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rabbitblackx · 1 year

Note

I just witnessed a horrifying fact about Winnie the Pooh becoming a murderous monster. So may I have slashers with an S/O crying in her sleep as she was having a nightmare about the Horror film that she have witnessed. You can add all the slashers if you want, if you don't want to, you can just add Jason, Freddy and Bubba. Thanks.

By the way, I'm doing fine, so do not sorrow for me :)

Hope u enjoy xx :)

Slashers when Fem!Reader is crying in her sleep over a horror movie

Includes: Bubba Sawyer, Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger

Bubba Sawyer💖

Chop-Top took you and Bubba to the movies! <3 He rambled on about some horror movie while driving his truck there. You didn’t mind and simply leaned into Bubba’s shoulder in the backseat, blurring out everything else. Lord knew you had seen some stuff since hanging with the Sawyers. So how bad could a horror movie be?

Holy shit. It was fucked

You and Bubba were traumatised. Well, mostly you. Bubba had hacked and sawed and butchered his way through many bad things in his life. So a scary movie was easy to get over. You though, weren’t so brutal in nature

That night, you had some stupid nightmare about the gory, horrific film you had endured earlier. Bubba slept beside you, only to stir awake at the sound of soft cries

Bubba sat up from bed to see you laying next to him, curled up and crying in your sleep. He began to ramble to himself, roughly shaking you awake with his calloused hands. Your teary eyes tore open as you bellowed up a big gulp of air, beads of sweat forming on your forehead

Bubba moaned and groaned, pawing at your tearstained cheeks and checking you over for injuries

“I’m fine, Bubba. I’m fine. I just had a nightmare.” You whimpered

Your heart was pounding as you gripped it through your shirt, your shoulders shaking with fear and small sobs. Bubba felt like crying too, seeing you like this. His hands trembled as he attempted to use them in a form of comfort, giving you small pats and stroking your face. He continued to mutter gibberish from under his mask, not knowing what to do. He just wanted you to stop crying and feel better

Little did he know, it actually worked. Another tear ran down your cheek, but not because you were still scared. Because your Bubba warmed your heart

“Thanks, Bubba.” Your voice shook as you pulled him into a warm hug

Jason Voorhees💖

When Jason came home one night to you on the couch, wide eyes glued to the tv screen, he thought nothing of it. He noticed that it was something rather gruesome, or ‘scary’, but what was that to him? Just his everyday life. Yours too, pretty much.

Speaking of, Jason left the cabin again to do such things you were watching to the pesky teens currently plaguing his camp

Jason returned later that night. You were asleep in bed, but something was different. He tilted his head.

You were crying

Though many liked to think of him as a bit soft, Jason was cold like hard stone. He didn’t understand why you would be crying while dreaming. Actually, he didn’t really understand crying much either

Jason grabbed your shoulders and thumped you against the bed a few times in a rude awakening. Jason recoiled slightly when you screamed right in his masked face. Both pairs of your wide eyes stared straight into each other’s souls. Your chest heaved as you desperately tried to catch your breath from the terrible dream you just had. Jason loomed over your bed, his hands still firm on either of your shoulders. He didn’t move an inch, only stared

“Jason…” you sputtered

You were both frozen in your silent stare off, trying to read each other. The two of you failed miserably at doing just that, so Jason tilted his head in a wordless question

What’s wrong?

You finally broke your gaze and looked down at your lap shamefully. Your shaky hand came up to wipe away some of your tears

“I just… had a nightmare about that dumb movie I was watching earlier. Kinda really freaked me out.” You mumbled shyly, still looking away

Jason stood up to his full, terrifying height. Your heart broke a little as he turned away, and walked straight out the door. It took you a few moments to process what just happened, before more tears fell down to the bedsheets. You cried softly into your hands, now more saddened by Jason than scared of that awful movie

Just before you thought he left you for dead, Jason soon returned into the doorframe of your bedroom. You gasped softly at the sight of him looming in the darkness

Seriously, dude. You were scared of some gory movie and not afraid of the serial killer glaring at you in the dark? Get real

Your tears soon halted to a stop when you gazed upon the old teddy bear in Jason’s grasp. It was his from when he was a boy. He went to go get it and give to you for comfort

“Oh, Jason.” You whispered with a broken voice

Jason walked over to your bed and gently held out his teddy bear. You carefully took it from him, holding it like it was precious. You couldn’t help but smile like a total idiot as you looked the toy over in the dark, your thumb stroking over its matted fur

Freddy Krueger💖

Freddy was beyond surprised to see what you were dreaming about. Like every night, he crept into your dreams to visit you. But tonight, it seemed as if you were already being terrorised! Not that Freddy terrorised you—he just liked to mess with you. He loved you, I swear!

Freddy watched as you ran screaming, a grotesque killer chasing you with a bloody weapon raised. As soon as you set your sights on his figure up ahead, you came bounding over to him

“Freddy!” You shrieked

You threw your arms around him in a fit of panic. The killer came charging towards the two of you, and you hid your face in Freddy’s scarred neck

Just as the killer was about to strike, you found yourself back in your bed, sitting up and gasping for air. You whipped your head around to spot Freddy right next to you

“What the hell was that?” Freddy asked

You clutched your chest as you breathed heavily, cold tears slick against your cheeks. You didn’t meet your boyfriend’s eyes, instead gripping either side of your head in distress

“Ugh, that stupid movie. It was a dream about that dumb horror movie I watched.” You huffed

Freddy let out a small chuckle. He scooted closer and pulled your hands away from your face. You looked up at him shyly, teary eyes twinkling in the dark. The man threw an arm around your shoulders and thrusted you into his side

“What ya watching horror movies for? You got all the horror you need right here, babe.” Freddy smirked, gesturing down to himself with a bladed hand

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly, wiping away your tears. You leaned into him and snuggled close

“You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.” You smiled

Freddy was glad you stopped crying. Because he didn’t know what to do with that. Comforting people? Not his thing. But to just sit here with you in the real world? Feeling your real warmth cuddled up against his knitted sweater? Freddy thought it was nice

Though he would never, ever admit that

#leatherface x reader #leatherface #texas chainsaw massacre #bubba sawyer #bubba sawyer x reader #dead by daylight #dead by daylight x reader #slasher x reader #slashers #slashers x reader #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees #friday the 13th #freddy krueger x reader #freddy krueger #nightmare on elm street #rab.reads

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vodika-vibes · 6 months

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I feel you with being sick lately, I’ve been sick all week plus I got the ol’ red tide happening so I’m not having a good time T-T. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the A-17 & Fordo combo, so if you want and have time and feel able could you please do another Alpha-17xReaderxFordo fic where the boys comfort and care for a busy reader who won’t stop to take care of herself? Thanks for your time and i hope you’re feeling better and having fun!

Take A Break

Summary: As a post war Senator, you've been working hard to make sure that the clones remain safe...perhaps too hard.

Pairing: Alpha-17 x Reader x ARC Captain Fordo

Word Count: 719

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I am feeling a lot better, thank you for asking, I'm just tired, so my brain doesn't want to make words work today, lol. I also do have your other request! Thank you for your requests, and your patience.

You’re exhausted. Down to your bones.

You feel as though you’ve been going non-stop for years now. And at this point maybe you have been. And now that the war is over, you should be able to rest and relax more, not less.

But for every person who supports your Clone Rights Bill is another person who opposes it, which means that you’re working just as hard now as you were when the war was at its height.

You haven’t even managed to go home in the last three days. Though, at least, you’re not alone. None of the other Senators who are working on this bill have been able to leave either.

You caught Bail staring at a blank wall earlier today with a cup of caf in each hand and a straw in each cup, allowing him to drink both at the same time. Personally, you think it’s brilliant, but the look on Commander Thorn’s face when he gently escorted Bail back to his office makes you think that maybe you’re too exhausted to really judge that.

You thread your fingers through your hair, and you stare at the datapad laying on the table in front of you. You’ve been reading the same argument for the last hour, and you haven’t managed to retain a single word of it.

You drop your hands from your hair and press the palms of your hands over your eyes. They’re burning from exhaustion and strain, and you really should dig your glasses out of your desk to help with at least some of that, but that sounds like work and you’re so tired of work-

For a moment, just a moment, you consider taking a break. And then your datapad dings as a new message crosses the screen.

It’s from Padme. The subject line simply reads, “!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

You open the message and it’s a message forwarded from Senator Burtoni. The basic idea being that she’s claiming that the Clones are Kaminoan property and so they should be returned to Kamino for repurposing and decommissioning.

And that sends a shot of awareness through your exhausted mind, and you start typing rapidly. And you note, absently, that you’re not the only one.

About an hour later, you notice that Bail is no longer online. And then neither is Padme.

And then your office door slides open and you blink, blearily, at the two men that enter your office. Alpha looks unimpressed, and Fordo doesn’t look much happier, actually.

Alpha folds his arms over his chest, “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since you’ve been home?”

That’s a silly question, of course you do. It’s been…uh…

You blink at him, and decide that it’s a dumb question and ignore it, “This is important.” You finally say, “Senator Burtoni wants to decommission-”

“That’s normal. Senator Burtoni has always wanted to decommission us.” Alpha says with a roll of his eyes, “Have you slept at all in the last three days?”

“Uh…I closed my eyes for an hour yesterday while listening to a speech?” You offer as an answer, and then you squeak when Fordo crosses the room and gently pulls you from your seat, only to pull you into his arms.

You slump into his embrace, the exhaustion becoming almost overwhelming now that you’re not actively staring at your work.

“Have you eaten, cyare?” Fordo asks, his voice soft.

You nod mutely, because you have. The Senate Droids have been bringing you meals, which is part of the reason that the senate has droids, honestly.

“You just haven’t been home…or sleeping.” Alpha says, and you can feel his fingers against the back of your neck, rubbing soothing circles there.

“...’m sorry.”

“Shh. We’re not mad. We’re worried.” Fordo lightly squeezes your hips, “This isn’t healthy, cyare.”

“You need to take a break.” Alpha interjects, “It’s time to go home. You can take a bath and curl up in bed and sleep until you’re not tired anymore.”

“And maybe we’ll cuddle with you.” Fordo adds with a small smile.

You sigh softly, and rest your head against his chest, “What did I do to deserve you both?”

Alpha chuckles and presses a light kiss to your shoulder, while Fordo drops a light kiss to your forehead. “Come on, cyare. Time to go home.”

#star wars #tcw #alpha 17 x reader x fordo #x reader fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #answered asks

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conniesbae · 2 years

Text

Weak in the knees

Pairings: Conrad Fisher x Conklin reader

Warnings: Light smut (very light), smoking, light swearing.

Conrad Fisher is the only person who manages to make me weak in the knees. Anytime that he is around me, I suddenly forget how to think, sometimes even speak. It's embarrassing really, especially when Jeremiah notices and makes a joke about it. Conrad usually just laughs it off, but I know that he loves the power that he has over me.

"You have to come y/n, it won't be fun without you," Belly says while rummaging through her dresser looking for something to wear.

Belly has been trying to convince me to go to the bonfire with her for hours. Usually I'm not one to say no to a party, but tonight I just really want to stay at the house. Susannah and my mom are going to be gone for a couple of hours, probably at the bar reminiscing on their college days. So, I plan on smoking a joint out by the pool and enjoy my time alone.

"I went last time Bells, you'll have fun, just stay with Steven and Jer."

"Oh like that's so much better than being by myself," Belly laughed.

"They know how to have a good time," I said while picking out a dress for her to wear.

"Here, this is perfect."

"I'm so glad you're my sister."

After everyone left, I went upstairs to take a shower. I couldn't wait to take one, I went swimming earlier and can't stand the smell of chlorine in my hair. As I'm in the shower, all I can think about is Conrad. He looked so good, somehow better than he usually does. I managed to avoid him, not in the mood for one of Jer's dumb jokes. I hate what Conrad does to me and how he makes me feel, because I know Conrad will never think of me that way.

After I finally snapped out of my thoughts and finished showering, I finished up my night routine and put on a pair of black pajama shorts and a white zip-up jacket that's only zipped up enough to cover my boobs. I grabbed the joint and a lighter and made my way out to the pool.

I'm sitting with my feet in the water, absolutely content. It's not often that I get the chance to be alone here, so that's why I took advantage of the opportunity while I could. I just like to be alone with my thoughts sometimes, I feel like it's needed every once in awhile.

As I'm blowing smoke out, I hear, "How did I know that you'd be out here."

I look up, already knowing who it is by the sound of their voice, it's Conrad.

"Aren't you supposed to be at the bonfire," I don't know what it is, maybe it's just because I'm high, but I don't feel nervous or weak around him in this moment.

"Aren't you supposed to be in your room reading," at least that's what I told my mom. Surprised that he remembered that though.

He makes his way over and sits right next to me. Not even now do I feel nervous. He grabs the joint out of my hand and takes a hit. I love watching him smoke, and I love the fact that he does smoke. Belly doesn't approve of either of us smoking, we always tell her that we're going to quit, but we never do.

"You could have asked," I playfully kicked water at his legs.

"Sharing is caring," he smirked while taking another hit.

My mind quickly went to when we were younger and I would always say that to him while stealing some of his food. I haven't done that in years and I can't believe that he even remembered.

"Yeah well this isn't food, it's an expensive plant that's hard to find around here," I reached for the joint, grazing his hand.

As I'm hitting it again, I can feel him looking at me. Which, this does in fact make me a little nervous, I don't let it show though. I don't like to be stared at for long, especially with someone this close to me, it's too easy to notice imperfections and insecurities.

"You don't seem nervous," he licks his lips while staring at mine.

"Because I'm not."

"So, you only act that way in front of everyone else then," he questions, knowing it's bullshit.

Truthfully, I tell him, "no, I'm just done letting you hold that much power over me when you'll never feel the same way."

He looks me in the eyes and says, "how do you know that you don't hold that much power over me?"

"Because I know I don't, it's impossible."

He rolls his eyes and stares down at the water, "you don't even know how special you are y/n."

This takes me back. I never in my life thought that I would hear those words come out of Conrad Fisher's mouth, about me of all people. I don't even know how to react or how to respond.

"Prove it then," I moved closer to him. Our legs and arms were touching, any closer and I would be on his lap.

He turns his head to look at me again, and without missing a beat, he put his hands on both sides of my face, leaning in until our lips touched. He moved one arm behind my back and the other one grabbed my thigh while he moved me onto his lap, our lips never parting. I roamed my hands through his hair while he moved his hands under my jacket, running them softly up my sides, giving me goosebumps. His tongue swiped across my lips, begging to be let in. He pulled away and starting leaving light kisses all over my neck, gently sucking, careful not to leave any marks. I softly moaned at the feeling and pulled on his hair.

He pulls away and looks at me, his eyes a slightly darker blue than before, "you have such a hold over me y/n. Every time that I'm around you, this is all I think about."

I smiled while leaning in to kiss him again. His lips are like a drug to me now, they feel exactly how I thought they would.

After a few more minutes of us getting lost in the moment, we hear the front door close, which makes us quickly pull away.

"Imagine if Jeremiah saw us, he would freak," Conrad laughed.

I got off of his lap, unwillingly, "can't imagine how those jokes would be."

He helps me stand up so we can join everyone inside, and my legs slightly tremble as I stand in front of him.

"Wow I guess I literally just made you weak in the knees" he smirks while looking down at me.

I roll my eyes and say, "let's just wait and see how weak in the knees you are later."

He opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by Belly, Steven, and Jeremiah accompanying us. Instead, he just gives me a look that brought butterflies in my stomach. He really does something to me.

After another couple of hours downstairs hanging out, we all finally make our ways to our separate rooms. I knew that everyone was going to pass out pretty quickly, being drunk and all. I laid in bed staring up at the ceiling, thinking of what happened between Conrad and I. It feels unreal. I don't plan on telling anyone, I think it will be more fun if we have to sneak around. I hope that this isn't just some friends with benefits situation, I'm in love with him and hope that he feels the same way. It feels like he does.

As I'm about to go to sleep, Conrad sends me a text that says, "come to my room ;)"

I make my way to his room, which is right down the hall from me. I lightly knock on the door, just incase he wasn't dressed. He opens it and I step inside as he tries to close it as quietly as he can.

