed. Of course it wasn’t that simple.

“Couldn’t sleep?” the high baritone voice of the blonde gently spoke as he also sat down next to the window. Link.

“Just craved some chocolate,” you replied. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but not a lie either.

He understood and didn’t question it further, he also looked a bit nostalgic, his one open cerulean eye tinted with yearning for something far away.

“Wanna taste?” you offered your mug after you took a sip. So creamy and just sweet enough to not burn your throat. “It tastes even better than genuine Belgian chocolate,”

He nodded thanks and gladly and took it to his lips. A glint of surprise flashed in his eyes.

“The milk in this…” he trailed off and then took another sip.

You gave him a lopsided smile. Of course, the world of Smithy also had a LonLon Ranch.

“... is indeed high quality,” you completed his sentence.

He chuckled to himself and returned the smile.

“Now that the pleasantries are over, what’s on your mind?”

You bit your lip. He never beat around the bush, you didn’t even fight back.

“I mean, aren’t you also a bit worried about the calm before the storm situation we have in our hands? It has been some time since there was a portal or any report of monsters,” you tried to change the subject, you didn’t know to what extent you can bore the Hero of Time.

The Hero of Time.

“I won’t lie and say it doesn’t bother me, but one should take the opportunity given and use it to rest.” he answered cautiously yet unconvinced.

He knew it wasn’t good to push you too much for answers, as you might spill something that can be about his fate. Even after a few years, it wasn’t clear to the rest of the Chain how much you actually knew about each of them.

“Link… I don’t want to burden you, it’s just stuff about my old life” you had a distant look in your eyes, thinking about the past. The future.

“I won’t pry, but know that I will lend an ear if you require it,” he put a hand on your shoulder as he looked into your eyes.

Din damn you, handsome blonde. Of course you would just spill everything. You were willing to do it anyway.

“You would think I’d miss my life and be in agony all the time, but…” Other than the fact that here I am with my favorite boys , you didn’t say out loud, “I do miss home , but also, on the days we have peace like this, I do appreciate the simplicity. I didn’t have that where I came from,” you started.

“I wouldn’t count the risk to life as simplicity, but well…” he raised an eyebrow.

“I mean overall…” you paused for a second. “You know, the simple life. Wake up, do things, spend time with loved ones, sleep?”

Oh Nayru, how do you explain a typical office job to someone like Link? He might not understand that perhaps, but he can understand “adult” you supposed.

He nodded. “… I miss the ranch and after finally having the simple life I desire, it does make me feel frustrated to be apart from it once again. I miss it too.”

“Yes but have you ever thought, ‘Damn I am so sick of this I just want some time to myself’ after a day in the ranch?” you were just probing another line of inquiry.

He chuckled the way you phrased it with such passion. “On the days I had to deal with cuccos specifically, I suppose.”

“So I assume you would spend your whole day in the Ranch, with Malon, have some time with Epona, sometimes go to Castle Town, the forest and such?”

He was curious to see where this was going.

“Pretty much, yes. Simple and quiet.” he nodded.

“Admit it, didn’t you get bored of it, ever?” you deadpanned.

“What? Why?” he looked a bit scandalized by your question, but you pressed on this time.

“Come on Link, be honest now.” you had a grin. He took the mug to his lips again as he rolled his eyes.

“Fine, sometimes it CAN get boring but not in a way you think it is, I love my wife and the ranch,” he protested mockingly as he drank the rest.

“.. But you already knew this, so what’s your point?” he looked back at you.

“Of course I know what you mean. It’s just, it is something you worked hard for in life and you love it, yet even that can feel mundane sometimes, that’s normal,” you held a finger almost to his lips to hush him as he was about to open his mouth again.

“Or you can be so in-love with your partner, but sometimes, as cruel as it can sound, you might need some alone time,” you added.

“Because you know you love them and they know you love them, there is trust,” he replied.

“Precisely, hence also why you can bear the distance a bit better, it is an established love, not taken for granted,” you winked. You could swear there was a bit of pink in his cheeks as he turned his gaze away, but maybe it was because of the hot chocolate.

You signed again.

“Now imagine, that you are still doing something you like but now you absolutely HAVE to do it, and after a day of it you are so exhausted that you can’t do other things you like, at least not as much of it,” you continued.

