Work Text:
Look down. Now back to the screen. Now look back down. Now back at the screen again. On this screen is a fanfic. It is a particularly grand fanfic detailing the terribly sexy adventures of a terribly sexy man. He is the Old Spice man. He has his own YouTube channels. He also has his own adventures.
Look around you. Imagine that you are not sitting in front of a computer screen, reading a Yuletide fanfic, wondering how much more meta this fic could get (because it can get more meta. Much more). Imagine instead that you are in a clearing, in a forest, by a stream. The whole place smells like good things, but mostly it smells like Old Spice.
And into this clearing comes a man. (How he appears doesn’t matter. Maybe he is transported, like on Star Trek. Maybe he just pops there. Maybe he rides in. On a horse.) He’s THAT man. He’s the man that your man could smell like. He’s shirtless, of course, because shirts are for people who don’t know what they’re doing in life. And this man? He knows what he’s doing.
Look there! Behind that tree! No, not that tree. The other tree. There are pirates. Not scurvy, toothless pirates, but vaguely sexy, Johnny Depp-esque pirates wearing guyliner.
And to your right! Look! (Your other right.) There are ninjas. Not fictional ninjas, but real ninjas: those angular, muscular guys who are on Ninja Warrior.
The man your man could smell like is surrounded. Look down. There’s a bit of rice stuck in your keyboard. Look back up again. The man your man could smell like is holding a light saber. He has overcome the rules of physics and logic in order to wield a weapon that is purely fictional. Since he is the man of your dreams, perhaps he has plucked it out of your imagination!
Look down. You are holding a bag full of delicious buttery popcorn. Or maybe just popcorn. I don’t know. I can’t tell if you like the fake butter or not.
Look back up. The man your man could smell like is in realistic HD 3D. Nothing special has been done to your screen, the Old Spice man just naturally exits in HD 3D when filmed.
There’s probably a soundtrack as well. The Old Spice man creates music wherever he goes.
Regardez-vous! (That’s French for “Look!” French is the language of love. A language that the man your man could smell like is incredibly fluent in, naturally). The Old Spice man is wielding his sword. He is facing a horde of ninjas. And another horde of pirates. And a horde of ninja-pirates who are as of yet undecided on their specific villainous career path. The number of ninjas and pirates which are after the Old Spice man is incalculable, but if it was calculable, the Old Spice man could calculate it, and he said that that number would be seven bazillinty gazillion.
The Old Spice man cuts through the hordes. He cuts like a knife. Except he’s not using a knife. He’s using a lightsaber. Look down. You’ve dropped some popcorn on yourself. Look back up again. The man your man could smell like is no longer wielding a lightsaber. He is wielding an instrument of death so perfect and awesome that no feeble human words could describe it. It has the raw power of a jaguar, the infeasibility of going faster than the speed of light, the cuteness of a pile of baby kittens, and the awesomeness of a hair metal power ballad. He has also enlisted the help of Nightwing in order to strike down the hordes of generic villains. Staring too closely at the beauteous sight that is Nightwing, Old Spice man, and a weapon of unspeakable awesomeness makes your eyes hurt. You close them, and proceed to cry out of your eyelids.
Open your eyes. The Old Spice man has made you a plate of that food you love. He wants to talk with you about that thing you do that’s really important. He knows you’ve had a hard day doing stuff and he wants to make you feel loved and accepted. He’s had a hard day too. He’s had to kill some pirates and ninjas. He’s made you a bubble bath, though, because everyone freaking loves bubble baths. Unless you’re allergic to shower gel. In which case, the Old Spice man has conscientiously also prepared an alternate bubble bath with non-latex hypo-allergenic bath gel.
Following this bath, there is no doubt that the man your man could smell like will get down to the sexytimes with you. He knows just what you like and just where to touch you. Your bodies fit together as though God perfectly molded his sexy bits to slot into yours. That’s because God did just that. Old Spice man’s good like that. He can even be a woman if that’s your thing. It might surprise you to know he’s been voted Miss Universe at least twice. It shouldn’t surprise you though. Old Spice Man is also a beautiful woman.
Look down. Now look back up. I don’t know what more you’re looking for in this piece of entertainment. We’ve had the action and the sexy bits. We’ve even had slash. Or femmeslash. Theoretically. I’m not sure, actually. I’m just the narrator. Do you want explosions? Boom! Old Spice Man just blew up Osama bin Laden. He knows where Osama is because Old Spice Man is the specialist of special ops. Do you want angst? Old Spice Man’s mother just died. I think you should comfort him. Don’t worry, though. He can bring his mother back to life by using his Old Spice infused supertears. Did you want crack? This story is about the Old Spice man, for Christ’s sake. It’s all crack.
Close your eyes. Open them again. You feel refreshed. You feel as though you have just read the absolute best fanfiction in the world. You should trust this feeling. You HAVE read the absolute best fanfiction in the world. Any fanfiction that stars the man your man could smell like, is, by necessity, the best fanfiction in the world. At least until the Most Interesting Man in the World gets fangirls.