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faeriekit · 2 months ago

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Health and Hybrids (XXVII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Diana helps mediate. Stinky Dad and the Alien Guy observe.

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny’s space-watching time is very important to him. He’s pretty sure it’s on his schedule, even.

Every few days—and even more days in a week, now that people are relatively certain that he’s not going to start hitting the medical staff—Danny gets wheeled over to the big window to stare out at the moon.

The moon hasn’t changed all that much since his first few visits, since. You know. It’s in space. Still, the stars shift in their positions, and sometimes they face Earth, and sometimes they do not, and a couple times Danny sees people flying out there, which is super neat.

Sometimes Danny sees maintenance workers out doing repairs on their buildings, too. They wave back at him when they’re not busy or carrying something, which makes Danny’s core bubble and spark with joy.

So, Danny is watching the stars twinkle in the sky with all the meditative calm his Obsession requires when something plops onto his head. It doesn’t hurt, but it does put pressure onto his neck. Ow.

Danny hisses automatically, but he already knows who it is—the quick-fast-kid-who-hasn’t-introduced-himself practically vibrates against Danny’s skin, all excited by omg/omg/misch/iefomg.

Typical. Danny wants to feign a bite, but his neck kind of hurts. He settles for grumbling. “What?”

“Dude,” the teenager says, or, uh, Danny approximates he says something kind of like dude, anyway— “Want to come see a feoht?”

Uh. “A what?” Danny asks, ignoring how the guy’s chin keeps digging into his scalp. It might be the most non-medical physical contact Danny’s had since he broke down with Diana. Maybe.

The teen backs up, and models some very quick punches into the air, making his own sound effects to match. It’s all very impressive, or whatever. Danny’s not going to applaud, though; his arms are tired.

“…Sure.” It’s not like Danny has anything better to do.

“Berstan!” the kid chirps, and—

Danny clamps down on his wheelchair wheels because holycraptheyaremoVINGFAST. His wheels aren’t on the ground—the teen is carrying him, chair and all—!

He’s going to be in so much trouble for running. Danny’s wheels touch the ground, and he drops straight to the floor. His hands shake all the way up to his elbows as he grips his wheels. He is going to be in so much trouble when the nurses look for him and he’s not there.

Oh no. Oh no.

“Here we are!” the quickfast teenager announces, grinning. They’re in a room with a big, rubberized floor. It’s basketball orange. The rest of the room is virtually indistinguishable from the cloth folding walls Casper High uses to divide the gym into smaller gyms—giant cloth panels line every surface that isn’t the floor. Walls. Ceiling.

Well. It’s certainly…sound dampening. There’s vents, though. So. At least they can breathe.

The other teenagers Danny recognizes yell out to them, cheerful as ever. One waves—the kid behind him waves back, and then they’re all clustered together, pleased and breathing heavy and slightly sweaty.

“Feel alright?” one teen asks—Danny recognizes him after a second; he usually has a leather jacket on over his brightly colored shirt. He isn’t sure what the huge S is for, but hey, it’s a cool emblem or whatever. Danny used to have his initial on his…

…Danny doesn’t want to think about that, actually. He doesn’t want to think about anything about home at all.

Oh. Someone asked him a question, and now they’re all looking at him for answers. Danny nods jerkily—something sloshes inside his skull, though, which. Ew. He scrunches his face up when everyone else starts to look worried about his expression, though; it’s no big deal! It’s just! Gross!

The boy who is very fast pats his hand before sliding to the other side of the room. There are buttons there, which he presses; the room shifts, just a little, to make a piece of the floor turn away in favor of a rack of weapons. The teenager who’s always masked, but is now in an exercise shirt, whistles approvingly, and two of the teens—whoah—start flying off to grab at the equipment available.

…There’s some cool stuff there. Danny. Danny might…

He doesn’t want to fight, per se, but. Um. Weaponry is intrinsically cool. There’s no doubt about it. Half the reason he liked to play Doomed was collecting the newest and coolest weapon to blast at all his enemies with! And Tuc—

—and—

—Tucker—

Something clicks right up in front of Danny’s face.

He flinches.

“You good?” the teenager asks, big blue eyes on him as Danny struggles to breathe. “Do you want hweorfan?”

Danny gasps around three uneasy breaths before his ears catch up. Or. Well, his ears work, but his brain doesn’t know what the teen is saying?? Danny shakes his head anyway—he doesn’t want more to happen. He wants less.

The teenager frowns. Danny immediately worries that he did something wrong. “Okay, but tell me if you change your mod.”

As soon as Danny figures out what that is? Sure. He’ll tell him.

In the meantime, the kids split up into groups; one set of two goes to one side of the gym and the other goes in the air, floating on the other si— wait, they can float??

…Danny stares, and two ostensibly human-looking teenagers take to the air, loudly teasing the two left on the ground, and, yeah. They’re flying. Danny watches as the one on the ground starts counting, ready to start their match, only to interrupt his own countdown for a sneak-attack at the start and a PIFF of a smoke bomb going off. Danny can’t see the buzzing kid disappear from sight as the air begins to thicken, but there’s a distinct taste of JOY/games/VICIOUS that flutters through him that tells Danny that, wherever he is in that smoke cloud, he’s living his best life.

And. Well.

The fighting is—there isn’t a better word for it, it’s just so damn cool. There’s kicking and punching and throwing and tossing and—sure, Danny can take a few hits and deal out some surprise punches when he has to, but these kids know what they’re doing, which is so cool, because once Danny lost the benefit of gravity mid-fight basically everything Mom had trained in him had been thrown out the window. The physics were just never right.

(And— Mom—)

Like, all the punches are happening at speeds that Danny can only kind of follow. His neck starts hurting from trying to follow them—but he can’t stop watching, and the kids are really having a blast. They’re laughing. They’re teasing. They show off, even, stopping to pose and flex and be admired by their sole observer, which Danny obliges with some gentle claps. The others are quick to jump on any distraction, though, and are more than willing to have Danny be the center of attention while they sneak up on showstoppers, stick or lasso in hand.

On one hand, Danny should probably be more alarmed by the sight of kids acting as literal child soldiers training to be combat ready. He…he’s pretty sure he’s meant to be one of them as soon as he’s recovered enough to get trained.

And…it is scary. It is kind of a scary thought that Danny might have to go back to…go back to fighting and getting hit and hitting and everything that fighting means.

On the other hand, there’s no one here. All the kids here are Danny’s age, and they’re not fighting because someone is making them; they’re having fun, and their job is to help people.

…Danny puts his legs higher up on his wheelchair, until he can wrap his arms around his knees. They’re supposed to beat up threats, but they don’t think that Danny’s a threat. They’re letting him sleep in a bed and get medical care and making sure he gets medication and everything. They let him hang out with their children and he has toys and fidgets to pass the time, and maybe he’ll have to pay them back later, but… isn’t helping out because he got helped only fair?

And they let non-humans live on Earth! That one teen’s stinky dad said that they could help Danny stay on Earth, he thinks. Or, uh, it’s what he thinks the green guy translated that as? So as long as he doesn’t leave, they could even protect him from the— all the bad stuff on Earth! So really, all Danny has to do is work on getting better. He’s safe here. Diana is here, the stinky dad is here, and there’s a whole team of super-people with super powers ready to help people.

Danny’s safe. He’s calm. He’s fine. He’s…worried that Diana doesn’t know where he is, but she’s smart and there’s probably cameras.

He watches the teens play around with various weaponry like they’re his model rocket. There’re thrown projectiles and giant hammers and dodgeballs and sticks, staves, and lassos; someone pulls out a shield, of all things, glittering gold and gleaming with something that itches at the back of Danny’s eyeball, and there’s a gun that sh—

Danny only breaks out of the memory of RUNNINGRUNNINGRUNNING when he realizes that someone is holding him. He’s choking. He doesn’t know who’s holding him, but they’re not hurting him right now and he can see a crowd of other colorful figures around him, which means he’s not with the Guys in White.

He’s hyperventilating. He can’t help it. He can’t stop it! His lungs hurt and there’s no end to the stress pressing out of his chest. Someone is holding him; where’s his chair? Did he lose it?? That’s really expensive medical equipment—they’re going to be so mad at him—!

Someone lifts him out of the stranger’s arms. It’s one of the older quick-buzzing humans. Not the teenager, and not the oldest one, he thinks. Danny can’t tell. He can’t breathe, and it’s hard to focus.

He’s shushing Danny like he’s a kid. Danny would be insulted, except he can’t breathe, and he really wants someone to help him, and his eyes are all weird and he can’t see and he doesn’t know where he is and his core hurts and his chair is gone—

Oh. The guy puts Danny’s hand on his chest and models breathing in with one big, visible breath.

Danny breathes in.

The guy models breathing out. It’s a long, slow breath.

…Danny struggles through the follow-through, but he manages. Well. He chokes hard enough to cough, twice, but…close enough.

The colorful forms milling about slowly disperse, until it’s largely just Danny, and the fast guy radiating very measured levels of calm, and his friend in black and blue, who is eating a sandwich. They breathe in, and they breathe out. That one guy eats his sandwich.

Danny looks around. He’s…the room he’s in is really big. Tables. Benches. Little stands of foo… Oh. He’s in a cafeteria. Cool.

…He squints through the new haze of green in his eyes. He’s probably strained something, but there are more important things at stake here: can he get some real food here?

“Where is here?” Danny asks. Rasps. He’s mostly horizontal, so manipulating his head around to glance at his surroundings is kind of a strain on his neck. Is that a hot dog cart?

“Wistheall,” the two say simultaneously—the guy in black and blue and a bird on his chest swallows his sandwich. “…Want a snakka?”

You know what? Danny’s going to assume that this means a snack. Sure! Why not. Nodding his head so quickly hurts, but he’s also not walking anywhere, so it’s not like it’s a full-body pain. The buzzing-quick guy sort of just…carries him around and asks Danny what he wants, and the bird guy gets it for him.

The little vibrations the guy is giving off are tinged a little with wor/ryworry/worry, but the guy’s mostly…at peace? Forcibly shoved it all down? Danny and the guy are practically chest to chest at this point, so it’s probably just that Danny’s close enough to feel even really quiet things.

His suit is super smooth, by the way. It’s not, like, skintight—there’s a little armor underneath, Danny can feel—but the fabric itself is like super slick. It’s cool. Texturally.

Also, he gives Danny a tube of something that are clearly off-brand Prongles, so Danny’s mostly just enjoying that instead of wondering what’s up with this guy and his friend.

“Are you okay?” the guy finally asks, his chatter mostly winding down into a question Danny can recognize. Danny swallows his bite of chips with a swig from his water bottle, and nods. He’s…unsettled, but he’s fine. He doesn’t know where he is, but he didn’t know where the teenagers had left him either, so this is about what he expected.

Even under his red hood-and-mask, the guy’s eyes are kind. Kinda worried. Not mean. “Something bad happened?”

…Danny looks back at his chips. Something bad happened, but it didn’t happen recently. “No,” Danny muttered around the crumbs in his mouth. He swallowed dryly. “Not…not now.”

The vibrations slow, and dim, melancholy lacing through the air. The sensation makes Danny itch. “Before?”

Danny nods. He thinks about his body melting from the outside in, his face dripping off in chunks of wet matter, his throat torn open still screaming.

“It was a—“ Danny tries, but he doesn’t actually know their word for gun or blaster. He just forces his fingers to make a familiar symbol, holding his own middle and end fingers back, leaving a shaking, uncomfortable thumb and pointer.

The quiet pew pew sound effects probably aren’t necessary, but the more detail, the better, or something like that.

Danny remembers how hot it got. Just…all the heat and light, and he could smell smoke right up until he couldn’t. And his face…everything hurt—everything still hurts, even—but the scary point had been when suddenly his face hadn’t hurt, and there was nothing left to feel.

…The guy holding him pulls Danny’s fingers away from his face. Oh. Danny was pulling at his still-green, still-healing wound. He. Uh. He doesn’t remember starting to do that anymore.

“Sorry,” Danny whispers. He swallows something wet from his sinuses to his stomach, and has to fight back the memory of a blood-and-ecto-and-flesh slurry taking its place in his esophagus as he tried to crawl away to die. Again.

The man sends out pulses of sorrysorrysorry through his skin. “Me too,” he murmurs back.

Then Danny gets hitched up—Danny squawks—and gets thrown into a better position over one shoulder, so Danny has better height to see from and a better perch in the guy’s arms. Danny drops half his prongles on the floor in the process. “Want to go find your chair?” the guy asks, body vibrating just a touch outside of Danny’s conscious awareness. Still, even without seeing the guy’s face, his whole body radiates sympathy/curiOSITy/Hungry.

…Didn’t they just eat?

Either way, Danny’s not torn between staring sadly at the ground where his prongles lay cold and bared to the cruelty of the world or getting up to go find his chair. “Yes,” he agrees, and uses the flat of his forearms to haul himself up higher onto the guy’s shoulders. Kindly, the guy in red doesn’t even budge. “Thank you.”

“Na geswincan,” the guy reports back easily, which Danny is pretty sure is a less-formal you’re welcome. Too bad there’s a whole language’s worth of context Danny’s missing out on here. His friend even snags Danny an extra can of prongles, and is kind enough to rips open the seal for him.

Nothing beats recovering from a crying jag like chips. Danny takes them earnestly.

The quick-fast guy hooks his arm onto his friend’s, and the world starts to stretch and blend into the in-between planes of reality, slices of world layered atop each other. The guy smashes through each one and pulls them both along for the ride.

It’s not quite like dunking his head in the portal, but it’s not not like sticking his head in a homemade portal either. Danny shakily pulls out a chip and starts chewing. He’ll just take the ride as it comes.