He was listening intently.

“Every day, almost the same, nothing new, and very limited time to create something new. After studying for almost 20 years… Mind you, I was… or am still one of the privileged ones over there. While studying I didn’t have enough of the material resources to do some of the things I liked but had some time. Then after I finished, I had the material resources but not the time,”

You spoke in one breath.

“And I was or am practically expected to keep doing this until I am an old lady, unless I win the lottery of some sorts or go into some other ventures,”

You guessed this was a good enough explanation for someone in his situation to understand. The word “corporate slavery” came to mind, but it was too early for that.

“...I see,” he replied, sensing you still have more to say.

“And I… have or had, a… uhm, romantic partner…”

He perked up a bit, he suspected it since he overheard your talk with the Champion, but tried not to let it show. He was aware of your involvement with the Champion, and even possibly with the Rancher.

“...in your world, you mean?”

You grimly nodded.

“I still don’t know if I will ever see them again. And what will happen once I do,”

You gulped, trying to fight the tears of guilt and shame back. You thought you shattered his image of you. Cheating on your partner. A deep breath.

“Y/N”

You looked back at him, his expression unreadable.

“I can’t know or claim to understand the exact thing you are going through. We all have our burdens. But…”

Oh there it was, the judgment was about to be passed.

“If they are YOUR partner, they would understand. But only you will be and can be the judge of your own,”

He wasn’t done.

“We all know the noble love stories where one waits for the other for a lifetime, I assume they also exist where you come from, yes?”

You nodded, holding back a sniffle.

“That’s all they are, stories, legends.”

So are you , you wanted to tell him.

“Look, Y/N. I would give my life for Malon.”

You never heard him speak like this.

“But If I were to be thrown off between different worlds and time, with no absolute guarantee that I would find my way back to her…”

You waited patiently.

You could see that it made even his eyes foggy. He kept looking outside the window, touching his own scars without realizing.

“...Time heals all wounds, even if it leaves scars. And scars, they hurt. (Y/N), you were gone for years from your own world with no way back in sight, and then thrown into another adventure,”

He turned back to you again.

“I believe, even I might not be able to stop my heart from fluttering again, if I were to be in your shoes,”

The tears were streaking your cheeks now. The guilt came back to haunt you again.

“But now, what if there is a way for me to get back?” your lips trembled. “How will I face them?”

“A friend once told me that the flow of time is cruel, you can’t prevent it from affecting you, in a good or in a bad way. When the time comes, you might have to face the consequences,” he said, as a matter of fact. It felt cold like the winter air outside.

“To them, I am a lost person for years. But there is always the possibility that if I ever can get back, it will just be as I left it…” you trailed off.

The Old Man nodded.

“Don’t forget, time also could be flowing for them too, but knowing you, I’m sure there will be a way to reconcile. Together, or seperate.”

That’s why you liked this Link. He never tried to spoil and calm you with sweet words or false promises. He said what he thought as it was. That was his way of showing he cared.

That didn’t help the pang of guilt that threatened to boil in your stomach, but at least you felt calmer.

He got up and walked to his bedroll to pick up a blanket, and for some reason, still smoking hot mug of chocolate.

“Come, let’s go out a bit.”

You both sat down on the bench in front of the forge, wrapped up together in his blanket. He gave you the mug to keep your hands warm. You put your head on his shoulder. He adjusted the blanket a bit more for the both of you, and gazed into the stars between the clouds.

“Thank you, Link.”

“I’m sorry I can’t fix things, but I will be here to listen.”

You smiled.

“But Y/N, there is something,”

“Yeah?”

“What is ‘Belguain chocolate’?”

You let out a guffaw.

#the power of understanding #the power of understanding shorts #linked universe au #time linked universe #isekai reader #reader insert #zelda fandom #platonic time x reader #lu time #linked universe #zelda fanfiction #wow it has been a while #guilt #thinking of irl #tiny bit of angst #time is def not good at comforting tbh #can we say this ia a fourth wall fic or no

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iceeericeee · 11 days ago

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I love writing fanfiction because it’s the closest I can get to playing god

#why make up an entire guy for the sake of fun torture time when there’s already a perfectly innocent guy sitting there?#I’m one step away from being able to reach in and play with them like they’re putty #all that’s keeping me back is this dumb fourth wall #random #random stuff #writing #writers #writer #fanfiction #toast tries to talk

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aceofstars121 · 4 months ago

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Really wanna write a dsmp fic based on that one bit where techno doesn’t believe tommy is dead, but then he doesn’t get resurrected after three days and techno has to slowly come to the realisation that the person he used to care about so much (and still does deep down) is really dead.

