#I didn’t expect them to be anything but periphery mostly

[greenbloodvulcan]

Logan runs into a certain passenger more than once. She gets under his skin.

A/N: I change POV’s based on vibes only so sorry if this is hard to read :( 

Word count: 3,427

It wouldn’t have changed a damn thing for him, had it just been that once. He’d have forgotten about her the very next day; his appreciation of both her silence and her relative sobriety level would have been no more than a fleeting observation. It would have continued on just the same. Dry heat, dust, drink, and a deep nothingness that blankets every second of every day. His life was never going to be fucking sunshine and rainbows; his DNA made damn sure of that. He bears it all for Charles- the monotony. The obnoxious passengers who reeked of drink more than he did; who slurred professions of love and insisted that, no, they did not need him to pull over, they hadn’t even had that much. He wasn’t sure who he found worse- the drunks or the socially inept who talked his ear off like he looked like someone who gave a shit. 

So it’s a relief when she slides into the backseat with mostly clear eyes and a small smile, meeting his gaze in the rearview. The smell of alcohol is faint, and though he’s parked outside a strip of bars at 11 at night, he notices the scrubs and the bag she tosses in beside her. He confirms her name and she nods with a soft “yes”. He waits until he hears the click of the seatbelt before pulling away from the curb, nothing but the radio and the hum of the engine surrounding them. She doesn’t tap away at her phone incessantly, feeling the need to feign busyness to fill the silence that is to be expected between two complete strangers. She just leans her head on the window, the bright lights of the nighttime landscape flashing across her face. He doesn’t say anything and she doesn’t ask him about his day or talk about how the weather is finally cooling down or something else equally as meaningless. He keeps his eyes on the road the rest of the drive, the same highway signs and landmarks he’s memorized fading in his periphery. 

It takes maybe 15 minutes to pull off the road into a small apartment complex. It’s dead silent at this hour, and she directs him to the left and points at a set of stairs beneath one of the light posts that actually works. “Right here is fine. Thank you-” she pauses and looks down at her phone, “Logan. I appreciate it.” He grumbles out a “sure” but her smile only widens before she pushes the door open and slides out. “Have a good night.” He nods at her and waits until she disappears up the landing and he hears a door close. It’s late, and he plans to drive another hour or two to avoid Caliban’s very personal questions and the concern in his voice for Charles that has Logan thinking back to a mansion filled with limp bodies and broken screams. He keeps driving. 

She sees him again two weeks later, by pure chance. The car she can’t afford to fix means it was bound to happen sooner or later. She’d gotten by the last month with bus rides at god forsaken hours of the morning and rideshares when she’d had her fill of sticky plastic seats, the smell of urine, and people who didn’t see anything wrong with having conversations on speaker in public. She can spare the few bucks most of the time- twice a week, sometimes three. Tonight is one of those nights. She didn’t think much of it when she ordered the ride, only putting the name to the face when she opens the door and sees the man with tired eyes, a rumpled shirt, and a rugged handsomeness she admonishes herself for noticing. “Oh hey. Again,” she greets, pulling her backpack onto her lap and hugging it to her chest. He raises his eyebrows at her and turns around in this seat again with a grunted hey. 

It’s much the same as the last time and the silence that settles is so blissful she’s surprised she doesn’t fall asleep. As she’s leaving she feels possessed to tell the man- Logan, that she hopes she gets him next time too. She doesn’t expect anything other than a one word response but he turns to look at her and a disbelieving chuckle escapes him. He runs a hand through his hair and eyes her with a scrutiny she’s not used to. They’re not quite green and not quite brown and it’s stupid to think because she doesn’t know him but she wonders what they’d look like without all that hurt. “And why is that?” he questions gruffly.  Ignoring the flush that she’s certain has risen to her face she speaks truthfully, “The quiet. It’s nice. Don’t get too much of that most days,” she replies, motioning to her scrub clad body. She sees his eyes focus on the badge clipped to her collar and he nods, “I fucking believe it.” He nods at her as he unlocks the door. “See you later,” she calls. “Maybe,” he replies. 

                                                            ---

“What, are you requesting me or something?” he asks incredulously. That earns him a laugh- a light and airy sound that he would have found strange, because it wasn’t that funny, but he’s picked her up outside a bar, and her eyes are glazed over and the smell is so much stronger than the first time. She must notice his weariness, because she’s leaning back in her seat with her hands up in surrender. “I’ll be good I promise,” she smiles at him then, and it’s so genuine he allows himself to believe her.  He tells her that she better not throw up with a grumble and she’s nodding, “Yes, Mr. Logan.” He sends her a look and pulls the car out of park. She keeps her promise the first 5 minutes. It’s so quiet and the road so familiar, he almost forgets about the stranger in his backseat. But then she’s breaking the silence, and her voice is no longer cheery and playful; she’s nearly whispering and her voice is cracking as she makes her inquiry, “Can I tell you something?” 

He wants to be rude and tell her he’s not a fucking psychiatrist and he’s honestly the last person anyone should want to have a heart to heart with but he doesn’t. She’s been perfectly nice to him and even if he had a habit of being an asshole more often than not nowadays, he knew she didn’t deserve it. He doesn’t meet her eyes in the rearview. “Go ahead, kid.”

“We lost someone today. And I just- I couldn’t stand the thought of just going home and being alone with it, you know? And it wasn’t the first and it won’t be the last and maybe I should just be used to it by now but, I just can’t. And next year, I won’t be under someone, it’ll be my responsibility and only mine and I-” she’s crying now and he hears her trying hard to stifle the tears. “Anyway, that’s why I drank so fucking much. Sorry. God, I’m-” she falters and quiets lamely. 

His knuckles are turning white against the steering wheel and he’s thinking of a streak of white hair, and blue skin that’s turning a sickly gray and the woman he couldn’t have at the foot of the stairs and he knows that no amount of liquor can make you forget. “You don’t,” he says. “You don’t get used to it. Just get better at hiding it.”

She’s wiping at her eyes and she’s leaning forward now, her chin resting on the slope of the passenger seat. “I’ll just always feel responsible. Like I didn’t do enough.” 

He’s pulled into her lot when he finally turns and meets her eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

                                                        ---

She’s too fucking embarrassed to risk seeing him again for several weeks. She knows very well how irrational she’s being, and she knows he must have dealt with far worse but she’s never been one to share the details of her life with near strangers. So she braves the bus and the noise and the smell and the headaches that plague her as a result. 

The next time she sees him, it isn’t in his car. She’s leaving the hospital, and like many third year residents, had survived on nothing but a granola bar and coffee. Her feet are aching and she briefly considers just going home but she’s got the appetite of a hungover undergrad so she stops in at the nearby diner. She’s greeted by the smell of pancake batter and bacon grease and for that she ignores the sticky table and water spotted silverware. She’s about to look around for a waitress when she sees him two booths away, staring very intensely at the coffee mug before him. His eyes suddenly meet hers and she raises her hand in a hesitant wave before looking away and flagging down the waitress. She’s a customer–an acquaintance really, so she’s surprised when she hears the shuffling of footsteps and he drops into the seat across from her. She meets his eyes and leans forward slightly, “I’m not following you I promise,” she tells him and that earns her a gruff laugh, “I’d hope you’d have better things to do. Doctor.” 

He’s different from every time before. Looser. His white collared shirt is unbuttoned and rolled at the sleeves, suit jacket abandoned. She notices for the first time just how imposing he is, all hard muscle and tan skin and eyes that seem to burn right through her. But they’re the slightest bit unfocused, and then his demeanor makes sense. “Yeah, just a thing or two,” she tells him with a smile. He surprises her again by asking if her day was better than the last time he saw her. She skips over more apologies, since he clearly isn’t bothered and she nods at him thoughtfully. “Yeah, actually. Thanks. It’s hard, you know. The ER. It’s people at their most vulnerable and someone’s life is literally in your hands and yes, it’s fast and it’s exhausting but, I love it. I really do,” she finishes, unable to help herself from smiling at the admission. Her plate is delivered then, and it takes everything in her to not inhale the pancake stack. Rather, she stabs at the eggs first and looks expectantly at the man before her, “What about you?”  

“Oh yeah, always wanted to be a driver. Nothing like it,” he answers. She rolls her eyes at his tone, “You’re just full of surprises tonight aren’t you. Who would’ve thought you were capable of making a joke.” 

He brings the mug to his lips, downing the remainder of the black coffee and leaning back into the red vinyl. He shrugs, “Shit happened and a move across the country made sense.” He’s looking down at the table, fingers tapping against the sticky laminate and she doesn’t miss the scars between his knuckles. They’re fresh, the skin still puckered and pink and it only adds to the mystery of the man before her. The one so dead set on hiding. She nods, but they both know she doesn’t buy it. “I’ll get it out of you, one day,” she replies, “I’m not known for quitting.” 

He huffs out a laugh, “It’s your mistake,” he responds, but those hazel eyes meet hers with a look she can’t quite place. She responds in kind, mimicking his shrug before cutting up the pancake stack before her. They sit in silence for a while and he looks incredibly amused at the enthusiasm with which she eats. She slouches down in her seat with a sigh when she finishes, “Wow I really fucking needed that.” 

He nods at her, “Gotta take care of yourself kid.” She raises her eyebrow at him indicating she could say the same thing about him and he shrugs again, “Yeah, fine. You win.” He gestures towards the window, “Going to head out.”

She smiles at him lightly, “You’ll likely see me again really soon,” she admits. “Car’s still busted.”

It’s when he stands up to go that she notices. He tries to keep his arm by his side, but it comes up to his torso just as he grits his teeth and winces. He brings his hand up to signal that he’s fine and she can stay seated but she’s standing in front of him and giving him a look that says that she knows better. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

He shakes his head and makes to move past her, “Nothing it’s fine.” She looks down at his shirt and then back up at him with a fierceness in her eyes, “The blood seeping through your shirt would suggest otherwise, Logan.” He’s about to open his mouth to protest but she grabs his calloused hand and pushes against his chest with her free hand,  keeping him in place. “You’re going to let me help because I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I don’t. I don’t care what happened, just let me.” He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh knowing it’s a losing battle. The woman who barely cleared his shoulders wasn’t going to let it go. 

She leans down and slings her bag over her shoulder and motions toward the bathroom. There’s barely enough space in the dingy men’s room and it smells strongly of cheap air freshener and bleach. She pushes the toilet lid down with her foot and motions for him to sit before digging out the first aid kit from her bag and handing it to him while she scrubs her hands with several pumps of soap. “Of course you have one of these.”

She gives him a pointed look, “Never know when the mysterious chauffeur with a secret past is going to be bleeding out in the 24/7 diner.”

He’s taken his shirt off and suddenly she’s crouched between his knees, her brows furrowed. There’s a wound along his abdomen, maybe four inches long. The stitches he’d clearly done himself had split. But it’s not just that. His torso is a mirage of scars, both old and new–shiny pink strips that stand out from the rest of his tanned surface, the jagged edges pulling at his taught skin. Then she sees the rounded indentations and she’s been in the ER enough to know that they’re bullet holes and she pushes down the worry that is suddenly taking root in her chest. She can feel his eyes studying her, waiting for a reaction–for an explanation. She doesn’t give him one. 

He towers above her and is easily twice as wide, and for all his roughness, she can’t help but find him beautiful. She stands to get a stack of paper towels that she presses to his skin as gently as she can. “Sorry,” she murmurs when she feels him tense beneath her fingers. He feels like a furnace. “Hold that a sec.” She’s pulling out gloves, then scissors and tweezers. She pulls his hand away when the towels are soaked through. He closes his eyes as she starts to remove the old thread, and she somehow stays focused on the split skin and not the fact that she’s close enough to hear every change in his breathing and smell traces of cologne and whiskey. 

She doesn’t question him while she works and he’s grateful for it. She gives him a smile when she says, “The stitches weren’t even that bad, so good job.” He tries to relax, but he finds himself tensing at the feel of her fingers on his skin, the intimacy of it, however necessary it was, an almost foreign concept to him as of late. She keeps mumbling apologies anytime he does, like she’s the reason he’s got a knife wound. A few years ago, he might have said something crass about her position between his legs but now? Right now, he can’t fathom why she cares so much to begin with.