"Okay let me see how weak in the knees you can apparently make me," he bends down to pick me up from the back of my thighs and brings me over to his bed.

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher x reader #team conrad #conrad fisher imagine #tsitp fanfic

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yuseirra · 1 month

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Hii, I love your art, it's unbelievably good, but I noticed you deleted your twitter account. Would you consider coming back? It would make sharing your art easier, more people need to see it.

heeee..;v; I was going to attach something cute to go with this ask, that was why I was postponing it a little but I feel like I should reply to this soon after having replied to another anon ask earlier, it sort of goes along with that same line of thought? although I guess not quite entirely.

I saw you liking a lot of my shuyuka fanarts earlier, I was so excited about that!//(that ship is TOTALLY AWESOME) and aww.. this whole vibe!! of you wishing my works should be seen by more people! that's incredibly sweet of you. I read this ask yesterday but I was feeling really tired and was kind of tucked in bed all day.. I couldn't get to it as fast as I wanted, but I'd like to tell you that it managed to give me a grin all day. Thank you so much for sharing your positivity, I feel happy I've created those pieces now! I did, but even more!

You know, I wish I could do the same! but the same time, aa; -I'm not saying about the people in the platform, I'm talking about the way the platform functions itself- it's a place where things flow very, very fast. I like some aspects about it, whew.. at the same time, it's such an easy place to stumble. It's hard to be careful over there, about the way you speak, the way you post, unless you wish to be perfectly lighthearted or neutral, you must tread very carefully(just being online in general is HARD.._ I think I've learned that yet again, so I either should be a really mature and good person in order to hold up an account there or say nothing at all.. I wish I could be the prior, but I don't trust myself as much yet and I don't think I would only post art either since I get excited way too easily and say dumb things!!

I'm really happy you've come to say this to me, I would, really, like to be able to share my art with more people...I'm very happy when I see people who like it and compliment it and find good things about it. I hope I can do that, but I fear that I'm not very wise enough.

Nothing bad has happened to me in person and everyone's been so generous and kind. I think I've needed some time to back out and grow a little more as a person. And maybe take it slow for awhile. I'd appreciate it if you could share my works to your friends (there are links and stuff! ;v;//) and I'll back them up on pixiv and stuff too when I have some batch of it accumulated XD I wasn't thinking of making another account there because I did what I would through all the years I've been there which's been like a whole decade's worth of time, that was a whole lot of years of twitter! and I had fun! but if there's a way for me to share my works to more people out there, I would be happy to.

I'll draw more shuyukas ♥ I was drawing one before I got this ask, actually..I was going to attach it, but I'll a lil distracted now so I should answer this before a lot of time pass. Thank you very much! See you again soon!

#randomdude38-blog #aww..#thank you for the ask!! ;v; I'd like to keep it for the boost #it's really sweet!#more people need to see it huh?? I guess that means I've got to try harder and do better!

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flamingo-writes · 3 years

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Okay so I heard you also write about dark themes (y/n has a stalker in this request certain parts don’t have to be described it can be as vague as you want it to be)

And I wanted to request a Draken x fem reader in which they broke up because she thinks he still has feelings for Emma and thinks he’s been cheating b/c he’s been really distant from her but in reality he really does love her yes he’s been thinking of Emma but now realizes his mistake, and one night as readers at home her stalker breaks in her house and forces himself on her but she tries to make an escape n call draken not realizing he’s coming over to try n talk with her but he realizes somethings wrong and comes in to save her after seeing her stalker have his way with her all he sees is red and almost kills the guy and when they get to the hospital they rekindle n get back together and draken promises to protect her from now on

Yes I do! Ah, I loved the amount if angst in this request, writing this was fun (I mean, not because of what happens, but because I enjoy writing complex emotions)

Pull Me Down — Draken x Reader

(Tittle inspired in the song How Not To Drown from Chvrches as the song helped me out a lot both lyrics and music wise to set a vibe while writing)

Word Count: 3.1K

Warnings: Non graphic depictions of rape (still somewhat described), stalking, violence, angst.

How long had it been? The last several days, maybe weeks, have all felt the same, looked the same...Has it been months now? Dull, empty, repetitive, sometimes feeling as if you weren’t awake at all and everything felt like a broken old tape, replaying the same greyscale routine with barely any sound, if anything, an annoying buzz in your ears. Barely any familiar faces remained in your life after you broke up with him.

But, it was better this way, wasn’t it? Better being alone than being with the wrong people...wasn’t it? You were better off alone.

Mitsuya had tried talking to you a couple of times. Possibly the only friend you had by this point, as everyone else seemed to fade away from your life as soon as you took him out of the equation.

“You look skinnier” He pointed out as he held a paper bag in his hand. “Here” He said, stretching his hand, handing you the bag. “You need to eat”

“What’s this?” You asked, trying to feign a smile as seeing Mitsuya hurt as much as seeing, hear or even think of Draken. After all, he had introduced you to Mitsuya.

“Bento. I made it myself. Eat up” He said as he gave you a kind and warm smile, however, his eyes looked concerned. You knew he could look beyond your broken mask and see how you were not doing well.

Barely sleeping, barely eating, you did the minimum effort in your classes in college, and avoided the street where his workshop was, as well as avoiding the places where he and his friends spent the most time in. However, Mitsuya always went out of his way to pay you a visit and check up on you.

“Thanks…” You purred as you looked into his eyes. “I-I’ll...try…”

“Hey, I’m worried about you” He said, his voice getting lower. “It’s been two months now...and you still look like shit”

“Oh, shut up” You hissed annoyed as you crossed your arms.

“It’s still affecting you”

“You think?” You barked sarcastically as you raised an eyebrow.

“Have you even been trying to get up on your feet? Or do you still want to lay at the bottom of your pit of misery?” Mitsuya said, hisnvoice getting slightly colder, as he hated seeing you too comfortable in your little pit of misery.

“Come on Mitsuya, I am...trying…” You growled.

“Are you, really? I know you still love him, and I know you can’t let go of him…” his stare and voice softened as he saw the way your eyes got teary at his words.

You looked away, as a huge lump soon overtook your throat, making it hard to breath, to speak, even think.

“What do you suggest I do, then?” Your voice broke at the end, as a few tears escaped your eyes, trying your best to keep your composure.

“Talk to him” Mitsuya said calmly, as if it was the easiest thing to do.

“Oh, fuck off” you laughed bitterly as turned around, ready to get back inside your apartment when Mitsuya held your arm gently.

“I’m serious,” He said, whispering your name in a low voice. “Listen, don’t tell Draken I told you this, but he isn’t doing great either...He’s been overworking himself and avoiding talking about it even more than you are” He explained calmly as you looked at him. “Look, I get the reason why you broke up with him, but, can’t you see you’re still in love with him? Why break up with him if you were head over heels for him? And don’t bring up Emma, you know that’s bullshit” He said, perfectly reading your thoughts.

“Are you done, Mitsuya?” you whispered, tears finally breaking free and falling down your cheeks as you moved your arm, and he let go of you.

“God, you’re just like him. If you talked about it, trust me, you’d feel even better...Go talk to him, stop being so stubborn” He said, staring at you, as you simply avoided looking at him as more and more tears welled in your eyes, blurring your sigh.

“How did it go?” Mikey asked Mitsuya softly as they both looked at Draken too focused working on a bike.

“God, for a second I thought it was going to be easier talking to her…” He replied in a low voice, slightly annoyed.

“Kennchin wants to get back with her,” Mikey said looking at Mitsuya as he nodded softly.

“Of course he does. She wants to as well, but she’s being stubborn…” Mitsuya said calmly. “Did he say something?”

“I asked him about her, he changed the topic right away, then I asked about Emma, he stayed silent...He still feels somewhat guilty for what happened to her, and apologized to me about ending things with her...He’s over Emma...But as soon as I even mention her name, he closes his fist and his knuckles turn white, he looks away, and changes the topic…He didn’t tell me, but I know he misses her...” Mikey explained as he looked at Draken.

Truth was, neither of them saw Draken like that before he met you. He was the calm, collected and always analyzing guy. He never acted impulsively, relying on his guts alone, he always had a plan. But when it came about you? You were his weakness. He acted without thinking when it came to you, he was spontaneous, and unpredictable. But only when he was with you.

“Kennchin, Mitsuya’s here…” Mikey said standing up from his seat and walking towards him and the bike. “Let’s go grab lunch, yes?”

“Almost done…” Draken answered as he was cleaning the pieces he had lying on the ground.

After Draken was done, the three of them headed to a ramen place and had lunch. Mitsuya wanted to bring up the situation but found it hard. He didn’t want to upset Draken, but knew he was hurting as much as you were. Mitsuya’d been torn by the breakup of both his friends. He struggled with having to split his free time and be around both of them, since they both needed a friend more than ever. But he didn't want that to end. Especially Since he knew both sides of the story. And it all looked like a dumb break up that wasn't supposed to happen in the first place.

“You went to her place earlier, didn’t you?” Draken asked out of the blue.

“How did you…”

“You smell like her” He said cutting him off.

Mitsuya looked at his jacket and grabbed the neck of it and smelled the fabric. After he had called you stubborn and that you reminded him of Draken, you broke down crying. He hugged you and you clung to him for your dear life. He looked at Draken as he stared blankly at his food, his hand shaking lightly.

“Kennchin” Mikey began as he looked at him, noticing the way Draken had his jaw clenched at his eyes looked hollow.

"You go often to see her, don't you? I can tell when you do...you always end up smelling like her…"

"I check up on her every now and then...No-nothing happens, though...I just make sure she's fine…" Mitsuya explained, as he realized how bad it looked that he was smelling like her every time he went to see her.

"I know...she's not like that...and I know you wouldn't mess with her either...I'm not mad at you" He said softly, as Mitsuya noticed what Mikey had said earlier. Draken was gripping his chop sticks too hard, his knuckles white.

"What are you mad at, then?" Mikey broke the uncomfortable silence.

“I’ll go talk to her” Draken said as he continued eating.

“A-are you?” Mitsuya stuttered.

“I’m tired of dreaming of her every night, and food always tasting like shit, I'm…" he stopped softly. "Dammit, I miss her…" he said letting go of his chops ticks and spoon and staring blankly at his barely touched ramen. "I really really do…"

"When will you go talk to her?" Mikey asked.

"Tonight"

The night was quite cool, but the last days had been a torture with the awful heat. With all of your windows open, you were scrolling through your phone, not doing anything in particular. You looked at the bento boxes piled up messily waiting to be washed and returned to Mitsuya. You dreaded washing the dishes, as you grabbed your cup of coffee and gave it a sip.

A shadow moving through the window caught your attention as you put your phone down and looked out into the backyard. The darkness swallowed the edge of your backyard, looking creepier than ever before as you wondered if it had been a raccoon or a cat.

As Draken made his way to your place, he kept going on over what to say to you. He had a pretty vague idea of what to say. But where would he start? An apology? Straight out telling her he misses her?

His thoughts were cut shirt when his phone began ringing in the pocket of his hoodie. He pulled his phone out, seeing your name shining in the screen. His heart skipped a beat as an unexplained happiness washed over him. He picked up almost immediately.

"Hey, I was just about to call yo—"

"Ken, please help" A hideous whisper soon made his blood turn cold as your cry for help suddenly made his world spin far too fast for his liking.

"Whats wrong?" He asked.

You soon broke down crying as he tried comforting you.

"I'm so, so sorry, I didn't know who else to call...and you're in my speed dial…" you sobbed in a low voice.

"Y/N, tell me, what's wrong? Are you alright?" He asked, his voice getting lower as his heart was beating strong in his head, almost giving him a headache.

"Someone broke into my house, Ken. Please, I'm scared" you sobbed as his heart dropped to his stomach at the idea of you being in danger.

"Shit. Okay, I'll call the police. Don't hang up, I'll be back with you as soon as I contact thr police"

He soon started working on it. He put you on hold as he called the emergency number and explained the situation. He gave them your address as well as his name out of protocol. Once the person in the other end assured him the police were on his way, he quickly returned to his call with you.

The horror he felt earlier was nothing compared to what he was about to experience. His heart stopped, his blood froze, he felt paralyzed by the sounds on the other end of the call, as he could only imagine what was happening.

You were crying and gasping painfully, a rhythmic thud noise going over and over followed by the grunts of a male voice. Commanding you to be quiet and cooperate or else it'll hurt worse.

Draken's mind went numb, and suddenly, everything he could see was red. He picked up quickly on what was going on, as the biggest feeling of impotence rushed through his body, warming up his blood. And soon, he was sprinting as fast as he could towards your place.

Draken walked snuck into your backyard, his first instinct to sneak in and beat the shit of the intruder. However, he had no idea what he was about to walk into.

The backyard door lead to the kitchen and as he stood on the other side of the glass sliding door, he saw it. His heart stopped and suddenly his heart was beating fast, his blood boiling, his stomach turned painfully as his ears began buzzing loudly.

The way he was forcing on to you. The intruder had you leaning over the table, practically crushing you against it. Your face washed with horror, tears streaming down your eyes as you cried and whimpered useless pleads for him to leave you alone. The aggressive way in which he was pushing, torturing you as his eyes stared hungrily at you like a wild animal. Watching some random guy getting his way with the woman he loved made something in him snap.

Draken's world crumbled down the moment you spotted him from the other side of the door. Your eyes, hopeless, met him. As the pain in your face permeated into his own body

"Help me" you mouthed.

He didn't hear you, but he could clearly read your lips. In a split of a second his heart was beating hard.

Without realizing it, he sprinted towards the door, sliding it open and in a swift move, as your attacker looked up, Draken hit him on the neck with his forearm.

Pushing him to the ground, your stalker fell on his bum as he coughed loudly. Draken didn't waste any time as he kicked him on the crotch and sat on top of him, beating his face over and over. The buzz still loud in his head as he hit him repeatedly. His anger driving him on and on as he couldn't think.

You slid to the floor, breaking down crying as you felt your legs and hips sore. Your mind was blank, as the recent memories kept rushing into your mind as you cried and sobbed, shaking.

Your eyes slowly scanned the kitchen as they finally landed on Draken. He looked possessed as he kept beating the shit out of your stalker.

"Ke-Ken…" you sobbed.

It worked like an automatic button. Draken, upon hearing your voice, stopped at once. He got off your attacker and rushed towards you. He knelt by your side and hugged you tightly. Clinging to him, you cried out loudly. He squeezed you against him, in an attempt to comfort you as he ran his hand through your hair.

As he pulled back from you, he looked at you. Your clothes torn, your shorts pooled by your ankles. And bruises. Many bruises all over your legs, arms, even your neck.

Draken's eyes got tearful as seeing you in such a state. It pained him. How could he let something like this happen to you? He took off his hoodie and wrapped it around your shoulders. He kissed your forehead as your breath hitched.

"It's okay, baby" he whispered. "I'm here…"

"Ple-please don't leave…" you sobbed, your shaky hand tugging on his white shirt as he looked at you.

"I won't" he reassured you, as red and blue lights blinked from the window.

The police kicked the door open and quickly spread around the house searching for anyone. Two officers walked inside the kitchen and saw the entire scene.

Draken always hated hospitals. The wide white, silent, and odd smell of the waiting room. He disliked every bit of it. Even more now. As he was desperately waiting for any sign from you. He looked desperately at every doctor and nurse who walked out, hoping that any of you knew anything about you.

After a nurse walked out, Draken quickly rushed to her side asking her about you. The nursed told him he could go inside and before she could say anything else, he was already in there, as his eyes desperately looked for you.

He saw a doctor talking to you as you nodded. Your eyes still red, and your stare dissociated as you simply nodded like a broken robot. Draken rushed to your side, as he bowed politely to the doctor.

"Ah, you're the boyfriend" he doctor said, as your first reaction was to cling to Draken and sob softly.

Draken hugged you tightly, one of his hands going to your hair. He looked at the doctor without saying anything.

"None of her injuries are critical. We will be running a few tests over the next few days to make sure she is alright with no STD's his attacker might have. She'll be prescribed a couple of medications for preventing measures only as well as some pain killers"

Draken nodded as he kissed the top of your head.

"May I have a word with you, sir?" Draken nodded at the doctor's request.