#amd then he beats up dream and tommy gets revived and they sorta make up and everything’s great #possibly #the desire to angst vs the desire to happy ending #I mean either way Tommys not staying dead dreams to much of an obsessive bitch for that #in my bedrock bros era rn #ik that moment was a bit fourth wall breaking but is is not the spirit of dsmp fanfiction to take sorta canon fourth wall breaking moments #and make cool character moments out of them #late night ramblings #dream smp #dsmp #c!techno #c!technoblade #technoblade #he never dies (:#c!tommy #c!tommyinnit #tommyinnit

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fandomfluffandfuck · 8 months ago

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Asking for my own self-interest, as a dyslexia writer, I always say what I am writing as I type my story so I can hear what is being put on the page. This is so normal to me that I didn't think anything of it until a non-dyslexic friend of mine commented that, hey, I think that's connected to your dyslexia, I don't know anyone else who does that.

Reblog with specific information, if you would! I'm curious!

#polls #fanfiction #writing #breaking the fourth wall by telling you that i read this post out loud to myself too lmao #ALSO #i read out loud WHILE listening to music with words in it so... my process is apparently weird

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caramel-covered-apples · 5 months ago

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sirius black headcanon

one of my greatest headcanons is that when sirius fell through the veil he just broke the fourth wall. he still went to the afterlife or whatever from the insane strain the veil had on his magic, but he knows about jkr (fuck her) and all that shit, like deadpool.

and he has a whole mental breakdown, because, y’know, finding that your whole life is a lie isn’t the best thing ever, but then he eventually comes to terms with it

and when the rest of the marauders die or whatever and unintentionally make a reference to something sirius just stares at the fuckin camera like it’s the office

like when harry eventually names his kid albus severus sirius is like “what the fuck, jkr? what kind of crack fic is this?” and the rest of the marauders are like “sirius, are you alright-”

he also finds fanfics immensely entertaining. idk how he gets his hands on them but he does anyways because it’s the marauders thing to do

(his search history is filled with wolfstar)

#sirius black #the marauders #sirius orion black #sirius o black #wolfstar #fourth wall #sirius black headcanon #headcanons #i bet he memorizes tiktok dances #he goes feral over crimson rivers #and fanfiction in general #he also adores fanart of him #he finds it very accurate

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supernaturalsidepiece · 2 months ago

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Season 16. Metanatural. Based on this post.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #destiel #deancas #casdean #castiel #sam winchester #mine #spn meta #metanatural #spn fix it #spn fourth wall #spn fic #supernatural fanfiction

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monowritestoomuch · 1 month ago

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This is Going To Get Us Burned For Being Witches, Isn’t It?

Chapter 1: The World Turned Upside Down

Notes: *Tries to make it historically accurate* My google searches are absurd, guys. I don’t know how people in the 1700’s spoke, leave me alone please, I’m just a little guy! There were contradicting sources on what color Hamilton’s eyes were. I tried to find ppl from Hamilton’s actual life, friends from Kings College and such.

I don’t know whether I want to change the year and have a different plot or something else. Because I have zero ideas on where to place Olympus. I am open to suggestions at any time though! Feel free to do so!

This week was hectic for me! And next week is going to be even more hectic for me! Expect a chapter in the next two weeks. Happy Yom Kippur!

So. . .you may be wondering how I got to camp in the first place? It’s not really–heroic? It’s not heroic, okay! I'm fourteen for gods’ sake! Leave me be!

I wasn’t born in New York, hell, I wasn’t born on the mainland. I wasn't really born at all, but I’ll explain that later. I was born in the year of seventeen-fifty-seven and raised in Charleston on a British owned Island called Nevis.

According to my–to my mother, she had found me in her house, in a basket on her bed, with a note. She never–she never told me what the note said, but she took me in with no questions. She named me Alexander, because she knew I would be great. I was raised with a brother, James Jr., and my father. . .James Hamilton. We didn’t exactly–we didn’t get along.