“Superboy.”

Kon winces.

“Robin.” Wonder Woman’s eyes turn to the more remorseful end of the bunch. “Wonder Girl. Impulse.”

“Wedidn’tmeanto!” Bart wails into a pillow, which. Fair. Cassie is sweating from possibly every pore she’s ever had (and maybe even a few she doesn’t??), and Tim is doing that stoic-faced thing that means he’s flipping the hell out too much to even tell his face to make expressions about it.

Kon just looks…miserable. Just absolutely miserable.

“…Triggered by firearms, maybe…?” Tim mutters under his breath, which means that he’s theorizing about their guest’s symptoms rather than coming up with solutions-oriented paths out of this confrontation and Cassie wants to shake him because this is NOT the time, Timothy Jackson Drake, except he’s kind of made of mortal human flesh and if she actually shakes him too hard he might die.

“I hope you understand how deeply irresponsible it was to take our patient out of his rooms without any form of supervision from either myself, his medical team, or an adult up to speed with our patient’s medical and psychological needs.” Wonder Woman’s voice is sharp—and her eyes are on Timmy Wonder Boy, who’s barely paying attention, making it clear that the majority of her ire is currently on him. “All four of you are being taken off of mission rosters for the next month in favor of remedial training. I hope that you are all satisfied with the decisions you made.”

“Fiiiine,” Cassie groans. Kon slumps in place. Tim nods without really looking.

Bart, still wailing at lightning speed into his pillow, continues doing…that.

#Danny: I'm gonna drop some hints to the past I am currently avoiding #Also Danny: SEVERE TRAUMA ALERT WEEWOO WEEWOO #YJ does make an I'm sorry card because they're grounded and can't visit him but also they forgot that he cannot read. So.#imagine the sloppiest card you've ever seen plus really ugly crying doodles courtesy of Bart #Danny does appreciate it. but also. wtf lol #dp x dc #health and hybrids #danny phantom #tw medical #tw body horror #tw gore #although at this point we're mostly a recovery fic #dcu crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #faer fic

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duck-a-doodle · 3 months ago

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[Slaps beak.] This duck can write some serious fluff.

MY MASTERLIST

A/N: I tend to not include gender or race in my writings for a more immersive experience. Anything that is unhighlighted or is without a link suggests that the fanfiction is still in the works. Stay tuned for more! :-)

CALL OF DUTY

General Headcanons

Soft Intimacy — TF141 / König / Los Vaqueros

| What intimacy looks like with the COD boys.

Tactical Cuddle Bug — TF141 [ 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 ]

| The most serious member of the 141 is secretly a very affectionate person.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

The Rumoured Casper's Honey Bee [ 1 / 2 ]

| Simon "Ghost" Riley, who has grown accustomed to you, wants your medical attention and his regular checkup.

X-MEN

Wolverine / James 'Logan' Howlett

Cohiba de la Mente

| You disliked Logan for a good number of reasons. He was brash, abrasive and quick to bite the lure — and for the first time as a counsellor of the school, you took the bait.

Heart on the Sleeve, Love for the Beast

| Your generally affectionate nature, which has earned yourself the nickname 'Teddy', lures the attention of a certain hard-headed man.

Kitty Cats Don't Grow Mutton Chops

| A tale in which Howlett dishes what he cannot handle.

Мой Котëнок

| Logan Howlett spoke more languages than you realised, and horror dawns upon you as you realise it meant he understood everything.

Grouchy with a Side of Sweetness

| Logan has the funniest ways of showing that he cares.

SPIDER-VERSE

Miguel O'hara

Professions Unto the Masquerade [PUTM]

| You were recruited for your ability to capture a Chameleon variant that was immune to all spiders' abilities. Except yours. Miguel inducts you into the team, but you know that the induction was but a formality for his other intentions with you.

#call of duty x reader #captain johnathan price #johnny soap mctavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #captain john price x reader #call of duty #duckscribbles #johnny mctavish x reader #john mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #simon ghost riley #cod headcanons #cod x reader

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tanglepelt · 2 years ago

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Dp x dc idea 3

In this phantom planet happened but they did not thank him they turned on him Dc and dp are in different dimension in this.

His parents managed to convince world leaders that phantom killed there boy and was just using Danny body. The world only agreed because they were terrified of his powers.

Jazz tried to convince them, they were wrong and he is Danny. Sam and tucker are trying to protect Danny and elli. I’d imagine all of Casper high backing Danny the a list did protect him when the whole gauntlet of reality happened.

When all is said and done the world took no prisoners. Danny, Ellie and vlad (he’s still hiding in space) are the worlds most wanted. Dani and Ellie were severely injured and hardly able to get away.

They wake up with frostbite and clockwork over them. The world is no longer safe but they can’t remain in the infinite realms they are half human. The obvious solution send them to a different dimension.

They were sent to dc and end up in Gotham. All they had was a thermos, Ellie took a lipstick laser gun, and some medical supplies from frostbite. Danny is pissed off and hurt he doesn’t want to hurt anyone but he only wants to protect his sister.

Danny was willing to steal enough money to get a shabby hotel room for a month or so to figure things out. He got to fake identity’s and a job at bat burger he may not like anyone but he doesn’t want to have to steal more then he has to.

Elli the little menace that she is still wants to help people. It’s her personal mission to annoy red hood until he puts up with her what’s he gonna do shoot a kid. She wants to avoid Batman both Danny and Ellie think he is a demon with bat powers. Danny cant stop Ellie so he just mother hens her. He would be ready for when they turned on them this time.

Red hood is just freaking out there is a child meta no older then 10 in Gotham just following him and beating up people. He’s not Bruce he doesn’t want to deal with this. Following this child calling herself spirit was harder to then he’d admit. She went from white hair to prime adoption bait and great she has an older brother no older then 15. How was he gonna keep the two pieces of adoption bait away from bruce and why did he feel calmer around them.

Besides worrying about Ellie Danny was doing just fine ignoring his problems. Working at bat burger was fine definitely not reminding him about the nasty burger explosion that lead to him abandoning humanity. There was a regular who would just stare at him like he was glowing.

Duke was freaking out.

By the time Jason got forced into a mandatory dinner the two adoption bait were there. He did get a warning from cass not to ask Danny about his past he was greatly hurt by whatever it is. Ellie immediately knew he was red hood the minute he walked in. He was definitely getting a lecture about not reporting meta children.

As time goes on Ellie gets more open and talks about her dimension, how it turned on them and talk about her hero phantom. She was just his clone how he saved her and she met Danny because of him . How he saved everyone in a town that hated him. How he saved the world and they turned on them. They were horrified but Bruce got two new kids and finally had one who wasn’t a vigilante who liked galas.

During a bad fight against a massive invasion were everyone was down. Danny was just watching from the bat cave as Ellie and his new family went down. Alfred just looks at him and hands him a mask asking if he was going to go help.

Danny does and takes names. He downs the threat in less then two minutes just grabs Ellie and Damian they were the most injured looked at Batman and said he was taking them. Then he starts to mother hen them at the batcave.

The league and Batman were now freaking out.

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deerfests · 1 year ago

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For the writing/ kiss prompt: 36 and Trench x Darling

Darling/Trench + 36. …to give up control

The slidescape expedition was merely another disaster within the FBC. Another thing going terribly wrong in a long string of things... Trench had been rushed to the med wing instantly after, rambling about the improbable and bleeding from his ear. The medics insisted on keeping him put for a bit longer even when every test they ran showed nothing. He was fine, Darling thought, reassuring himself. Just shaken up.

Of course, in the long years of co-existing and becoming close friends, Darling worried. It was only natural. It felt like a minor miracle that he survived at all, as most of the rangers that he joined had not made it back home. The letters had been sent out to their families, informing and expressing their condolences to them. Hollow as that was.

When Darling had made his way to the infirmary, it was late into the night. The Bureau working overtime to clean up the mess that had transpired. Casper strode past the medics, joining Trench in the small ward. The only patient there now. Director, first order of importance and all… Darling sat down next to him on the bed as Zach stirred, looked at the other.

“Hey, Casper,” he muttered, groggy from exhaustion. Darling looked over him, great pity flaring up from within him.

“How are you?” he pushed, attempting to reassure himself more so than anyone else. Trench narrowed his eyes.

“All these fuckers asking the same question… Casper, with no ill will—I already told everyone how I feel.”

“Alright, alright. Sorry.” Darling forced out a laugh, disarming act all over again.

“You don’t believe me either, do you?” Trench leaned back, squirming in discomfort, and then brushed it off. Glared at the researcher.

“Zach, there was nothing there. You couldn’t possibly hear anything��” He didn’t get further with that monologue when Trench squirmed again, and grasped at the back of his head. Casper’s hands moved on their own, reaching for his shoulders to still him. “Are you okay?”

“Headache. They said it’s nothing…” Trench looked up at him, the small distance between them now. Zach gently placed his hand onto the back of Casper’s nape. Pulled him in. The kiss was merely a quick peck, and Darling stared at him shocked right after. “Sorry. Wanted to do that for a while…”

“Zach…?”

“I’ll believe you. I’ve heard nothing.”

#my writing #ask #a-flappy-bat #q

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infinite-riches · 10 months ago

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I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

Summary: The sky was already filled with grey clouds and a haze that only meant one thing– snow. And it was coming soon. It was rare for them to get snow thanks to their proximity to the coast and even when they did, it didn’t stick around long. As nervous as Johnny was about the impending storm, he was equally excited by the prospect of being snowed in with his lover.

Or: The boys get snowed in together.

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x Simon "Ghost" Riley

Word Count: 4,567

Warnings: none :)

A/N: I am gonna take a minute to thank all the people that helped me with this monster piece. Lots of love to the CoD Babygirls and GhostSoap servers- so many people helped generate ideas and cheered me on and I'm so thankful to all y'all!

Extra love to my beta readers/editors for this piece: Xnihilo and ANTchan. All my fucking love to y'all cause I seriously couldn't have done this without your help <3

And as always feel free to leave feedback/constructive criticism <3

AO3 Link (if you prefer): I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

The shop was bustling with people stocking up– word had gone out that a brutal winter storm was headed their way and it had everyone rushing out to prepare. Johnny scanned down the aisle, looking for a few pantry staples they had recently run short on when he felt the cart move, the familiar shadow of Simon in the corner of his vision.

With a glance down, Johnny couldn’t help but laugh. Tablet, shortbread, and caramel logs now rested atop the pile of groceries. “Ye and yer bloody sweet tooth!”

“You know you love me…” Simon responded, eyes crinkling at the corners, signaling he was smiling beneath his black medical mask.

“Aye, that ah do… now go be of some real help and grab some Irn-Bru, would ye?” Johnny just barely caught the way Simon rolled his eyes before slipping back down the aisle in search of Johnny’s favorite drink. Simon failed to understand the appeal of the strange orange soda. To him, the taste was a peculiar mix of cream soda, ginger, and bubble gum that made him want to scrub his tongue with a Brillo pad.

By the end of the shopping trip, two boxes of Simon’s favorite tea and a bottle of Johnny’s favorite scotch had also appeared in the cart alongside the things they actually needed– milk, bread, jerky, fish food for Bubbles and Casper, and cat litter for Old Man. This could quite possibly be their last shopping trip for several days– the threat of heavy snow combined with the location of their cabin almost guaranteed they would be snowed in.

As much as Simon had come to love their little cabin beyond the edge of town, he had to admit it had taken getting used to. The nicely sized cabin sat on a decent piece of land, with beautiful old pines along one edge of the property and sprawling green grass along the other. There was a large space cleared out behind the house where Johnny had taken to keeping a garden. Simon, on the other hand, had taken claim to the shed, using the space to fix up his motorcycle (and secretly fix one up for Johnny).

But the best part of their new home (and life together) was the privacy. The only people who passed along the road at the edge of the property were the neighbors who lived 5 miles down the road in either direction or the occasional lost tourists. Aside from that, they were left alone, with no one to bother them or their pets.

-----

Johnny couldn’t help but smile to himself on the drive back. The sky was already filled with grey clouds and a haze that only meant one thing– snow. And it was coming soon. It was rare for them to get snow thanks to their proximity to the coast and even when they did, it didn’t stick around long. As nervous as Johnny was about the impending storm, he was equally excited by the prospect of being snowed in with his lover.

Sure, he and Simon had their fair share of wintery missions– brutal snow storms, shitty MREs, and frozen fingertips– before they retired, but those paled in comparison to snuggling in front of the fire together, warm blankets and hot drinks in hand, watching fluffy flakes of white drifting past the window.

Simon’s hand found its way to rest comfortably on Johnny’s thigh, thumb brushing along the thick material of his jeans, “You good?” His voice was soft, having noticed the way Johnny was lost in thought.

Johnny hummed in response, a sweet smile spreading along his face, “Aye, just thinkin’…”

“Don’t hurt yourself, love,” Simon teased, a sly grin on his lips. Johnny reached over to smack Simon’s chest, a chuckle escaping his lips as he did.

-----

The bitter cold nipped at Johnny’s fingertips as he leaned against the door frame. He couldn’t help but stare as Simon worked his way through the long-neglected woodpile next to the shed. Strong, broad arms swung the axe through the air with ease, and a satisfying crack rang out each time the steel made contact with the soft pine. His eyes raked across the delicious outline of Simon’s muscles beneath his thermal shirt– jacket long shed so he didn’t overheat.

Johnny allowed his mind to wander, images of Simon on top of him, caging him in with strong, broad arms, firm fingers gliding down flushed skin filling his brain. He imagined warm lips working their way down from his ear to his jaw, neck, collarbone, from his sternum down– an especially loud crack of the axe stole Johnny’s attention from his fantasy. “Love, when yer finished, ah need help gettin’ a few things out from storage!”