"I'll go talk to the doctor, love...I'll be back in a bit, yes?" He purred softly as your grip on his clothes tightened and pulled him closer as he tried to break the hug. "Hey, it'll be quick, okay? After I return, I'll stay with you for as long as you want, okay? I won't go anywhere without you…" he purred softly as he kissed your forehead.

You nodded reluctantly as you let him go. He grabbed one of your hands and kissed her hand before going out of the ER with the doctor.

"I'm so sorry about what happened" The Doctor began as Draken limited to look at him with a cold stare. "This is a tough situation. Not only on the physical aspect of it. These things take a huge toll in the victim, I suggest you contact a specialist that can help you two deal with what happened…"

"We will" Draken answered softly as he felt his heart squeezing as the memories of seeing your stalker on top of you.

"Its not necessary for her to stay over the night. But I'd like to see her tomorrow and three days from now as well, just to make sure everything is well and to keep running tests…"

Draken nodded as he bowed once more thanking the doctor before heading back inside the ER towards your bed.

His eyes teared up immediately at the sight of you. He approached you and slowly cupped your face in his big hands and brought you closer, kissing your forehead.

"I'm so, so sorry, babe" he sobbed and pressed his forehead against yours. "This shouldn't have happened…I wasn't there to protect you" he whispered bitterly, mad at himself even when he, objectively, knew it wasn't his fault. His mind was desperately looking for someone to blame.

"Ken" you cried softly as you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer as he hugged you back. "Please don't leave. I'm scared…"

"I won't, princess. I'll stay by your side. I'll keep you safe" he said as he pulled back slowly. "Let's go home…" he purred as you shook your head, whimpering.

"I don't want to go back there" you cried.

"Let's go to my place then…" he whispered, wiping your tears away from your face. "I'm renting a small apartment above the shop...it's not that big but, we can both fit perfectly. I'll make us some dinner, you can take a bath in the meantime, and if you need anything whatsoever, I'll be a couple of steps away from you, okay?" He explained as you looked at him, nodding softly. He smiled, a lump on his throat and tears welling in his eyes as he leaned forward, kissing your forehead. "Lets go then"

#tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo rev imagine #tokyo rev x reader #tokrev #tokyo revengers #draken #draken x you #draken x reader #ken ryuuguji imagines #ken ryuuguji x you

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olderthannetfic · 2 years

Note

my mom and her sisters are all getting into bts, but they’re very much in it for the music and the dancing and pretty boys, less for fandom stuff. so, who are your favorite members/ships/fanon?

Oh god. Where do I start?

There are a lot of eras of fanon you can see in different fics, and there are different flavors of fanon depending on what ships someone likes. While I like actual BTS a lot, particularly for their rap, I treat the fic more like original BL. I like a lot of different versions, and I prefer the more multi-shippy authors who aren't so wedded to the few really big ships.

RM is probably my favorite overall just as an artist (and pretentious philosopher), but I love them all as stock fic characters.

I like namkook because I like "Sempai, notice me!" ships. I'm also a sucker for anything where a mentor type is having a meltdown internally about how bad they are for their crush on The Baby... meanwhile The Baby is a filthy little demon who is not only actively pursuing the mentor but is like "Can you hold me down and call me rude names?"

There's some interesting fic set earlier in their careers (or riffing off of that in another setting) about Jin being hired only for his face and whichever other member being hired only for their talent and their mutual jealousy/distrust/etc.

There are obviously a zillion possible ships, especially considering how often people go for ships with more than two. I more often do tag searches for vmin, sope, namkook, rapline OT3. Sometimes, I look for jihope or for vmin+another member. I'm partial to OT7, particularly of the JK/everyone variety, but there aren't a lot of fics that aren't just mindbreak porn or something. People often send me good recs for namgi, namjin, taejin, yoonjin, and jikook with top Jimin.

I don't actually care about the sex positions part, but I find that a lot of bottom Jimin fic is egregiously woobietastic in particular ways I hate. Taekook has a ton of fic, most of it extremely annoying to me, but I still check it out reasonably frequently because I'll be searching for magic school AUs or whatever, and it will come up. Minjoon and yoonmin also have a lot of fanon I find stupid and annoying, but I'll still read fic if it comes up in some trope search, especially if it's one of those fics with them divided 2/2/3 and all of the ships mattering in the fic. My biggest hate is reserved for anything that turns either Namjoon or Hobi into a thinks-he's-straight fuckboy who needs to learn a Very Special Lesson™ about modern US queer identity as seen through the lens of tumblr. Times one billion if either Yoongi or Jimin is the femme woobie in that fic. Did people listen to that fucking Tony Montana song? Did they? JESUS CHRIST. (Okay, "Expensive Girl" and "Trouble" are also hilarribad in similar annoying teen boy ways, but have people forgotten Jin was on the latter too?)

Basically, one of my rage buttons in any fandom is people equating someone being genetically taller or having a less idol-looking face with their approach to sexuality, identity, and gender. We all fucking wish our bodies looked like our insides. Half of tumblr would be androgynous, sylphlike ectomorphs if we could. But guess what? We get to be short, fat, and have giant boobs that are hard to hide. Not all of us. But a lot of us. I think I've got a pretty hot body, but it's not necessarily the body I'd have chosen, you know?

Fic where someone's like "I wish I was small and cute" and someone else is like "Fuck you, I'd kill to look big and manly like you" is interesting. Fic where your body is your personality is not.

Anyway, all of BTS appear to have been dumb teenagers, whether that's an excessive love of Scarface (ugh, film bros, why) or watching so much porn they filled the dorm computer full of viruses (lol, Namjoon and Jin, you thirsty bitches). I don't really care what people extrapolate from this in fic as long as it isn't some tired "RM is tall so he's The Man and Jimin is short so he's The Girl" shit.

Uh... anyway...

I like fic where all 7 of them are there and important to each other if it's an AU. If it's set in something approaching their real careers, I often like it if their other friends and associates are mentioned and they have a life outside of the group, though since I'm not that familiar with most of the famous people they're known to be friends with, I often like that better as a catalyst for "We pretend to be bffs for our reality tv shows, and now I'm insecure because I want to be that close for real but what is real when you're an idol????"

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cat-sapphics · 2 years

Note

anon from jason's blog here, i agree with the post you linked (and actually read it months ago). the reason i said it's kind of insulting is that if you've been watching ranboo for a long time, it becomes very clear that he's backtracking a lot when it comes to how he presents himself and what he knows that it comes off feeling disingenuous(?) in a way. earlier this year he went on speel about how the history books only teach one side and that they're extremely biased so it kind of makes it noticeable when he is "playing dumb" in a way?

obviously its the right course of action if he doesn't want to be slam-dunked on by twitter daily but i wish he could find some sort of balance. like you can acknowledge that thanksgiving has horrible roots without going too in-depth about it. then again, its a slippery slope to twitter placing him on a pedestal and i don't know if any other cc's have acknowledged the roots of thanksgiving either.

i'm not necessarily upset with him, its just kinda ehh

oh yeah, i get what you mean... i think? i hope i didn't come off as a terrible person by being petty/spiteful about it in the reblog or even my original post because i see how it could come off as disingenuous, but at the same time we both know ranboo's intentions well and we know he's not... ignoring? playing it off? to be performative and seem like he doesn't care. i can't know how much of these "woke" events or whatever affect you as i don't know your race, culture, gender, orientation, or other forms of marginalization, which gives me no room to judge how much i get to speak here, but hopefully my point comes across well.

i honestly never expected him to backtrack; i kinda thought he'd be bending over backwards for mcyttwt for the entirety of his skyrocketing career. THAT'S why i spoke about it like i was proud of him. i sorta guess you could say i struggle to find a balance between being grateful he's taking care of his mental health & reputation and being too overbearing to the point i sound like i'm completely against social justice activism. i get too caught up defending one side through a line of black & white thinking, y'know? but that's exactly what you were saying about him too, that he should be able to find a balance between protecting himself, keeping twitter off his tail, and also contributing to moral activism that everyone should really be a part of if they can.

i believe i know what you're talking about in terms of him "playing dumb" about textbook history. i may not know the exact stream, but i know he was really committed to studying and performing well in school before he graduated, which most definitely (explicitly & assumptively) includes history and such. i recall [this one clip] where he mentioned gay people throughout history as a general suggestion - i can't rewatch it right now or connect the dots clearly, but i'm sure you could connect it to this conversation somehow. it's pretty short.

thanks for the comment, anon!! i'm glad i got an opportunity to expand on it a little more.

#ask #anon #ranboo #mcyt discourse #mcyt drama #performative activism #pridecat hates mcyttwt

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spicycreativity · 3 years

Text

Howl- Ch. 3

Chapter: 3/10

Add'l Notes: Fic is posted in full on my AO3, WizardGlick

Chapter content warnings: Depictions of alcohol use

“Nothing,” Remus pronounced. His breath ghosted over Virgil’s ear and he shuddered, pulling away so he could look Remus in the face. Remus was still in his work clothes and he smelled, not wholly unpleasantly, of sweat and dirty water.

“Nothing?” Virgil ran his pointer fingers behind both ears, just barely resisting the urge to dig in with his nails and see for himself, dammit.

“I think you’d know if aliens had stuck a tracking chip in your head,” Remus said, his own fingers dancing across the countertop toward the basket of enamel pins by the register.

Virgil ran his fingertips across his temples, still feeling for something, some marking or scar. “But if it wasn’t aliens...”

“Far be it from me to be the voice of reason,” Remus said, “but are we sure you weren’t just sleepwalking? Or high on peyote?"

Virgil continued to track Remus' fingers as he stuck his hand in the basket. "If you steal anything, it comes out of my paycheck." Not strictly true, but it would make Remus pause.

"I wasn't gonna steal!" Remus exclaimed, holding up his hands. "But now I kinda want to."

"Please don't." Virgil sighed and put his face in his hands. He'd noticed a strange metallic taste in his mouth after waking up properly, and even the desperate mouthfuls of Monster he'd been forcing down his throat couldn't seem to touch it. It hadn't touched his exhaustion much, either. Whatever Virgil had been up to last night had not been a restful activity.

"Oh, c'mon, don't freak out." Remus' hand sat heavy on Virgil's shoulder, warming him through the thin fabric of his Baphomet t-shirt. "You were probably just sleepwalking. It happens all the time. Roman used to sleepwalk all over the place when we were kids. One time we even found him asleep in the yard. Naked, just like you."

Virgil peeked over his fingertips. "Really?" Remus was not the type to lie to make someone feel better, but this story seemed a little far-fetched.

"I swear," Remus said, eyes wide with childish solemnity.

The only customer in the store stepped up to pay, and Remus stepped aside to let Virgil deal with them. He made faces behind their back, contorted himself into absurdly sexual poses and stuck out his tongue and wiggled his hips like Elvis in his prime. Virgil pursed his lips to keep from laughing. It had been a hard decision to ask Remus for help with this, but Virgil was glad he had chosen him.

Patton was a big softie and nearly as prone to panic as Virgil was. If he didn't escalate Virgil's paranoia about aliens then he would probably end up pressuring Virgil to make a police report. A useless endeavor, since no crime had actually occurred as far as Virgil knew. Roman and Janus would just make fun of him for being a tin foil hat-wearing loony. And Logan… Well. He might judge. He might not. But Virgil didn't want to look stupid in front of him. Not to mention that Logan would ask questions, force Virgil to face something he wasn't ready to face.

So Remus it was.

"Thank you," Virgil said when the customer had left and Remus had stopped gyrating his hips. "I know I'm being dumb and it was probably nothing."

"Janus isn't here right now," Remus said, pouring out the basket of enamel pins. They scattered and clicked across the countertop. "But if he was, I think he'd say--" Remus shifted his weight and crossed his arms, "'Now what did we say about negative self talk?'"

Virgil chose not to remind Remus that Bienvenue was only a few blocks away and he could easily go get Janus if he wanted. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I know it wasn't aliens."

"But if it was peyote, you do have to share," Remus said, his attention already back on the pins. He poked through them with one dirty fingertip.

Virgil watched for a moment, then joined in, turning the pins to face Remus so he could get a good look at them. Remus seemed particularly fixated on one shaped like a death's head moth. "That one's six dollars."

Remus braced his elbows on the counter and clasped his hands under his chin, lashes aflutter. "You know how you could repay me for checking your skull for alien trackers?"

Virgil nearly reached for his wallet before he realized what Remus was actually getting at. He sighed, biting back his smile all the while, and made a show of turning to inspect the rotating sticker display. "Uh-oh," he said in an exaggerated monotone. "I'd better make sure all the stickers are properly organized. Gee, I sure hope no one shoplifts while I'm doing that."

There was a brief moment of silence. It was broken when Remus, presumably done pocketing the pin, said, "So bowling night?"

"Huh?" said Virgil, trying to find the dirty joke. Maybe something about balls?

Remus pulled his phone out of the pocket of his work pants and shook it at Virgil. "Pastor Patton's little group bonding venture?"

"Don't call him that," Virgil muttered, digging his phone out of his pocket. Sure enough, of the messages he'd been ignoring all morning, one was a new group chat. He read through the messages. "How did Patton get your number?"

"Roman gave it to him."

"How'd he get Janus' number?"

Remus grinned. "I gave it to him. No way am I suffering through some corny adult bonding shit without backup."

"Am I not backup?" Virgil asked, unsure whether he should be offended.

"You can't be backup," Remus said dismissively. "You're the bridge. You forced me 'n' Roman to reunite, you made us all hang out. You're the bridge. You won't be as mean as I need you to be."

"I'm mean!" Virgil said. "I'm so mean!"

"Say something bitchy about Patton right now. Quickly!" Remus began to snap his fingers.

"Um," said Virgil. "Uh. Sometimes-- Well, sometimes he can be kinda… Smother-y?"

"Oh, please." Remus rolled his eyes. "That was almost healthy communication."

"Fine." Virgil crossed his arms over his chest.

Remus let him pretend to be upset for roughly three seconds. "But you are coming, right? Or are you gonna spend the night playing with Data's joystick?"

Virgil's cheeks went hot. "Of course I'm com--" He paused and reconsidered his choice of words. "Of course I'll be there. And Logan will, too."

"Wonder if I can start a betting pool," Remus said thoughtfully.

The bells on the door tinkled and Virgil leaned over to see past Remus. "Hi, welcome in," he said in his best customer service voice, which wasn't very good. "Let me know if I can help you find anything."

"Just browsing."

"Alright."

"Well," said Remus, affixing the moth pin to his hi-vis vest. "See you tonight?"

"Yeah," said Virgil. "Please be nice to Patton."

Remus winked and started to back out. "Sorry! Hazing is mandatory."

He slipped out the door, leaving Virgil to marinate in his anxiety.

Although he was exhausted, Virgil went for a short walk after work. He wandered by Bienvenue and stared at the fancy suits in the window and wondered how Janus always had the audacity to dress like he was attending a funeral at a high-end night club. His feet took him forward and he smiled a little. If there was one thing Janus had in abundance, it was audacity.

He stopped again by the reflecting pool at the Plaza and read the plaque. It had very little information and devoted barely half a sentence to the supposed curse. A shiver ran down Virgil's spine. He took a deep breath and carefully did not panic. As Logan would say, he shouldn't jump to conclusions. He needed more data.

Virgil didn't want more data. He would happily chalk his misadventure up to sleepwalking and banish it forcefully to his subconscious, if only it would never, ever happen again. He shivered again despite the balmy weather and muffled a yawn behind his hand. Time to go home and get whatever sleep he could before the inevitable disaster of bowling night.

He managed to get home without hitting any potholes. Whatever stormy weather had threatened Vaillant earlier in the week seemed to have passed, and he was treated to a spectacular view of a great blue heron flying low over the road. He even managed a few hours of sleep before he had to wake up and get ready.

He chose his outfit with care, scrutinizing it through Logan's eyes. What would Logan like? What did Logan like? Virgil had no idea about his preference in men or how he slotted into it. Was it his height? His body shape? His eyes? What should he play up to make Logan like him? So Logan wouldn't regret choosing to be with him?

He dithered over this until he made himself late, and chose an outfit that he felt good in: long sleeves, long pants, the reassuring weight of his hoodie on his shoulders.