I was raised alongside my brother. . .and with my father. For ten years. That was–until he left, something about bigamy, and–other stuff I’d rather not mention for at least a little while.

When I was ten, my mother and I got sick, sick with yellow fever. I got sick first and I gave it to her. We would lay in that bed for hours on end, days on end. That’s when he left, too much of a bother to deal with us. With the limited medicine, it helped me, it helped her. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t–it wasn’t enough. I got better, but she didn’t.

Within the next year, when I was eleven, she passed from yellow fever.

We were sent to live with our cousin, Peter Lytton. My brother blamed me, he blamed me for months. While I was with my cousin, I worked. I needed to make myself into something, someone. I couldn’t die there, on that island. I couldn’t let my mother down.

A few months later, I was working as a clerk, and when I came home–he was hanging. I tried to get help, I ran until my lungs were sore and my head spun, screaming for help, but it was no use. Peter Lytton was dead.

My brother looked at me with such remorse when he got back from his own job. He looked at me with blatant disgust. I won’t say it didn’t hurt. Even now, as I write this, I think he blamed me.

Not long after that, he left. He left to go pursue an education.

I worked a whole year more at my clerk job, saving as much money as I could. Skipping meals, and working extra hours. It was grueling, but it was worth it.

Then the hurricane came when I was fourteen, and destroyed my home. I was devastated, but I was too stubborn to give in, to give up. I wrote an article on it, and got it published in the newspaper. I didn’t know it at the time, but it touched the hearts of the people of the island, so much so that they pooled money to send me to the mainland, to New York, to pursue an education.

I didn’t know how much they cared, but cared, they did. They saw my writing, and they loved it. They wished for me to get an education. I would thank them all individually over and over if I could.

Less than a week later, I was on a ship to the mainland, to New York. I was ready to pursue a new life, even though I was leaving everything behind.

But I was naive, so very naive back then.

I had landed in Boston and made my way to New York City. Boston was large, with protests in the streets and newspapers of scandal about and around. New York was smaller, albeit not quieter at all whatsoever, but a little less. . .mad? Unstable? Unhinged? Certainly, unhinged summarized Boston.

New York City had pubs and lodges all around, with brick and dirt roads. It was the place to be. I was in awe. . .when I bumped into a fellow running from the opposite direction, who ended up falling far backwards on his hind.

“Dear me, good sir, are you alright?!” I asked, rushing forward, and holding out a hand to help him up. The man firmly grabbed my hand, standing up and letting go of my hand to brush himself off.

He wore a tan waistcoat over a white collared shirt, with larger sleeves and darker brown breeches. He wore a dark tan coat that went down to the backs of his thighs, with narrow, buttoned wrists. An ivory cravat was fastened around his neck, with stocking’s underneath his breeches. He wiped off his square-toed buckle-fastened shoes off the bricks, a warm brown tricorn hat lying upon his head. His brown hair was fastened with a ribbon into a low ponytail. His warm brown eyes contrasting to his pale skin.

“I’m–I’m alright,” the man reassured, meeting my own bright blue gaze. “Robert Troup,” he introduced, holding out his hand to shake. “But most simply call me Robert or Dick.”

I held out my hand to his and shook it firmly. “Alexander Hamilton,” I paused. I hadn’t really had many interactions with people my age, which is what the man seemed to be. “–but you may call me Alex,” I finished, smiling in a nervously warm manner.

The man’s expression changed, eyes widening when I mentioned my name, which was strange, but I elected to ignore it in favor of shaking his hand. He seemed like an alright fellow, and perhaps he would be my first friend.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is called naivety. This will be understood once you read far later into this book, which I might add, is most likely very long. But I wouldn’t know yet, I’m only on page four.

But regardless, the fellow was nervous, but firm and standing tall. “New to the area?” he asked.

I chuckled. “How could you tell?”

“You’ve got a spark in your eye,” he responded, scratching the back of his neck. “Like you hold the world’s hopes in your eyes.”

“I was always told the eyes were the windows to the soul,” I attempted to joke, catching a small chuckling smile from Robert.

“Still trying to find a place to stay?” he asked me.