He lets his eyes fall to her face as she concentrates on threading the hooked needle. Some of her dark hair has escaped the knot at the nape of her neck and her tongue pokes out from between her lips as she works, her brows furrowed in concentration. She holds the suture in one hand while the other grabs hold of a small brown bottle. She meets his eyes apologetically. “This is going to sting.” He only nods as she pours it over the wound, clenching his teeth as he inhales. “Ok, this is going to feel worse but I’ll be as quick as I can,” she assures him. 

The dim yellow light from the flickering fixture above them has her squinting as she leans forward and braces her forearms above his knees. “I’ll be fine,” he tells her when she glances up at him with another apology. He closes his eyes as he feels the tugging on his skin, his fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs. A few moments pass before she leans back and reaches for the dressing. “All done,” she announces, pressing the bandage down and removing her gloves. 

He stands and moves to re-button his shirt but she reaches down and pushes his bloody hands away. “Let me.” There’s barely three inches between them and he’s suddenly very aware of the heat from her skin and the way her nimble fingers seem to take longer than necessary working the buttons through. Then, her palms linger on his chest when she’s done and all he can smell is her perfume and all he can hear is his pulse between his ears. She’s peering up at him with those deep, dark eyes and she looks so innocent and kind and young–everything he is not. 

But she’s more than that; she’s fucking brilliant and dedicated and she spends her days pulling people from the brink of death so he doesn’t get why she’s looking at him that way. Why she’d seen all that she had in the last 20 minutes and still wants anything to do with him at all. He’s vague and defensive and she can’t have much of an idea of who he is at all and yet she’s still there, looking at him like that. 

It’s worse when she runs her thumb across the raised scar on his cheek and his eyes fall closed immediately and he almost forgets to breathe. His hand comes up to catch her wrist between calloused fingers and he wants to keep her from wasting any more time on him and his brain is screaming at him to just tell her no but he doesn’t. And it’s incredibly stupid because he knows how fucking terribly it always ends. Always. He drops her wrist and she catches his right hand, her thumb passing gently along the scars between his knuckles. It’s intoxicating- the feel of her skin on his and god its been so long. Her head is bowed as she maps out the scar tissue on the back of his hand and she’s so incredibly gentle and seemingly awestruck when her eyes meet his again that he feels his stomach drop because he wishes so badly that she didn’t care. That he didn’t. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. She smiles at him lightly, and he’s confused by the sadness that seems to overtake her features. “You’re so much more than I ever could have hoped, Logan. Please know that.” He decides then that his name on her lips is his new favorite sound. He almost opens his mouth to protest but he knows it will only upset her so he stays quiet. She drops his hand and then she has both palms on his chest again and soft lips against his cheek and he lets himself savor the proximity and the warmth and the scent of vanilla that surrounds her. He catches her waist before she can step away and her hands slide upwards to meet behind his neck. He bows his head to rest against her forehead and it takes all his restraint to not kiss her until she’s breathless. That soft, sweet smile has returned to her face and her dark eyes are shining. It’s almost enough to make him forget the grimy bathroom they’re standing in. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?” she whispers and he feels his lips pull up at the corners before he can stop it. 

He drives her home in his passenger seat. 

[motownfiction]

sweet like a chic-a-cherry cola

note: this vignette also firmly takes place between two consenting adults, aged 26 and 33

Paul is slow-moving for a man in his thirties. He and Emma have been on four dates already, and all they’ve done is kiss a little. He didn’t even kiss her until their third date, only five days ago, which was mostly a disaster. Emma hadn’t been expecting it, so she kissed him back with the exact pressure one uses to kiss the top of a baby’s head.

Tonight, though, she was ready. As it happens, so was he. They’ve been lying on top of his duvet for half an hour, just kissing and giggling, almost like they’re getting away with something. Paul pushes Emma’s hair out of her face and laughs a little more.

“What’s so funny?” Emma asks.

“Nothing,” Paul says. “Just … I guess I wish I knew you when I was a teenager.”

“Well, considering I would have been eleven when you graduated from high school, I don’t actually think that’s something you want.”

“OK, but you know. I wish we’d been teenagers at the same time. That way … we could have done this way sooner. Skipped to the good parts by now.”

“Are these not good parts?”

“They are, but …”

Emma pulls Paul closer to her face and kisses him like she’s never kissed anybody. It’s easy with him, and that’s not just because at five-foot-eight, Paul’s the only man she’s ever been able to kiss without standing on a stepstool. It was like she didn’t know how kissing was supposed to feel until tonight. All the other kisses with all the other men had been … clinical. Experimental (for them). Cold (for her). She felt obligated to them in ways she doesn’t feel to Paul. When it’s Paul, she wants it more than she’s ever wanted anything. He’s here. Flesh, blood, and warmth. His kisses make her feel alive. Not going through the motions. Alive.

“You can have all the parts,” she says. “If you want them … they’re yours.”

Paul grins like he’s been waiting all his life for someone to say that. He pulls her closer still, and he kisses her with a force he didn’t even know he was capable of. He’d been kissing girls since he was nineteen (though never with as much frequency as maybe he would have hoped), but it was never like this. Never so … wanted. Dreamt of. He spent hours thinking about Emma, about how he knows exactly what The Platters mean by “My Prayer,” about how he’s not sure he could ever live a day without knowing her again.

How could it be? How could it be that for more than three decades of breathing in and out, in and out, Paul didn’t know Emma O’Connor existed? How could it be that it still took them almost two years to get here? For so much of his life, he’s been running in place, afraid that if he catches up to someone, he’ll lose sight of all the things on the horizon, everything in his periphery. But Emma sees the world as he does–in stories, in goals, in dreams. And when she kisses him, he remembers that his body is for more than just walking from place to place or for working harder than he actually can. He remembers that he is blood.

So much blood.

Everywhere it should be.

He feels himself start to leave–not because he wants to, but because it’s his instinct. Flight. Always flight. Get out of there as soon as you can.

But then, he sees Emma’s eyes. Blue and impish. Perfect.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” she says, gentler than she’s ever been. “I want you here.”

Paul can’t even smile. He just cups Emma’s face in his hands again and kisses her. Desperate. Feeling younger than he really is. Has he mentioned the desperation?

“I want to be here,” he says, not sure which one of them needs to hear it more.

“I want you here,” Emma says again, between frantic kisses, like Paul’s going to change his mind. “I want–mmm–I want you.”

That does it. He’s all blood now. He begins to unbutton his shirt–why did he wear an oxford tonight?--but she tears it off. They’ll deal with it later. He still has on a white t-shirt, and she’s wrapping herself around him like a little cobra.

“You should only wear this,” Emma says.

“Only wear what?”

“T-shirts. Especially when they dip down below the neck like this.”

She takes the scoop near his Adam’s apple and pulls it down into a V.

“There,” Emma says. “I want to see more of your chest hair.”

Paul laughs.

“Do all women ogle men’s chest hair like it’s cleavage?” he asks. “Or is that just a you thing? Because you do it a lot.”

“I don’t think it’s just a me thing. But it is important to me.”

She kisses his chest, right between where her fingers are still making that V.

“I want you there,” she says.

“Good,” he says, then silently curses himself for sounding so lame. “Can I show you where I want you?”

Her eyes light up. She was afraid that he’d get insecure and pull back, like he usually does. Paul almost never initiates kisses or hand holding or any sign of affection. He’s just not used to it. Emma tries not to grudge him, but tonight is different. She can feel it in her blood. What a comeback.

“I might die if you don’t.”

Paul’s eyes gleam in a way Emma has never seen from him before. She’s always thought he was cute. Sweet. Approachable in a dorky sort of way. But this … something’s happened. Something’s happened, and she realizes in less than a full breath that she could love him. Maybe she already does. He puts his arms around her and places her flat on her back again. His hands snake up her little blue dress and land on her thighs.

“I want you here,” he says, voice thick and nervous, but there. Not silent. “Is that OK?”

Emma takes a long breath. After years of nursing the world’s biggest crush on him, after years of falling in love with him, what else does he expect her to say?

“Yes.”

[mejomonster]

Ep 6 was so good I need to rewatch it again.

So many great lines about how shady wen kexing is. So many where both him and zzs are lying through their teeth completely at each other, and they have no real reason to trust (but against reason they just Do because they click so well and are lying the same and glaringly obvious to the point they feel comfortable wearing their masks and knowing the other person Knows). Like wen kexing is so clearly following zzs to cause a disaster, killed that ghost on purpose so he wouldn’t be a loose thread zzs could interrogate, zzs clearly gives him the glazed armor piece to bait wkx, wkx says eagerly it’s a gift from zzs so he’ll wear it out on a string to admire! Which is - (some spoilers to ep 10)*

Wow that line is so fucked on so many levels. One, he’s framing it as a romantic gesture which goes perfect with the actual flirting he does so zzs can’t call it out (it also darkens that flirting with the very real edge that wkx may use it at times to manipulate). Second, he’s telling the truth - he plans to get it stolen, to start up drama as people fight over it. And when it happens zzs won’t be able to call it out even tho it’s so clearly orchestrated. And the worst part - when people start dying, Zhou zishu is going to remember wen kexing going “this is my first gift from you! I’m going to wear it on me and admire it!” And Zhou zishu is going to feel like a monster Again. For so perfectly being part of an orchestration of so many deaths. And it started with “his gift.” Because he IS the one who chose to give it to wen kexing to bait him. Zhou zishu does it on purpose - WANTS to see what wen kexing will do, to figure him out. So he leaves open the floodgates for wen kexing to start causing the deaths, zzs even might see the potential coming (not hard given they both know people kill for this glass and wen kexing has 0 pity for the casualties involved, never has any pity for the dead as they come across bodies). Zhou zishu is tian chuang leader Retiree, hes well aware mass deaths is an outcome of wen kexing wearing that glass out in public (even if it didn’t get stolen just if wkx had been sighted and any fight from sects over it started). But Zhou zishu still chooses to do it. So in his mind I’m sure “gift from you!” Is just. On replay. Even retired he’s making dangerous choices that are ending lives.

So MUCH of their conversations this ep was so good. And so plot heavy? I feel like I didn’t even catch it all? And wen kexings scheming is so obvious, but so is zzs being from a shady background. The fact he says he made the sleeping dream poison, the fact he says yeah whatever I’m a killer fuck off now then mr good person wen kexing. I have so many thoughts on their characters I can’t articulate rn.

Then I finally paid Attention to the songs?? Wow all those lyrics? They are. So perfect for tian ya ke? The song when they fight over the lake is Perfext. How zzs feels guilty for all the dead he left in his wake, how he wants to find a soulmate (me too bro), how they’ll be split apart in this world (foreshadowing), how he’ll find him again??? Wow just. Wow. And I’m mixing up the songs possibly so forgive that. In either this one or the end show song they also mention giving up fighting and just wandering, there’s so many families in the world - aka end goal for this little family being carved out. And the end show song literally ends on “I’ll spend my life together with you”. Well I can only assume that is the end game of the show? And right as That lyric plays it shows wen kexing and Zhou zishu with Zhang chengling between them like a family, then as that last lyric of “be together with you” it’s the two of them together in a field wandering the world together. This is. Why did I just not pay attention? Also this bodes? Real well for the family’s safety by the end of this drama. I also caught an image of scorpion leader and Zhao sect leader talking close together and smiling softly in the end credits??! Idk if they actually know each other or simply Will become close during the course of the show but I did not Predict that. Also what might be gu Xiang getting married as another scene (tho this could just have been any event I just jumped at the idea ToT)

And then finally - story in general. Which I can’t even say everything I wanna say about. Yes it’s a romance, and yes it’s a very thorough story Too. I’m so happy we are getting a priest adaptation because this kind of rich world filled with characters and meaningful things happening is <3. Also amazing work by the scriptwriter because they expanded the story a bit so I imagine a lot of how well this story will come together is their doing. And it’s incredible as of ep 6. The writing is So tight. Not only is it fast paced, it feels suited to the type of episode watching where a fun to watch main activity/activités happen per ep, even if an arc is still working on being resolved. Each episode generally in this a mini situation will happen and be resolved - and it’s a piece of the larger plot going on. It’s hard to articulate but like in long form stories that do not choose case/situation of the week formats, sometimes individual eps will not have things that make them strong individually at times? Idk if I’m wording what I mean. Like i have loved a few shows that were fun to watch but situations didn’t always resolve a little per episode, I had to leave on cliffhangers or wait for a build up to finally hit. With this show I feel like eps often do end on suspenseful cliffhangers, but also there’s usually some satisfying resolution of a smaller part (and since right now the driving mystery is where are the glazed armor pieces and what is ghost clan/the sects doing/the palace regarding it, pretty much any mini event it a clue to build that up - or is wkx the bad guy etc). In ep 6 the ghost manor and wkx killing the ghost is a resolution of last ep cliffhanger (and zzs waking from his illusion was a partial resolution last ep), zzs identity is revealed another resolution, they get a glass piece (resolution in finding one/new development), the sects start transporting Zhang chengling (new development), scorpion leader joins the fray with the ghosts then abandons the place later (new addition), wen kexing starts his plan into motion (new addition), Zhang cheng ling is in danger so new development and looming issue for next ep alongside the tian chuang agent who arrived in pursuit, the girls gu Xiang Rescued also get some resolution as their situation is clarified and they decide where they want to be and stay there - and gu xiangs learning responsibility continues. Basically like.. not just is pacing tight, but it’s a balance of resolutions, some self contained new additions, some developments, and some looming future situations being built up. It is really good so far. I did not need to rant this much about it sorry ToT