He kept it zipped up to his neck even after he entered the warmth and light of Vaillant's singular bowling alley, Gator Lanes. His friends were already seated. Waiting. For him.

Despite the wash of guilt, Virgil slowed and surveyed the scene. Patton and Logan sat on one of the low, pleather couches with a pair of bowling shoes between them. That left Roman, Remus, and Janus wedged on the other couch. They all looked like they were getting along, which was good. Roman and Remus were speed-eating French fries while the others talked.

Virgil approached from the back, gesturing for Patton and Logan to be quiet. He didn't miss the way Logan's eyes lit up; it sent a pleasant little rush of adrenaline all through his veins. When he was close enough, he leaned over and stole the pineapple off the rim of Janus' hurricane glass. It was dyed red from grenadine and tasted vaguely of rum.

"It's fine," said Janus, casually flipping Virgil the bird. "I wasn't saving that or anything."

"Guess you'll have to get another one," Remus said.

They started bickering about how drunk was too drunk for bowling night, so Virgil came around to Patton and Logan's side of the table. He kissed Logan hello while Patton explained about the shoes: "They were out of your size, so I got a size down instead of up, because I know you wear those really thin socks and I didn't want you to slip."

"Thanks, Pat," Virgil said. His hand found Logan's, somehow, and he smiled. "I wouldn't have put that much thought into it."

"That's why you have me!"

"Can we start now?" Roman asked, wiggling in place.

Patton stood up to fiddle with the control, and Virgil forced himself to nuzzle Logan's jawline with his nose. He wanted to do it, but the idea of being witnessed while he did so made his skin crawl.

Logan turned his head so they were nose-to-nose and smiled before pulling away. "Do you want me to order you a drink? We were going to, but we weren't sure what you'd want."

Roman threw a straw wrapper at them. "We're just about to start!"

"You're up second, too," Patton said cheerfully, flopping back down on the couch. "I put us in alphabetical order."

"I'll go, then," Virgil said. He squeezed Logan's hand and let go of it, stood.

"Don't forget to put your bowling shoes on," Janus said, eying Virgil's ratty leather ankle boots. Janus himself had somehow done the impossible and matched the colors of his suit to the dull red and blue of Gator Lanes' bowling shoes, making his whole outfit look deliberately tacky.

"When I get back."

"I'll go with you!" Roman got to his feet. "I already know I'm gonna lose. What's one more drink?"

"That's the spirit!" Remus said.

"Ha," said Patton, "I get it."

They turned to go, Roman bumping Virgil with his hip to prompt him forward. "So you and Logan, huh?" he said once they were out of earshot. "How's that going?"

"Fine," Virgil said, feeling the blush crawl onto his face. It was a short walk to the bar, but it suddenly seemed like miles and miles.

"You sure keep things close to your chest, don't you? Didn't say a word to me." Roman crossed his arms and looked sideways at him.

"I didn't think I had a chance!" Virgil exclaimed. "Wait. Did he say something to you?"

Roman winked at him, shushed him, and bellied up to the bar so he could order. Virgil hung back, one hand on his wallet, but Roman waved a hand. "Janus has a tab going," he said, turning back to Virgil.

"Does Janus know he has a tab going?" Virgil asked.

"Uh, yeah, it's not like I stole his card."

"It's not you I'm worried about," Virgil said, thinking of Remus and the moth pin.

"Ugh, you worry too much."

"This shouldn't be news to you, Roman, I have 'Worry Too Much' Disorder." Virgil flicked at his zipper pull. "Wait, so did Logan say anything to you?"

Roman smiled, even laughed a little. "Uh, yeah, he practically asked me and Patton for permission to ask you out. He made us promise not to tell you. Honestly, it was kinda cute how nervous he was."

"Nervous?" Virgil repeated. It was obvious now, but it hadn't occurred to him that Logan had lost just as much sleep over Virgil as Virgil had over him.

A harried-looking bartender popped up behind Roman, slid their drinks over, and vanished again practically before Virgil could force out a 'thank you.' Roman passed him his vodka Red Bull. "Let's go."

"Alright." Virgil sighed. It was probably better not to try to wring the details out of Roman, especially since he'd said that Logan had told him not to tell.

They reached their lane and he scooted in next to Logan, snuggling up a lot closer than was necessary, especially given that Patton was currently up to bowl. "Welcome back," Logan said.

Virgil set his drink on the table and began to change his shoes over. "Having fun yet?" he asked Janus. He was still a little resentful that Remus and Janus didn't think he could be mean anymore. Just because he didn't want to shit-talk Patton behind his back. Sure, Remus had been the one to say it, but Virgil had no doubt the sentiment originated with Janus.

"Sure, I guess there's a sort of primal thrill in hurling a 14-pound ball at a target," Janus said primly.

"10 pounds," Logan said.

Virgil bit down on his lip to hide his smile.

"I'm sorry?" Janus tilted his head.

Logan gestured at the bright yellow ball sitting in the ball return. "10 pounds, not 14." Patton's ball came back, followed shortly thereafter by Patton. "16 pounds," Logan said.

"Pat's strong," Virgil said, elbowing Patton as he sat down. Janus bit down on an ice cube. "By the way," said Virgil, feeling a spark of pure evil manifest inside himself. "Have you guys made cutting boards yet?" To Janus, he said, "It's kind of a tradition."

"I'd heard," Janus said, shooting him a covert dirty look.

Virgil smiled at him and turned to Patton. "Janus would rather die than say so, but I can tell he's excited."

"Oh, good!" Patton said. To Janus, he said "I was actually a little worried you wouldn't want to do it."

Virgil's killing strike was delayed slightly by Remus' reappearance and Roman's subsequent disappearance, and he knew he had to act quickly or Janus would wiggle out of it when Virgil was taking his turn. Remus finally sat and stopped crowing about his spare, which no one had witnessed. Virgil pounced. "Bienvenue is closed on Sundays, isn't it?" he said to Janus, as though the shop hadn't kept the same hours for years. "Maybe you guys could do it then."

"The weather should be clear, too," Logan chimed in. Virgil looked at him, trying to gauge if he had picked up on the game, but his face gave nothing away.

"Works for me!" Patton said. "I'm putting the finishing touches on a coffee table for somebody down south, but I can make time on Sunday."

"Great," said Janus with a plastic smile Virgil knew he usually reserved for difficult customers. The daggers in his eyes promised a thorough bitching-out later, but Virgil didn't even care. So he wasn't mean anymore, hm?

"All you," said Roman, tapping Virgil on the shoulder.

Virgil nodded and took a long swallow of his vodka Red Bull. It was stupid, but walking up to bowl always felt like walking out on stage. He knew full well none of his friends were paying attention and even if they were, their friendly teasing was nothing to worry about. They knew when to stop. But still, his heart quivered as he approached the lane. By sheer luck, he managed not to get a gutter ball, then turned and hovered awkwardly as he waited for his ball to come back.

Logan caught his eye and winked at him, not even pausing in his explanation of the physics of bowling. Virgil smiled back, and suddenly everything seemed that much lighter, that much more bearable. He really had to stop worrying so much.

#ik the aesthetic boards are reminiscent of mid 2000s livejournal fic covers but whatever it's camp and i like doing it #sanders sides #analogical #virgil sanders #spicywrites #spicywrites howl

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sasunaruotp · 4 years

Photo

"Haaaaaa hahahaha! Don't look so sour about it, teme! I'm sure Granny wasn't serious about the D-rank missions, and that old lady will forgive you for scaring her someday, I'm sure."

"Hn, if you're just here to laugh and make stupid joke then get out of my house, dobe."

They'd already been out drinking after the mission—Tsunade decided to take Naruto to some bars to congratulate him on starting his Hokage training. It had been his last mission before training and as a joke she'd made he and Sasuke help some old lady with her daily chores. They'd almost failed because they started arguing and when she found out she threatened to have Sasuke suspended to D-rank missions "if he can't even manage one mission without a fight breaking out."

Sakura and Kakashi had joined them at the bar, they'd eaten and drank, Naruto growing increasingly loud and boisterous as Tsunade kept making him do him more and more sake bombs. By the time the others decided to go home even Sasuke felt a little tipsy. That was probably why he agreed to let Naruto come back to his place and keep drinking.

"I'm not tired at all! Come on, Sasuke, we're finally adults and all you want to do is read all day and water your plants!"

Sasuke had glared at him but consented and allowed the loud blond willingly into his apartment. It wasn't even a good idea on a normal day, when no alcohol had been consumed, because whenever he and Naruto spent too much time together they ended up fighting and causing some kind of property destruction. Yet somehow Sasuke didn't want the night to end.

"Oi, you think we'll ever be like Gai and Kakashi-sensei?"

Sasuke gave him an alarmed look from across his living room coffee table. They were both sitting on the floor with open bottles in front of them. It felt warm in his house, though it was probably just from all the drinking. There was a blush on Naruto's cheeks that betrayed his own inebriation.

The alcohol must have been affecting Sasuke more than he thought, because instead of refusing to dignify such a ridiculous question with an answered, he replied,

"I'm not nearly as pathetic as Kakashi and you're only about half as obnoxious as Gai. There's no way we'd ever be that ridiculous."

Naruto's face showed amusement, annoyance, and then thoughtfulness.

"I mean, do you think we'll get tired of beating the crap out of each other all the time and start making up other competitions? We could try rock, paper, scissors?"

"That's a dumb contest, there's no skill."

"That sounds like something someone scared of losing would say!"

"No way, dead last. I'm not gonna fall for that."

"Whatever, spoil sport," Naruto muttered, pouting at his glass. He lifted it to his mouth, licking the perspiration around the neck of the bottle before throwing his head back to take a huge gulp. He set the glass back down and looked up at Sasuke from under his eyelashes. When he noticed Sasuke staring at him he glanced away, looking towards his lap.

Sasuke blinked and frowned at himself. He didn't know why he had been staring so intently at Naruto; it wasn't as if they didn't spent time together. It had been a few years since they were reunited (or, as Naruto called it, "punched Sasuke hard enough that he finally got some sense") (which was not, in Sasuke's memory, exactly what happened, but either way he had agreed to return to the village, so it didn't make much difference in the end) and they spent most of that time together. It was like Naruto was trying to make up for all the time they'd been apart—not to mention Naruto was one of the very few people Sasuke could stand to be around at first. He still had some trouble dealing with a few of his classmates and fellow comrades, but he was much more reasonable than when he'd first returned.

He looked up again to find Naruto telling him some dumb joke, and he completely forgot about the moment before, taking a sip of his own drink as he listened to Naruto try and come up with more competitions they could have instead of just rolling around on the ground wrestling or sparring until neither could move.

"You know, 'cuz I'm not gonna have as much time for that stuff. When I'm Hokage."

"Hn. Don't worry about it. I'll still find time to kick your ass if you want."

Naruto grinned, but then his expression fell.

"What?" Sasuke found himself asking.

"Granny just said it takes a lot of time. And she always seems like she's working. I don't want to be so busy I won't see anyone. I wonder how my dad did it…"

Sasuke hesitated, awkwardly unsure in the suddenly heavy room. He sighed and Naruto looked up at him curiously.

"The fourth was much cooler than you are," he said flatly. "You shouldn't compare yourself to him."

"Asshole!" Naruto shouted, tossing a pillow from the couch at Sasuke's head. He dodged it easily and smirked Naruto's way. He was glad to find that it had eased at least some of Naruto's tension.

The night pressed on, later and later. It was surely nearing morning and Sasuke should have been tired, but he wasn't. The night outside was wet and cool, but inside his apartment was warm and dry. He imagined Naruto would want to stay the night, and for once Sasuke was inclined to let him.

They bickered about the mission, the ninja world, their friends. Naruto laughed and Sasuke was drunk enough that he might have smiled once or twice. Once he realized his motor skills were affected he decided to stop, but Naruto continued drinking.

He brought another bottle up for a long sip, then groaned to find it empty. He shakily stood from the floor, heading to the kitchen.

"Time for another beeeer!" he crowed, and for some reason Sasuke found himself standing to follow the blond.

"You're going to get alcohol poisoning," Sasuke told him, leaning against his kitchen counter as Naruto opened the fridge door.

"I'm just training," Naruto replied, happily pulling out a cold bottle and closing the door. "According to Granny Tsunade, being Hokage means a loooot of drinking."

Sasuke snorted and rolled his eyes. He watched as Naruto stuck his tongue out trying to get the bottle open.

"You're drunk off your ass," he commented, and Naruto made a face at him.

"Am not! And you're one to talk, all pink and happy. I've never heard you say so much, Sasuke-chan."

"Idiot!" Sasuke spat back, still amused to watch Naruto futilely trying to open the bottle with his hands. "Give that here before you hurt yourself."

Naruto sheepishly handed the bottle over and Sasuke searched through a drawer for the bottle opener they'd been using earlier.

"Hey… Sasuke?" Naruto asked, leaning beside him against the counter. His voice had changed—was suddenly serious like it had been earlier. Sasuke glanced at him to find him scowling. He opened another drawer looking for the bottle opener as he asked,

"What?"

"I'm serious, you know. I'm really going to be Hokage. What if I hate it? What if I fuck it up? It's finally happening and I'm—"

He stopped, voice catching in his throat. Sasuke gave up and set the bottle on the countertop beside him. He folded his arms and tried to focus on what Naruto was saying and not the heat of his body so close to Sasuke's. The alcohol was making his brain work harder than normal, making him sensitive to strange things. He shook his head.

"Stop worrying about it. You aren't even Hokage yet. Isn't this what you've been wanting your whole life?"

"Of course! I just—I don't know—what if I'm not good at it? Do you think I'll be good? I mean really, Sasuke."

Sasuke looked at him, stared into Naruto's anxious blue eyes. His face was still flushed, and for some reason Sasuke found himself glancing at his lips, moist and parted, before looking back into those eyes.

"I thought we decided this a long time ago, Naruto. You're the only person I trust to be Hokage. The only reason I'm here is because you're going to be Hokage."

He saw Naruto swallow, nod his head, and then look up at him from underneath his eyelashes again. Somehow it made the blush on his face more prominent and Sasuke blinked, annoyed that he let himself get so drunk.

"I'm really going to be Hokage, aren't I?" he asked, voice soft, like he was in awe of the whole idea.

"Yeah, and then maybe you can finally shut up about it," Sasuke replied with a smirk.

From this:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2331236/chapters/5137202#workskin

#sasunaru #narusasu #naruto #sasuke #fanart #naruto fanart #sasunaru fanart #fanfiction #naruto fanfic

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emachinescat · 3 years

Text

Explosion + Hands + Jack

A MacGyver Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 22 - burned

Summary: A bomb Mac is disposing of goes off prematurely – and Mac’s hands pay the price. Or, the time when Jack has to be Mac's hands.

Characters: Mac, Jack

Words: 2,945

TW: Relatively graphic description of burns

Note: This story is based loosely off a scene from classic MacGyver. Also, please take the vague MacGyverism with a grain of salt. I did some research (and also wrote this before Mac made the same thing a different way on the newest episode), but I also took some creative liberties.

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this!

"These have to be the stupidest bad guys I've ever met," Jack griped. He sat in an old dining chair, ankles lashed together with rope and hands tied behind his back. MacGyver was his mirror image, tied similarly, in another chair, back to back with his partner. Their bound hands had been connected to each other, so every time Mac moved, working the ropes, Jack's arms jerked with him.

Even though he couldn't see Mac's face, he could clearly picture the raised eyebrow in his mind's eye as Mac responded dryly, "And you're… complaining about it?"

A cramp ran through Jack's upper back, and he instinctively rolled his shoulders. Mac squawked indignantly as Jack's movement impeded his progress. "Hey, watch it! You almost made me stab myself!"

"Sorry." Jack paused for a brief moment, trying not to think about why Mac was working so feverishly to cut through the thick ropes with his knife – seriously, they hadn't taken his knife before they'd tied them up! – without cutting himself or Jack. "You about got it, hoss?"

Mac's voice was strained with concentration when he responded. "Just … about," he grunted. "Keep talking."

Jack smirked. "Can't get enough of hearing ol' Jack's wisdom, huh?"