“I’ll be in soon, we need anything from the shed?” Simon leaned on the axe, chest heaving from the exertion as he took in the delicious sight of Johnny wearing his sweats. The pants were hanging loose on his hips, his sleeves a little too long, the neckline showing just the top of Johnny’s shoulder. ‘Riley’ was emblazoned just above his heart. Simon tugged his bottom lip between his teeth. Johnny, the little minx, knew what it did to Simon when he wore his clothes, the way it made his heart race and head spin seeing his Johnny so clearly claimed.

“Dinnae think so… just bring some of that firewood in and I’ll help ye get the rest later!” With that Simon gave a nod and turned back to the woodpile. Johnny took one last sinful look at his ass before slipping back into the warmth of their house.

In all honesty, Johnny probably could have figured out a way to get their sleeping bags and insulated jackets down from storage on his own, but he much preferred Simon helping. After years spent skirting prying eyes and sneaking moments alone, Johnny had become greedy for Simon’s time and attention, unable to stand much time apart. That, and Johnny knew the cold would be seeping into Simon’s bones by now, fingers especially cold courtesy of his poor circulation.

It was almost automatic, the way Johnny moved towards the stove, putting the kettle on and reaching for Simon’s favorite mug– one Johnny had bought him. ‘World’s Best Dad’ was sprawled across the front but ‘Dad’ had been crossed out, replaced with ‘Lieutenant’. As he had a hundred times before, Johnny added two sugar cubes and a bag of Simon’s favorite Earl Grey to the mug. It had been one of the few subtle ways he had been able to care for Simon when they were deployed. Every morning, there had been a fresh, steaming mug on Simon’s desk accompanied by a sticky note doodle, always signed ‘–Johnny’.

The sound of the back door closing and boots on the hardwood brought Johnny from his thoughts. The kettle was already whistling, demanding his attention. Johnny filled the mug, meeting Simon halfway from the kitchen.

A few beads of water clung to his blond strands, courtesy of the snow beginning to fall at a heavy rate. “Snow’s moving in, I’ll need to get the firewood in before I help you, doll,” he said, graciously accepting the mug and placing a gentle kiss to the top of Johnny’s head. The warmth seeped into his fingertips, a gracious relief from the growing numbness.

“Aye, I’ll head out, ye get warmed up a bit. Cannae have ye freezing to death on me… leaving me behind with Old Man, Casper, and Bubbles…” As if on cue the scrapy old shelter cat came slinking down the hallway, happy to settle himself between Simon’s legs.

“Impossible, you wouldn’t survive a day cooped up with em’ all. We can barely keep Old Man out of the fish tank as is,” Simon chuckled, leaning down to scoop Old Man up in one arm. “Isn’t that right, Cap?” The old cat bristled at the sudden change in elevation, taking a languid swing at Simon’s head.

“Just like Price,” Johnny laughed, moving towards the door to pull his boots on. “Shouldnae take me too long, stay here and get warmed up.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer, love.” As Simon moved to the oversized armchair in the living room, Old Man followed, happily settling into Simon’s lap once he was comfortable.

And if the sight of Johnny ditching his sweatshirt after a few visits to the woodpile, broad tan chest glistening with sweat despite the crisp edge to the air, warmed him up more than the tea, then that was his business.

-----

“Ah think we just need our winter gear… oh, and the sleepin’ bags in case the power goes out!” Johnny was standing at the foot of the ladder, supposedly helping Simon get the winter kits out. Really, he was staring at Simon’s ass more than he was doing any real helping.

Simon reached for the bin containing their old white camos, flexing a little extra for his lover as he did. “Grab this for me, Johnny?” Simon passed the bin down single-handedly, rolling his right shoulder to ease the ache afterward. It had never quite recovered after the mission that pushed them both to retire.

It wasn’t something either of them looked back on with any fondness– a source of nightmares and panic attacks for both boys long after returning home. An op gone wrong, courtesy of bad intel, put Johnny in the hospital for 3 weeks in a coma and left Simon with nerve damage in his right arm. It was then that they both put in for retirement, realizing just how much they had to lose now that they had each other.

This time, Simon reached out with his left arm, grasping at bundles of fabric that had been pushed to the back of the shelf. The silky material slid across his fingertips as he struggled to find purchase on one of the straps they were tied up with. With a final stretch, he got a good grip, hauling them towards the front of the shelf.

The slight hyperextension of his shoulder was enough to aggravate the old wound, the muscle spasming in response. All at once, the sleeping bags fell from the shelf and his grip on the ladder gave out, sending him tumbling to the floor.

“Simon!” In a flash Johnny had ditched the box, sliding next to Simon. Thankfully, the Brit had landed on top of the sleeping bags. He was silent for a moment before a bright grin stretched across his face, accompanied by his deep laugh.

“Wha-” Johnny was quickly cut off, Simon’s strong hands guiding him to rest in his lap.

“I’m okay, doll… maybe just a little bruised up,” Simon’s honey-brown eyes sparkled in the dim light of the closet, locked on the still bewildered face of his lover. Calloused hands reached up to cup Johnny’s face. “You okay?”

“Bloody hell… ye scared the piss outta me, Simon Riley!” Though Johnny’s tone was scolding, he couldn’t hide the smile threatening to take over his features.

“Gotta keep you on your toes somehow, now that you’re old and retired.” There was a sly grin on Simon’s face as he gave Johnny’s hips a gentle squeeze.

“Oh, piss off!” Johnny grumbled, pushing himself off of Simon’s lap before offering the Brit a hand up. Johnny collected the discarded bin as Simon gathered up the sleeping bags, both heading back towards the living room. “Besides, ye cannae say I’m the old one when ye cannae even stand on a ladder.”

Simon took the opportunity to toss one of the sleeping bags at the Scot, grinning as it bounced off his back. Johnny stumbled forward. “Hey!”

“Don’t look at me– it was Bubbles and Casper!” Simon fluttered his lashes and gave a soft, innocent smile, shrugging towards the fish tank as he tossed the other sleeping bag onto the couch.

“Bubbles and Casper, my arse,” Johnny grumbled, tossing the other sleeping bag to the couch.

-----

Johnny pulled the last few blankets from the dryer, having taken the opportunity to finally give them a good wash, and brought them to the living room. A bright laugh was ripped from his lips as he watched Simon struggle to manage the guest mattress by himself, eventually settling to drop it on the floor and push it the rest of the way. They planned to spend the evening snuggled up in front of the fire, just in case they did lose power.

“Ye could've asked if ye needed a hand, love,” Johnny teased, tossing the stack of warm blankets onto the mattress, now situated in front of the roaring fireplace. Simon threw himself into the warm pile without hesitation, immediately snuggling up like a cat.

“Thanks, Johnny, have a good night!” He pulled his favorite blanket from the pile, tucking it up under his chin.

“Oh no ye don’t! Ye promised we’d go outside and make snowmen!” Johnny pounced on the mattress, swiping the blanket away and grabbing Simon's chin, tilting his face upwards to look him in the eye. “Unless ye lied to me, Simon Riley…”

“Lie? To you? I would never, I’m offended you’d even think that.” Quickly, Simon leaned up, capturing Johnny’s lips in a soft kiss. He then reached down to give Johnny a quick smack on his ass. “Go grab our jackets from the bin, I’ll grab your boots.”

“On it, sir!” Johnny gave him a quick kiss in return before heading to collect their coats.

In no time, the boys were bundled up, donning their old insulated jackets, the white and grey camo pattern worn away in a few spots from the years of good use.

Simon kneeled down to tie Johnny’s boots, wordlessly grabbing his leg and placing the Scot’s foot on his thigh. Fingers slipped into a familiar rhythm, weaving the lace through the last few hooks before pulling tight, a sturdy knot securing it all in place.

Johnny watched, a faint blush creeping up his neck, still amazed to see this side of Simon. The side that was always taking care of him, putting him first– one of the thousands of reasons he loved the man before him.

The Scot was out the door first, practically vibrating out of his skin as he waited at the top of the stairs for Simon. Simon had seen Johnny excited plenty of times, but this was different– more innocent, more childlike– and Simon couldn’t get enough. The way Johnny’s smile stretched all the way to his eyes, alight with pure, unbridled joy. The way he had planned everything out from the moment they got the weather warning.

The Brit tugged on his coat, the weight settling firmly on his shoulders, a remnant of their past life. “Down boy, I’m right here,” Simon chuckled, slotting his hand into Johnny’s as the Scot immediately started down the stairs.

In an instant, Johnny’s foot slipped out from beneath him, his grasp on Simon desperately tightening. Instead of being hauled upright as he had hoped, Simon unwillingly joined him on his downward trajectory. A heap of tangled limbs and snow was how the boys found themselves at the bottom of the stairs.

“Fuckin’ hell…” Simon carefully flexed his hips, trying to stretch out the muscle. “You solid, beautiful?” His voice was low and he reached for Johnny, hand making contact with his shin. Somehow Johnny ended up splayed halfway on top of Simon, his head cradled between the Brit’s shins. Neither boy was injured enough to be worried over, just bruises and scrapes reminiscent of their time in the 141.

“Aye, I’m alright,” Johnny pushed himself off Simon, misjudging the amount of snow and landing face-first in the powder. “Steamin’ bloody jesus!” he sputtered, rolling onto his back and wiping his face.

Simon hauled himself up into a sitting position, forearms resting on knees as he watched Johnny start to squirm in the snow. “Love… did you hit your head on the way down?”

“Awa' an bile yer heid!” Johnny laughed. “‘I’m makin’ a bloody snow angel!” Simon blushed as he finally saw it properly, chuckling to himself.

“C’mon, let’s get you up before you catch a cold and I have to care for you for two weeks.” Simon pushed himself to his feet, holding out a hand for Johnny.

“Caring for me…? Does that include ye in a little nurse’s uniform?” Johnny waggled his eyebrows at the continuously flushing Brit.

“That’s enough!” Simon laughed, somehow turning an even deeper shade of red, and leaned down to haul the Scot up and place him firmly on his feet.

“So that’s a no on wearing a skirt for me?” Johnny fluttered his lashes as he gave Simon his best puppy dog eyes.

Simon hesitated as he brushed the snow off his pants, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. Johnny would have to be blind to not notice Simon's hesitance combined with the way the blush had completely overtaken him. Couldn’t help but imagine the way his pale blushing skin would look in lacey white fabric, cute red ribbons, a short skirt… “That’s not a no!” Johnny exclaimed, cutting his own thoughts off, stumbling a little as he laughed.

Both boys set to creating their snow sculptures, occasionally lobbing a snowball at the other.

“Si!” Johnny was beaming as he stepped aside, revealing a rather proper-looking snowman, three round globes of snow piled high, blue scarf wrapped around its neck, rocks making up its face, complete with a snow baseball cap.

“Is that… is that Gaz…?”

A deep laugh erupts from Simon’s chest as Johnny proudly nods.

“Aye, it is! What did ye make, love?” The Scot moved closer to Simon, trying to understand what the boxy form before him was. There was a series of wide rectangles stacked one atop the other, a small downed branch poking out the shorter side of the stack of the rectangles.

“It's a uh… I made a tank. Figure you wanna use a ground assault this time instead of demolitions though…” Before the Brit had even finished his joke, Johnny was launching himself through the air, directly on top of the pile of snow. He landed with a puff of snow up into the air, legs dangling out of what was once the side of the tank.

With a huff and shrug of his shoulders, Simon joined Johnny in the snow, a hand planted on either side of his face, leaning over him. He took a moment to admire Johnny, the flush to his cheeks, the sparkle in his eyes, his bright laugh, the little white flecks of snow on his lashes, everything he had ever dreamed of and more. Simon pulled his glove off with his teeth, gently cupping Johnny’s face.

“You know how much I love you, Johnny?” His voice was soft, breath condensing in the air with each word.

“Aye, ah think ah do, but I’ll never say no to hearing it again…” Simon’s hand felt so soft on his face, despite the callouses and years of scaring, it was one of his favorite things.

“I love you more than the moon loves the sun, Johnny. I love you more than the waves love the shore… I love you more than I love breathing, John MacTavish. I will ‘till the day I die.” He leaned down, lips slotting perfectly against the Scot’s. Soft and sweet and filled with so much love it made Johnny’s heart feel like it was about to burst.

“Ah love you so damn much, Simon Riley.” He eagerly reciprocated, hands wrapping around Simon’s waist, sliding down past his hips, resting with a firm grip on his ass, pulling him closer.

By the time they untangled themselves from each other’s arms, neither man could deny the cold was starting to get to them. Simon’s fingers started to feel more than just the regular level of icyness for this time of year. Johnny slipped his arm around Simon’s waist, attempting to take some of the weight off his bad knee– the slip down the stairs seemed to have taken more of a toll than he first realized.

“I’ve got you, doll.” Simon slipped his arm around Johnny, basically shouldering all of the smaller man’s weight as they all but hobbled up the stairs.

“We make a right lousy pair, don’t we?” Johnny chuckled as Simon pushed the front door open.

“Are you calling me lousy? I’m wounded!” Simon feigned a hurt expression, his hand dramatically over his heart. As had become routine for the pair, Simon kneeled down, fingers deftly undoing Johnny’s laces before undoing his own. The old well-worn boots were discarded by the door, snow-covered jackets were tossed over hooks on the wall.

“Wounded and dramatic as ever, Lt. Ahm going to make some hot chocolate, should I add bourbon in yers, love?” Johnny was already halfway into the kitchen, making a mental note to stop at the pantry to grab the brown sugar, chocolate, and cocoa powder.