“I am–I don’t even know where to begin to look for work or lodging–” I admitted, grinning sheepishly.

“You can come stay with me–and with my family, in Long Island,” he interrupted, a nervous smile on his face.

I couldn’t notice at the time, but he was clearly trying to get me to ignore another part of the story he was telling.

“Would I be so grateful as to take the company of your family and yourself?” I repeated rapidly. “I would be overjoyed!”

“Wonderful!” Robert exclaimed, adjusting his coat. “I rode a wagon here, for some business related to my father, as his emissary. I am heading home tomorrow, if you would care to join me?” he asked.

His words were smooth and calculated, but nervous.

“Then we better make haste,” I responded, smiling cheekily.

The next day wasn’t much different to the day prior, much travel and much more conversing though.

Robert was an interesting man, although he was my age, he was working for his father’s business. He was born in Elizabethtown, New Jersey, but moved up to New York for his father’s business as a child. He had been studying finance and law for many years alongside his brothers.

He asked howI spent my childhood. I told him how I wrote essays after the hurricane, studied finance, law, French and other such subjects. I told him of how intrigued I was in the sights of knowledge, which gave him a puzzled expression for a single moment.

I didn’t tell him of my mother. He needn't learn of her demise.

We had reached Long Island by nightfall, and Robert had mentioned a farm hostel close enough to us that we could lay there to rest for the night. In the past few hours of the afternoon, he had been antsy and anxious, no matter how much he attempted to dissuade the feelings or hide it entirely.

He kept his eyes on the road, checking behind him every so often, like he felt eyes over his shoulders.

We were conversing over a minor topic, a topic I can’t even recall now, over the roar of something utterly terrifying.

Fear lined Robert’s moonlit features, his eyes fearful as he hurried the wagon along at a faster pace. I wanted to ask what was going on, but it was clear that Robert didn’t wish to speak at the moment.

Then he brought the wagon to an abrupt stop, pulling at the horse’s reins to stop it, grabbing his bag and my own, yanking me out of the front of the wagon.

“Run to the barn,” he told me, pushing my bag into my chest. “The–the people there will help you. I’ll try and hold it off–”

“Hold what off?” I asked, my heart racing, bag clutched against my chest.

He pushed me forward, in the direction of the old, wooden barn. “Just. Run.” He stressed, pulling out a shotgun from the back of the wagon and cocking it.

His tone didn’t leave any chance for disagreement, so I bolted in the direction of the barn, as fast as my legs, and lungs could take me. That was until I heard the roar again, and the sounds of gunshots, and screams.

I wrestled with the thought of going back, as I was so close to the barn. I could follow Robert’s instructions and go to the barn, or I could run back and help. Another roar, scream, and gunshot later, I had made my decision.

The roars were louder as I approached, and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There was a bull-man. You read that correctly. Bull-man. It had the head of a bull, but the furry body of a man, with no pants on. A monster, truly. A monster with no decency, and Robert seemed to be fighting it.

I had to blink a few times to attempt to see what Robert was doing. He didn’t look quite human either.

I felt as if I was hallucinating. He had hooves for feet.

He was holding a falchion sword in one hand, a shotgun strapped to his back, a gunpowder scent exuding from it.

He lunged at the beast, twisting and turning to avoid its giant, furry hands.

I ran to the wagon, not far from where the fight was taking place. I rummaged through the bags, trying to find something to fight with. I found a sword, similar to the one that Robert held. I clutched it, before running back into the fray of the fight.

I ran up behind the beast, Robert trying to fight it from the front and avoid its thrashing blows. It was a split second until he had noticed me, but a moment too late to caution me to halt in my actions.

I jumped as high as I could, stabbing the beast in the upper back, before being smacked by a giant, furry hand and being knocked several dozen feet in one direction, bashing into the bottom of a tree.

My back ached and my head spun, but the beast was turning to dust in my dwindling vision. I heard Robert’s distant cries and pleas for help, before I succumbed to the darkness of sullied sleep.

Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1

Taglist: @emdabitchass @zariahthewitch @elixs-mythology-corner @perseus-oh-my-perseus

@ducktamer415 @skrunkly-soaked-rat @hammyham-o-o

@gay11aliens @sleeplessfluid @frayna-of-the-hollow @poppitron360

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