"It's more like white noise, but if it makes you feel better…"

"It does." Jack continued on his earlier line of conversation. "I'm just sayin', man, these lunatics didn't leave nobody here to keep an eye on us, and they left Angus MacGyver tied with regular ol' rope with his SAK in his pocket and a room stock fulla toys he can use to escape." When he spoke, Jack's Texas drawl was thicker than usual. He'd noticed that his accent got more pronounced when he was nervous or in a rough situation. He'd mentioned it to Mac once, and his partner had quickly informed him that it was more than likely a coping mechanism, Jack's way of unconsciously trying to keep himself calm. Jack disagreed. He was convinced that his cowboy twang got heavier in nerve wracking situations because he was actively channeling the spirit of Clint Eastwood and his mind and body were preparing him to do some insanely awesome hero stuff to fix the situation.

"Yeah, well… they also left a bomb in the room," Mac reasoned. Jack could feel the sawing motion as Mac carefully made his way through the rope. Any other time, Jack knew that he would have cut through it in half the time, but with all four of their collective hands gathered together in one bundle of scratchy rope, Mac had to move slowly, methodically, so he didn't cut either one of them. Normally, it wouldn't be a problem for him to take his time, but as Mac had so helpfully pointed out, there was the matter of a ticking bomb just out of arm's reach. And they had no idea how much time was left.

Jack tried to paint their situation in a better light. "It's just a little one. The explosion won't even be all that big."

"No," Mac agreed, "but with all the gasoline they scattered around us, I think it's a safe bet that the size of the explosion won't matter, since we'll burn with the warehouse."

A snap, a sigh of relief, and then Jack felt Mac move in the chair, and knew he was bending forward to untie his feet. As soon as he was free, Mac pelted forward so quickly that he pushed the chairs back a couple of inches, Jack and all. He didn't stop to untie Jack – no time – but he did leave the SAK in his palm. Jack immediately started sawing at his own ropes.

He was still working when he heard Mac swear loudly from somewhere behind him. A queasy dread settled in Jack's gut.

"Talk to me, Mac!"

"No time!" Mac spat, and Jack knew, heart stuttering, that his partner wasn't just saying that he had no time to talk – there was no time on the bomb.

"I can't disarm it!" Mac yelled, his voice growing farther away as he ran, presumably with the bomb in tow, away from Jack. "I'm going to try to contain it!"

Jack continued to cut at the ropes – almost there! He heard the sound of something metal being pried open, and he remembered that there was a large dumpster near the door of the warehouse, one of those industrial ones. Hope rose cautiously within him. Mac had done similar things before; there was no reason why it shouldn't work this time!

The one thing that he didn't factor in, however, was the bomb's timer running out before Mac could close the dumpster.

He heard the explosion, a terrible, anguished scream, and then, the worst sound of all – low, uncontrollable, rocking sobs of pain.

Jack cut himself three times in his haste to get free, but he made it to Mac's side in less than a minute. What he saw made his stomach curdle and his hands shake as he pulled Mac back, further from the smoking dumpster.

Mac had curled into himself on the floor, his hands gnarled before him in pain. Once they'd moved a safe distance from the mostly contained bomb, Jack took a closer look at them and nearly vomited – not from the blood or the burns themselves, but from the knowledge that these were Mac's hands that had been caught in the explosion, burned, blistered, and bloody almost beyond recognition. Jack knew he should be grateful that all of Mac's fingers were intact, but it was hard to feel thankful for anything when Mac's hands could serve as a suitable stand-in for ground beef.

Mac's head was low, chin flush against his chest, his shoulders trembling in pain. Jack remembered when Mac had sustained first and second degree burns pulling his dumb ass out of a crematorium. Jack too had been burned on the bottoms of his feet, and the healing process for both Mac and himself had been one of the most painful experiences either of them could recall in recent memory. There had been debriding, cleaning, bandages, antibiotics, and, in Mac's case, a few sessions of physical therapy.

This was so much worse.

"Mac, buddy," Jack entreated, trying to keep his voice steady for his partner's sake. His accent was slathered liberally on every syllable, his voice gentle and quiet, like he was approaching a startled horse. "I need you to look at me. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Mac didn't respond, just heaved in a great gulp of air, and the breath rattled in his lungs like the last throes of a dying man. The sound clenched its icy fist around Jack's heart. He reached out, placing his index and middle fingers carefully beneath Mac's chin and lifting his kid's head to look him in the eyes. What he saw there nearly killed him.

Jack had been Mac's overwatch for a long time, and he'd seen the kid in a lot of less than ideal situations – roughed up, sick, shot, you name it. But never had Jack seen the level of fear and pain blazing in Mac's eyes as he did now. Tear streaks ran down his face, which was sooty and a bit red, especially around his forehead, but the burns on his face were superficial. Definitely first-degree. He'd managed to shield his face and eyes from the blast.

But his hands… Mac had to have just let go of the bomb to drop it in the dumpster for his hands to look like that but still be basically intact. Jack moved his hand from Mac's chin and cupped his partner's face in his hand, gently brushing a tear away, trying to get Mac's attention on him, to calm him down. "Mac, talk to me." He had no idea how he was keeping himself from crying right alongside his friend. "I need to know you're with me."

Mac hiccuped, took a deep breath through his nose and made a visible effort to calm himself down. When he spoke, every bit of the agony Jack saw in his face translated to his voice. "I–I'm okay."

Jack chuckled, but there was no humor to it. "I don't believe that for a second. But you will be, ya hear me?"

Mac nodded shakily, a low, keening whine building at the base of his throat like a wounded hound dog. He choked out, "It h-hurts."

"I know, bud. Can I see your hands?"

Mac shook his head, pulling his hands closer to his body. "Not yet. We n-need to find a way out of here f-f-first." Mac's teeth had started chattering, which sent a whole new wave of fear tearing through Jack's body. If Mac was going into shock, they were really out of time. And as much as Jack wanted to get a better idea of the damage, figure out what they were working with, he knew Mac was right. In all the chaos and worry, he'd almost forgotten that they were still locked in the warehouse with a smoking dumpster slowly turning the air against them. From where they sat on the floor, the air wasn't bad yet, but they needed to kick it into third gear – it wouldn't stay that way for long.

"Okay," Jack agreed. "How do we get out? As I recall, they've padlocked all the doors from the outside, and this whole place is made of steel. Can you figure out how to make something to bust those doors down?"

Mac's eyes, glazed with pain, darted around the warehouse, which had until very recently been one of the stashes of the cartel that had captured them. "Uhhh…" His voice broke, and Jack saw Mac's hands twitch in a painful spasm out of the corner of his eye. Fresh tears welled up, and Mac blew out a shaky breath. "Okay. Yeah. We should b-be able to make a blowtorch to c-cut us out of here."

Jack shot Mac a dubious look. "You're not makin' anything hoss, and I sure as hell don't know how to make a blowtorch. Think you got it in you to walk me through it?"

Mac didn't look so sure, and Jack's stomach flipped as he saw how much the trembling had increased. Still, MacGyver was never one to admit defeat, and he nodded. His voice was thick with pain, dry and raspy, but he managed to walk Jack through a collection of basic supplies, all of which were readily available in their current space – an empty syringe, a thumbtack, pliers, lighter fluid, and Jack's own lighter, which the bad guys had left on him. Seems the only things they'd actually taken were their prisoner's phones.

By the time Mac had coached Jack through the process of actually building the DIY blowtorch, an incredibly precise and delicate venture that Jack barely managed with his sausage-like fingers, smoke was beginning to gather in earnest, and Mac was shaking so badly that he sounded like he was working a jackhammer when he talked. But Jack had finished it, and to his shock and utter relief, it worked – he'd not doubted Mac, of course, but his own ability to bring Mac's idea to fruition – and Mac had offered a pained, crooked smile at him, and said, "S-s-see, we m-make a p-p-pretty good t-team." Then, whether from pain or shock or hyperventilation, he passed out, and Jack only spared enough time to check his vitals before he used his lighter-turned-blowtorch to cut his way through the steel wall of the warehouse.

It was a slow process, and Jack burned himself no less four times, but at last he'd carved their escape route. The men who'd left them here to burn had gone. Jack hoisted Mac onto his shoulder, taking extra care not to jostle his mangled hands, and set out in search of a phone – he knew there was a gas station a few miles away.

Mac just had to hold on until then.

***

24 Hours Later

Jack was there when Mac woke up from his first surgery.

Jack was always there when Mac woke up in medical.

Mac peered at him through groggy, drug-hazy eyes and gave his partner a weak smile. "Hey, Jack."

Jack fought the urge to pull the kid into the tightest bear hug he'd ever experienced. Only a glance down at Mac's heavily bandaged hands lying delicately on his chest kept him where he was, in the cushioned hospital chair that played at being comfortable but really wasn't after ten minutes. Jack had been sitting in it for nearly sixteen hours, give or take, not counting bathroom breaks and coffee runs. Others had stopped by at various times, too – Matty, Bozer, and Riley chief among them – but right now it was just Jack and Mac. The way it had always been.

The way it would always be.

"Hey, kiddo. How're ya feelin'?"

Mac thought about this for a long moment, his brow furrowed in concentration like he was trying to figure out some complicated equation. Finally, he answered, "Weird."

Jack threw his head back and laughed, though what Mac had said in no way warranted the kind of reaction he was getting. It was like all of the stress and fear and uncertainty and trauma of the last day were riding the shockwave of that almost manic laugh.

Mac's eyebrows creased further in concern. "What's so funny?"

Jack scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, not sure if his eyes were watering from laughing, or if he had started crying somewhere along the way. "Nothing, hoss. What feels weird?"

"Floaty?" Mac answered uncertainty. From where Jack was sitting, Mac looked all of seven years old, tucked into the hospital bed in the Phoenix recovery ward, hair messy, eyes tired and confused.

Jack patted Mac on the shoulder, and Mac stared at the hand like it was the most surprising thing he'd ever encountered. Damn, they had him on the good stuff. He told Mac as much.

Mac's eyes were already drifting shut, the pull of the drugs too strong. "You go to sleep," Jack said softly, unable to keep himself from brushing a stray lock of hair from Mac's reddened forehead. "We can talk more when you wake up."

Mac, for once, did as he was told.

***

Jack spent the night at Mac's side, of course, despite Matty's urging that he go home and get some sleep. He wouldn't have been able to sleep, anyway, even if he had been in his own bed. He couldn't stop thinking, stop remembering. When he looked at Mac now, he saw pristine white bandages and the kind of tentative peace that could only come from whatever drugs they had him on – probably morphine and a cocktail of antibiotics, if he had his guess.

The problem was, Jack knew what lay beneath the bandages. He had seen, once he had finally found a phone and called for help, the extent of damage that had been done to Mac's hands up close. And it terrified him.

Even now every time he closed his eyes, even to blink, he could see his kid's hands, covered in burns, some so deep that Jack swore he could see tendons. They were bloody and blistered and the angriest shade of red Jack had ever seen.

He also saw, whenever his body betrayed him and he started to doze off, the way that MacGyver had writhed and twitched and moaned even while unconscious as Jack tried to examine them. His mind dragged him back to the Phoenix chopper, where a medical team immediately gave Mac painkillers and started debriding the burns. Mac had woken up then, thrashing and screaming the most terrible, guttural, animal screams, and Jack had been forced to hold him down while the medics worked, and he'd cried alongside Mac, and after they'd landed and Mac had been rushed in, Jack had found the nearest trash can and puked his guts out.

Even now, one surgery down, it was far from over. The doctor's prognosis had been hopeful, but cautious. Mac should be able to gain control of his hands again, should be able to build things and destroy Jack's phones and return fist bumps and high fives, and open doors and climb and pick things up and shoot hoops and anything else he wanted to do… but it would take time.

Six surgeries, minimum, to repair damage to tendons, do skin grafts. Mac's hands would always bear some scars, even though Phoenix had flown in the best surgeons in the country to rebuild the hands that usually did the rebuilding. And the few sessions of physical therapy he'd been through the last time he'd burned his hands were child's play to the PT he had in store in the coming months.

Jack sure as hell hoped the world would hold it together until MacGyver healed. He knew that it might as well have ended if Mac hadn't made it out of that explosion alive. Jack's world would have, at any rate.

But, Jack reminded himself as he watched the steady rise and fall of Mac's chest, despite all of the pain and physical therapy and surgeries in his future, Mac was by far the strongest person he knew. He had no doubt that the cautionary "should" the doctor placed on Mac's recovery was more of a "will definitely," because Mac didn't let anything slow him down for long.

So Jack had to be strong, too.

"I'll do it for you, Mac," he said aloud. He carded his fingers gently through mussed blonde hair.

It was a promise he intended to keep.

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hazbbyhaz · 3 years

Text

sleepless || harry styles

six

pairing: Harry Styles x OC

synopsis: getting back into everyday life

disclaimer: slander of ones self, child abuse

I want to be with you, it is as simple and as complicated as that.

- charles bukowski

After finishing her tea, Avery told Harry that she was tired and made her exit. The way home had been cold and rainy, upon arriving back to her flat she realized that it wasn't much better. She walked into the kitchen in search of more tea. Coming up empty-handed, she decided to brew a pot of coffee. That would keep her awake, at least.

In the corner of her living room sat an old piano, she had bought it a couple of years prior at a flea market. The thing worn and very out of tune, but adorned with a wonderful message written in metallic silver sharpie. “Girls just wanna have fun.” she wandered over to it, taking a seat on the small bench, letting her fingers wander over the unfamiliar keys. She understood them just as much as she would a foreign language.

Her long, fragile fingers pressed down on the white stripes, the atrocious sound it makes sends a shiver down her spine. Closing the lid of the piano and setting her mug on top, she contemplated what else to do. The main goal was to stay awake, as it always was. Everything that she did from the moment she came home to the moment she went back to work was focused on just that. Anything she could do to take her mind off of that would happily suffice.

So, for the next half an hour she read a book, made another pot of coffee, sat down to compile a list for the grocery, started a bad french movie, drew several small doodles on her grocery list, and eventually made her way out to he balcony to see if her neighbor's cat was in sight.

At 1:30 am she went back inside due to the cold air. Once settled, she was greeted by a deafening silence. It isn't unfamiliar. All her nights went like this. She wasn't living her life, just waiting for the time to pass. Sometimes she would stand inside of her tiny bathroom, look into the mirror for a good while and take in her appearance. The bags under her eyes, the sunken face, and the slumped shoulders,

On rare occasions, she would fall asleep. This was almost always met with her waking up in a panic. Nonstop tears and shakes. Always alone. Always.

Tonight Avery was again standing in the bathroom. She thought about the party while she brushed her teeth. You were dumb. You were acting stupid and weird and everyone must have thought you were crazy. Everyone.

She opened her bedroom door, crawled underneath the sheets of her bed, and fell asleep with a racing heart.

“Mummy! I painted you something!” I exclaimed, running into the kitchen. The piece of paper in my wand-waving around like a flag. Mummy was standing there, her eyebrows knit together, and a stern expression on her face. That look alone made me stop in my tracks.

“What did I tell you, Avery? Huh?! What did I tell you!” She yells, looking down at me. I lower my gaze, hiding my paining behind my back.

“Not to run in the house.'' I whisper apologetically, looking anywhere but her. Mommy's hand connects with my cheek and I fall backward, the painting falling to the floor. Tears fill my eyes as she slaps me for a second time. “I’m sorry, Mommy… I didn't mean to make you mad”

She kneels in front of me, making sure that we are on a small level. I think that she might even want to hug me. Say that she is sorry and that she didn't mean to hit me, and ask if I am okay. As I step forward with outstretched arms she grabs my hair, pulling me closer. “You know what you are? An ungrateful brat. And that's all you will ever be.”

Avery shakes the whipped cream container for the second time, the disapproving gaze of the customer in front of her beyond prominent. At last, a bit of whipped cream topped the caramel frappuccino with cinnamon, almond milk, and sprinkles.

“That will make 3 pounds, please.”

The girl placed 3 pounds on the counter, took her coffee, and left without saying another word. She joined her boyfriend who was waiting patiently outside for her. As soon as the door closes, Avery lifts the curtain that leads to the back of the shop. “Tom! I think we're out of whipped cream!”