“Fuck yes, doll,” the Brit called out, peeling off towards the living room and swiping his lighter from the table near the entryway as he went. He set to making up the mattress, Johnny’s favorite sheets under layers upon layers of soft blankets. One of Johnny’s favorite candles was lit and Simon slipped off to the bedroom to grab his book and the Scot’s sketchbook.

By the time Simon made it to the kitchen, Johnny was leaning over an old, dusty cookbook, spatula in hand as milk heated on the stove. The Brit threaded his arms around Johnny’s waist, resting his chin on the Scot’s shoulder.

“Hey… you didn’t tell me you got the good chocolate…” Simon placed a gentle kiss below Johnny’s ear, hand sneaking forward towards the cutting board.

“Oh no ye don’t!” Johnny exclaimed, smacking the back of Simon’s hand with the spatula. “That chocolate was damn near 30 pounds and ye will not touch any!”

“Selfish bastard,” Simon grumbled, placing his hand back around Johnny’s waist.

“If ye cannae behave then ye can get gone from here!” The Brit smirked at Johnny’s challenge, an opportunity to get back at the Scot’s teasing about a nurse’s uniform. He let his cold fingertips slip beneath the warm material of Johnny’s shirt, beginning to trace delicate patterns into his skin.

“I can be good for you, promise,” Simon whispered in Johnny’s ear, lips just barely grazing the sensitive skin. Simon could feel the shiver that ran down Johnny’s spine.

“Simon…” A breathless moan escaped Johnny’s lips, and he had to press one hand into the counter to hold himself up on suddenly shaky legs.

“Hmm…? Something wrong, doll?” Simon’s voice had dropped deeper, rumbling through Johnny’s chest. He let a hand wander down the front of Johnny’s thigh, squeezing the firm muscle.

“You… Please, Si… cannae focus like this…” Johnny tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, desperately trying to contain another moan and focus on the recipe in front of him.

“Oh, but I think you can, doll. Used to be able to handle all that flirting in the field… don’t tell me you’ve gone soft on me…” his lips traced down Johnny’s neck, settling in the crook, teeth scraping along sensitive skin, lips living behind a light pink mark.

“We… Later Si… Ah– ah swear, please…” The Scot’s head dropped back onto Simon’s chest as his knees went weak, neck fully exposed as Simon held him up.

Simon smirked and nipped at his neck again, one hand sliding up to grasp Johnny’s chin, guiding him to refocus on the stove, “Focus, beautiful.” In a flash Simon had disappeared from behind the Scot, seating himself at the bar with his book already open in front of him. “Be a good boy, Johnny.”

Johnny gripped the counter, knuckles white, taking a few steadying breaths. He glared back at Simon for a moment before resuming his task of following his gran’s hot chocolate recipe. He could occasionally feel the weight of Simon’s stare, particularly on his ass as he worked.

After a few minutes of silence, Simon looked up as a steaming mug slid into his peripheral. “Yer favorite bourbon in it, like ye like,” Johnny kissed Simon’s cheek as he headed towards the living room, his own steaming mug cradled in his grasp.

Johnny couldn’t help the soft blush that spread across his cheeks when he noticed the way Simon had prepared the living room. The mattress was piled high with blankets, a roaring fire and his favorite candle filling the entire space with warmth. Old Man was curled up in the armchair, halfway sitting on top of his sketchbook.

Johnny lowered himself down onto the mattress, setting his mug on the coffee table Simon had moved to the side. “C’mon handsome, yer not gonna leave me all alone here, are ye?”

Simon chuckled and shook his head, mirroring Johnny's movements from mere moments before. Johnny tugged the Brit closer, smiling as he rested his head on his chest. “As much as ‘m not a fan of the cold, I wish we got snow like this a little more often…”

“Aye, would be nice. ‘Specially if it meant getting to keep ye all bundled up and wrapped up in my arms like this more…” Johnny placed a soft kiss on the top of Simon’s head, pulling him ever so slightly closer.

Simon hummed, tucking his head into Johnny’s chest, relishing in the warmth of their bodies together. Johnny had become his safe space, his anchor. No matter how good or bad the day was, Johnny was there. The last time Simon felt this loved was when he was young, wrapped up in his mother’s arms. Johnny was there, every nightmare or panic attack, he was there, holding him tight, holding him together. No matter how much Simon fucked up, Johnny was there. He hoped Johnny knew that Simon would burn the world down if he asked, and would stop at nothing to take care of him.

Johnny carded his fingers through Simon’s hair, eyes tracing over the sharp features of his face. He knew he was lucky to get to see and know this side of Simon– he thanked whoever was above everyday for the opportunity. The man so soft and sweet in his arms had come so far from who he was when they first met. He had worked so hard and Johnny was more proud than he knew how to express. Hoped Simon saw it in every cup of tea Johnny made for him, every candy bar he picked up on grocery runs, every forehead kiss. Hoped Simon knew how hard he was trying too, how much he cared and valued the trust he put in him. Hoped Simon knew how grateful he was for him too, the effortless way the Brit was able to hold him together like it was the easiest thing in the world.

They watched the snowfall for hours, big, fluffy white flakes pilling ever higher and higher. The fire roared on, keeping all 5 inhabitants of the Riley-MacTavish house plenty warm.

At some point, the boys slipped between blankets, soft kisses littered across flush skin, hands pulling bodies ever closer. And when the heat got too much between them, if they stripped down and carried on then that was between them and no one else.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #ghost x soap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon riley x john mactavish

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sunsproutgarden · 3 years ago

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💗 .+7 years+. 💗

#my art #self ship #self shipping #romantic f/o #nblm selfship #self ship community #self insert x canon #💊#casper x medic #💊 medic tag

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wondrouswendy · 2 years ago

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Trench and Darling: Arguing about some Bureau nonsense that escalates into an intense makeout session, completely oblivious to everyone and everything else around them

Marshall, who just sat down in the Executive cafeteria after a long day working with her rangers: REALLY? In front of MY SALAD?

#controlposting #zachariah trench #casper darling #trench x darling #helen marshall #has this been done before if so then I am bringing it back #I just have star spangled bastard's post on my mind #wondering how much helen saw and how much she could tolerate of their bullshit #meanwhile in my personal headcanon helen has a nice healthy relationship with the head of medical C:

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thatdamnokie · 5 years ago

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i finally (re?)discovered my spotfiy account and discovered that hell yeah, it’s great for making playlists! which is one of my--less useful gifts. but even so! crafting mixes is very much something i enjoy.

so to kick things off, and to celebrate finally being caught of up on a certain team fortress 2-flavored project, i present to you: violet redux - a this is where we are now fanmix! penned by the lovely @bloodofthepen, and the main blog for which can be found over at @purple-compromise.

if you’re even halfway into tf2 or the infamous medic, please please please check out this fic; it remains one of the best reader-inserts i’ve ever read, point blank, although i may be biased since it has such a special and permanent place in my heart.

and keep in mind, fellow fans who decide to listen to this--this was absolutely colored by my (read: morgan’s) experiences slipping into the skin of the specialist. not all of these songs will vibe with you, and that’s okay. we all have our own interpretations, headcanons, etc. but that’s one of the things i enjoy about the tf2 fandom. there’s rather room for all of us, huh?

and could i give an explanation for pretty much song on this playlist? yes. whether it has to do with specific characters, moments that have already been written, directions i think this all might go, etc. absolutely. but will i? no, fuck you, y’all draw your own conclusions. all that aside:

happy listening! i’m looking forward to making more mixes for peeps. i’d say roanoke but like... we have so much music on the hub. i might start smaller.

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80pairsofcrocs · 2 years ago

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baby scarab || 45

anon - I love this series so much ah! Imagine while the reader is at work khonshu separates the moon boys into separate bodies again just to be annoying and the reader just comes back from work to see them all arguing over the littlest thing like what movie to watch while they wait for her to get back

~~~

anon - being at a summer bbq for some reason and smacking marc on the cheek with a hotdog wiener bc he’s a weenie 😭

then proceeding to run away as fast as y/n’s little legs can go

~~~

anon - y/n slapping marc with a sausage cos he’s a weenie >:^)

~~~

anon - Hiya! Could you do the reader putting cute stickers on their dad’s stuff like wrapping it around Stevens grandma glasses or sum like that just putting a bunch of cutesy stickers on all of their stuff, Jakes hat, Marc’s phone .ect 💕

Ps. really love your baby scarab series keep putting in whatever drugs are in your writing:)

~~~

A/N : a ton of random requests for a fun filler :)

masterlist - marvel masterlist - series masterlist

A/N : marc is a weenie >:))

please enjoy, and don't be shy if you want to be in the taglist, just ask <3, sorry for the long wait

pairings : steven grant x (platonic)reader, marc spector x (platonic) reader, khonshu x (platonic)reader, jake lockley x (platonic)reader