Also in writing: I love how RICH the world is?? When I first started I assumed like some shows I’ve seen names were getting thrown around but a lot of these people would ultimately not be important for long. With the sects: learning a lot remain important and get Development, so they are decent characters Themselves, and even the dead characters continue to be used to help the plot (the dead Ai sect leader is brought up post death regarding ramifications, later some fighters in white in ep 9 will die and their significance even as only cultivators in the distance will be both foreshadowed and used later in weight to themes). The dead bodies from last ep, fairly sure 1 is referenced to a sect leader in this ep “oh where is he? You should check on him.” The dead get remembered even tho they drop like flies, and they’re being used well in the story. Even the fire at Zhang chenglings house - now the sect leaders demand to know what happened, say his mom and dad burned, and he says he had a fever and doesn’t remember (did he learn from zzs to not trust ?? Maybe). And the world is so rich with characters. Memorable characters. Seeing the end credits and actually paying attention, a lot will be sticking around and likely Getting development. Will even be in very different places from where we start - again the scorpion leader and zhao sect leader will be acting kind and warm to each other so??! Wtf will be happening. And there’s already hints all these side characters may be handled with some care - gu xiangs servants. She saves them, and in some shows I love they’d be mindless backdrop now. Instead they get another establishing scene of tjem ad people instead of the prisoners they were before, a fun scene, and then them expressing their wishes for their life, and then a resolution (wen kexing gives them a choice to leave with money, they choose to stay - and I dread they’ll regret it and wkx might kill them when he snaps but idk what will happen anyway). And the resolution allows them a complete little mini story (prisoners who’ve always been sold like they said, saved, treated as people and deciding their own lives and choices, choosing to stay here where they prefer). Now even if they don’t get further screen time focus, they had a moment to have a little resolution. If other characters get this consideration? Wow. Obviously the main family group will. But with zhao daxia who’s a weakling who coasts on his riches (and it keeps coming up louder) have an arc?? Will the old lady in pink who wants revenge? The ghost lady with her fawning maid servants who punishes cheaters, will she? Will the assassins? In ep 9-10 Zhou zishu sees a group of 4 who have left the fighting and live a happy life - stuff goes down. But even that small amount of screentime is a story of who they were, that they probably had past sins like him to some degree of things done while fighting, and then getting hold of the glass shard caught it up with them. Even as very periphery characters their existence is meaningful in the story. I love it. The writing I am loving.

I love how I genuinely don’t know how any of this will go down. Wen kexing is treading right inside prime bad guy territory. Zhou zishu is chilling in anti hero zone and even tho he’s made some heroic choices (mostly about his son) so far, he’s also linked up with wen kexing to the level he feels like they’re soulmates by ep 9. He also helped on purpose to some extent whay wkx has been doing - first cause he didn’t care it wasn’t his business, then to bait him into seeing who he was, then because he trusted wkx even if dangerous to not do anything zzs would regret (bad call there). Inherently they are both not great decision makers when it comes to crossing lines. They’re both very much messes who have their own baggage who tend to keep sliding into it. Zhou zishu planned to safely wander and affect nothing. But now he’s attached to a kid and doesn’t want this one good person hurt - who he’s managed to keep alive instead of get killed.

And oh that LINE “you don’t want to see my face, pretty much anyone who has died.” And wen kexing “well I’m afraid of a lot, but luckily not death” RIGHT before the lake fight. Zhou zishus self hatred Screaming right there. And also his inability to put a lid on the fact he might actually care about wen kexing a little Pre reveal of his face. Which is all! Wow. Wow I can’t believe. This show managed to capture the vibe of zzs and wkx clearly lying and playing each other and pushing to investigate the other and figure things out and maybe even use them, with the fact they’re both regardless still falling in love and feeling comfortable Because they’re Both like this and Trusting. Trusting another Man they both know is not trustworthy. Loving another man they know is just as likely to ruin what they touch as they are. Zhou zishu doesn’t want wen kexing to die because he’s seen zzs’s face - maybe in part he cares for wkx, maybe in part he just can’t handle the guilt of any more people dying because of him regardless of what they’re up to. That line says so much about his character. And wen kexing - every lie he tells and act he puts on as good guy peaceful is woven into very real flirting and genuine feelings. He does want to keep hanging out with zzs, for the companionship. He probably thinks it’s convenient to do his sneaky things with zzs’s heroics as an excuse to get into the manor - and zzs close to his attention so zzs can’t sneak up on him and catch him. But also like, he doesn’t need to keep zzs there - zzs would leave. But he wants the company, as much as zzs knows wkx is suspect as fuck. Zhou zishu is still incredibly relieved to find someone who hes less likely to get killed, who can handle themselves, who can tag along with him on Whatever bullshit and - not mind, not listen when he’s being destructive, be supportive the whole time, and encourage him to be better. Wkx might be up to shit - but he shares zzs’s world view that warriors aren’t particularly innocent so wkx won’t be mad if zzs doesn’t care about their missions or saving world plans. Wkx also will see he Is capable of helping a kid, and encourage him to. Tell him he’s good at it, tell him he’s warm hearted. And on one level to zzs it’s the same bullshit acts they’re playing onto each other. But in the other - wen kexing the fucker does Genuinely think zzs is kind hearted! And zzs believes it a little, when wkx says it. Believes it a little more when wkx helps with Zhang Chengling. And they’re both monsters and distasters still in Full Form which is clear when they play each other. But. Somehow when they’re together they get this hope they could be happy, could be at peace, could be softhearted and safe to laugh and smile and look in pain and rely on someone and take care of someone and be good at it. Be gentle and loving and good. They are both messes in their own way, but somehow when they interact - they both bring out the natural inclinations they get (wkx to destroy rn, zzs to let things unfold with casualty), but they also bring out wanting to do better. I saw peaks of ep 10 but haven’t watched it yet. But if zzs reaction is any indication, having him around might motivate wen kexing to want to care more about the consequences of what he does. To start noticing them and not trying to look past and ignore (this is just me speculating idk). But even without it, it’s already clear they bring out the good. Bring out the good, and make each other’s normal feel safe and allowed to be a person who’s got the ability to do better.

Zhang Chengling is really the sign. With wkx encouraging, zzs really gets attached to wanting to help. Wkx ends up rather actually nurturing by proximity and by what he’s been encouraging zzs. They’re both playing - zzs sticking around at first primarily to make sure wkx didn’t try something to Zhang chengling as a threat for the glazed armor, then bonding with the kid as wkx encourages it. Wkx ending up saving the kid because he Decided to tag along and zzs roped him into it, deciding to help the kid to get closer to zzs, and it gets to a point where on some level he’s helping just as much cause he cares as any selfish reason or manipulating zzs reason. It is remarkably fascinating how when each other are in play they can embody their usual dangerous traits but because of each other those come out supportive in result. And on some level they are aware, and part of why they maybe feel so Comfortwble with each other. So willing to trust even tho they both know better than to trust people like them. Why they both feel so safe with the other as a companion. They know even if they act on their dangerous instincts, they won’t destroy the other - in fact it might even channel into something safe and comfortable and supportive. They know if it doesn’t, the other is strong enough to call them out. They’re an even match and it can only be terrifying or comforting. And they fall into the comforting.

I was originally into how I love how much potential all the Broad world story implications have but I got sidetracked by wenzhou ToT. Anyway I just. Wow now that I’m paying attention I can TELL attention to detail is all over the place. And with something this well written and unfolding so far? I cannot even imagine how well it’s going to build up and grow and culminate.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Thanks for the tag @schoute and @poeti-kat.

I tagged a few people on Tuesday for my WIP Whenever then, so i’ll skip it this time. But if anyone has anything to share feel free to tag me :)

Got a bit more from the Soulmate AU:

As the crowd dispersed Kit was forced to stay seated, to wait until it was just her and the family, until they were finally alone.

Joseph and his siblings conferred in the corner as she sat in the hard wooden bench. She felt the sudden urge to hide her mark, a deep shame that it even belonged to her. What sort of a cosmic joke would set her up with a man who was the head of a religious militia?

The Father and his Heralds slowly moved toward her as if she were an animal they didn’t want to spook, slow and steady so as not to make her jump, to make her run.

Joseph stepped towards her and knelt in front of her. His face seemed kind but she knew there was more going on behind those eyes.

“Hello, my child. It’s truly a pleasure to finally get to meet you.”

Kit forced a small grin, more like a slight tug at the corners of her mouth. She didn’t want to make any sudden moves, something to alert them, to set them off.

"Will you permit me to see it?"

She wrapped her hand tighter around her wrist, it was something she wanted to hide, still so unwilling to admit to the hand fate had dealt her.

Jacob placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, "Kitty, he wants to see the marks."

"I know what he wants," she spat.

"I would just like to see the mark of destiny with my own eyes. I mean no offense."

Kit exhaled sharply and pulled her hand aside, the bright red marks visible on her wrist.

Joseph leaned closer towards her, stroking his thumb against the skin.

"Incredible. It truly is a gift that I should see one of my brothers meet his chosen beloved." He looked up at her, eyeing her from over his glasses. "Tell me, do you believe in God?”

She wasn't sure how to answer. It was a question that she had never really determined through the course of her life.

"I only ask as I see you're wearing a cross."

"It's mostly for good luck now."

"Luck? Perhaps you've been reading the signs wrong."

"If you'd seen the things I have in life you wouldn't believe any of them to be a miracle."

"Perhaps this is why you were saved for Jacob. It's clear you're both made of the same spirit. Two halves made a whole."

She looked at Jacob from her periphery. He was smiling, actually smiling.

"Tell me, Kit, may I call you -"

She nodded before Joseph could finish.

"What are your intentions now that you've both been made aware of your preordained course?"

"I know what you're trying to ask me. I know the law. I just...I'd like to get to know the person I'm intended for before being married."

"Understandable. If only we had the time."

Her brow furrowed, "Only had the time? What's that supposed to mean?"

"The collapse. It's upon us."

Kit turned to look at Jacob, the smile had faded and he looked more severe than ever.

"Pardon me for not quite understanding, but what is the collapse?"

"I shall entrust Jacob to help you understand, to bring you into the fold. The reaping is soon to pass and you must be ready to join us in New Eden."

"Wait, what the fuck is he talking about?" She looked to Jacob expecting some sort of answer. But he refused to give her one.

She turned and faced the doorway, where there was once morning light streaming through, now there was only shadow as several men dressed in red balaclavas blocked the exit.

She knew it had been a mistake to come here.

[shihalyfie]

About the Adventure: reboot, the likely reason why it exists, the question of target demographic, and whether I would recommend it or not

I think this reboot has been kind of a strange outlier in terms of Digimon anime in general, in terms of...well, just about everything. I also feel like everything surrounding it has kind of been giving us mixed signals as to what the intent and purpose behind the anime is -- well, besides “cashing in on the Adventure brand”, but looking at it more closely, that might be a bit of an oversimplification.

I’m writing this post because, having seen the entire series to the end for myself and thinking very hard about it and what it was trying to do, I decided to put down my thoughts. This is not meant to be a review of what I think was good and bad, but rather, something that I hope will be helpful to those who might be on the fence about whether they want to watch it or not, or those who don’t want to watch/finish it but are curious about what happened, or those who are curious as to why this reboot even exists in the first place, or even maybe just those who did watch it but are interested in others’ thoughts about it. I'm personally convinced that -- especially in an ever-changing franchise like Digimon -- how much you like a given work is dependent on what your personal tastes are to the very end, and thus it’s helpful to understand what kind of expectations you should go in with if you want to watch something.