An annoyed grunt is the only answer she receives before Tom makes his way to the front of the shop. “Again? Maybe we should stop selling those damn frappuccinos.”

“Any new job offers?’” Avery asks, wiping her hands on one of the nearby dish towels. A look at the clock reminded her that her break would start in just a couple of minutes.

‘Not really,” Top sights, leaning against the counter, his gaze fixed on the big window, overlooking the street. “Maybe I should make the salary a bit higher, but I don't have that kind of money. It's hard enough for me to even pay you, but we really could use the extra help around here. I'm telling you, the very next person who puts in an application will get the job. You will get a bit of a break around here too. Do you think you could run out and get some more whipped cream? The next delivery doesn't come till Friday.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out five pounds.

“Sure,” Avery is already on her way out of the shop. “I got it covered.” Tom gives her a thankful smile, putting the money back into his pocket.

“You're a real one, Avery.”

Avery was never very fond of receiving compliments. They always made her feel very uncomfortable and she never knew how to react to them. Genuine smiles or a grateful glance meant a lot more to her. It made her feel all warm and fuzzy. Words were too easy. Everyone could say something without meaning it.

She scurried across the street to the nearest Tesco to get three more containers of whipped cream. After paying and a highly uncomfortable small talk with the cashier, she made her way to her favorite bagel place. While making her way there, she decided that four things made her life bearable. Tea, the neighbor’s cat, genuine smiles, and bagels. There wasn't much more to it.

She went with her usual bagel order accompanied by a black tea, finding a nice spot towards the back of the shop to sit, the three containers of whipped cream sat close beside her. Her eyes ran over the pages of the book she had brought with her, but she just couldn't seem to concentrate. Her eyes simply just float past each word, not truly reading. The nightmare from last night was still at the forefront of her mind, weighing her down today. She regretted going to bed at all. It always bought this with it. You couldn't have one without the other.

“What's got you looking so miserable?” A voice suddenly asked. Avery jumped back, nearly losing her grip on the book. Harry stood looking down at her. His silhouette blocked the sunlight flowing in from a nearby window, so she couldn't quite make out his features. “I’m sorry, I didn't want to scare you.”

“It's okay,” She breathed out. “Hi, Harry.”

He smiled at her before placing the coffee in his hands, of which she hadn't noticed before, down on the table, taking a seat across from her. “You look tired.”

She always looked tired. He must have noticed. Everyone noticed. “You're very charming, you know that?”

“I get that quite a lot.” They sat in silence for a while, Harry sipping his coffee, occasionally settling his gaze on Avery. She completely gave up on trying to read her book and focused her attention on her bagel and tea. The afternoon sun lit up the shop, every table in front of them being illuminated in a warm glow.

Avery enjoyed the silence and Harry didn't seem to mind it either. She still didn't understand the stranger she had met and kept on meeting, but it was nice. It was different having a person around, like having a friend. “Do you wanna go out tonight?”

“What?”

“My friends and I are going out tonight and I thought you might want to accompany us,” Harry explained, his eyes not leaving her. He was worried. About what? She had no clue, but he wasn't very good at hiding it. Not at all.

“Wouldn't that make me even more tired?” Avery questioned, referring to his statement from earlier.

“I'll give you some energy.”

“How does that even work?”

“You will have to come to find out.” He smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Avery agreed to go out with him and his friends, also agreeing to meet him at her flat. Avery left first, leaving Harry to sit a bit longer at the table. As she walked away, the warm glow of the sun hitting her face in the perfect way, Harry wasn't sure he had ever met someone more lonely.

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jaeminlore · 5 years

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The World is Ending and I'm With You

SPINOFF | PLAYLIST (pls listen while you read)

summary: and i won't sleep through this. i survive on the breath you are finished with. words: 6.1k+ category: angst, fluff, suggestive, mark won't stop talking about how he used to be a cub scout warning(s): death, religion mention, death mention, implied sex ohoho i'm getting bold, littering (not from mark bc he's a good boy), unedited a/n: john mayer song that's kind of an easter egg, and a poem at the end by someone called s.b.,,, also you don't have to read the spinoff to read this one :) but it does take place in the same universe/timeline.

You never were one for smoking. Your mother always told you it would increase risk of cancer, and in turn, death. But now the world is ending, and your mom hasn't been home in a few days. So, you smoke.

The convenience store you work at doesn't have many packs left. Your manager has some stupid rule about rationing stock now that delivery truck drivers are quitting at a rapid rate. They don't want to be stuck on the freeway when the meteor hits. Which makes sense to you, but it's all your bitter manager seems to complain about.

You take a pack out from behind the clear screen and extract a stick. You're in the middle of lighting it with a lighter that most certainly isn't yours when a wide-eyed boy appears in front of the counter. He dumps a basket full of snacks onto the register, followed by a plethora of hygienic products.

"You worried we'll run out?" You try to joke. Really, this is a small town, and your store is the biggest one in town (which isn't saying much at all.) It's completely possible.

The boy shrugs. "I'm gonna hit the road before everything goes down. I don't want to be here if a riot starts. Also, I want to find my soulmate."

"Don't we all?" You say, blowing smoke out of your mouth.

The boy coughs and gives you a short glare. "Something to look forward to, at least."

You throw the still-lit cigarette across the store. Part of you hopes it will catch on something and burn the store to the ground. But it goes out on the cold linoleum floor. You look at the boy again. "I'll give you all of this for free if you let me come with you."

(Mark isn't sure why he chooses a road trip in the first place. It's not like his beat up old van can outrun the end of the world. Maybe deep down, he hopes it can.

He also isn't sure why he's let you tag along, save for the fact that he really needs to stock up on food, just in case. And he's also lonely. Maybe talking to someone will calm his restless soul.)

Mark has a giant van. There's a mattress in the back, complete with a blanket and pillow. He tosses his groceries in the back and clumsily shoves the key in the ignition. "Are you sure about this? I'm going across the country."

You light another cigarette. Five packs stolen from your store sit in his glove compartment. "We have what? A week left? I have nowhere better to be."

He takes this answer and begins to drive. The radio is staticky, but you can make out the preacher's message of salvation in the last days. You wonder if it gives the boy comfort. It gives you anxiety, so you take a long drag and focus on the weird way the cigarette smoke warms your mouth. "I'm Y/n, by the way."

"I'm Mark." He turns down the radio. "I'm pretty sure my soulmate is in California, based on my tattoo."

"Okay," you say, because you really don't care. You haven't believed in soulmates since your parents got divorced. You throw the cigarette out of the window and try not to think about the way your moon tattoo burns against your collarbones. "Does your tattoo say California or something?"

"No, it's just a sun."

You want to call him dumb. Or stupid. Or an idiot. "California isn't the only place on earth with a sun, you know. And apart from that, it's a huge state. How are you gonna find your soulmate in a week?"

Mark takes an anxious sip of his gas station slushee. "I know it's stupid, okay? But I feel drawn there, so it's my only shot."

You lower the sun visor and grab the pair of aviators that are hooked onto it. "Well I feel drawn to the sea, so let's go to the beach first."

(Mark wants to tell you that he knows he won't find his soulmate. His soulmate is probably dead with the rest of the world that got caught in the atmosphere change. His soulmate is probably farther than California, but for some reason the state is stuck in his mind.

He remembers his aunt's beach house. Solar generators for electricity and water. A familiar place to stay in the end. But for now, he wants to take his chances on the road. He doesn't want to be dormant, and he knows you don't either.)

Mark hits Oregon at three in the morning. He nods off once and veers into the side of the highway before you finally convince him to pull over for the night.

He parks at a truck stop and the two of you take showers, using what products you and Mark bought (stole). You use more than you need. Shampoo gets in your eyes.

Your eyes are still burning when you meet up with Mark at the van. He's already asleep, an open bag of chips beside him. He must've been too tired to even eat.

The back of the van is covered in those battery-powered clip-on fans from the mall kiosks. Mark told you earlier that he had bought them on sale. You had asked earlier why he hadn't just stolen them.

He told you he believes in heaven, and doesn't want to hurt his chances of getting there. You told him you don't think good works matter anymore.

You eat the chips and fall asleep beside him, ignoring him as he mumbles random phrases in his sleep.

(Mark lays down on the mattress. The van is hot, even with the windows cracked, even with the cheap fans, so Mark feels his skin beginning to get sticky with sweat. He doesn't want to eat. He doesn't want to sleep. He doesn't want to breathe in this foggy air and think about the inevitable.

He wishes you would just come out of the shower and join him. He waits for what seems like ages, until he's too worn out to keep his eyes open. He falls into a restless sleep, not noticing the way the mattress dips when you join him.)

"My dad was a mafia boss," you say, spitting a sunflower seed shell onto the dashboard. The Clash is playing from Mark's radio, and the station wavers in and out as you drive across state lines.

"Really?" You've found that Mark's eyes grow obnoxiously big when he's surprised about something. His mouth forms a little 'o' shape and his voice grows softer. It's adorable, so you make it your mission to surprise him as much as you can. That, and road trips are pretty boring when the world is ending.

"No."

"Come on!" Mark pouts. You can see it in your peripheral vision. "Stop lying to me. I bet your dad doesn't even have a cool job."

"Guess then," you taunt. "By the way, we passed the California-Oregon state line like, five minutes ago."

Mark gasps and rolls down the window, looking back towards the passing highway, as if the sign is going to still be there. "I can't believe I missed it! This could be it. This is where we find our soulmates."

You spit out another shell. "I'm hoping my soulmate's name is Long Beach because that's where I'm going."

"Let's stay together," Mark says. He's biting his thumbnail, eyes towards the empty road in front of him. "I don't know how many more of us will be left."

You want to correct him and say that there are plenty of people left, and yet you know that a lot of people took the pill. Or got sick. Or killed in a raid. Funny, a meteor is scheduled to hit the earth and people decide to leave early. Or they lose their humanity entirely, and take people out with them. Truthfully, there aren't many people left at all.

"Okay," you say. Your eyes stay on his face a little longer than necessary. You take note of his wide, innocent eyes and wonder if he even understands what's happening. Or maybe he just looks like that. But really, all it does is make you want to protect him from the inevitable.

Maybe there's a secret spaceship you can hide him in, and he can start a new, albeit solitary, life on the moon.

You'd never make it to Area 51 in time. That's where they keep the spaceships, right?

(Mark doesn't know how to tell you that he doesn't even care about this stupid soulmate thing. He just doesn't want to be alone. He doesn't want to say that, because it means he has to vocally admit that he is alone. Truly. Not by choice.

He was out of town when his family got the flu. The atmosphere got too much. Whatever sickness killed and left as soon as it came, took them too. And he had to go. He had to get out, as far away from the east coast as he could. So he decided on the west coast. And then he decided on you.)

"Let's get our tan on!" You joke. The clouds are heavy and dark above the water. It looks like the sky and the water are becoming one, however slowly or quickly. You grab Mark's elbow and pull him towards the sea.

The waves roar against the silence of the land. There's a family down the ways, barely noticeable under the pier. You watch a seagull fly down towards the family and steal something. The little girl shrieks, but you don't know if it's in excitement or fear.

The beach is distractedly empty. No people — save those already mentioned — are anywhere to be seen. There's debris everywhere: old umbrellas, coolers, and towels are half-buried in the sand.

The tide is coming in higher (something the news channel probably warned about) and for some reason, it makes the world feel incredibly small.

Mark has already got his legs in the water. It's lapping at his clothed jeans, but he doesn't seem to mind. His back is turned to you. He's facing the horizon, still and silent.

You hate to ruin this for him, but as the mood grows more dismal, you want to lighten it.

You sneak up behind Mark and jump on his back. Your weight catches him off guard, and the two of you plummet into the cloudy water. Mark yelps when the water hits his torso. You fall in after him and grip his shoulders. Closing your eyes tight, you hold you breath and lift your face above the surface. "Feel refreshed?"

Mark coughs. He rubs his eyes, wincing when the salt reaches beneath his lids. "Why would you do that?"

"It's fun," you say.

Mark begins swimming into the deep water. He looks a bit like a lost child, doggy paddling in the vast sea. He grins, and his lips are a bit lopsided. You notice his cheeks grow hollow when he smiles. "You scared me, Y/n."

The sentence ends timidly, like he isn't sure if he's allowed to say your name out loud. But you like it. It's hesitant and soft; loud because it's the only word spoken for miles; quiet because it's Mark. You wonder briefly how to get him to say your name again.

The two of you swim until you can't touch the sandy floor below you anymore. Mark holds his own, but you struggle a bit. "They were right about the tide getting stronger."

"Here," Mark swims over to you and wraps his arm around your waist. "Stay close to me."

Something akin to reticence settles against the wall of your skull like the numb reminder that this is all very weird. Mark is a stranger, and you're cross-country with only him. It bothers you that your mind is already growing attached; your heart already growing attracted. This is the last thing you need to happen during your last days on this literal godforsaken earth.

You swim back to the shore first and lie on the sand. It clings to your wet skin. The tide laps at your feet. The sun is going down, and the air feels overwhelmingly muggy. You close your eyes.

(Mark thinks about the waves. He thinks about the frequency of your voice when he splashes you. He thinks of how your smile seems even prettier at this time of day. He thinks about the way you pulled back when he asked you to stay. While he knows this isn't exactly the time to fall for someone, he can't help but feel like he's starting to.

He watches you fall asleep in the sand. Your cheeks are red. Your eyelashes flutter against the tops of your cheeks. Your lips are chapped. Mark finds that he wouldn't mind kissing you. Or just simply being by your side.

For a few solitary moments, he doesn't even think about the end. Just the now.)

It feels like you blinked, but when you reopen your eyes you find that time has certainly gone by. Mark is sitting a ways away, stoking a makeshift fire.

"I was a Cub Scout," he says.

"I need a smoke." You go back to the van and pull out a pack and a lighter. Your brain feels fuzzy from having fallen asleep on the beach, and your back itches from the sand that has scratched its way down your shirt. To distract yourself, you lean against the van and take a drag; look up towards the sky.

It's a dark reddish black, some ominous code that the world is definitely coming to an end. Clouds swirl hazily against each other and you can see that a storm seems to be forming over the ocean. Months ago this would've been beautiful. An instagram-worthy shot, a coffee pot topic, and nothing more.

Right now it sends a chill down your spine.

You drop the cigarette and head back to where Mark is sitting. He has some kind of pot out over the fire, and what looks like a can of soup inside. The can itself is tucked neatly in the little box Mark has beside him. You wonder why he cares so much about a planet that's already dead. "Thanks. For, uh dinner."

"Yeah," Mark clears his throat and shifts in the sand. "That's what friends are for."

"We're friends now?" You raise your brow at Mark while he hands you a bowl of soup along with a spoon.

"I sure hope so," Mark quips. "I don't make soup for just anybody."

You laugh at that. Your heart stirs in excitement. Your stomach growls, so you ignore the heaviness in your chest and take a bite of your soup.

That night you fall asleep with a belly full of food and sand down your shorts. It's half-ideal, half-hell, but Mark gives you a hug before the two of you tuck in, so it's okay.

(Mark wants to say that he wishes the two of you were friends a lot sooner, but that would be weird. He's only known you for like, three days. Maybe he's delirious.

But he gives you a hug before you fall asleep anyway. He hopes you can't hear how fast his heart is beating. It's stupid anyway, he thinks.)

Four days left. Give or take. You aren't completely sure to be honest, and that brings on an entire onslaught of horror that you've never really felt before. There's something so terrifying about this whole thing. It's like you've knocked on Death's door, and you have no idea when he's actually going to open it.

Mark hides it well. He drives the two of you down to Hollywood Boulevard.

It's trashed. What was once the walk of fame is now defaced with graffiti, food, trash, and what looks like human feces. You throw up in the fake bushes and Mark pats your back while you do.

"Guess I won't get my picture with Kermit the Frog then," you joke.

Mark's eyes suddenly widen. He grabs his backpack straps. "There's a Kermit the Frog star?"

"Yeah," you laugh at Mark's expression. "My aunt was obsessed with The Muppets. She had a laminated picture of the star in her sewing room."

Mark bites his lip and averts his eyes. "I have a Polaroid. Not much film, but we might could get a few pictures."