TW : medicine (pills), spidey stuff, mentions of violence, language, marc being assaulted by a hot dog, mentions of wisdom teeth and pain, let me know if i missed anything.

~~~

you woke up feeling like someone punched you in the mouth a hundred times.

with brass knuckles.

you were already tearing up, you sit up, noticing you were on the couch.

the only sound being the bubbles in gus’ tank, and light breathing.

the breathing made you look down to see that casper was here, and before you had sat up, you were laying on him.

you were in too much pain to be embarrassed, so you got up as quick and careful as you could to make your way to the kitchen, where you found steven making some tea.

he jerks his head to you when he notices you standing there, but the smile on his face turns into worry when he sees that you look like you’re about to start sobbing.

“oh darling, let me get you some medicine” he refrains from walking over and taking your face in his hands, knowing it would probably end up hurting you.

you sit up on the counter with your head in your hands, trying your hardest not to cry.

steven comes back with pain medicine and your medication, so all together you have four pills.

“don’t take those yet, i’ll get you some water” he says and you nod.

you wait patiently for steven to get you a glass of water, and even then you don’t really feel like taking the pills.

it just feels like a hassle, that’s all.

you sit and stare at the pills until you pick one up, and swallowing it painfully.

your whole mouth hurt, so you took the other pain med and decided if you felt like fighting steven on taking your other medication.

the kettle on the stove started whistling, which probably woke casper since you heard movement coming from over by the couch.

steven took the kettle off the stove to pour three cups of tea, the bags already placed in the cups.

he looks to you and raises an eyebrow. “you have to take those” he gives you a stern look and you squint your eyes at him.

“but it hurts”

“but you have to”

“says who?”

“your pharmacist?” casper cuts in, making himself known and walking towards you to nudge the pills in your direction.

you glare at him and maintain eye contact as you swallow the pills with water, making steven lightly clap in the background.

“yay she’s learning to take her medicine the correct way” he quietly cheers sarcastically.

you look around you a spot a balled up towel, so you pick it up and chuck it at steven.

he shields his face while chuckling at you, handing both you and casper cups of tea afterwards.

“it should help ease the pain” he tells you and you nod as a thanks.

“thank you, sir” casper says politely after taking the tea and you snort while steven cringes.

“oh, enough with that ‘sir’ rubbish, it’s steven” he starts. “with a v”

this makes you smile while sipping at your tea, casper nodding at him and doing the same.

you lean back against the cabinets behind you, closing your eyes and trying to focus on anything other than the throbbing pain in your mouth.

steven happened to notice as well as casper. “what would you like to do today, y/n?” he asks and you open your eyes to look at him.

“i don’t know” you whine, hitting your head back on the cupboard.

“how about we have a barbecue on the roof” you hear marc, and that makes you chuckle while casper gives you a confused look.

“marc wants to have a barbecue on the roof” you repeat to casper.

“that’s unique” he says and marc squints his eyes at casper through the barely there reflection of your cup.

“you can definitely stay, but there’s no pressure” steven says to casper and casper smiles at him.

“yeah, i’d like to. i just have to tell my mom” he shrugs, inching away to presumably call her.

you turn back to steven who has a small smile on his face.

“he’s a sweet kid” he says and turns back to drink some of his tea.

he freezes on the spot, making you tense up a bit, wondering what was wrong.

“steven?” you check to see if marc knew what was going on, but he was no where to be seen.

“jake?” you look around, seeing and hearing nothing until steven sets his tea down on the counter and puts both his hands on his head in pain.

“oh lord- not again” he mutters, trying to stay standing up right.

it clicked in your head what was going on. this happened last time when all the bodies were separated.

you hop off the counter to help steven, when he relaxes, signaling that the headache has stopped.

“oh for the love of-“

he’s cut off by casper screaming and running back into the kitchen, hiding behind you and clutching at the back of your shirt.

“the fuck- get off” you pry his hands of you, but still letting him linger behind you.

the source of casper’s scare decides to walk into the kitchen, adjusting his hat.

“where’s the damn bird?” he asks and you shrug, steven doing the same and casper looking between steven and jake frantically.

you turn to see his confusion and sigh. “if you think two is bad wait until the other one gets here” you murmur, hearing a thud coming from deeper within the apartment.

you see your door open, and out comes marc, with a childish pout on his face.

“why?” he asks into the air, trying to get khonshu to talk.

khonshu appears next to you, making you glare up at him, and it makes casper clutch onto your sleeve, to which you move it down to your hand.

“did you get the chills too?” he whispers to you and you give him a look.

“i’m trying to help, idiots” khonshu starts. “spider child told me that barbecues are parties and you need a lot of people”

“you obviously improvised” you shook your head.

“don’t worry it’s just a cranky old god” you tell casper and he nods, leaning down to rest his head on your shoulder, steven ‘aw’ing in the background.

marc elbowed him in the ribs, making him groan, while jake wandered off to go sit on the floor with the cats.

luna was in his lap and pedro was jumping up and batting at his hat, and it was one of the only things that made him actually smile.

well, the cats and you.

he was completely tuning out the world while he played with the cats.

“i saw an old grill up there when me and peter would train” you tell marc and he hums.

“i can make some of your weird vegan stuff too” marc says to steven, who raises an eyebrow.

“pardon me for having a preference” steven scoffs and you chuckle.

“alright, so we hang out here until lunch then?” you ask, the pain in your mouth easing up a little.

everyone in the room except jake either shrugs and nods, which means a yes.

“cool so now what?” you ask, and casper lifts his head from your shoulder once he realizes marc was staring daggers into his soul.

“i can go get the roof set up, and pray nobody goes up there” marc starts. “and jake is coming with me”

“no”

“it wasn’t a question”

“i stay here with the gatos” he argues, and both you and casper start backing away towards your room.

on your way, you see stevens glasses sitting on the counter, so you slip them in your pocket before disappearing to your room, casper basically being dragged by you.

“what are we doing in here?” he asks and you take the glasses out of your pocket.

“giving grandma stevens glasses some style”

“what?”

you sit down on your bed next to the nightstand, opening the drawer to get out your sheets of hello kitty stickers.

casper snorts and goes to sit next to you, while you peel the first one off, that being my melody, and wrapping it around one of the arms of stevens glasses, having the animated face right on the outside.

you look to casper who’s staring with amusement.

“is he going to like that?” he asks and you shrug.

“probably not but it’s not like he’ll do anything about it” you start. “and if anything, they come right off with some water” you say and he nods.

it’s silent for a moment while you wrap more stickers around stevens glasses.

“i’m sorry if you’re uncomfortable” you start. “and for marc. i don’t know what his problem is” you say, referring to when he was glaring at casper.

casper shakes his head, putting a hand on your knee. “i’m not uncomfortable, i understand the glaring but it’s not every day you see three identical people who are also your girlfriends dads” he chuckles.

“i’m dead for sure” that makes you chuckle as well, done decorating the arms of stevens grandma glasses.

“marc will warm up to you i’m sure” you try to reassure him.

casper purses his lips. “but what about jake? he’s scary” he says and you raise an eyebrow.

“he’s really not” you shake your head. “if he tries to scare you just know he buys our cats sweaters and is currently designing a tower for them” you say and he smiles, taking his hand off your knee to hesitantly guide it behind your back to pull you closer to him by your waist.

you sigh in content and lean down so that your head is resting on his shoulder.

you mess with the arms of stevens glasses when steven himself is on his way to the room.

you can hear his soft footsteps, compared to jake and marc’s slightly heavier ones.

you didn’t bother to move though, since you were already facing the door.

steven peaked his head into the room and knocked lightly on the doorframe.

“i’m sorry i interrupted something didn’t i?” he asks with a lopsided smile.

you just shake your head, and lifer your head back up to look at him properly.

“are you sure- wait are those my glasses?” he furrows his brows and comes into the room as you hand them out to him.

“are these your hello kitty stickers?” you nod at stevens question, and he smiles.

“now i match khonshu, that’s amazing” he looks over his glasses and then back to you.

“that was very sweet of you” he starts backing up into the hallway, almost hitting the doorframe on his way out.

“well- marc is on the roof by himself so i better go see how he’s doing, man it’s weird being in desperate bodies” he starts muttering while he walks away from your room, making you chuckle.

it was just then that you noticed that casper still had a hand around your waist, making your face get a little hotter than usual.

you lean up to look at casper, who was already looking down at you.

it just took one look from his eyes to communicate, and start leaning towards each other.

it was a quick kiss, since you heard different footsteps coming towards the room.

casper was quick to pull away once he realized that jake was at the door.

he only knew it was jake because you told him he loved his hats, and never went anywhere without them.

jake leans on the doorframe and raises an eyebrow, looking between the two of you.

“i have a question” you interrupt his train of thought.

“shoot”

“why are we having a barbecue if i can’t have solid foods yet?” you ask, your jaw still sore as it hangs open a bit.

“we have a blender”

“ew”

“you still have half of your smoothie left over, are you okay with just that?” he asks and you nod with a small smile.

your smile just widened when you noticed the hat he was wearing.

“you know theres-“

“i know, you put your stickers on my hat” he interrupts. “it’s cute, but i can’t be seen in public with it. they won’t feel threatened by my presence” he explains and you chuckle.

you knew he wasn’t embarrassed, he was speaking the truth, he had to intimidate almost everyone he met even if they are strangers passing him in the street.

jake nods his head yo the side, in the direction of the living room.

“sígueme” he says, and he leaves towards the living room.

you and casper exchange glances, and get up to go see what he was doing, assuming he wanted you both to follow them.

the sight you saw was expected but not really at the same time.

jake turned to you, with a wide grin on his face.

“i shrunk two of my hats” he says and you look back to pedro and luna, who were grooming each other with small hats on, identical to jakes.

luna had a dark muted blue, and pedro had a dark brown one.

you smile as well as casper, which makes jake grin wider.

“how have they been?” casper asks, referring to the cats.

“muy bueno” jake nods to himself, casper nodding as well.

“that’s good, right?” casper whispers to you and you nod.

over the time you’ve spent with jake, you’ve picked up on a little spanish.

for example, ‘cierra el pico’, means to ‘shut your mouth’ which he yells to you a lot when you’re face-timing with casper.

jake pats casper on the shoulder, looking him dead in the eye while subtly pushing you out of the way.

“gracias por los gatos” he smiles at him, then walks off towards the door.

casper makes a face at you, to which you chuckle, following after jake, making casper have to catch up to you.

“what did he say? i know he said thank you but for what?” he asks you and you hum before speaking.

“he said thanks for the cats” you answer and he hums.

you two follow jake up to the roof after getting your shoes on, and when you got up there you saw marc already grilling stuff, and steven dragging old but good outdoor couches out from somewhere.

“heya kids, look what i found behind all that rubbish” steven exclaims out to you both, gesturing to the pile of garbage out behind the door to the roof.

you nod your head with a smile.

“i know they look a bit worse for wear but they were covered by a tarp so all i had to do was brush the dirt off them” steven shrugs, coming up to you guys.

“now, how’s your mouth feeling? does it hurt? are the stitches still intact?” he rambles, hovering his hands over your jaw as to not hurt you.

“it’s fine, just a little sore”

“well it’s a good thing we got your smoothie in the cooler, the cold should help” he turns around and starts rambling to jake about something, the former rolling his eyes.

you snort and turn to casper. “how are you doing?” you ask genuinely, a bit worried he was lying about not being uncomfortable.

“better” he says honestly, so you both make your way to the couch steven had left right next to the grill marc was busy with.

there was a plate with two raw and probably cold hot dogs, and you chuckle just looking at them.

it’s because they reminded you that marc was still a weenie.

steven had come over while you were in your head, and had been talking to casper, so you took that time to go talk with marc and jake.

“hiya marc how’s it feel to finally have friends?” you ask, and marc makes a face.

“what?”

you point to the raw hot dogs, and he lets out a breath.

“get it? because you’re a weenie?” you start laughing, jake watching with amusement.

marc just glares at you and looks back down at the grill.

“marc” you say, trying to get his attention.

“i swear to god” you mutter, rounding the grill and picking up one of the hot dogs, and that’s when marc decides to look at you.

which was bad timing because then you proceeded to smack him in the face with it.

he stares at you in shock, while jake struggles to hold in his laughter behind him hand.

you set the hot dog down and back up slowly, marc furrowing his brows at you while you sheepishly smile at him.

“hey pal why don’t you just calm down?” you try to convince him, but he just smiles at you a bit too sweetly, making you turn around to get as far away from him as possible.

jake had to cook the rest of the food.

you and marc were too busy.

he chased you around the roof, not wanting to give up until you got what you deserved.

and what did you deserve? he had no idea.

tickles probably.

no, tickles definitely.

but hey, your dads got to bond a little with their very possible future son in law.

so hey, it’s a win win.

~~~

A/N : sorry i didnt update yesterday, i just couldnt have it done in time. also sorry its so short, its just a filler.

hope you all liked it, and pls take care of yourselves out there, okay??