With all of this said and done, if you want to go in and best enjoy this series, I think it is best to consider this anime as a distinct Digimon series of its own. The relationship to Adventure is only surface-level, and by that I mean it’s very obvious it’s doing things its own thing deliberately without worrying too much about what prior series did. Of course, I think everyone will have varying feelings about using the Adventure branding for something that really isn't Adventure at all, but we are really talking about an in-name-only affair, and something that’s unabashedly doing whatever it wants. So in other words, if you’re going in expecting Adventure, or anything that really resembles Adventure, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment. But if you’re able to approach it like yet another distinct Digimon series, and the other aspects of it fit your fancy, you’ll probably be able to enjoy it much better. And, conversely, I think it’s also important to remember that this series seems to have a writing philosophy with a fundamentally different goal from most Digimon series, and since it’s understandable for most long-time Digimon fans to have their tastes built on those prior series, it’s fine and completely understandable that this reboot may not be your cup of tea, for reasons that probably don’t actually have much to do with whether it’s an Adventure reboot or not.

There are no spoilers in the following post. (Although I use some emphatic language for the duration for it, these are mostly just my personal thoughts and how I see the series and the overall situation.)

On what exact relationship to Adventure this series has, and why it’s an “Adventure reboot”

If you ask why they did an Adventure reboot, the easiest answer to come up with is “Adventure milking, because it’s profitable”, but that’s kind of an oversimplification of what the issue is. This is especially when you take into account a key fact that official has been very well aware of since as early as 2006: most kids are too young to have seen Adventure, and therefore have no reason to care about it.

That’s the thing: Adventure milking only works so well on today’s children, and Toei and Bandai know this. This is also the reason that the franchise started going through a bit of a “split” starting in around 2012 (after Xros Wars finished airing), when the video game branch started making more active attempts to appeal to the adults’ fanbase with Re:Digitize and Adventure PSP. (Although they were technically still “kids’ games”, they were very obviously aimed at the adults’ audience as a primary “target”.) The generation that grew up with Adventure and other classic Digimon anime was getting older and older, and targeting that audience would require tailoring products more specifically to them -- ultimately culminating in 2015 and the solidification of “very obviously primarily for adults” media in the form of both games (Cyber Sleuth and Next Order) and anime (tri.). Note that Appmon ended up getting its own 3DS game, but since it was targeted at kids, it seems to have been developed by a completely different pipeline/branch from the aforementioned adults’ games, so even that had a split.

So if we want to talk about full-on nostalgia pandering, that’s already being done in the adults’ branch. In fact, Appmon development specifically said that they felt free to not really care about the adults’ audience because that was tri.’s job. Of course, the hardcore Digimon adults’ fanbase is still keeping an eye on the kids’ shows, and it’s good to not upset them -- and, besides, even if we’re all suffering under the hell of capitalism, people who work in kids’ shows still tend to be very passionate about the content and messages they’re showing the kids, so they still put an effort into making good content that adults can enjoy too. But, nevertheless, adults are still the “periphery demographic”, and a kids’ show is not a success if the kids (who have not seen and do not care about Adventure) are not watching it or buying the toys. Appmon ended up being extremely well-received by the adults’ fanbase, but that all meant nothing since the kids didn’t get into it.

Most kids are not super incredibly discerning about so-called writing quality (it’s not like they don’t at least unconsciously know when something is good, but they’re much less likely to be bothered by little things adults are often bothered by), so there’s a certain degree you have to get their attention if you want things to catch on with them. Critical reception does matter a lot more when we talk about the adults’ audience, but for the kids, the more important part is how much you’ve managed to engage them and how much fun they’re having (especially in regards to the toyline). Moreover, there’s the problem of “momentum”; Digimon’s sister shows of PreCure, Kamen Rider, and Super Sentai have sometimes had really poorly performing shows (critically or financially), but have managed to recover it in successive years to avoid getting cancelled. Digimon never managed to get to that point, with sales nearly dropping to half with Tamers and again with Frontier. So in essence, Savers, Xros Wars, and Appmon were all attempts at figuring out what was needed to just get that “kickstart” again -- but things just never lined up for it to work.

So if kids don’t really care about Adventure, why would they do Adventure nostalgia pandering? The answer is one that official has actually openly stated multiple times: they want to have parents watch it together with their children. Both Seki and Kinoshita said this in regards to watching the reaction to Kizuna, and it was also stated outright as a goal for the reboot, but, believe it or not, there’s reports of this having been stated back as early as Savers (followed by an admission that maybe 2006 was a little too early for people who grew up with Adventure to be old enough to have their own kids). So the little nostalgia references in Savers, Xros Wars, and Appmon aren't really meant to magically turn the series into Adventure as much as they’re supposed to be flags waved at the parents to get them to pay attention, so that they can introduce their kids to Digimon and watch it together with them, until the kids eventually take an interest on their own and they don’t need to rely on that kind of standby as much. (I say “as much” because of course PreCure, Rider, and Sentai all are still very indulgent in their anniversary references, but they’re not nearly as reliant on it to the point of life-and-death.)

This is also why Kizuna’s existence and release date two months prior to the reboot is a huge factor in this. The reason tri. wouldn’t have done it is that it never actually reached a properly “mainstream” audience. It’s a huge reason I keep emphasizing the fact that tri. and Kizuna are two separate things with completely different production and release formats, because tri. being a limited OVA screening released in six parts over three years means that, although it was a moderate financial success that did better than the franchise’s other niche products, in the end, it didn’t actually reach the “extremely casual” audience very well. We, as the “hardcore Internet fanbase”, all know people who watched all six parts, and the difference between tri. and Kizuna’s release formats doesn’t hit us as hard because of international distribution circumstances, but even on our end, if you talk to your casual friends who barely remember anything about Digimon except what they saw on TV twenty years ago, you will almost never find anyone who got past Part 1, maybe 2 at most. (That’s before we even get into the part where a good chunk of them got turned off at the character design stage for being too different.) Sticking with a full six-part series over three years is a commitment, and if you’re not someone with a certain level of loyalty to the franchise, you aren’t as likely to put aside the time for it!

Kizuna, on the other hand, was a full-on theatrical movie with full marketing campaign that was aimed at that extremely casual mainstream audience, including a lot of people who hadn’t even heard of tri. (due to it being too niche) or hadn’t bothered to commit to watching something so long, and thus managed to “hype up” a lot of adults and get them in a Digimon mood. (Critical reception issues aside, this is also presumably a huge reason Kizuna isn’t all that reliant on tri.’s plot; Adventure and 02 both averaged at around 11% of the country watching it when it first aired, but the number of people who even saw tri. much less know what happened in it is significantly lower, so while you can appeal to a lot of people if you’re just targeting the 11%, you'll lock them out if you’re overly reliant on stuff a lot of them will have never seen in the first place.) We’re talking the kind of super-casual who sees a poster for Kizuna, goes “oh I remember Digimon!”, casually buys a ticket for the movie, likes it because it has characters they remember and the story is feelsy, and then two months later an anime that looks like the Digimon they recognize is on Fuji TV, resulting in them convincing their kid to watch it together with them because they’re in a Digimon mood now, even though the actual contents of the anime are substantially different from the original.

So, looking back at the reboot:

There’s a huge, huge, huge implication that the choice to use Adventure branding was at least partially to get Fuji TV to let them have their old timeslot back. Neither Xros Wars nor Appmon were able to be on that old timeslot, presumably because Fuji TV had serious doubts about their profitability (perhaps after seeing Savers not do very well). This isn’t something that hits as hard for us outside Japan who don’t have to feel the impact of this anyway, but it’s kind of a problem if kids don’t even get the opportunity to watch the show in the first place. While there’s been a general trend of moving to video-on-demand to the point TV ratings don’t really have as much impact as they used to, I mean...it sure beats 6:30 in the morning, goodness. (Note that a big reason PreCure, Rider, and Sentai are able to enjoy the comfortable positions they’re in is that they have a very luxurious 8:30-10 AM Sunday block on TV Asahi dedicated to them.)

Since we’re talking about “the casual mainstream”, this means that this kind of ploy only works with something where a casual person passing by can see names and faces and take an interest. This is why it has to be Adventure, not 02 or Tamers or whatnot; 02 may have had roughly similar TV ratings to Adventure and fairly close sales figures back in 2000, but the actual pop culture notability disparity in this day and age is humongous (think about the difference in pop culture awareness between Butter-Fly and Target). 02, Tamers, and all can do enough to carry “adults’ fandom” products and merch sales at DigiFes, and the adults’ branch of the franchise in general, but appealing to the average adult buying toys for the kids is a huge difference, and a big reason that, even if they’re clearly starting to acknowledge more of the non-Adventure series these days, it’s still hard to believe they’re going to go as far as rebooting anything past Adventure -- or, more accurately, hard to believe they’ll be able to get the same impact using names and faces alone.

This advertising with the Adventure brand goes beyond just the anime -- we’re talking about the toyline that has the involved character faces plastered on them, plus all of the ventures surrounding them that Bandai pretty obviously carefully timed to coincide with this. One particularly big factor is the card game, which is doing really, really well right now, to the point it’s even started gaining an audience among people who weren’t originally Digimon fans. Part of it is because the game’s design is actually very good and newcomer-friendly, but also...nearly every set since the beginning came with reboot-themed Tamer Cards, which means that, yes, those cards with the Adventure names and faces were helping lure people into taking an interest in the game. Right now, the game is doing so well and has gained such a good reputation that it probably doesn’t need that crutch anymore to keep going as long as the game remains well-maintained, but I have no doubt the initial “Adventure” branding was what helped it take off, and its success is most likely a huge pillar sustaining the franchise at the current moment.

Speaking of merch and toys, if you look closely, you might notice that Bandai decided to go much, much more aggressively into the toy market with this venture than they ever did with Savers, Xros Wars, or Appmon (Appmon was probably the most aggressive attempt out of said three). They put out a lot more merch and did a lot more collaborative events to engage the parents and children, and, presumably, the reason they were able to do this was because they were able to push into those outlets with the confidence the Adventure brand would let them be accepted (much like with Fuji TV). Like with the card game, the important part was getting their “foot in the door” so that even if it stopped being Adventure after a fashion, they’d still have all of those merchandising outlets -- after all, one of the first hints we ever got of Ghost Game’s existence was a July product listing for its products replacing the reboot’s in a gachapon set, so we actually have evidence of certain product pipelines being opened by the reboot’s precedent. (The word 後番組 literally means “the TV program that comes after”, so it’s pretty obvious this was intended for Ghost Game; in other words, the reboot’s existence helped ensure there be a “reservation” for this kind of product to be made.)

I think one important thing to keep in mind is that Toei and Bandai have as much of a stake in avoiding rehashing for their kids’ franchises as we do. Even if you look at this from a purely capitalistic perspective, because of how fast the “turnover” is for the kids’ audience, sustaining a franchise for a long time off rehashing the same thing over and over is hard, and even moreso when it involves a twenty-year-old anime that said kids don’t even know or remember. Ask around about popular long-running Japanese kids’ franchises and you’ll notice they practically rely on being able to comfortably change things up every so often, like PreCure/Rider/Sentai shuffling every year, or Yu-Gi-Oh! having a rotation of different series and concepts, or the struggles that franchises that don’t do this have to deal with. And, after all, for all people are cynical about Toei continuing to milk Adventure or any of the other older series at every opportunity, as far as the kids’ branch of the franchise goes, this is only capable of lasting to a certain extent; if they tried keeping this up too long, even the adults and kids would get bored, and there is some point it’ll be easier to try and make products directly targeted at the kids’ audience instead of having to rely on the parents to ease them into it.

So it’s completely understandable that the moment they secured a proper audience with the reboot and finished up their first series with this, they decided to take the risk with Ghost Game right after. And considering all that’s happened, this is still a risk -- they’re changing up a lot (even if not as much as Appmon), and there’s a chance that the audience they’ve gathered is going to shoot down again because they’ve changed so much and they no longer have the Adventure branding as a “crutch” to use -- but they’re taking it anyway instead of going for something at least slightly more conventional.