The stars have to be cleared first. Mark comes up with the idea to sneak into one of the restaurants nearby and using their cleaning supplies. And since you have all day and nothing to lose, you agree.

The thing about a large and empty place like Hollywood Boulevard, is that every shadow feels like a threat. Memories of dystopian movies come flooding through your memories when Mark hands you a giant broom. You wonder if some evil man with a god complex is going to come and kidnap you both.

But the only people the two of you ever see is a man in a small shop that looks like it contains weed.

You and Mark sweep away as much debris as you can, while avoiding anything that came out of a human body. The graffiti covers a lot of the stars, but after a few hours of walking and sweeping, the two of you find it.

"Kermit," Mark breathes a side of relief before laughing out loud. His laugh is stark against the silence.

You join him anyway. "I can't believe we found Kermit! My aunt would be so jealous right now."

"Your aunt sounds weird," Mark says, no real bite to his remark.

"She is," you confirm. "She's up in Maine somewhere. At least, you know, last I heard."

Mark senses the change in tone and drops his backpack to the ground. He pulls out a baby pink Polaroid camera. He points it at you. "Say cheese, Y/n."

There's your name on his tongue again. That sound itself has you beaming as you lean against the brooms long handle and cock your head to the side. The camera clicks.

Mark takes out the picture and shakes it before he looks at it. "Cute," he says casually, then he tucks it in his shirt pocket.

"I want to see it," you say. You hope that if you don't acknowledge the warmth in your cheeks, Mark won't either.

"Too bad." He sticks his tongue out at you. And before you can retort, he squats down beside the star. "Okay, let's get a picture of this bad boy."

You squat down too. You match Mark's peace sign and smile in the direction of the lens. The camera clicks.

Nothing comes out. "Shit," Mark mumbles to himself. "I guess I had a lot less film than I thought."

You're about to apologize, feeling like maybe you should've put up a bigger fight when he offered to take your picture.

Mark seems to read your mind. That, or he's just too nice for his own good. He pats his shirt pocket and gives you a generous smile. "Worth it, though."

The sky is getting progressively darker as the two of you walk around, occasionally pointing at places you would've liked to go, had the circumstances been different.

You both eat from snacks you find in a convenience store. You take the rest and leave it in the truck. "What should we do now?" Mark asks.

The light from the store across the street flickers. You look at the neon leaf and then back to Mark. "Have you ever gotten high?"

(Mark has gotten high before, and he tells you so. What he doesn't tell you is that the picture in his pocket is getting heavier as the seconds pass. What he doesn't tell you is that this picture may be the only evidence left of you in a few days. Maybe it will disappear with the rest of them. Mark briefly wonders if a fireproof box would work against the end of the world, and whatever that entails.

He wants to tell you that he would immortalize you in a million different pictures if he could. He would show the dying world a million different ways to breathe again.

Instead, he only nods his head. "Yeah, but it's always fun to do again.")

You're positive it's the fact that you've taken one too many hits of whatever joint that weed guy rolled up for you. 'Said it was his best; he was saving it for something special. Since the world is going to hell, he shared it with you.

And now you're in the bed of Mark's van, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the way Mark's lips wrap around the joint. He has a really pretty mouth, you realize, and you want to say it out loud but something heavier takes hold of your chest and you bury it down with all of your other fears and revelations.

Mark coughs. Puffs of smoke blow out into the hot van, and he winces at the smell. "Didn't the guy say this was the special stuff? Why does it still stink?"

You take the joint from him and package it up, hoping to save it for another day (or maybe you just don't want to get so high that you can't focus on Mark's face.)

Mark scrunches his nose and leans back against the cool window of the van. "We should sleep outside tonight. It's too hot in here."

"Under the stars?" you ask. You feel your heartbeat pick up, but it falls just as quickly, and you settle back into the blankets. "Don't wanna move."

"I'll move you," Mark says, a mere whisper against your right side.

You watch him open the trunk. He hops out. "Come on, Y/n. Take my hand."

His hand is warm and calloused and rough and you want to ask him if he can actually play that guitar in the back of his van or if it's just for show. Mark lets you sit on the concrete of the pier. It's warm beneath your skin. Mark parked the van right against the pier, so the two of you could sleep right next to the edge.

While you hang your legs off of the edge, Mark drags the mattress out and pushes it right up to the railing. "Didn't peg you for a stoner."

You grab the blanket he throws at you and lie down on the mattress. "I'm not," you say, no bark to your words. "You're just better at it than me."

"At smoking?" Mark laughs. "I only took one hit. You took, like, four."

"So?" You pout and refuse to return his stare. Instead you try to focus on the stars, and the way their alignments seem off. You wonder if it's the end of the world, or if it's just the weed. "I wish we had more time."

The candor in your voice causes Mark to finally settle down. He lays down. His shoulder brushes against yours, and when his fingers twitch, his knuckles touch yours. It stirs up a gentle longing in your heart. What might be. What never was. You turn to face Mark. "We haven't found your soulmate, yet."

Mark lets out a shaky breath. Something between a gasp and a sigh. He blinks, looks at you like he's indulging, and blinks again. "I don't know if I want to."

(He knows he doesn't want to. Hasn't for a long time now. But your innocent worry has him thinking. Has him wondering how much a soulmate is worth in the end.

He thinks of how you let your guard down when you're high. He thinks of the jolt of electricity that zips down his arm when your fingers touch his. He thinks of your face, so close to his and yet he's so, so afraid of leaning in. Or letting go. Or scaring you away.

Mark doesn't have to find his soulmate. There's no time, and no lead. He thinks that he'd be disappointed anyway.

At the end of all things, he thinks he'd just rather be with you.)

"Where'd you even learn how to siphon gas?" you cough. The air is growing thinner. An estimate of three or four days left, and the air is beginning to fall against the atmosphere like a weighted blanket. Ash and dust rise from the ground, and you keep a bandanna around your nose most of the time.

Mark spits gasoline out of his mouth and shoves the nozzle into his van. "Cub Scouts, remember?"

"Who knew Cub Scouts would prepare you for the end of the world." You kick the van's back tire.

Mark lifts his own red bandanna around his mouth. His jeans are scuffed up from the dirt and grime of the gas station, but the fact that he keeps his shirt tucked in and fastened with a belt is more endearing than it needs to be.

"Too bad I never earned my saving-the-world badge, right?" Mark chuckles. A sad silence follows.

You slip into the passenger seat beside Mark and place your hand over his as soon as it's placed on the gear shift. "What did you want to be? Before the news?"

Mark opens his mouth. Then closes it, laughs to himself and shakes his head. "It's stupid."

"It can't be stupid," you say. "Nothing you like is stupid."

Mark's neck flushes red. "I, uh, want to be a rapper."

"Still?" you whisper.

"Is that pathetic? To pretend the world isn't ending?" Mark lets himself glance at you for a solemn moment.

"I don't think so," you say. "If I've learned anything from you at all, Mark Lee, it's that you're full of hope. That's not pathetic at all."

Mark flips his hand over so that your fingers intertwine with his. "Thanks. You, uh... You've taught me a lot of things too."

"Like what?" You lift your feet onto the dash and squeeze Mark's hand.

"I don't want to say right now."

"Okay." You pull his hand into your lap and run your fingertips over his calloused palms. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you this, but do you play guitar?"

"Yeah," Mark turns down a neighborhood of beach houses. "Remind me to play for you sometime."

(Mark likes the way you touch him first. He likes that you let him hold your hand. He likes that you pull his hand into your lap. He feels so much peace that for a brief moment, he thinks that if the world were to end right now, off-schedule, he'd be okay with it. He doesn't know how to tell you that you're teaching him to be okay with the end. He doesn't know how to tell you that he finds forever in these small moments with you.)

Mark takes you to his aunt's empty beach house and the two of you move your stuff in. He finds the solar generator, and the two of you take showers for what seems like the first time in awhile. You don't feel like wearing anything, welcoming the generated AC. But, out of respect for Mark, you adorn undergarments and a large t-shirt stolen from his "clean" suitcase. (He has a "clean" suitcase and a "dirty" suitcase, which is another thing you really admire about Mark.)

When you come out of the shower, towel around your neck, Mark is sitting on the corner of the bed. His own towel has been thrown over the window-side wicker chair, covering a starfish pillow.

What startles you is the fact that he isn't wearing a shirt; only a pair of black sweatpants. A pair of glasses you've never seen before are perched atop his nose. They slip down every time he looks towards the neck of his guitar. He strums out a sour chord and scrunches his nose. "Ah," he shakes his head at the instrument. "She needs a good tuning."

You're drying your hands with your towel, eyes hazy and focused on the way Mark's bare shoulders tense every time he strums a particularly bad chord.

Mark Lee is really pretty. His black hair is still damp, and a few droplets fall onto his cheeks. "Here," you rush out, not wanting another distraction in his favor. "Let me dry your hair. You'll get a cold."

Mark sets the guitar aside and you stand between his legs. "What song should I play for you?" He closes one eye and peers up at you with a close-lipped smile.

You hum. Toss the towel over his face so he won't notice how warm your face is getting. You dry his hair off with a few massages. "What's the one that makes you most happy?"

"I dunno," Mark says. "I like Come Back To Bed."

"Then sing that one to me." You toss the towel to the floor. For a moment, you wonder what it would feel like to run your hand through his hair. After all, you did just dry his hair, which is kind of an intimate thing already. But maybe touching it would be crossing the line. Maybe reaching out to tuck that stray hair back behind his ear would reveal too much. Unravel what you've been trying not to show.

But the world is ending, so it's time to have courage. You swallow your fear and reach out. When you run your fingers through his soft hair, Mark sighs in content. "That feels nice."

"Y-Yeah?" you say, because anything else would come out as a squeak.

Mark's eyes are closed. He leans into your touch and when your hand trails down the side of his face, behind his ear, he places a kiss against your inner wrist. "Yeah," he says, breath hot on your skin. "I'm... I'm glad I went into that convenience store a few days ago."

"Me too." You sense the mood drifting, so you sit beside Mark and pat his guitar. "Now play me something."

Mark nods, a big dazed. He picks up his guitar and begins to sing to you, and you think his voice sounds like the hope of a new dawn.

(Mark wants to bottle up the color of your blushing cheeks and paint the sky. He wants to hold you close to him and kiss you breathless. He wants to say so much more than he does.)

Mark makes eggs. You make waffles. They're both a little burnt, but they're made with love, so it's fine. You eat as much as you can, tired of all the convenience store food. "Thank God for your aunt's well-stocked, solar-powered beach house."

Mark giggles. "You know, she was gonna sell it later this year. She wanted to move to the mountains."

"I'm glad she didn't," you say. "This isn't a bad place for... you know."

Mark blinks. Solemnity drowns his face. "She rented a cabin in the mountains. Didn't want to die in the city she was born in. This was the best place I could think of for the end."

"Do you think it will hurt?" You don't want to ask, because it's such a dismal concern. However, you wonder if you're the only one worried about your last moments.

Mark shakes his head. "I think it will be very quick. Like a sneeze."

(Mark wants to say that he's terrified of a slow death. Or dying before you. Of having to watch you die, or leave you alone in this world. He wants to say that he's scared to death and every step feels like a closer one to the grave.

He thinks of telling you, but what difference would it make?)

That night after your shower, you find Mark in the kitchen, washing the dishes. "You don't have to do those, you know."

You wrap your arms around Mark's waist, and as soon as you make contact, he shudders. His body slumps against the sink and he hiccups a sob. "I'm scared, Y/n."

"Mark..." you turn him around as gently as you can and pull him into your embrace. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."

"Times almost up," he chokes. "We don't know if it will happen tonight or tomorrow– and I don't want to leave you."

He lifts his head from your shoulder and presses his forehead against yours. It feels a bit like the way a cat might ask for a scratch. But it feels more like Mark wanting to be as close to you as he can. From here, you can see his wide eyes magnified from tears. He sniffs.

You bump your nose against his and shift your hands up to his shoulders. "Mark, I think I love you. I know it's too soon, but we don't really have much time anyways, so I thought I should tell you. I know now isn't a good time, and I'm probably being extremely selfish for saying it while you're crying–"

"You're not," Mark blurts just before he kisses you.

He holds your face in his hands and pulls you against him. His lips are soft and smooth against your chapped ones and you like the way his breathing gets heavier when you reach up and twirl your fingers through his hair. "I love you too."

His hands shift to your waist. He backs you up until you hit the counter's edge. "Jump," he mumbles against your mouth.

You jump onto the counter and wrap your legs around Mark's middle, pulling him flush against you as you go to kiss him again.

He kisses bites your bottom lip and when you gasp at the pain, he leans back to smirk at you. The look on his face makes you want to either slap him or melt into his touch. You choose the latter, leaning back as his lips begin to trail down your jaw. "I don't ever want to let you go."

"Then don't," you say.

(Mark thinks having sex and making love are two different things. He thinks your pink shorts look really pretty against the color of your skin. He thinks of the sounds you make, and the softness of your stomach. He thinks of purple marks on your thighs and the way you say his name like it's worth something. Like it means something. He thinks of looking into your eyes and telling you that he loves you. He thinks of kissing your lips and your neck and your chest and your hips. He thinks of you trembling against him. He thinks of cleaning you up and pulling his hoodie over your tired form. He thinks of kissing your forehead and falling asleep to the sound of your heart.

He thinks of the stain glass picture his aunt has in her kitchen right above the sink. A poem about the sun and the moon. A picture of the two kissing. The words ring like an anthem in his head. He thinks maybe soulmates always find each other in the end.)

It happens in the night. You get up to get a drink of water. Your legs are sore but your heart feels warm.

You take small sips in front of the sink and look out of the window. The clouds are dark and red again, but you're distracted by a little hanging picture suctioned to the pane. It's a stain glass picture, painted gaudy blue and gold. You can see the vivid picture of the sun and the moon, fitting against each other like missing puzzle pieces. There's a poem painted in messy scrawl, but you make out the words easily enough.

Tell me what is more beautiful;

The sky seems to get closer.

How the moon lets the sun shine throughout the day.

The air seems to get warmer.

Or the way the sun lets the moon glimmer at night.

The sky darkens, and you close your eyes. You think of Mark alone in the bed and hope he won't wake. You hope he won't know that he has to go alone. You want to run to him, but you know this is nothing but a second on earth, and you're all out of time.

(Mark wakes up when his skin feels like it's scalding. He sits up and notices that you aren't beside him. You're gone, and he knows it's the end, and he knows he'll never see you again, and the thought claws it's way down his throat and breaks his heart from the inside out. And he's all out of time.)

#mark lee fluff #mark lee scenarios #mark lee angst #nct fluff #nct angst #nct scenarios #destwrites

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b000mbayah · 3 years

Text

Without

Warnings: I wrote this last year when I was dumb so ignore how putrid it is :)

Word count: 2k

Snow gliding through the sky as it piles up on the concrete streets. The sky is cloudy as a mist fogs up our surroundings. Streets of Seoul full of people looking for gifts for relatives. The festive holiday is coming up and people are able to spend the day with loved ones. I used to be one of those people.

I lost my true love a month ago. It was a stupid argument over the most irrelevant thing imaginable, I was just so fuming at the time that I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. It was a trap, either way I was screwed. If I had continued the argument it would have worsened and if I had stopped earlier she still would have left me.

I could see in her eyes that she was broken due to the amount of times I've done this to her. I broke her again... I've broken her for the last time, and now she's gone.

If I had said sorry she would have left, if I begged she would have left, if I had just stopped myself from shouting in the first place. She's scared of me now, her eyes so full of fear as she trembled on the spot. I'll never forget the way she looked at me every time.

The following mornings were full of me proving to her that I loved her whether she wanted it or not. I would have done anything to make her forgive my foolish actions, couldn't do that last month though. It all seems pointless, love. I mean there are positive and negative outlooks on love.

Love can fill you with pure joy and excitement to the point that you forget the numbness that you'll feel after it's over with.

It leaves you broken as if you're a ship with treasure that crashes onto land, losing all its precious moments and times as everything inside spills out, never to be found again.