see you all in a few days :)) <3

~~~

taglist ---

@alexloveskili @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression @thebiggestsimpshrimp @guyinachair27 @astrobuzzsstuff @mooonlight-and-stars @moonlighting87 @mateihavenoidea @inactive-things @alondrashultz @femalemarvelself @queenthorin1 @haileymorelikestupid @jvdethirlwall @justtiredandvibing @winterfrostsarmy @themapoftinyperfectthings @littlebird101 @atzlena @httpslinow @arrowurboat @m-brekker @lifeandbandmembers-blog @adamcarlsenslvr @violet-19999 @seninjakitey @bestgirlpip @panic-in-the-multiverse @in-between-the-cafes @branolagar @bl6o6dy @annoyingmarvelreader @bee-a-cool-kid @buzzitsbeee @wintergirlsoilder2 @crow-carcass @you-bloody-shank @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @valiantphantomangel @50shadesofcrocs @rayrlupin @kingshitonly @brekkers-desigirl @hutaos-gh0st @kayane28 @nevaeh-jasso @lizlil @scarabgrant @luvxxee @certainchildmentality @yikesitskennawrites

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yeoldontknow · 5 years ago

Text

Sheltered Hearts: 3

Author’s Note: i am slightly late with this update, but its still his birthday in my time zone so happy birthday yoongs <3 its been a very long time since ive been in this universe, but i admit it was A LOT of fun being back. this chapter is dedicated to @iq-biased who has been the most engaged and encouraging reader, and this story’s biggest advocate. i love u <3 Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (oc; female) Genre: enemies to lovers au; vet au; romance; fluff; angst Rating (this chapter): PG-13 Warnings: light swearing; medical talk; depictions of surgery on a dog (these are not graphic); depictions of blood; depictions of exposed bone (again, not graphic); yoongi being a big softie but trying to be tough about it; reader is too proud to admit she has a crush; big science brains Word Count: 7.2K

masterlist

Dr. Kern agrees to meet you at his medical lab two hours north, replying to your initial request email with an expediency that both is both surprising and reassuring. With his confirmation of interest, Dr. Hague approves the journey, handing you a thumb drive containing Casper’s CT, MRI, and X-Ray scans and affirmations of optimism.

Poised and graceful, Yoongi leans against his desk and watches this exchange with an expression you find uncharacteristically warm. A small smile plays at his cheeks, gaze focused intently on your hand you pocket the drive, neither supportive nor encouraging merely interested, his eyes twinkling with a hidden mischief married with unbridled fascination.

The arresting combination of these things transforms him, breath halting in your throat as it is caught off guard by his sudden shift into someone boyish, sweet, and young. Blinking, you wait for the vision to dissipate, but his smile remains, his focus is unwavering, and the swell of his cheeks almost too youthful for the terse man you know him to be.

Something about his gaze feels too interested, too curious, and you find yourself starting to bristle, all at once vulnerable and exposed. You always knew he burned with great intensity, his steadfast attention penetrative, rooting around in you, though not altogether combative. In this brief moment of silence, you realize he is learning you, seeing you, and you think, perhaps, this is the first time you have truly been witnessed.

‘I’ll go with you to meet him,’ he resolutely declares, arms crossed over his chest in casual nonchalance.

With this sudden announcement, Yoongi breaks the spell he cast of his own accord, the low rumble of his voice wiping away the embers of passion you saw in him. His lips crease back into the impartial emptiness he usually wears, corners of his mouth always threatening to turn downward into a frown. Bewildered, you wonder which of these dichotomous versions is the real Yoongi, which shell takes work to push and hide away.

Dr. Hague hums in approval, nodding his encouragement. Gaze shifting between both their placid, understanding stares, witnessing their silent conversation, the first tendrils of exasperation floods your synapses. Hands at your sides, you wait for the frustration you normally feel to follow suit, but it never comes. You wait and wait, expecting a snide remark from Yoongi or expecting your chest to boil with the threat of being challenged, but all you can manage is a tepid pool of annoyance, twisting your usual fervor for independence into a tired exclamation of impatience.

‘Why?’ you toss with a roll of your eyes, grabbing your things before exiting the office. ‘You don’t think I can handle dropping off some stem cells and scans?’

A bemused chuckle follows behind you, Yoongi pushing himself from the desk to trail behind, hot on your heels. The easiness of his amusement bores through you, sees beyond your pretense of anger, and, even without looking, you know he pleased.

‘I already told you,’ he explains with a click of his tongue. ‘Knowing a biomedical engineer is impressive.’ Pausing briefly, he collects his thoughts for the timing and you cock an eyebrow, not bothering to face him. ‘And I’ll be damned if you’re the only one who gets to be impressive around here.’

‘I swear -’ you begin, turning abruptly to cast him a glare you know will be nothing like the withering heat you wish it would be, but you find yourself cut off.

Yoongi winks at you, almost friendly, silencing you with this sudden affable nature as he walks past, a grin tugging at his lips.

The drive up the lab is mostly quiet, though not altogether tense.

He’d offered to take his car, citing comfortable seats and better mileage, though even in the way he phrased it you could sense there was an ulterior motive. Nonetheless, you agreed, glad to not have to drive the two hours there and back again.

Now, sitting in the front passenger seat, you realize his sole purpose for this offer was the music. Phone pressed into the console, a playlist of his own creation floods the speakers, songs you’d never heard before across multiple genres that ease him into the seat as he drives. So, too, do CD’s litter the car, pressed into side compartments and holders latched onto both sun visors strain to contain the numbers he has forced into their pockets. Surrounded by music, he appears an entirely different creature, elegant, serene, and utterly peaceful, you find no trace of his usual incisive attitude.

The sudden inclusion into what would normally be considered a private space makes your palms feel clammy, uncertain how to rationalize the man you know with the details you find. Fast food wrappers are crumbled into a plastic, makeshift garbage back at your feet; a tiny, framed portrait of a kitten dangles from the rearview mirror rather than an air freshener; the seats of his car a deep, tan leather rather than the black you would have assumed he’d select. In his car, you find you know even less about him than you thought you did, all your assumptions and expectations molding together to place a slight throb at your temple.

Beside you, Yoongi seems unaware of your struggle. If anything, it appears he doesn’t even notice you at all, relaxed into his seat as his hands grip the wheel with a tenderness you’ve only seen reserved for an animal. The morning sun changes the shadows and colours that usually settle on his skin, carving a dignified symmetry into the line of his jaw. If he feels the touch of your eyes against his features, he does not let on, allowing you to scrutinize the proportions of his cheeks, his lips, his ears - his regal profile turning your mouth dry.

His eyes remain trained on the road with a stoicism you find blissful. Strands of his hair, pale blonde and taking on the myriad of shades contained within the sun, fall into his eyes, which he does not both to move. Messy, and soft, and entirely, woefully, human. In this comfortable silence, you admit that he is beautiful - beautiful, and flawed, and unashamed of the mess he makes, more alive than you have ever seen him.

Tearing your gaze away, you study the passing trees and cloudless morning, doing your best to remember when or why you decided he was someone cruel, someone who surrounds himself in negativity. With you, he has always been stern, detached at best, yet never deliberately mean, and your stomach drops at the realization he has done little more than wound your pride. For months, you’d been running circles around one another, your remarks simply a retaliation for his blithe announcement of assumptions you both knew were true.

From the start, he saw through the heart of you, and you wonder when you had ever chosen to let him in.

When he pulls up to the lab, adrenaline floods your body. Here, even in the parking lot, you can feel the looming presence of purpose, potential, power. You are unashamed of the excited way you scramble out of the car, stretching briefly before slinging your bag over your shoulder and taking hurried steps towards the door. You don’t make it far, ears catching quickly that it is only your steps, your feet pressing against the uneven gravel, and so you look back, concerned.

Yoongi stares at the building with childlike apprehension, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, suddenly appearing impossibly, endearingly small.

‘What’s wrong?’ The question is sincere, and you don’t bother hiding the concern in your voice.

Unmoved, he continues to regard the dark windows and limestone front, the awning detailing only a number in an effort to remain anonymous.

‘He agreed to see the scans,’ he announces, voice loud enough to carry but soft enough to give away his uncertainty. ‘There’s still a chance he might not help Casper. He just might not be able to’

As he finishes speaking, his eyes find yours, the care and the doubt you find catching you off guard. Looking at him now, you realize he likely hasn’t slept, bags puffing beneath his eyes, and his pout sheepish. Nothing in his gentle wording exists to pull apart your ideas, to put blocks, to make things difficult. In him, you sense the fear, the worry. Shifting your weight from foot to foot, you watch the way he clenches his jaw, lips thin as he chews the inside of his cheek. Suddenly overwhelmed by his unspoken affection, you allow yourself to soften for him, if only because you know he cares just as much as you.

‘But,’ you counter, ‘there’s a very real possibility he can. And that’s what we have to hold onto.’

Yoongi’s gaze hardens, resolute as he nods, lips forming into a small smile of gratitude.

It’s the most you’ve ever seen him give over into kindness, and the first time he has ever relied on you for anything beyond a chart or a schedule reference. Briskly, he walks past you, pulling open the door and holding it for you, expectant. Swallowing thickly, you hurry towards the entrance, mind fuzzy with too many incoherent and inconsistent emotions.

Dr. Kern comes to greet you only a few minutes after the receptionist notifies of him of your arrival, his handshake strong and welcoming. He leads you towards his office, a small space littered with papers, charts, models of bone structures, two oversized prints of the periodic table framed on his wall between his degree credentials.

‘Thank you so much for meeting with us at such short notice,’ you offer, taking a seat in front of his desk.

‘No problem,’ he says, congenially. ‘For me, this case is highly intriguing.’

Yoongi clears his throat, taking the seat beside you with careful movements. ‘I’m hoping I don’t sound...ungrateful, but may I ask why you agreed to help?’ he questions gently, hands running over the arms of the seat, over and over. ‘Do you work in veterinary science? I’m sorry if that comes across badly, I just have never met a biomedical engineer.’

Dr. Kern nods in understanding. ‘It’s alright. I imagine it’s surprising that I’d want to investigate an animal case.’ Reaching into his desk, he pulls out two files, sliding one to you and one to Yoongi. ‘When 3D printing first became reasonably affordable and partially available to the public, I saw limitless potential. I’ve spent a significant amount of time working in labs across the country throughout my career, and I can think of hundreds of cases where printing like this could have potentially saved lives.’

He pauses, giving you the opportunity to read through the file. Everything pertaining to his lab, the printing, the technology, the materials they use is included. Most importantly, right at the start, is a mission statement focused on ingenuity in the effort of maintaining quality of human life.

‘I started and funded this lab with my own money,’ he continues, leaning back in his tall leather chair and folding his hands. ‘It’s important, I think, to welcome a new era for medicine. Doing so means you welcome a new era for hope.’

Eyes still scanning the pages, you’re aware you’ve taken on a wistful, altogether too hopeful expression. In medicine, hope is necessary, but it cannot be your crutch, the elation of such a feeling allowing carelessness and ego sink in, creating delusions of grandeur. But here, now, you let it wash over you, unwilling to let it stop.

‘There’s something cosmically magical about that power, isn’t it?’ you muse, hoping to share in this enthusiasm with him. ‘To choose the paradigm you want to shift.’

From the corner of your eye, you see Yoongi look up from the file, eyes taking their time as they pierce you. Keeping still, you train your focus on Dr. Kern, fingers pressing deeply into the file in your lap, hopeful he does not notice. Even as your vision blurs, eyes losing hold of the world around you, you feel him. You are starting to think you will always feel him.

Dr. Kern laughs, the sound jovial and forcing you back to reality. ‘That’s exactly the kind of thing I like to hear. That kind of drive, it was all over your email.’ Sitting up, he moves his mouse to wake his computer, glancing at you over his thickly rimmed glasses. ‘Now, show me these scans.’

He uploads the files from the thumb drive with a furrowed brow, lips pursed as you sit back in your seat, doing your best not to jitter your legs. In your peripheral, Yoogi appears just as tense and still, gnawing at the inside of his cheek once again. The silence consumes you, the kind that presses roughly at your spine and makes you wish for sound, the tick of a clock, the drip of a fountain. Eager, you break the silence with information you imagine will be pertinent.

‘As you saw in my email,’ you announce, leaning forward in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the screen, ‘there have been several studies where prosthetics like this have been made, the most recent being in the UK. There is precedent...’ your words drift, fading away and mildly disheartened by the lack of change in his expression. ‘Sorry, I’m just excited.’

At this, Dr. Kern breaks, an humming in consideration though he does not take his eyes off the 3D scans, moving his mouse slightly as he rotates them. ‘It’s alright. I’d be concerned if you weren’t.’

‘I’ve taken stem cell samples, as well,’ you add, ‘so new bone could possibly fuse together around the implant.’

His eyes move to yours, brows raised in pleasant surprise. ‘That’s very forward thinking of you.’

Beside you, Yoongi coughs gently, interjecting as politely as he can. ‘I admit,’ he begins, evenly, using a voice you’ve never heard him use. It’s soft, demure, and almost hopeful. ‘I feel a little out of my depth. After we took these scans, our conversation swiftly went from orthopedics into neuroscience and regenerative medicine. Having this technology…’ He falls quiet, slightly mystified. ‘The ability to reinvent and redefine the borders between disciplines is both overwhelming and inspiring.’

You study him, chest suddenly tight at his heartfelt compliment. He offers it with ease, as though he’s used to handling sweet words in his mouth, a slight blush creeping up his neck and ears, aware that he has humbled himself and unashamed of doing so. How easily he strips himself of pride, admits there is more for him to learn. How easily he makes himself small in front of you. This was not something you were prepared for, his presence looming against yours as it seeks connection, a bond, heated enough for him to feel him all over you. Like this, he towers over you, lacing his emotions with yours, and you, unhinged, allow him all the way in if only for this shared moment.

‘I like you kids,’ Dr. Kern states plainly, his gaze moving between your awed expression and Yoongi’s soft flush of humility. ‘I knew I made the right choice offering to help.’ Leaning back in his chair, he lifts his hand from the mouse and waves you both forward. ‘Come take a look at this.’

Without hesitation, you and Yoongi leave your seats with care, your fists clenching and unclenching in an effort to suppress the trembling in your fingers. This, you think, is how it feels to stand on the precipice of innovation, teetering over the edge into the unknown, and while you don’t feel quite ready for the totality of it, you feel as though you are glimpsing images of a future you have claimed as rightfully yours. Yoongi steadies you slightly as he joins you in rounding the desk, his hand resting lightly against your shoulder, both of you unstable on your feet.

And when you see him, see the way his eyes are wild and alight, you suddenly feel as though you are looking into a mirror, confronted by the missing pieces of yourself that bring you balance. But, in an instant, the moment he latches his eyes to the computer screen and you, turning to see what he sees, feel the sentiment dissipate, both of you falling back into your usual routine, hungry for understanding.

‘The goal here is the marriage of biomechanics and biology.’ Dr. Kern moves the scans with careful precision. ‘The plans you sent to me for the surgery include cutting from here to here,’ he says, gesturing to the length from the cubital bone to the carpus. ‘What you’re leaving behind is this section.’ Dragging his mouse over the length of the radius, he hums in consideration. ‘Effectively, what you’re asking me to do is create a bridge where dead bone would be, hoping that there’d be enough space left for you to drill the piece in without bridging across the wrist. In a sense, we need a piece of scaffolding that leaves space, so the stem cells can recognize the rest of the bone as their own.’

It’s something you had talked about in your initial discussion, you and Yoogni and Dr. Hague glancing worriedly at one another, doing your best not to sound excited. Hearing it now, laid out by the engineer who must build it, you suddenly think something like this would be terribly difficult, to tall of an order in such a short amount of time.