Which means that, yes, there’s a possibility this will all explode in their face, because the Adventure branding is that huge of a card they’re about to lose. But at the very, very least, Ghost Game is coming in with the “momentum” and advantage that Savers, Xros Wars, and Appmon all didn’t have: a brand currently in the stage of recovery, all of the merchandising and collaborative pipelines the reboot and Kizuna opened up, a fairly good timeslot, and a premise somewhat more conventional than Xros Wars and Appmon (I’m saying this as someone who likes both: their marketing definitely did not do them many favors). There are still a lot of risks it’s playing here, and it’s possible it won’t be the end of more Adventure or reboot brand usage to try to keep that momentum up even as we go into Ghost Game, but it’s the first time in a long while we’ve had something to stand on.

Okay, so that’s out of the way. But the end result is that we now have 67 episodes of an Adventure “reboot” that actually doesn’t even resemble Adventure that much at all, which seems to have achieved its goal of flagging down attention so it can finally going back to trying new things. This series exists, we can’t do anything about the fact it exists, the period where its own financial performance actually mattered is coming to an end anyway, and we, as a fanbase of adults hanging out on the Internet keeping up with the franchise as a whole, have to figure out how each of us feels about this. So what of it?

About the contents of the reboot itself

One thing I feel hasn’t been brought up as a potential topic very much (or, at least, not as much as I feel like it probably should be) is that the reboot seems to be actively aimed at a younger target audience than the original Adventure. It hasn’t been stated outright, but we actually have quite a bit of evidence pointing towards this.

Let’s take a moment and discuss what it even means to have a different target audience. When you’re a kid, even one or two years’ difference is a big deal, and while things vary from kid to kid, generally speaking, it helps to have an idea of what your “overall goal” is when targeting a certain age group, since at some point you have to approximate the interests of some thousands of children. Traditionally, Digimon has been aimed at preteens (10-11 year olds); of course, many will testify to having seen the series at a younger age than that, but the "main” intended target demographic was in this arena. (Also, keep in mind that this is an average; a show aimed at 10-11 year olds could be said to be more broadly aimed at 7-13 year olds, whereas one aimed at 7-8 year olds would be more broadly aimed at something like 5-10 year olds.) Let’s talk a bit about what distinguishes children’s shows (especially Japanese kids’ shows) between this “preteen demographic” and things aimed at a much younger audience (which I’ll call “young child demographic”, something like the 7-8 year old arena):

With children who are sufficiently young, it’s much, much more difficult to ensure that a child of that age will be able to consistently watch TV at the same hour every week instead of being subject to more variable schedules, often set by their parents, meaning that it becomes much more difficult to have a series that relies on you having seen almost every episode to know what’s going on. For somewhat older kids, they’re more likely to be able to pick and pursue their own preferences (the usual “got up early every week for this show”). This means that shows targeted at a young child demographic will be more likely to be episodic, or at least not have a complex dramatic narrative that requires following the full story, whereas shows targeted at a preteen audience are more willing to have a dramatic narrative with higher complexity. This does not mean by any shake of the imagination that a narrative is incapable of having any kind of depth or nuance -- the reboot’s timeslot predecessor GeGeGe no Kitaro got glowing reviews all over the board for being an episodic story with tons of depth -- nor that characters can’t slowly develop over the course of the show. But it does raise the bar significantly, especially because it prevents you from making episodes that require you to know what happened in previous ones.

The thing is, the original Adventure and the older Digimon series in general didn’t have to worry about this, and, beyond the fact that their narratives very obviously were not episodic, we actually have concrete evidence of the disparity: Digimon has often been said to be a franchise for “the kids who graduated from (outgrew) a certain other monster series”. Obviously, they’re referring to Pokémon -- which does have the much younger target demographic. That’s why its anime is significantly more episodic and less overall plot-oriented, and Digimon wasn’t entirely meant to be a direct competitor to it; rather, it was hoping to pick up the preteens who’d enjoyed Pokémon at a younger age but were now looking for something more catered to them. This is also why, when Yo-kai Watch came into the game in 2014, that was considered such a huge direct competitor to Pokémon, because it was aiming for that exact same demographic, complete with episodic anime. When Yo-kai Watch moved to its Shadowside branch in 2017, it was specifically because they had concerns about losing audience and wanted to appeal to the kids who had been watching the original series, but since they were preteens now, they adopted a more dramatic and emotionally complex narrative that would appeal to that audience instead. So you can actually see the shift in attempted target demographic in real time.

Adventure through Frontier were aimed at 10-11 year olds, and here’s the interesting part: those series had the protagonists hover around the age of said target audience. We actually have it on record that Frontier had a direct attempt to keep most of the kids as fifth-graders for the sake of appealing to the audience, and so that it would be relatable to them. You can also see this policy of “matching the target audience’s age” in other series at the time; Digimon’s sister series Ojamajo Doremi (also produced by Seki) centered around eight-year-olds. Nor was Seki the only one to do this; stepping outside Toei for a bit, Medabots/Medarot had its protagonist Ikki be ten years old, much like Digimon protagonists, and the narrative was similarly dramatic. The thing is, that’s not how it usually works, and that’s especially not really been how it’s worked for the majority of kids’ series since the mid-2000s. In general, and especially now, it’s usually common to have the protagonists of children’s media be slightly older than the target age group. This has a lot of reasons behind it -- partially because kids are looking to have slightly older characters as a model for what to follow in their immediate future, and partially because “the things you want to teach the kids” are often more realistically reflected if the kids on screen have the right level of independence and capacity for emotional contemplation. Case in point: while everyone agrees the Adventure through Frontier characters are quite relatable, it’s a common criticism that the level of emotional insight sometimes pushes the boundary of what’s actually believable for 10-11 year olds...

...which is presumably why, with the exception of this reboot, every Digimon TV series since, as of this writing, started shifting to middle school students. That doesn’t mean they’re aiming the series at middle school kids now, especially because real-life 13-15 year olds are usually at the stage where they pretend they’ve outgrown kids’ shows (after all, that’s why there’s a whole term for “middle school second year syndrome”), but more that the narrative that they want to tell is best reflected by kids of that age, especially when we’re talking characters meant to represent children from the real world and not near-immortal youkai like Kitaro. In fact, the Appmon staff outright said that Haru was placed in middle school because the story needed that level of independence and emotional sensitivity, which is interesting to consider in light of the fact that Appmon’s emotional drama is basically on par with that of Adventure through Frontier’s. So in other words, the kind of high-level drama endemic to Adventure through Frontier is would actually normally be more on par with what you’d expect for kids of Haru’s age.

But at this point, the franchise is at a point of desperation, and you can see that, as I said earlier, Appmon was blatantly trying to be one of those “have its cake and eat it too” series by having possibly one of the franchise’s most dramatic storylines while also having some of the most unsubtle catchphrases and bright colors it has to offer. Moreover, one thing you might notice if you look closely at Appmon: most of its episodes are self-contained. Only a very small handful of episodes are actively dependent on understanding what happened in prior episodes to understand the conflict going on in the current one -- it’s just very cleverly structured in a way you don’t really notice this as easily. So as you can see, the more desperate the franchise has gotten to get its kids’ audience back, the more it has to be able to grab the younger demographic and not lock them out as much as possible -- which means that it has to do things that the original series didn’t have to worry about at all.

Having seen the reboot myself, I can say that it checks off a lot of what you might expect if you tried to repurpose something based on Adventure (and only vaguely based on it, really) into a more episodic story that doesn’t require you to follow the whole thing, and that it has to break down its story into easy-to-follow bits. In fact, there were times where I actually felt like it gave me the vibes of an educational show that would usually be expected for this demographic, such as repeated use of slogans or fun catchphrases for young kids to join in on. That alone means that even if the “base premise” is similar to the original Adventure, this already necessitates a lot of things that have to be very different, because Adventure really cannot be called episodic no matter how you slice it.

Not only that, even though the target audience consideration has yet to be outright stated, we also have interviews on hand that made it very clear, from the very beginning, what their goals with the reboot were: they wanted the kids to be able to enjoy a story of otherworldly exploration during the pandemic, they wanted cool action sequences, and they wanted to get the adults curious about what might be different from the original. Note that last part: they actively wanted this series to be different from the original, because the differences would engage parents in spotting the differences, and the third episode practically even goes out of its way to lay that message down by taking the kids to a familiar summer camp, only to have it pass without incident and go “ha, you thought, but nope!” Moreover -- this is the key part -- “surprising” people who were coming from the original series was a deliberate goal they had from the very beginning. They’ve stated this outright -- they knew older fans were watching this! They were not remotely shy about stating that they wanted to surprise returning viewers with unexpected things! They even implied that they wanted it to be a fun experience for older watchers to see what was different and what wasn’t -- basically, it’s a new show for their kids who never saw the original Adventure, while the parents are entertained by a very different take on something that seems ostensibly familiar. 

On top of that, the head writer directly cited V-Tamer as an influence -- and if you know anything about V-Tamer, it’s really not that much of a character narrative compared to what we usually know of Digimon anime, and is mostly known for its battle tactics and action sequences (but in manga form). In other words, we have a Digimon anime series that, from day one, was deliberately made to have a writing philosophy and goal that was absolutely not intended to be like Adventure -- or any Digimon TV anime up to this point -- in any way. And that’s a huge shock for us as veterans, who have developed our tastes and expectations based on up to seven series of Digimon that were absolutely not like this at all. But for all it's worth, the circumstances surrounding its production and intent don't seem to quite line up with what the most common accusations against it are:

That it’s a rehash of Adventure: It really isn’t. It’s also blatantly apparent it has no intention of being so. The points that are in common: the character names and rough character designs, some very minimal profile details for said characters, Devimon having any particular foil position to Angemon, the use of Crests to represent personal growth, the premise of being in the Digital World and...that’s it! Once those points are aside, it’s really hard to say that the series resembles Adventure any more than Frontier or Xros Wars resembles Adventure (which are also “trapped in another world” narratives) -- actually, there are times the series resembles those two more than the original Adventure, which many have been quick to point out. The majority of things you can make any kind of comparison to basically drop off by the end of the first quarter or so, and trying to force a correlation is basically just that: you’d have to try forcing the comparison. The plot, writing style, and even the lineup of enemies shown just go in a completely different direction after that. So in the end, the base similarities can be said to be a marketing thing; if I want to criticize this series, I don’t think “lack of creativity” would actually be something I would criticize it for. (Of course, you’re still welcome to not be a huge fan of how they’re still guilty of using Adventure’s name value to market something that is not actually Adventure. We’re all gonna have mixed feelings on that one.)

That they don’t understand or remember Adventure’s appeal: Unlikely. All of the main staff has worked on character-based narratives before, which have been very well-praised while we’re at it. The producer, Sakurada Hiroyuki, was an assistant producer on the original series, and I would like to believe he probably remembers at least a thing or two about what they were doing with the original series...but, also, he’s the producer of Xros Wars, which definitely had its own individuality and style, and, moreover, was more of a character narrative that people generally tend to expect from Digimon anime. (Still a bit unconventional, and it has its own questions of personal taste, but a lot of people have also pointed out that this reboot has a lot in common with Xros Wars in terms of its writing tone and its emphasis on developing Digital World resident Digimon moreso than the human characters.) All signs point to the idea they could make a character narrative like Adventure if they really wanted to. It’s just, they don’t want to do that with this reboot, so they didn’t.

That they misinterpreted or misremembered the Adventure characters: There’s been accusations of said characters being written in a way that implies misinterpretation or lack of understanding of the original characters, but the thing is, while I definitely agree they have nowhere near the depth of the original ones, there are points that seem to be deliberate changes. (At some points, they’re actually opposites of the original, and certain things that operate as some very obscure references -- for instance, Sora complaining about having to sit in seiza -- seem to also be deliberate statements of going in a different direction.) The lack of human character depth or backstory doesn’t seem to be out of negligence, but rather that this story doesn’t want to be a character narrative to begin with -- after all, we’re used to seven series of Digimon that are, but there are many, many kids’ anime, or even stories in general, where the story is more about plot or action than it is completely unpacking all of its characters’ heads. In this case, this reboot does seem to have characters that are taking cues from or are “inspired by” the original, but, after all, it’s an alternate universe and has no obligation to adhere to the original characters’ backgrounds, so it stands to reason that it’d take liberties whenever it wanted. (Again, the head writer outright stated that he based the reboot’s Taichi more on V-Tamer Taichi than the original Adventure anime Taichi. He knows there’s a difference!) Even more intriguingly, the series actually avoids certain things that are common misconceptions or pigeonholes that would normally be done by the mainstream -- for instance, the Crest of Light (infamously one of the more abstract ones in the narrative) is fully consistent with Adventure’s definition of it as “the power of life”, and, if I dare say so myself, Koushirou’s characterization (emphasizing his relationship with “knowledge” and his natural shyness) arguably resembles the original far more than most common fan reductions of his character that overemphasize his computer skills over his personal aptitude. In other words, I think the staff does know what happened in the original Adventure -- they just actively don’t want to do what Adventure did, even if it’s ostensibly a reboot.