There are more negatives to love than positives and I swear that I'll never forget her, she was the one I loved most and I let go of her hand, I let her slip and now she's gone.

watching her on stage made me cry every time, hearing the news JYP sent out made me depressed... hearing that she had to have a break from her schedules made me feel guilty.

I look around my room as I retreat away from the window, empty takeaway boxes and cans all around my room. My eyes droop down to my phone on the floor.

Cautiously, I crouch down and pick the electronic up off of the ground. I bite my lip as all my notifications pop up. Multiple miss calls and text messages from all my contacts.

I tap on my messages to see hundreds upon hundreds of messages from my contacts, all of my contacts had text me, all but one. The one that had deleted my number, I refuse to delete hers though, it contains too many memories for me to simply release into a void.

I gulp as I click onto Jihyo's contacts as our last conversation over the phone comes up. All of this was just before the final argument. I was questioning where she was and when she'd get home. She was only practicing with her other members in their dance studio, I let my jealousy get the best of me, again..

I throw the phone at the wall as I got dressed and headed out, I can't say in my apartment forever. I forced myself out the door for the building and into the chilly winter breeze. I inhaled and exhaled the fresh air before taking steps towards the supermarket.

Layers of trampled snow surround the street. As I pass shops I take a simple look inside.

"Y/N!" I turn on my heel to be greeted with my best friend running up to me, a member of twice. I let out a broken smile as sana springs up to me with a massive grin and arms open.

Within seconds she gives me a bone crushing hug. ''y/n, please tell me you're okay?" sana rushes in a speed faster than chaeyoungs rapping skills.

"yeah, I'm just.... Upset about the situation" I frown as she gives me a look of sadness. She nods her head and opens her mouth, "I'm upset as well, I really liked you two together" sana smiles at her words as I gulp, she really liked us together?

"I've been trying to contact you for weeks and weeks but nothing, please may I take you to dinner? You look like you haven't been eating the correct amount of food, I need to stuff you up I time for Christmas" sana says with a worried tone

"s-sure" I stutter out as she grabs my hand and takes me through crowds of people that surround the streets and up to a fancy restaurant where richer people would dine. "w-we cat eat here, it's to expensive, I don't want to cost you that much money"

"no y/n, it's okay, it's nothing really only a few hundred. My clothes are worth more than this'' sana giggles out as she gets us a table with a view of a frozen pond. It took us what? Twenty minutes to get here for a view I'd a pond with what's most likely to be frozen fish inside. I'm not complaining but like those poor fish...

"Take your time, when you're ready to order please ring this bell" a waiter explains as she hands us the menus. We thank her before she walks away.

"what do you fancy getting?" sama asks as I scan the menu's dishes. "urm, the... Mmmm"

"steak?" sana asks me as u nod and go along with the choice. Sana hums as she also decides on what she's getting. I ring the bell as the waiter from before comes back with a pen and notepad.

"what can I get for you ladies?" they ask as sana gives him the order. He bows and leaves us. I turn my head to sana who's wearing a permanent smile right now.

"please come round to our dorm, the girls miss you" I tilt my head before nodding.

"sure but I may have to avoid jihyo" sana frowns at my words but nods her head.

Soon after the meal I ended up at the dorm. Still have no idea how I'm going to deal with this but I'm just going to have to hope for the best I guess. Sana pushes the door open silently, we take our shoes off before continuing on. As we creeped up on tzuyu, even though there was no point, I managed to make eye contact with momo who was eating the packet of cookies I had sent her months ago. She must be really far behind in her food gifts if she's only eating them now.

I place a finger to my own lips as she nods and watches with curiosity filling her eyes.

As we were practically behind Tzuyu we both leap at the same time, causing tzuyu to let out a yelp as we all tumble to the floor. I let out a giggle as tzuyu groans due to the impact. "Get off of me you pathe- y/n?" tzuyu changes the subject half way through as notices me. I smile and give her a small wave. "what are you doing here?" she questions looking at me like she's trying to read me.

oh so I'm a book now????

"I invited her-" I cut sana off, "she dragged me here, oh it was awful, she demanded it and she explained how she would burn down my house and throw me in a ditch if I didn't come" I dramatically say as sana huffs out a gush of air.

"alright then... If you say so but please get off of me, you're both killing me" tzuyu states as we stand back up, dusting ourselfs off.

We enter the living room to see everyone here, including Jihyo...

"Y/N!" everyone in the room exclaims but Sana, Tzuyu and Jihyo. I somehow become covered with six different females as they squeeze me like a teddy bear. Once they all release me, I give them a wide smile and bow as they copy my action.

"y/n, how have you been? We've been busy with-" and I couldn't hear anything dahyun was saying, I am way more focused on Jihyo. Her expression is unreadable as she gulps from time to time. her eyes dart around to find an excuse to leave but nothing comes to her mind.

As soon as she looks up we lock eye contact. I forgot how much I loved those eyes, her eyes show dedication, passion, strength, love... All the things I wish I had. I probably sound whipped for her and the truth is, I am. I would do anything for us to get back together but that wont happen.

"right y/n?" I break eye contact as I respond with a simple nod since my throat is sore from all the crying and screaming I've been doing. I really have been beating myself up over this break up.

"I said that her hair looked like a donkey on steroi-" and blank out again as I make eye contact once again with Jihyo. Only this time we break it for a few seconds before reuniting our eyes.

Without me or Jihyo noticing, Tzuyu manages to take the other members away to give us alone time. Once we realise they're gone an awkward situation is placed between us...

"how have you been?" she begins as she examines the pictures hung on the walls. "pretty bad, you?" I respond as she gulps down on air. "same, what's your reason?"

I freeze, thinking on if should I tell her the truth or not? There's nothing wrong with the truth. "if I'm honest... I've been beating myself up about the breakup, I'm deeply sorry for how I treated you Jihyo. That month I had spent alone had given me time to reflect on my behaviour and what I have done" Jihyo looks at me with an interested look but there's also something else there. "continue..."

"the way I treated you during that relationship was completely irresponsible, I had spent that entire month locked up in my apartment crying about what I had done, I was so frustrated with myself that I couldn't bring myself to forget about it and I'm sorry if I'm invading your personal space by being here but I really hope that one day you can forgive me" my voice goes shaky towards the end as tears form in the corner of my eyes. Jihyo looks me up and down, about to say something when the door opens up.

I watch as a male walks up to Jihyo, I could only see the back of his head as he's asking her questions before turning around to face me. RM? "she doesn't want to see you, please leave her alone she has me now."

My eyes widen in shock but I bow and apologise once again before rushing out crying again. I rush past the other members who share a look of concern before chase after me calling my name. I ignore them though and continue to rush my way out of that place, not wanting to be there anymore due to the once sweet but now awful memories I have there.

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twiststreet · 3 years

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As a fan of manga (mostly everything Tezuka), I'm intrigued by your comments about One Piece, but my assumption is it HAS to be at least PRETTY GOOD to be as popular as it is and to have run as long as it has. I'd be interested in more detailed posts about it, as well as how you recommend reading it, if you do. On a somewhat related note, today I started reading all of Batman. Planning to go from 1939 to 1999, when I first picked up the comics.

Whoops I wrote a lot; sorry:

I’m 615 chapters in out of 1000 (and in the middle of the Fish-Man Island saga which I think fans rank as either the worst or second-worst arc)(the other worst one, this bad tournament arc, I’ve already gotten past)... so I guess I have a lot to say, but you know, nothing especially original, just...

There’s a stretch (namely, the Water 7 arc all the way through Marineford) that is a hall of fame stretch. He drops like 5-6 arcs that just land perfect right in row (though it’s hard to imagine it ever reaching the heights of the second arc in that series, Ennies Lobby ever again). But that being said, it’s a little funny to tell anyone “Oh it takes 150 chapters to get really good” (that’s at least 2000+ pages of comics) let alone, that the A+ stuff starts 300 chapters in. A chapter of One Piece only takes a minutes or so to read, if that, but it’s still a big ask. People used to get angry if you told them that Deadwood only gets good after 3-4 hours, so...

But that stretch is ... not “life-affirming” but... it touches a very old part of my brain in a very satisfying way.

I had a whole long post I deleted because I thought it was boring, but... when I was into classical American superhero comics, the thing I’d constantly be nerdiest about is that there was this Great Possibility, to do something truly epic in that space which I didn’t think had been done. There’s been a few novels (Watchmen, the Enigma) but not that many. And American superhero comics don’t really have a Lord of the Rings or a Star Wars or, an example for me as a kid even though I hadn’t read all the books was the Gunslinger books (or sure, The Stand if The Stand had maybe a different ending? I don’t know-- I’m not watching the TV show but I don’t really remember that ending fondly). The epic driven by a creator who is creating his own personal mythology, basically. Most of the genre is tied to pre-existing universes which foreclose that as a possibility and people who work outside those universes tend to just make shit like that Peter Cannon thing or Supreme or whatever that comments back on those universes...

Maybe you could argue the Hickman X-Men thing but for me, everyone after Claremont on X-Men is just inheriting so much from Claremont that... It means very little to me. It’s not a personal mythology. Same with Crisis. The closest to me comics came was Kirby with the 4th World, but... Carmine Infantino shut that down. And the Claremont run itself is ... an interesting discussion, but again, Bob Harras. But back before Watchmen 2, back when I thought comics could be this thing that improve over time (haha), I’d look for that (or for any ambition! any!) and just gave up as time went on. The careerist generation came in; the ambitions shrank even further; etc., to where I’m at now where my attitude generally with comics is “that’s nice; who care; so, is your wife dating anyone right now, what’s her story?”

But then One Piece ... One Piece, of all things, becomes this epic thing! And it’s great! I was right that it would be great!!! I was right! (My favorite thing to be!).

Not at first-- at first the formula is “Wacky Pirates go to an Island, they find out something sad is going on in the Island, a character acting extremely emotional causes the biggest fight possible which goes on for 50 chapters, and then they leave the island and maybe take someone with them.” And that’s a lot of big arcs... until little by little, tiny bit by tiny bit, Oda’s built up this world. And then that world starts to become the story. And that’s still kind of the formula but... but then they’re stakes.

The archetypal shonen cliche story is “a boy wants to be the best in the world at something”, right, but what One Piece does (and I haven’t read as much as other people so I don’t know how common this is, I haven’t read Naruto or Bleach, neither of which I’m too excited to check out, though i think david brothers vouches for Bleach heavy so I’ll probably give that one a shot), what One Piece does is sees how that would necessarily become a political struggle eventually. Because what does it mean to be the best in the world at something when there’s an entire world out there already in operation, and built around you not being the best in the world, built around someone else being that...

And then there’s just this amount of worldbuilding that goes on, that is so slowly fed out over those first 300 episodes that you don’t even notice it... Until suddenly around Water 7, these bigger forces have now noticed our wacky pirates, and are shifting around them and getting upset about them. Culminating in this arc called Marineford that ... again not as good as Ennies Lobby but... I don’t think there’s a comparable arc in American comics to Marineford. The scale of that one... The fact he managed to draw that on a weekly basis!

While still being a goofy kid’s pirate comic. It’s funny. The power sets are all really silly, but in a way that reminds of how kids play more than a Dragonball thing. (He takes like 400-500 chapters to even get to a Dragonball-style levelling up concept, which I thought was pretty patient of him). But within that, I’m enjoying it now in a very Claremont way of... there now not just being these scrappy outcast heroes I’m rooting for, but an entire universe of people around them, with their own agendas, that I have varying levels of investment in.

There’s this saying that the Golden Age of science fiction is 12 years old, the idea being that’s the age where stuff lands with you the hardest because it’s all NEW for you. But the thing is if you’re really immature (lifts hand)... I think part of things is you run out of the Good Stuff. I go back and look at old Chris Claremont X-Mens and if I somehow find one I’ve never read before (and this was the lesson of Dazzler in Hollywood for me), I’m still right there, it still lands with me, there just aren’t that many people who can actually land that plane. Once Scorcese is gone, what gangster movies are people going to be watching? Blow? Savages? Kubrick only made the movies he made. People add a little every year, but the really good stuff is rare.

And so when I’m looking at One Piece and I’m enjoying it the way I’d enjoy a Claremont X-men comic (even if aesthetically it’s a VERY different thing-- sexless and not as weirdo-operatic and less violent and more childish and definitely younger-skewing)... but that I’m getting that same thrill of “oh this comic is a portal to this entire fictional universe this guy made up and that kind of exists now thanks to this (kinda disturbing I guess it turns out) guy” to me is... Not “life affirming” that’s not the right word but... It feels good on my brain to know. Because then being sour and grouchy isn’t just me getting older and the inevitability of age-- then it’s just... People need to make better shit!!! Or I need to do a better job not wasting my time on, you know, an industry that’s not built to deliver what I need as a reader...

I mean, I’ve been saying for more than 10 years, I should just quit American comics and just be one of those guys to switch to manga. And I’m not 100% there because... I mean, because of Copra and because of like an extremely small list of things that aren’t Copra. (I just signed for Kate Beaton’s Patreon). But... I’m 95% there, and it’s been great, and I just feel dumb for not having done it earlier.

One Piece has big problems, too. (There’s a whole “Sanji meets drag queens” thing that’s very much not landing with me right now). I don’t think you can ever top Ennies Lobby because Ennies Lobby is about convincing a suicidal person whose been betrayed their whole life that life’s worth fighting for-- there’s never going to be an emotional engine to the story that’s as good as that one. It’s trying to work its way back to a “normal One Piece story” in this Fish arc and it’s... I want to see it level up again! The core cast is just a little too big (it really didn’t need Bones). I think the shonen model generally creates a sort of “power arms race” where it’s like constantly “oh you learned how to crush mountains with your dick in the last arc? Well, too bad our mountains are made of diamonds now” escalations that ... feel a little like a treadmill as opposed to a story. I feel like it needs to kick into a Second Act, after the big ending of that first Act at Marineford. And just... I don’t know how it can keep topping some of these fights, and think it’d get to be diminishing returns to find out. But...

A “team of buddies versus the world” is already a great thing for a story to be about, and it’s just really satisfying having One Piece having the “the world” part of that equation being so complicated and varied and colorful. It’s like if the Ocean’s 11 gang had to rob an overwhelming-more-powerful global crime syndicate, with multiple competing factions, while still convincing Julia Roberts to love them-- they just robbed Andy Garcia and I watch that movie like once a year.

(And thematically, the comic-- it’s not deep, but it’s basically got an anti-authoritarian streak to it, which I think is important for a kid comic to have. It’s a pirate comic and you can’t really do a pirate comic without being like “fuck the cops” at least a little bit. The pirate thing is interesting because it basically means that there’s always a discussion going on about what it means to be free, though I think sometimes the comic doesn’t really reckon with that-- it sometimes falls back into “well if there was a good monarch though” thinking... but there being good pirates and bad pirates and good government characters and bad ones, I like that... and the very worst characters just being rich assholes... yeah, good lessons in One Piece for the kids!!).

That and I just like how that dude draws. He’s not doing some dreary realism thing-- the layouts are fun without being showy or confusing-- he really improves as the series goes on (though some of the recent stuff I’ve seen hasn’t looked as good, but I’m not sure if I’m seeing low-quality scans or he’s been thrown a loop cause of COVID or what). I’ll always put up with a boring stretch in a comic if someone, like, crosshatches an arm in a way that I find interesting, so that probably distorts how I read One Piece too...

I could go on and on, basically because ... goddamn, what else do I have to talk about, ughhh. But yeah: that’s why I think it’s popular-- it’s the worldbuilding. It’s 100% the worldbuilding. (By which I’d include that it has this massive cast, that i can keep kinda clear in my head, not all of whom want the same things, etc.)(though also geographically-- there are maps and everything)... But recommend it? I don’t know-- I mean... It’s a little kid’s pirate comic. There’s a THOUSAND of them. It’s more modern than a Tezuka thing-- it’s jumping off more from Toriyama than Tezuka, and that’s a different vibe. It’s like not something you can just “recommend”-- it’s a major time sink. I’d recommend Chainsaw Man first to someone with my age and background because even though it has its own flaws, it’s more “age appropriate” and there are only 90 chapters, and it’s got that rad stretch about 20 chapters in so you see the “good part” faster...

#one piece #Worst Hobby or Worstest Hobby?

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