‘Can you do it?’

Yoongi asks the question on your mind with an urgency you find endearing. His insistent tone brings you comfort, no longer feeling quite so alone in your worry.

Dr. Kern nods, unblinking as he regards the screen. ‘I believe I can. The scans you provided are detailed and thorough, and I should be able to design something that will get within a fraction of a hair’s length to fit in the leg.’ Still, though, he sighs, looking over his shoulder momentarily to offer you both a clouded expression. ‘The concerns I have, however, are severe. There is a risk of failure to incorporate, mechanical failure, infection, or implant breakage. The size of the gap you want to create is large, and this area of the leg is subject to high stress due to motion.’

‘But you’ll try?’ Yoongi presses, insisting he provide you both receive a real, concrete answer.

‘Like I said, I believe I can try.’ Dr. Kern turns in his chair to face you, a smile playing at his lips. ‘And I do want to try.’

Yoongi glances at you, exchanging a moment of relief and unbridled joy. All at once, you fear he becomes the sun, blinding and incandescent. Biting your lip, you look away, heat overtaking your chest as your heart begins to race.

‘Will you be using carbon?’ Your words are rushed, an abrupt distraction to change the subject and redirect the rush of blood you feel beneath your cheeks.

‘No, in living material it’s always safest to use titanium,’ he explains. ‘We can easily print with that here, though it will take some time to get the measurements and prototypes correct. You mentioned this dog is a cancer patient.’ At this, a darkened cloud seems to overtake the room, the word itself an omen as you all share a frown, the kind of thin lipped grimace you give to someone when you are preparing to share bad news. ‘I am not an oncologist, and so I don’t know how severe this cancer is.’

Nodding, Yoongi swallows thickly, building himself into the austere, authoritative presence you are familiar with. ‘The scans we took show the cancer hasn’t spread to the chest or lungs, though it is aggressive. The cells were taken from the hip, which was clean. I’m confident cells should be able to produce the normal matrix that would realign with the bone.’

Blinking, your lips part slightly, the confidence in his tone a thunder roll that moves over your skin. You’ve never heard him speak this way, not to you, not as a scientist. Eyes narrowed, he stands taller, a rod of iron in his spine that makes him appear not unlike a god.

‘Though,’ he continues, ‘we cannot be sure of the current spread along the lung. At best,’ he adds, gravely, ‘we have about seven weeks before we’d need to urgently consider alternatives.’

Dr. Kern nods, turning back to his computer and opening a rendering program. ‘I can get this done in about five or six, though I’d need to start today.’ Turning back to face you both, he offers you a kind, supportive smile. ‘But you’ve got me on board.’

Overwhelmed, you release a sigh of relief, one that makes you press the back of your hand to your mouth in embarrassment. Yoongi chuckles, extending his hand to Dr. Kern in thanks, and you watch as they share a moment that makes them appear more as colleagues than you have ever felt around either of them.

Rising to a stand, Dr. Kern places his hands on your shoulders, offering a reassuring squeeze. ‘You’re doing the right thing,’ he states. ‘We do these kinds of surgeries on people all the time. It’s only fair animals are given the same shot at quality of life.’

‘Thank you,’ you murmur, blood rushing with a sense of vindication and validation, the first real success you’ve had in months.

Yoongi drums his fingers on the steering wheel on the way back, far more talkative and making more noise than he had in the morning. Like you, he rides the high of this exhilaration with poorly contained energy, the full brilliance of his smile eclipsing the sun. Every now and then, he turns to look at you, to ensure you’re just as wired as he feels, irises wild and body hyperaware. For you, this new version of him is simply another layer, another shadow you must contend with, having witnessed so much of him in one day.

Looking at him now, you cannot help but return his enthusiasm, seemingly welcomed wholeheartedly into the radiance that exudes from beneath his skin. His smile, his true smile, you learn, is gummy, eyes squinting with delight as he softens the light from the afternoon sun. The commonality of this experience, of the way you processed and handled the weight of worry, and the power of victory, binds you both, something that is nurtured and born to exist within the boundaries of his car alone. This morning, it was a quiet heaven; now, he brings the noise, the tidal waves of change that come from work, understanding, and commitment - things that apply to Casper as much as they would apply to a lover.

Looking at him now, you cannot help but feel awed.

Running your palms over the fabric of your pants, you glance back towards the road, back to the trees and the distant lake that shimmers as you pass. Even as you watch the light drench the world around you, a thing you witness regularly, the sun so willing to kiss the land, you recognize this day is special, a moment that will eclipse all others until your next big first, wondering if it’s him or if it’s everything.

Licking your lips, you speak, unwilling to live inside your mind, alone, any longer.

‘You seemed a little lost in there,’ you chuckle, casting a brief glance in his direction, attempting to witness a change. ‘That’s not a challenge, by the way, just an observation.’

Yoongi shakes his head, a non committal motion he marries with a hum of acknowledgement, a bundle of movement and sound that feels excitable, like a puppy.

‘I don’t think you realize what that was - what this is for me,’ he says, emphatically. Considering his words for a moment, he pauses, looking between you and the road with an amazement you find euphoric.‘At grad school, my focus is soft tissue surgery, you know? Airways, oncology. Not bones, and certainly not reinventing parts. I meant what I said when I mentioned I’m out of my depth.’

It makes sense, you realize, how he so easily discussed stem cells and cancer with Dr. Kern; why he was so quizzical, so focused when you first observed the scans, willing to meet you and fight with you, because this is his field and, now, it is yours too. Yoongi looks at each animal he sees with a reverence that often leaves you breathless, always leaves you bewildered, shaken that this kind of love lives within his core. But, now, you understand - he loves because he witnesses loss, witnesses pain and grief, the intensity of which is braved only by those who have survived it.

‘I didn’t know your focus was oncology.’ You hope the words don’t sound surprised, as though you would have underestimated his dedication or his character. So, instead, you clear your throat and try again. ‘It’s a difficult field. There, you fail more often than you succeed, and that's hard.’

‘You thought I just wanted to be a vet tech,’ he says, changing the subject while sounding smug.

Rolling your eyes, you scoff. ‘I’m trying to level with you.’ Still, though, you can’t help but grin. ‘It’s true though,’ you admit. ‘I did.’

He laughs, a sound of real amusement, and your chest tightens, endeared. ‘Everyone always thinks that,’ he concedes. ‘Even my parents. I wasn’t the most attentive kid in school. I don’t really think people see me amounting to much.’

Enigmatic as he is, he surprises you once more with his blunt honesty, the way he lowers some of the walls he has built around himself, easing into the comfort that seems to have blossomed within the car. You're unsure why he would share such personal information, why he would bother to converse so freely at all, but you don't question it. Surprisingly, you welcome it, feeling yourself become endeared to him on instinct.

'Even when I first started at the clinic,' he continues, 'Dr. Hague seemed surprised. My credentials are solid - still waiting on my dissertation defense date - but I know I don't fit the profile. I don't look like someone who would choose this.'

Softening, you cock your head to the side. 'What's a veterinary surgeon supposed to look like, then?'

Turning to face you, startled by your question, his lips part slightly, a small puff of air moving between his pout. His focus moves between you and the road, his shoulders dropping in comfort and confidence, relaxed and eased by your words, though he chooses to remain silent.

And now, it is your turn to wink, the action making him laugh in surprise, the sound of full of honey.

‘So why oncology?’ you try again, hoping to steer him away from personal, somber waters. Mostly, a distraction to keep him talking, so the sound of his laugh does not seep into the pores of your skin, not unlike a waterfall. ‘It takes a lot of guts.’

He nods. ‘It does,’ he agrees. ‘Maybe that’s why I decided on it. It’s hard in every living thing. I figure why not give a voice to those who can’t speak for themselves? You know, Casper is here with cancer in his leg, but he’s still playing and eating and wagging his tail. He’s a good boy, a great dog. Someone has to fight for him.’

Nodding in agreement, you shift your attention to the road, memories stirring. Tongue eager, it feels important to share the thoughts his words have stirred, important to let him in. Truthfully, you've been letting him in all day, allowing the intensity of his stares, the warmth of his smiles, the kindness in his laugh to unmake parts of you, and, perhaps, you have been doing the same to him. The thought is motivating, the notion that his hand on your shoulder, his warm eyes and unwavering attention were born because you had worked your way inside him, too.

It feels motivation, and so you let yourself speak before you lose the will at all.

‘When I was eight,’ you begin, ‘my cat got run over by a car. She’d darted out from the garden when she saw a rabbit. I tried to stop her - she wasn’t even meant to be outside but I wanted to take her up to the treehouse.’

Even without seeing, you feel his expression morph, brow furrowing in concern as he listens. You have his attention, and he offers a small sound of encouragement, urging you to continue.

‘The car rounded the corner so quickly, I didn’t even hear it,' you sigh, falling back into the memory with a sadness that feels too palpable to be a distant wound. 'Her leg was badly wounded, but otherwise she was fine. Our vet, though, they fixed her up as best they could but there wasn’t a surgical practice around us, nowhere for them to refer us to that wasn’t miles out. My family couldn’t afford that trip and they kept convincing me it would be fine, but it wasn’t.’

'Shit,' he mutters, offering you a hurt, apologetic expression. 'I think I know where this is going.'

‘The nerves in her left foot died. She lost feeling quite quickly, and it wasn’t long until it became infected. We had to put her down because of that.’

When you finish, you find you are regarding your hands as they rest, uselessly, in your lap. Every time you think on this, this is where your eyes go - to your hands. The hands that held her, the hands that loved her, the hands that caressed her soft fur without giving shape to the life she deserved. You were useless then, altogether too young and unprepared, and the memory of these unfulfilled actions and touches live within your hands, where they speak and echo for no one but you to hear.

Yoongi remains silent, still comfortable in the trust though no longer free of pain. The atmosphere in the car has shifted, even as you look at the etched curves of your palms you can feel the change, one of companionship in this loneliness and this grief. As though a cloud of mourning has gathered within the small space, feeling him ache with you, feeling him hurt with you, is as though he has pushed through your memories, touched you, ensuring you are no longer solitary in this melancholy.

‘She was an otherwise healthy cat and,' you continue, voice thick and tongue heavy, 'at eight, it’s really traumatizing to lose a friend like that. She was my best friend. I decided then I wanted to be a vet, the kind that fixes broken limbs and makes new parts if I have to, so no one has to go through what I did.’

‘I’m sorry,' he finally says, his own throat tight with sincerity.

Lifting your head to watch him, you study the grimace that has pulled his lips downward. Instinctively, your hands ache to wipe it away, but you press them into your thighs, willing them to remain still.

‘That kind of loss,’ he explains, sympathetic and tender, ‘it stays with you.’

As he watches the road, a long and lost expression floods his irises, making him appear distant. Even as he quiets, you can sense there's so much more he intends to say, so much more he'd like to say, but the words elude him, seem to get caught somewhere between his heart, his tongue, unable to penetrate the heaviness of longing that has overtaken you both. So you don't pressure him, finding you are comfortable in this sort of unity, together and remembering, even if you are not touching.

Really, you think words no longer belong in spaces like this, would only tarnish the security you have only just found in one another, so new and so fragile. And so you remain silent, bonded with him, and comforted by him, knowing that things will change - the song will change or the subject will change, or, when you leave the car, the air outside will grant approval for things to return as you know them to be.

But, for now, this newness you have found with Yoongi feels natural and it is more beautiful than you could have ever intended.

It's five and a half weeks later when the part arrives at the clinic, the brown box, that would otherwise be so unobtrusive, lingering on the side of your desk as it generates a foreboding sense of apprehension in your belly. Dr. Hague agrees it's only right you open it with Yoongi, later in the afternoon when the start of his long shift commences, but the wait places a twitch in your fingers, skin itching with the desire to open it.

Such a small box, containing such a small item, the marriage of anatomy and biology, physiology and machinery. Weeks of work and weeks of conversation, running through your options and over and over, with Dr. Hague, with Yoongi, with Talia. So much is reliant on this small piece of titanium, you wonder if metal such as this, born of the cosmos and often in meteorites, could hold your expectations and not just the stars.

In these long weeks, Talia has worked overtime, pulling in extra money to pay the difference in cost her pet insurance will not cover. Casper, all good and warm and full of love, has been on medications to manage the pain, coming in weekly for scans to check the spread of his tumor. So far, not much has changed. So far, the spread remains contained to just the leg, but still you worry, deep down, what you will find when you finally see his bones with your own eyes and not just the empty, black and white images you're so used to examining.

This, all of this, is your risk, your drive to do what is morally correct and in the best interest for Casper. Weeks ago, you were confident you could save a leg, and a life. Now, with the box on your desk and the closeness of this imagined reality manifesting in the present, the weight of your choice is heavy in your lungs and chest. In this moment of being, it has never been so important to be right.

'What if we fuse the wrist?' you ask later, alone with Yoongi in Dr. Hague's office on the day of the surgery, his hands cradling the implant and your hands pressing against the desk in apprehension. 'What if there's no space to drill?'

Yoongi regards you quietly, brown eyes dark with compassion and understanding. You feel his gaze move over your face, feel the touch as though it were his own hands, and you lean into it, focus on it, aching for the comfort that comes from being held.

'Plenty of dogs have fused wrists,' he reassures evenly. There’s less than an hour, no time to turn back but time enough to think and rethink, to be consumed, and Yoongi, full of understanding, refuses to let you draw inward. 'You'd never know, even if you saw them up close.'

Meeting his eyes, then, you realize you have surrendered yourself into his care. In this moment, he holds you, his looking a sort of touching, his touching a deep, resonate sense of feeling, bound together in the moment of fear and unease, but, in him, there is no doubt. The same way you have surrendered yourself to his care, he has surrendered himself to you, trusting you implicitly, and knowing, in the end, you both would not move forward if it was not what was best.

You would not move forward if you were not united, together.

Dr. Hague invites both you and Yoongi into the OR, a first, he says, for a volunteer to be welcomed into surgery. But he smiles, rests his hand on your shoulder and reminds you you’re doing what’s right - there’s a lot of firsts happening today, and that counts for something. Talia squeezes your hands three times before you leave reception, Casper already placed under anesthetic and wheeled through the doors. Once again, the trust you find swimming in her eyes buoyes you.

‘There’s only so much you can do,’ she murmurs, as much for you as it is for her own nerves. ‘And I know you’ll do everything you can.’

The tremors in your hands, an uncharacteristic trembling that had taken root in your joints, dissipates upon entry. As if your body and your soul recognize this place is clean - free of distraction and free of second guessing. It’s sterile. It’s home. It’s safe. Shoulders pushed back, the rhythmic beeping of Casper’s heart monitor is your soundtrack; the bright, overhead light your moon. This is your universe, the precipice of a destiny you manifested on your own, created and dictated entirely by you.

And so, this room belongs to you.

After the first incision, as if by magic, your mind clears. You know the journey, the beginning and the end, you do not know what you will find, but you know the only option is to fix, to mend, to heal. The fog of other voices, other decisions is dispelled, every action and choice so much more simple than you would have imagined it could be. After the first incision, your focus narrows, the viciousness of your inner monologue dissolving into little more than numbers, measurements, and the sound of a drill.

‘Eight millimeters,’ you hear yourself say, even if it’s moot, even if Dr. Hague already knows, you still say it because it’s important. Few things, you think, have ever been as important as the length of this drill.