That it’s soulless or that there’s no passion in its creation: Well, this is subjective, and in the end I’m not a member of the staff to tell you anything for sure, but there are definitely a lot of things in this anime that don’t seem like they’d be the byproduct of uninspired creation or lack of passion. It’s just that those things are all not the kinds of things that we, as Digimon veterans, have come to develop a taste for and appreciate in Digimon anime. That is to say, there is an incredible amount of thought and detail put into representing Digimon null canon (i.e. representing special attacks and mechanics), the action sequences are shockingly well-animated in ways that put most prior Digimon anime to shame, and the series has practically been making an obvious attempt to show off as many Digimon (creatures) that haven’t traditionally gotten good franchise representation as they can. Or sometimes really obscure “meta fanservice” references that only make sense to the really, really, really, really hardcore longtime Digimon fan (for instance, having an episode centered around Takeru and Opossummon, because Takeru’s voice actress Han Megumi voiced Airu in Xros Wars). If you follow any of the animators on Twitter, they seem to be really actively proud of their work on it, and franchise creators Volcano Ota and Watanabe Kenji seem to be enjoying themselves every week...so basically, we definitely have creators passionate about having fun with this, it’s just that all of it is being channeled here, not the character writing.

So in the end, you can basically see that this series is basically the epitome of desperately pulling out all of the stops to make sure this series lands with the actual target demographic of children, dammit, and gets them into appreciating how cool these fighting monsters are and how cool it would be if they stuck with them even into a series that’s not Adventure. The Adventure branding and names to lure in the parents, the straightforward and easy-to-understand action-oriented narrative so that kids will think everything is awesome and that they’ll like it even when the story changes, and the merchandise and collab events booked everywhere so that they can all be reused for the next series too...because, remember, they failed with that during Savers, Xros Wars, and Appmon (I mean, goodness, you kind of have to admire their persistence, because a ton of other kids’ franchises failing this many times would have given up by now), so it’s a bit unsurprising that they went all the way to get the kids’ attention at the expense of a lot of things that would attract veterans, especially since the veterans already have a well-developed adults’ pipeline to cater to them. This does also mean that this series is more likely to come off as a 67-episode toy commercial than any previous Digimon series, but it’s not even really the toys as much as they’re trying to sell the entire franchise and the actual monsters in the hopes that they’ll stick with it even when the narrative changes.

Nevertheless, here we are. The series is over. Ghost Game -- which, as of this writing, is looking to be much more of a conventional Digimon narrative, complete with older cast, obviously more dramatic atmosphere, and pretty much everything surrounding its PR -- is on its way, presumably thanks to the success of this endeavor. It’s hard to gauge it; we have it on record that they also intend it to be episodic, but remember that this doesn’t necessarily prevent it from having an overall dramatic plot or nuanced drama (especially since the abovementioned Appmon and Kitaro were perfectly capable of pulling off this balance). Nevertheless, it seems to be a lot more of the conventional kind of Digimon narrative we usually expect, so, as for us, adult long-time fans of the Digimon franchise (many of whom don’t have kids anyway), what exactly should we make of this? Well, as far as “supporting the franchise” goes, you’ll get much more progress supporting Ghost Game than the reboot; I highly doubt view counts and merch sales relative to an already-finished series will do nearly as much for the franchise’s health as much as the currently airing series, and, besides, it’d probably do us all a favor to support the endeavor that’s actually new and fresh. So when it comes to a “past” series like this, it’s all just going to come down to a question of personal preference and taste: is this a series you, personally, want to watch, and would you find it entertaining?

For some of you, it’s possible that it just won’t be your cup of tea at all -- and since, like I said, the majority of us here have based our expectations and preferences on up to seven series of Digimon that were not like this, that’s also perfectly fine, and in that case I don’t actually recommend you watch this. Of course, I’ve never thought that it was ever fair to expect a Digimon fan to have seen all of the series released to date; the more series we get, the more inhumane of a demand that’ll become, and I think this franchise becoming successful enough to have so many series that most people won’t have seen it all is a good thing. (It’s actually kind of alarming that the percentage of people who have seen it all is so high, because it means the franchise has failed to get much of an audience beyond comparatively hardcore people who committed to it all the way.) But I think, especially in this case, with a series for which adult fans like us were probably lowest on the priority list due to the sheer amount of desperation going on here, it’s fine to skip it, and if you’re someone who lives by a need for character depth or emotionally riveting narrative, the fact this series is (very unabashedly and unashamedly) mostly comprised of episodic stories and action sequences means you won’t have missed much and probably won’t feel too left out of any conversations going forward. That’s before we even get into the part where it’s still completely understandable to potentially have mixed feelings or resentment about the overuse of the Adventure brand for something like this, especially if Adventure is a particularly important series to you.

But for some of you out there, it might still be something you can enjoy on its own merits. I’ve seen people who were disappointed by the limited degree of Digimon action sequences in the past or the fact that the series has gotten overly fixated on humans, and had an absolute ball with the reboot because it finally got to represent parts of the franchise they felt hadn’t been shown off as well. “Fun” is a perfectly valid reason to enjoy something. It’s also perfectly possible to be someone who can enjoy character narratives like the prior Digimon series but also enjoy something that’s more for being outlandish and fun and has cool Digital World concepts and visuals -- and, like I said, it does not let up on that latter aspect at all, so there’s actually potential for a huge feast in that regard. I think as long as you don’t expect it to be a character narrative like Adventure -- which will only set you up for disappointment, because it’s not (and made very clear since even the earliest episodes and interviews that it had no intention of being one) -- it’s very possible to enjoy it for what it is, and for what it does uniquely.

[nitewrighter]

Hi Nite :) Could use some cutesy Gency fluff rn. Have a quick short or interactions in mind?

I miss them... 🥺

Here's some pre-fall stuff from when Genji was still getting used to his limbs.

----

Genji's arms thudded against the limbs of the training dummy as Mercy stood tensely by with her tablet, observing and taking notes. The impact didn’t feel quite right--he could feel the reverberation of the metal at his organic stubs on impact. He was in a gray training jumpsuit--more of a wrestling singlet, really--that left his organic arms and legs exposed. 

“You don’t have to--” Mercy cut herself off at a particularly loud thump of one of Genji’s blows landing, “You don’t have to go too fast, it’s just about maintaining blood flow and muscle movement, and building up coordination.” 

Genji didn’t respond, mostly just glad he had something to hit now. He let Mercy’s commentary dull to a quiet buzz at the periphery of his consciousness as he fell into the movement of punching and kicking. He heard an audible sigh from Mercy, recognition that he wasn’t actually listening, and just let himself fall into the motions more and more. Not strong enough. Not fast enough. None of the blows hitting right. Get it better. Get it right. How could he avenge himself against the clan and Hanzo otherwise? How could he make them pay if he was just a stupid, pathetic, bloody little science experiment--? He moved to pivot into a devastating back hand strike when a sharp pain suddenly flared along his side and he seized up with a grunt.

“Genji?!” Mercy looked up sharply from her tablet and her eyes widened.

“Nngh--” Genji’s hands went to his side as she briskly walked over and stooped a bit to where his hands were.

“How bad is it?” said Mercy.

“I wouldn’t stop if it wasn’t bad,” Genji said through gritted teeth.

“May I?” Mercy said, her eyes flicking up to him.

Genji scoffed and glanced off, shoving the shoulder strap of his jumpsuit/singlet off and letting Mercy pull it down slightly to examine his ribs.

“No bruising to indicate internal bleeding--skin irritation near the prosthetic is well within normal range...” Mercy murmured, “Where specifically does it hurt?”

Genji pointed at the bottom of his ribs with his thumb with a grunt and Mercy felt at that point for a few moments.

“Is the pain still as sharp as it was when you were moving?” Mercy asked.

The question came so easily to her but Genji felt his ears burning

“...no,” he said a bit stiffly. 

Mercy gave a sigh of relief, “Just a muscle stitch then.” 

“A muscle--?!” Genji scoffed, “No--something has to be--I don’t get stopped by cramps!” 

“Maybe not with your old body, but---” Mercy caught herself.

“There’s--there’s stuff in me now, how do we know it’s not... stabbing?” said Genji.

“If you want, we can stop for the day and I can take a closer look,” said Mercy, tucking her tablet against herself.

A low growl of a scoff rumbled in Genji’s throat and he glanced off. He didn’t want that. He was glad to be standing again, he was glad to be moving again, he didn’t want his own paranoia about all the things jammed into him to leave him bound to an infirmary bed or examination table again.

“Or I could give you something mild for the pain--?” said Mercy

“No,” Genji nearly cut her off with his answer. He didn’t want his rage to be dulled. Didn’t want anything slowing him down.

Her brow crinkled and her mouth drew to a thin line, and he couldn’t maintain eye contact with her when she was making that face.

“Just---” Genji made a pushing gesture at her, “Give me space. I can handle it.”

“We still need to take it easy--” Mercy started.

‘If it’s just a stitch, I can handle it!” Genji snapped. He remembered Sojiro’s voice. Breathe through it. Breathe through it. He took a few deep steady breaths. “It’s fine,” he said, the pain dulling with his breaths, “I’m fine.”

Mercy backed up a bit and Genji re-centered himself to a ready position. He gave himself one more steadying breath before he threw himself back into punching and kicking again. The stitch was still burning in his side but he ignored it as best as he could, focusing on the breath, focusing on the impact of the punch, the recovery. But he had already begun to feel the creep of exhaustion with that last pause. No, he couldn’t be tired, not yet. Did all those hours looking like an idiot in horse stance until his entire lower body was on fire mean nothing? All those early mornings sprinting around Shimada Castle, racing after Hanzo with the cold damp on his skin and his breath fogging in front of him? All that conditioning, all that work, all of his time that the clan ate up for their own ends, Hanzo had taken it all away from him. And here he was struggling to work up to a fraction of what he was previously capable of. Keep at it, keep at it, let the rage power the limbs. But even rage could only take him so far. There was a high pitched ringing in his ears as he watched his own strikes get slower, sloppier, but still he kept pushing himself. 

“Genji--” Mercy’s voice was distant with the pounding of his own heart in his ears, and the strike of his limbs against the training dummy, “Maybe you should--” But he just kept going, just kept hitting, and she quieted down. She was making that face again. He could feel her making that face, and he kept striking.

Don’t pity me. Don’t you fucking dare pity me.

That burning stitch in his side was little more than an afterthought, but the limbs were slow, heavy. His lungs were burning and he was drenched in sweat. With his prosthetics he smelled like pennies. Smelled like blood.

Metal. Stupid. Useless.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, didn’t want to know how much time had passed, when he finally slumped forward, supporting himself on a training dummy that was just as damp with his own sweat.

“Just--breathe--pushing yourself too hard could make the healing process even slower,” Mercy warned. 

“I know what I can do!” Genji said through gritted teeth. He hated the metallic ring of his own voice now.

"I know it’s frustrating, but even with state of the art prosthetics, you can't expect to get back to your original speed that fast," said Mercy.

Genji let himself drop to his hands and knees, panting.

“You have no idea how frustrating it actually is,” he snarled, not looking up from the floor.

"Your body has lost a significant amount of its original mass... it's going to be a while before your stamina returns, too," she said quietly.

Genji kept panting. She stepped away from him briefly and he looked at his own hands on the floor. He clawed his fingers, both organic and prosthetic, across the mat in frustration.

“Here,” She stooped over and held a water bottle out to him. He glared at the water bottle.

“You’re still human and humans need water,” said Mercy flatly. 

His eyes flicked up to her face and he reached out and sullenly took it. He didn’t break eye contact with her as he drank from the bottle, trying to read her expression. There was exhaustion in her eyes, there always was, but there was something in the line of her mouth now, not quite that pitying pursing, her lips nearly parting like she had something to say, and yet at the same time didn’t. She settled down to a kneeling position beside him on the mat. 

“All these... things I say... I’m not trying to dismiss your feelings. I know you’re angry. I know you feel cooped up here and you want to get out there so you can get to work stopping the people who did this to you.”

Killing. Stopping’s just a side effect of killing, Genji thought but he said nothing still panting. 

“I want you to have your body working the way you want it to just as much,” Mercy went on, “But this isn’t something you just... power through to. You’re angry--I know you’re angry--but the more you fall into that anger, the more cortisol and adrenaline your brain pumps out--the more your body believes it’s trying to survive and shunts down numerous vital functions, rather than putting its energy towards repairing itself.”

Genji was still panting but hearing it put in such technical terms caught him off-guard. The body believes it’s trying to survive...

“Just...” Mercy sighed a little, “Have a little faith. Everyone here wants you at you at full capacity as quickly as possible just as much as you do. Even if we’re all...” she shrugged a little, “Annoying and preachy about it.”

Genji snorted at that before letting himself collapse onto his side and then roll onto his back, his chest still rising and falling with a shudder of exhaustion. Mercy pressed one hand against the mat, then lowered herself, laying down flat on the ground as well, staring at the ceiling.

“...why are you on the floor?” muttered Genji.

“Seemed like the right place to be,” Mercy mused, “...there are multiple times a day I wish I could curl up on the floor, and this seemed like a good chance.”

Genji snorted again. “You’re funny,” he said glancing over at her.

Mercy glanced over at him and smiled.

Genji sighed again and looked up at the ceiling. “You want to know a really stupid thing that’s pissing me off about all this?’ 

“What?” said Mercy.

“It’s... hitting me that I really liked my body. I mean, I was hot before all this.”

Mercy snorted.

“I was!” Genji insisted.

“I know!” Mercy blurted out and then caught herself, “I mean--” she cleared her throat, “Yes, it’s very jarring to have your appearance suddenly changed without your consent.”

“...so you agree I was hot,” said Genji, a bit smugly.

Mercy scoffed.

“OKay--Sorry--I’m being obnoxious. What I’m saying is... there was so much about it I took for granted, even with all the training and the conditioning the Shimada clan put me through...” he sighed, “And it’s gone now.”

“Not gone, necessarily. It’s... different. It’s changed. That doesn’t mean you can’t make it your own,” said Mercy, “That doesn’t mean it can’t be beautiful. That doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful now.”

Genji paused, then gave her an ‘Are you fucking kidding me’ look. 

“Okay, we can work our way up to that,” said Mercy with a slight eye roll, “Just.. in my line of work you see a lot of... nastiness... so you kind of have to look for the things that give you hope. And a lot of the time that can make you come off as...” she huffed, “Completely out of it to some people. Stupid. Ignorant.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” said Genji, “Preachy, sure, but stupid?”

“Just as much of a charmer as your dossier stated,” Mercy said flatly.

Genji huffed and a long pause passed between them on the floor. Genji took stock of the exhaustion in all of his limbs and lifted his prosthetic arm up toward the ceiling, examining it the way the light hit it. “...you think I’ll be able to do what I could do before?” 

“Do you want my honest opinion?” said Mercy.

The question-as-answer made Genji tense slightly and he propped himself up on his elbows, glancing over at her. “Yes...?” he said slowly.

“I think you can be even more,” she said, not looking at him, staring up at the ceiling, “I just hope who that is, is someone you like.”

[barnesand]

the scent of old stories [ i ]

Summary: You haven’t found your thing here in Brooklyn, but you hope that you’ve found it within the bookstore that happens to be on your work commute. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader AU: *chants* bookshop au, bookshop au, bookshop au. Warnings: No warnings for now! Author’s note: I’ve been down, and I just wanted to write something that made me happy. I don’t know if this is technically fluff, but it’s the start of something new and Alpine is in it. Word Count: 2,551 Words (I'm a damn monster) chapter two can be found here: x 

You’ve stumbled upon it during your early morning commute; it was a blur in your periphery the first time, your thoughts steadfast on the sweltering heat of your coffee cup, and it wasn’t until you successfully attuned yourself to your new schedule that you stole a proper glance at it. It was wedged between a coffee shop and insurance agency—two stories at least with gold flourishes and filigree painted at the edges of the window. Through that window you saw the aisles and stacks of books, all old and you gave yourself that short perusal to imagine the alluring scent of old stories. It was during that time that you decided you would take your day off to go inside; you had to.

You haven’t mastered the ability to resist a bookstore, especially one with old books in desperate need of a new bookshelf. Luckily, you had a couple of spots that have yet to be filled. And the Second Hand seemed to be the perfect place to lose a couple of hours scouring the stacks looking for some new companions.

Quick to remember the time that it closed, you tried your best to ignore the glee that settled into the pit of your stomach. How long have you lived in Brooklyn? Not long, and truthfully, you haven’t quite found the thing that made you love it. There were small things that you enjoyed, but you still managed to miss your hometown. You missed your favorite hangouts, the secrets about your home that only you knew. You didn’t have those things in Brooklyn, yet. All you knew was your job, and the streets you took to get there. Perhaps, the Second Hand could be your thing? There would be a seat that you always sat in, and an aisle that you visited so often you memorized all the books that were in it. You could be on a first-name basis with the employees and visit so often that you’d memorize their coffee orders.

Yes, you needed a place to cement your adoration for your new home.

Your day off finally came and dressed in your coziest turtleneck and jeans you followed your familiar work commute until you reached the Second Hand. There was something about the sing-song chime of the bell above a door that made you realize you were going to have a good time. And, just as you suspected, the scent of old stories filled your lungs. You weren’t a big fan of bookstores that looked clean and meticulously organized. You preferred a certain level of chaos—and the Second Hand provided that slight chaos. There were certain aisles thinner than most, due to an overflow of old books that have yet to find a place on the shelves. You could hear the soft mewl of a cat most likely prowling through the stacks above on the second store, and the small piles of books seemed to be on every step of the staircase. You made no effort to hide the elated smile that slid across your features. You clutched tightly to your coffee, making your way towards the staircase.

Indeed, that phantom cat you heard before—snow white and thick around the middle—was lurking on the second story. It leaned against the railing, eyes closed, and you could hear them purring from where you stood at the top. You made a note to ask the shop-keep (wherever they may be), if they had a name and if it was the kind of cat that welcomed a stranger petting them.

Despite being clear signs for each section, you instead made the decision to walk up and down each aisle without a single inclination of what you were looking for. Your fingers lingered over the spines, searching for the ones with the deepest lines. You preferred the ones that made you worry—the ones in which you knew you would have to restore the spines to a certain extent. Because, to you, that meant that it was someone’s favorite. It made you curious, made you wonder what about the story made someone read it over and over and over until the spine was only being held together by sheer faith.

The white cat began to follow you around, weaving between your legs when you stood still. You had to stifle a giggle once or twice when you moved and nearly stumbled over the cat—that was your mistake, you should have known the direction in which the cat was going—when they moved one way and you went the other. By the time you reached the top of the staircase again, prepared to make your descent to the stacks below, you’ve culminated several books.

You meandered halfway down the stairs before looking up, expecting the cat to follow. You tried to hide the pout, not wanting the cat to think you enjoyed your time together or anything.

You reached the bottom step, already scrutinizing over the selection you’ve made so far. Honestly, you should’ve come into the bookstore with at least a budget in mind. Knowing that you didn’t set a hard spending limit was your biggest trouble. Your second was that you hadn’t even looked down the aisles on the first floor, which meant that your stack would get heavier.

You stood on the last step, already looking at the spines—maybe you didn’t need another copy of Anna Karenina. You weren’t much of a Western fanatic, but the premise of it intrigued you and that felt like a good enough reason to keep it. No… no, you’d need a second opinion about it. You looked up to find the front counter mostly abandoned. Somewhere in the stacks you’d probably find an employee (or, if anything else, another customer). Moving towards the counter, you aimed to set your stack of books on the edge of it so that you could retrieve them later.

From the opposite end of the room, you heard a commotion through a cracked door. You stilled, waiting for the person to emerge.

And—fuck. You didn’t expect the person that emerged to look so good. Truthfully, you didn’t quite know which part of him you enjoyed looking at the most. Was it how he nearly filled the doorway with this wide shoulders? Was it how crystalline, even from where you stood, his blue eyes were? No—no, it had to be the stubbled that dusted his sharp jaw, and that dark coif of hair that made your fingertips tingle at the very idea of running through fingers through it? It could be the way his teeth caught his bottom lip for just a second, his brows furrowing apologetically at the sound from earlier, before his mouth curled into a smile.

All the above. That was your answer—all of it.

“Hi,” he said.

“Anna Karenina,” you blurted. You didn’t want to think about the shade of red you suddenly turned, or how dry your throat suddenly became. You sputtered; words unintelligible before you slammed your hand on your stack of books. “I, uh—hi!”

“Hi,” he echoed, only that time it was followed by a short laugh.

He moved toward the counter, and you quickly made note of how tight his shirt was around his shoulders—you also noticed the name of the store embroidered on the pocket of it—and you cleared your throat. He settled behind the counter, that smile of his still fastened onto his face. He was so… pretty, it almost started to hurt. He sat on a stool, placing his elbows onto the countertop and leaning in.

You cleared your throat again, remembering why you placed your books on the counter in the first place. “I’m trying to decide if I need another copy of Anna Karenina. You know I, uh, made the poor choice of going shopping while hungry.”

You sighed. You swore you weren’t always a dork—in fact, you’d like to think of yourself as the female Casanova if you put your mind to it. But there was something about the tilt of his head when he looked at you, the way his smile shifted into a smirk. He reached for the books you’d chosen, and you marveled at the size of his hands with a big gulp. He could see it—you just knew he could see how flustered you were.

“I think my first question to ask is how many times have you read your current copy? I mean, if you’ve only read it once, then what are the odds of you reading this one?” He went through the stack one-by-one, eyeing the spine before nodding to himself. You wish you knew what he was thinking. “I’m also inclined to say, you know, all of them.”

“That’s not a good sign for my back account.”

He looked at you, then, and you felt a pang—not in your heart, but in your gut. The kind of pang that caused chill to climb your spine and told that, oh, you want this man to do awful things to you. Which wasn’t something you felt often. He pressed a hand on top of your stack of books once he was finished and you tried not to think about the size of it. His blue eyes stared you down, and you watched as that smirk of his turned impish almost.

“I think I have a discount code here somewhere,” he mused, reaching into a drawer with his other arm.

You noticed it then, sleek black metal with gold embellishments. The sophistication of the design enamored you, and you couldn’t quite peel your eyes away from the way it moved—which was no different than how you couldn’t peel your eyes away from every single part of him. You swallowed, blinking away the haze before returning your attention back to the conversation.

“I would be eternally grateful,” you answered him.

“I haven’t seen you in here before,” he started to make casual conversation while he filtered through some papers. He paused to look at you, and his blue eyes looked just a little brighter when he did. “I’m Bucky.”

“Reader,” you greeted him. “And, yeah, I haven’t been in here until today. I’m new to town, so—”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Where ya from?”

You told Bucky where you’d come from, how you moved to Brooklyn for work shortly after grad school. For a moment, you started to wonder if he was taking his time looking for that discount, but each time he asked you more about your time in Brooklyn so far, and precisely what your job entailed, you didn’t mind him procrastinating.

“I mean,” you continued. “I’ve done the tourist-y stuff. The bridge. Coney Island. I just haven’t found the little local things that make it feel like home to me. It’s why I dropped in.”

You felt like you should keep that bit to yourself—like you were giving him way too much. For all you knew, he could have been making small talk for the sake of getting a sale. He probably didn’t want to know about your anxieties about living in a new city. But when Bucky looked at you, and listened, you thought you could spill everything. And it made that warm, fuzzy feeling in your stomach grow hotter. He finally found what he was looking for, and your smile sank for a moment. The conversation would be over—you could, of course, return. But that meant making another dent in your bank account, and you couldn’t risk hemorrhaging funs all for the sake of looking at his crystalline blue eyes.

“This’ll take about twenty percent off your purchase today, but,” he lifted himself from the stool, leaning in. He tilted his head, in a sort of look at me way and you did precisely that. “I will give you Anna Karenina.”

“Ooh,” you enjoyed the sound of that. “But your boss—”

“I am the boss. And I’m giving this to you on one condition.” He drew in a deep breath, releasing it with a smirk. “Next time you come in; I’d like to give you an incredibly detailed list of things to do. I mean—every hole in the wall joint I can think of. And you gotta do ‘em.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Every single one?”