Yoongi watches, studies every movement with a furrowed brow, body still in a silence that makes you view him as an apparition. Under the white light, he glows, becomes something radiant, and you imagine him not unlike an angel. For so long he has watched over this process, watched over Casper, watched over you - learning and seeing and protecting. Yoongi watches and does not assist, not in any physical sense of the word, but he assists you, even if you are too proud to admit it.

Hours in, Dr. Hague hands you suction, tells you to manage a bleeder while he preserves blood vessels along the exposed marrow. Yoongi holds the frame of the wrist in place while you apply suction, the steadiness in his hand making it easier for you to quickly remove the overflow. He’s calm, the most composed you feel you might have ever seen him, there for you before you even ask him to be. Together, you anticipate one another’s movements, thoughts - you move around one another in a synchronization that feels natural, as though it was meant to be this simple.

With the bleeding stopped, you move the suction to the nurse behind you and catch his eye, see the way he watches you in admiration. There’s no time to really pause, to share a moment like this together, but you see it. See the way respect floods him, the way he moves his gaze back to Casper, a blush creeping beyond the perimeter of his surgical mask. It’s the most you’ve been involved in surgery since you finished your first residency. It’s the most you’ve felt like Yoongi’s equal since you met him. And both these things, the feeling of success and the feeling of wanting, you know, will never leave you again.

Dr. Hague educates both of you on the placement of the implant, the hardest part of the surgery. Something about this feels too easy - it feels like it goes too well. Casper’s vitals are stable, Yoongi’s eyes are wide, and your hands do not shake, but still you wait for the fall. You wait for the moment things change and go badly - even if it’s falling out of Hague’s favor, even if it means Yoongi never sees you this way again, you know it must be coming.

But it doesn’t.

At hour five, Casper is closed up, the implant successfully drilled. The stem cell samples you mixed with fribrin glue are sprayed into the mesh to rebuild new bone. Yoongi looks at you as though he is eclipsing the sun, and suddenly, your feet recognize the earth that holds you. Sound, thought, vision - they all come back, an onslaught that raises the hairs on your arms, overstimulated. The overhead light is turned off and Casper is wheeled to his recovery kennel, but you remain in the OR, standing still as your eyes adjust back to the fluorescent lighting.

It’s quiet now, almost too quiet, a calm falling over the room - a special kind of quiet that echoes with triumph, smells of sweat and anesthetic, and the fear of loss. This has never been done before. There is no guarantee it will work, no guarantee it could be done again. But it happened. It was real.

It was yours.

‘Are you okay?’

Yoongi’s voice breaks your thoughts. He’s close, closer than you normally let him be, but your gaze fixates on the way his mask dangles from his ear, playful, free, liberated. You’ve seen masks ripped away from faces in defeat, frustration, but he lets it linger, pressed against his skin as though he’s afraid of realizing it’s over or that it never happened. At such close proximity, you can smell him, his cologne mixing with the scent of iodine and blood, but you swoon, feel a little faint, and he steps closer, as though anticipating your drop.

‘I’m okay,’ you nod. ‘I just…’

‘You can’t believe it was real?’

A breath you did not know you had been holding, likely held deep within your lungs from the first moment you saw Casper’s scans, escapes your chest. You feel lighter, not necessarily relieved but aware you defied the odds, and so it is important to honor this moment.

‘Yeah,’ you agree, sounding breathless. It’s been a long time since you’ve been in an OR, even longer since you’ve felt like you were first for something, like you were chosen. ‘Is it always like that? For you?’

‘It’s always exhilarating,’ he says, considering his words carefully. ‘But no,’ he decides. ‘It’s not usually like that.’

‘Where do we go from here?’

At this, Yoongi laughs, reaching for your hand. Slowly, he pulls off your glove, the fingers stained a myriad of colours, and through the thin plastic you feel the tenderness in his touch. There is a greatness to the way he handles you, a familiarity to the way he pulls the plastic down and down further - pulling and shaping as though the hand was his, his hand yours; meeting together in the simplicity of this touch, aware that, from this moment, is it likely neither of you will ever have enough.

‘How about,’ he tries, delicately, gaze fixed on the slow reveal of your skin, ‘to a diner?’

It feels like the first time he smiled - the first time you smiled back and meant it. It feels like a first, is a first - the first time his hand holds yours, with purpose and intent. And so, you think you should get used to this.

‘That sounds great.’

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recentanimenews · 4 years ago

Text

Licensing of the Monsters: How Pokémon Ignited An Anime Arms Race

"Hey, what do ya' got there? A rabbit?" Batman asks his mentor, staring at a video of Pikachu on a massive underground computer screen.

"It's a Pokémon," Bruce Wayne replies.

Five seconds later, Batman is shocked so hard by the tiny yellow creature that he ends up flying headfirst through another computer monitor (Using a clip from the "Blackout" episode of Batman Beyond, an episode that would've aired for the first time just days earlier.) It doesn't make much physical sense, but this bizarre 1999 crossover promo did establish two things: 1) Pokémon was coming to Kids' WB, and 2) Pokémon was important. So important that Batman actually took time away from obsessing over crime and vengeance to care about it.

Echoing a 1997 promo where the comedic Bugs Bunny let us in on the "secret" that the serious, dark Batman was coming to Kids' WB, it almost seems like a passing of the torch. Kids' WB, up until then, was a programming service chock full of classic Warner Bros. cartoon properties like Bugs, Daffy, Pinky, Brain, and various members of the Justice League — all animated Americana.

Pokémon wasn't a huge risk as the 4Kids Entertainment dub of the show had done well in broadcast syndication, they had plenty of episodes to work with (sometimes airing three in a row), and it was based on a game series that was already a worldwide smash hit.

But the show was ... different.

And it would end up changing cartoons as we knew them.

Part 1: Batman Jumps Ship

It's hard to think of a better scenario when it comes to appealing to kids than the one Fox Kids had with Batman: The Animated Series. Debuting in September 1992 and airing on weekdays just after school let out, it received immediate acclaim due to its moody, beautiful animation and storytelling that didn't talk down to anyone. Little kids could get into Batman throwing crooks around and adults could marvel at plots like the one where a former child actress with a medical condition that keeps her from aging takes her former co-stars hostage and ends up holding a gun, hallucinating, and sobbing into Batman's arms.

It did so well that Fox tried to air it on prime-time Sundays and though this was short-lived — turns out, Batman was no match for Ed Bradley on CBS's 60 Minutes — it solidified the show as "cool." This was a show that could hang with the big boys. You couldn't say the same of something like Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends.

And then, in 1997, it was gone. A five-year contract ran out and Batman leapt completely to Kids' WB, where a continuation of the show (the often even grimmer The New Batman Adventures) aired later that year. There, it joined Superman: The Animated Series in a one-two punch of programming called The New Batman/Superman Adventures. When it came to Kids' WB, competitors not only had to deal with the Merry Melodies crowd, they now had to face the World's Finest Heroes.

This, along with a departing Animaniacs, left Fox Kids with a gap in flagship programming. Sure it had various incarnations of the Power Rangers (which was still holding strong) and Spider-Man, but if you look back on 1998 programming, little of it would survive the year. Silver Surfer? Gone by May. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Next Mutation? Out by December. Casper? Dead in October. By May of 1999, Warner Media would announce record ratings thanks to Pokémon, while its competitors, including the Disney-led ABC, Fox, and even Nickelodeon, would suffer losses in the Saturday morning area. Pokemon would have the best ever series premiere numbers for Kids' WB at the time.

A chunk of that has to do with 4Kids Entertainment's (or to be more specific, 4Kids Productions) handling of the show. Again, Pokémon was a proven concept. If you love monsters, adventure, and collecting things, you'll probably find something to enjoy in the franchise. But the dub was particularly strong. For years, dubbing was seen as an inherently laughable thing in America, full of exasperated voice actors trying desperately to convince you that they weren't portraying three different characters, and lips that didn't match the dialogue. Entire Japanese series were reduced to laughing stocks in the U.S. because why focus on the lovingly created miniatures and top-notch tokusatsu action in Godzilla if one of the actors sounds weird?

But while Pokémon wasn't the first great dub, it was a remarkably underrated one. Veronica Taylor's work as Ash Ketchum was relatable, funny, and consistent. And Racheal Lillis, Eric Stuart, and Maddie Blaustein's turns as Team Rocket's Jessie, James, and Meowth gave us villains that could've easily been the most repetitive parts of the show — you can only try to capture Pikachu so many times before you should logically find a second hobby — but instead were one of the most entertaining aspects.

Aside from some easily meme-able bits — Brock's drying pan and jelly donuts, for example — Pokemon became a seamless addition to the Kids' WB lineup and would end up giving many fans a lifelong love of anime. And it was great for 4Kids, too, as in 2000, they would be number one on Fortune's 100 Fastest-Growing Companies.

Fox Kids wanted an answer to this. And it would soon find one.

Well, two.

Part 2: Monsters Rule

Saban Entertainment was no stranger to Fox Kids. They'd been the one to adapt Toei's Super Sentai into The Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers for American and international audiences, creating an unexpected sensation that combined monsters and martial arts. And in 1999, they nabbed Digimon Adventure, a series about kids that gain "digital" monster partners when transported to a "digital world," which had begun airing earlier that year in Japan. Based on a fighting virtual pet that had already been around for a few years, Digimon was a natural fit for an anime series and also a natural fit for a climate that was desperately trying to find the next Pokémon.

Renamed Digimon: Digital Monsters, it premiered in August of 1999. Of course, accusations followed that it was a Pokémon rip-off, considering that they were both about befriending terrifying laser critters, but they offered fairly different things. While Pokémon was more episodic, Digimon gave viewers a more Dragon Ball Z-esque experience (they were both Toei productions, too) with the titular monsters evolving and gaining "power-ups" due to fighting increasingly powerful villains.

Almost two months later, Monster Rancher would join the Fox Kids lineup, airing on Saturdays at 8:30 AM after Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century (a Fox Kids lost relic if there ever was one). Together, Monster Rancher and Digimon would cover the programming block with monster action, sometimes airing twice each. Meanwhile, Pokémon would do the same for Kids' WB, and if you look at their Saturday morning schedules from 1999 and 2000, it appears they just shoved Pikachu in whenever possible.

Looking back on Monster Rancher is always odd, though, because it's so specifically trapped in the time period where it originated. The video games used metadata from readable discs to create new monsters for the player, meaning that as soon as people gained the ability to download or stream media online without having to travel to their local Circuit City, the game would look absolutely archaic in comparison to its peers.

Monster Rancher is a very fun show based on some very fun games, and the dynamic array of personalities and their particular squabbles in the core group actually reminds me a lot of One Piece. But even the show itself deals with reviving monsters on giant stone discs — a prehistoric-looking adaptation of a video game gimmick that would, a decade later, appear prehistoric itself.

The Monster War was waged across 2000 and 2001. And though it appears Pokémon was the clear winner — in 2020, it's the most popular franchise with the widest reach, even if Digimon does produce some stellar shows and movies — the ratings tell a different story. In the May sweeps of 2000, Pokémon (and Kids' WB) took the prize among kids 6-11, but in the end, Fox Kids would score a victory of a 3.1 rating to Kids' WB's 3.0 (the first sweeps win since 1997, the year that Batman left.)

Early the following year, Fox Kids would score again, narrowly beating Pokémon on Saturday morning in the same timeslot and even coming ahead of properties like X-Men. And what would propel this February 10th victory? The first appearance of BlackWarGreymon, the Shadow the Hedgehog to WarGreymon's Sonic.

However, Pokémon would still help create ratings records for Kids' WB, even though late 2000/early 2001 saw a slide that would often cede dominance to Nickelodeon. Jed Patrick, who was president of The WB at the time said: "I didn't think Pokémon would fall off as much as it did ... every fire cools down a little, but that doesn't mean it doesn't stay hot."

Even though, in retrospect, claims that "Pokemania" had died seem a little ridiculous — the latest games, Pokémon Sword and Shield, just became the highest-selling entries in seventeen years — big changes were ahead.

Part 3: It's Time To Duel ... Or Not

In early 2001, Joel Andryc, executive VP of kids' programming and development for Fox Kids, was looking for a "Digimon companion series to create an hour-long anime block." He felt they were too reliant on Digimon, as they were airing it three times in a single morning. Likely not coincidentally, that summer Fox Kids Fridays were dubbed "anime invasion," advertising Flint The Time Detective, Dinozaurs, Escaflowne, and Digimon. In one commercial, a single quote zips across the bottom of the screen: "Anime Rocks!" Nicole, TX

That it does, Nicole from Texas.

Meanwhile, 4Kids Entertainment would provide Kids' WB with another monster show: Yu-Gi-Oh! Known as Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters in Japan, this anime adaptation absconded from retelling the stories found in the early chapters of the manga — which were mostly devoted to Yugi running into jerks, only to have his Egyptian spirit "alter ego" deal karmic retribution on them — and instead focused on the parts that involved the cool monster fights. So basically the parts that were the most like Pokémon.

But how would this be received? In 2000, Canadian studio Nelvana had licensed the anime Cardcaptor Sakura and turned it simply into Cardcaptors — an extremely edited version that removed many important relationships and plotlines and tried to streamline the show into a pseudo-Pokémon story. It's gone down in history as one of the most questionable dubs ever, and never really made a splash on Kids' WB. So they wouldn't want a repeat of that.

But would kids be into a card game? The cards did summon monsters, but in Pokémon and Digimon, the monsters are just there, moving around and not relegated to a glorified checkers board arena. It turned out, yes, kids would be REALLY into that. Yu-Gi-Oh! debuted at number one in multiple demographics in September 2001, and would remain a steady part of its lineup for years to come.

And how did Fox Kids respond? Did the "anime invasion" work out? Well, sort of, but not in the way they were hoping.

In 2001, due to diminishing ratings and audiences, Fox Kids Worldwide (along with Fox Family Worldwide) were sold to The Walt Disney Company. By November 7th, they'd canceled their weekly afternoon blocks, and the next year, they'd end up selling their entire Saturday morning block to a company that had provided their rivals with the very same TV shows that aided in sinking them: 4Kids Entertainment. The final show to premiere on the original Fox Kids was Galidor: Defenders of the Outer Dimension, a live action series that stood beside Alienators: Evolution Continues (a cartoon sequel to the mediocre 2001 comedy Evolution) and the underrated Medabots as the block's last gasp.

Renamed FoxBox in late 2002 (and later 4KidsTV in 2005), the 4Kids run schedule would, over the years, include anime like Kirby! Right Back At Ya!, Ultimate Muscle, Fighting Foodons, Sonic X, Shaman King, and eventually, in 2004, the infamous One Piece dub. The first Saturday of the new FoxBox lineup would also outdo the previous Saturday's Fox Kids lineup. Disney would acquire the rights to Digimon and it showed up on ABC Family in late 2001 (eighteen years later, a reboot of the original series would air, which can be watched on Crunchyroll).

Eventually, in 2007, the Monster War would come full circle. 4Kids Entertainment announced they would be taking over the Kids' WB Saturday morning block entirely, renaming it the "CW4KIDS," as The CW had been born after UPN and The WB had ceased to be. Pokémon was long gone by this point, having been dropped by Kids' WB in 2006, and was now overseen by The Pokémon Company International on Cartoon Network.

"We wish Pokémon USA much success going forward," the CEO of 4Kids Entertainment said. Later sued over "illegal agreements" regarding the Yu-Gi-Oh! franchise, the company would eventually file for bankruptcy in 2016. Pokémon Journeys, the latest installment in the franchise, launches on Netflix on June 12th.

Daniel Dockery is a Senior Staff Writer for Crunchyroll. Follow him on Twitter!

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: [email protected]

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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