“Every single one.”

“I don’t think I have that kind of time—”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to find time. Because it’ll be a long damn list, Reader.”

He winked at you, and you nearly melted. As he started to ring up your purchase, slipping that new copy of Tolstoy into your bag, you’d reached the deepest shade of red. Again, sometimes you could be a Casanova. You could be flirty back—but you really couldn’t find it in you. All you could muster was the personality of a smitten girl and that was what Bucky would be receiving until you found your other self. He was inviting you to come back—he was practically bribing you to come back. Yes, it was because he was a local and wanted to provide you with the hidden secrets of Brooklyn, but he wanted you to come back so he could say it.

You blinked. “How would you know I did each one on your list? Bucky, I could tell you I did everything. Are you gonna quiz me? Should I take notes?” You raised your eyebrows, leaning against the counter.

You felt the white cat again, their purr vibrating softly against your jean-covered calf. You looked down with a small smile, knowing that the cat couldn’t resist you. When you looked up you found Bucky peering over the counter down at the cat.

“That’s Alpine,” he told you, and you were glad in that moment because you were so close to giving Alpine another name. “And—I guess… I guess I’d have to be there to make sure. For certain ones specifically—I’ll arrange it from solo to co-op missions just in case.”

“I-I, yeah.” You sputtered along, grinning from ear-to-ear almost. “You might.”

You don’t remember much about the transaction—but you quickly shoved your card and the receipt into your purse before you were tempted to look at the price. When Bucky handed the bag of books to you, his pointer finger brushed against your knuckles and your knees nearly buckled. You sighed.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you said, nervously. “For the discount. And for the free book.”

He flashed another smile. “You’re welcome, Reader. Don’t forget the deal.”

“I will not.” Because you were sure he just asked you out—you were certain that he had. You wished he were asking you out. You’d understand if he meant in an utterly innocent way; he wanted you to enjoy Brooklyn the way he did, and you were okay with that. But, God, you wanted it to be because he wanted to ask you out.

The chime of the bell announced your exit, and you took your time strolling past the window. You were so glad that the Second Hand had been in your periphery that day. You were gleeful at the fact that, somehow, you’d found a place to love in Brooklyn.

Bucky and the Second Hand—and Alpine—had become your thing.

[scorpionyx9621]

While the art is left to be desired (i'm hope i use this ohrase right, my english is awful). I suprised that i found future state!Jason to be more enjoyable than Urban Legend one. Like he's way more capable there and [spoiler alert] also Bruce depend on him and still call him son? So you can have a bad ass Jason and good son jason at the same time.

So I need to apologize because this turned into a rant about Jason's characterization as whole and MAN is it long-winded and I'm sorry.

I have to agree. I really like the characterization Future State/Dark Detective is going for with Jason.

Jason is still the typical Jason we've grown to expect. Cold, cynical, snarky, willing to cross the dark red line and kill if need be, but he's still shown to have emotions. When he's betraying the family it's vocalized by Jason that he's upset about the situation. He doesn't want to, but he must for the mission Bruce put him under.

Truth be told, I'm not fully caught up on Future State/Dark Detective. I've kind of been reading spoilers and just getting the general gist in the periphery from people like you on Tumblr. I've been more focused on Urban Legends, which, while I will say I still don't hate the story, hell we still have two issues left of Cheer, and I by no means think Chip Zdarsky is a bad writer by any means. His characterization of Jason irks me.

*God I was so on the fence about Eddy Barrow's take on Jason until Issue #3. That right there? THAT. That's a handsome ass man Maurry*

ANYWAYS: I'm irked by Zdarsky's take on Jason just because of how hot headed and brash Jason is. Now don't get me wrong, every main writer for Jason has taken a bit of a different spin and while the big characters who have written Jason (Judd Winnick, Scott Lobdell, Tony Daniel) and while Zdarsky seems to be what I'm hoping to be a bit of a medication of Jason & Bruce's relationship. He's doing it at the expendature of Jason's characterization of being a damn near criminal mastermind.

If we focus on Winnick and Daniel's interpretation of Jason (Winnick wrote the original Under the Hood & Lost Days. Daniels wrote Battle for the Cowl) as well as all Pre-New 52 versions of Jason. Jason is a monster. Like genuinely a horrible human being. He still fights for right moral side (he kills mostly child abusers/drug traffickers and the likes) but this Jason is genuinely unhinged and while smart, he's absolutely monster. Hell, in Battle for the Cowl after hearing Bruce's final words, he has a villainous breakdown. Dresses as batman, and starts killing people. Judd Winnick himself said he sees Jason as a 'Psychopath' and there are a lot of very vocal people who say Winnick's original interpretation of Jason as a violent, misanthropic villain is the superior version and that Jason should return to this.

*I love to point out that I made a post on my alt account questioning Jason's age in this issue. Turns out he's Like SEVENTEEN. I get why they draw him older and more mature because of his darker/more villainous tendencies. But there's something kind of True Crime Podcast host fascination I have with this greasy, crusty, 17 year old who just casually kills 30 mobsters in horrific gun violence and calls it a day.*

Then we have the New 52. And in comes Red Hood & The Outlaws + the eventual Red Hood: Outlaw series. Piloted by the one Scott Lobdell. Now I know a lot of people dislike Lobdell for his takes on certain characters, his all-over-the-place writing style. (Let's not forget his allegations of SA and the fact that he openly admits that he wrote Jason as a self-insert for a 'bad guy seeking redemption') this was my first comic experience with Jason and to be honest, I can't bring myself to hate it. Sure there's some parts that literally show how much of a dumpster fire Lobdell's writing can become, but for the most part I genuinely liked the characterization of Jason that Lobdell gives. Jason may be a bit more reactionary and just kind of making shit up as he goes along, but he's far from dumb. The intro to the series has Jason sneaking into a terrorist run nuclear sub and killing everyone inside.

Again: Lobdell's writing is all of the place. But I do like that his take on Jason is a bit more subdued. I know in the New 52 they wanted to make Jason an Anti-Hero. Someone who very much still driven by emotion and revenge. But he's definetly more relaxed and even has a lot of fun. Intelligence wise he has is moments, but it does emphasize that while he may be the best read Robin, he does have a tendency to leap before he looks. Also all the art for RHATO with the exception of a few series were TOP TIER. I understand why they hired artists like Kenneth Rocafort and Dexter Soy to rehabilitate his image. I mean, come on.

Now if we're talking about Jason's intelligence, I'd be absolutely remiss if I didn't discuss Red Hood: Outlaw and the Price of Gotham Arc. Specifically this exchange between Bruce & Jason. To me, this is the single best part of Lobdell's run and shows Jason's true intelligence.

To give a rundown: After Bruce banished Jason from Gotham after seemingly killing the Penguin. Bruce proceeded to find Jason and literally beat him to within an inch of his life. It took MONTHS for Jason to recover. A lot happens but mostly Jason finds out (from Bruce no less) that Penguin is still alive. Jason hatches a devious plan. He takes over the iceberg lounge, kidnaps and holds Penguin hostage. Publically outs himself as Jason Todd, the dead ward of Bruce Wayne, as alive and well, and the new owner of the Iceberg Lounge.

When Bruce finds out he's clearly pissed and goes to confront Jason because he's banished him from Gotham. But because Jason outed himself as alive and one of Bruce's sons. Batman can do NOTHING. Jason has Bruce by the balls. If Bruce does anything to Jason while he's out and alive as Jason, all Jason has to do is tell the truth. And the whole Batman jig is up in an instant. And Bruce? After these panels? He runs off with his tail between his leg because he can't touch Jason. And all Jason did was capture penguin, and come out as alive. THIS is the Jason that I love. This is the Jason that strikes fear into people's hearts.

I think a lot of the general complaints we see about Jason as a whole is just how inconsistent he is with his writing. Which I agree. It's hard to characterize Jason well when there's been a character like Lobdell who was at the Helm of Jason's character for 10 years and then forced to leave. And I don't really know if DC has any really solid plans for his character and development. There's a lot of hype surrounding the end of Cheer and them saying it'll 'change Red Hood & Batman's relationship forever' as well as with Jason being featured in the new Suicide Squad coming this August, and Jason getting a feature in an issue of Robin. It'll be interesting to see where they take the character. Personally I do want a resumption of Jason. But like Harley Quinn where they're taking their sweet time redeeming her. Jason has done A LOT of awful things and of they wanna make him a hero, I want a few years to pass in terms of monthly issues before we see Jason become a hero again.

*edit: spelling*

[arthurtristankingsmen]

Heal

His hands were shaking.

He understood why, but it was inconvenient right now. He just wanted something to keep his mind on. He’d intended it to be putting their gear away, but his only remaining hand was frigid and numb and wouldn’t listen to him. He stood outside the van, carrying cases stacked with the top ones open and foam pulled out, but he couldn’t get the pieces to fit in the impressions. It was hard with one arm, and he could barely see, vision twisting and blurring while his shoulders shook. Every now and then, he had to stop to cough into his hand and that only slowed his progress further.

He’d managed half their equipment. It was slow going while his prosthetic was useless, but once all the ghost-hunting paraphernalia was away, he could break out his tools and get to work on that. It’d take a bit, but he could fix it. He might have to replace a lot of the inner-workings, especially the circuitry, but it wasn’t a big deal when it was far better than the alternative outcome.

Arthur heaved a sigh, and jammed the next piece into its slot. It wasn’t nestled in the foam like it was supposed to be, but it’d just be another thing he couldn’t get right. He knew something was wrong. He’d felt it about the place. He knew it he knew and he’d not acted faster and Vivi almost--

Hair raised on the back of his neck and he caught a scent like cinnamon and vanilla. He didn’t turn from the box, eyes glued to the piece inside, not quite right. It didn’t fit in it shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t wanted. Maybe it was useful sometimes, but maybe it should stop kidding itself it was its fault anyways because if it hadn’t hurt its friend he could’ve done the same and better.

“Arthur?” The voice he expected to hear sounded behind him, and his shoulders hunched a few degrees, He jammed the foam back into place on the sensor he’d been boring holes into, and closed the lid. The voice was so-- gentle. Not like he sounded usually. Usually Lewis was so cold now. Distant. The question was so soft but somehow that hurt more. It almost sounded like he was worried.

“Is Vivi okay?” He still didn’t turn around. He sunk lower between his raising shoulders. Fingers flexing and then balling so hard his knuckles turned white and his palm burned. 

“She’ll be okay...She’s warm. She’s sleeping now. Mystery is helping, too.” He nearly sagged when some of the weight slid off him, but his spine stayed ramrod. He didn’t have to turn around and there weren’t any footsteps, but he knew Lewis was getting closer. His head was buzzing at the sensation and he shivered because of the steady heat behind him, like his back was to a hearth or a wood-burning stove. It was so different from the ice his skin had been sheeted with and that froze his veins and numbed his hand.

“Oh. Good.”

He wished he had more to say, but the words dangled between them in the air, a waving banner dedicated to his awkwardness. He focused on latching the case he’d closed, and moved it aside to open the next one. 

“Arthur.”

“Mm?”

There was a sound behind him. “Arthur. Please look at me.”

The request was so small. It was soft, not a command, and the way the request squeezed out almost sounded like a plea. Arthur licked his lips and screwed his eyes shut for a moment, before he wheeled around, dragging himself like a rusted valve until he’d turned enough to see him. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat when he saw Lewis’s face. it was his face face. He never wore that when it was just them. He’d tried to explain why, once. But all he’d gleaned from the attempt was that he felt safer around him not being vulnerable. It was a far cry from where they used to be. It twisted his chest. He brushed back his hair and made eye contact with the ground.

“--Arthur?” Lewis’s voice came back into focus, but before he opened his mouth, a hand touched his arm. It struck him like lightning and he couldn’t move, and his voice locked. His hand was warm, but in a pleasant way. “You zoned out there. Are you okay? And Arthur-- why are you cold, still?”

That unglued his mouth. His voice wavered and he offered a shaky shrug. “I-- I figured. Better to get Vivi warmed. And-- faster we leave we can get somewhere warmer. I changed clothes.” He coughed again into his hand.

That made Lewis’s brow crease. “Arthur... you went into the water too.”

“Y-yeah, but Vivi was under longer.”

“And you swallowed more water than she did.” Lewis flickered, voice harsh in its firmness. Arthur hunched, and it hit the switch, his best friend Lewis receding back to his eggshell-stepping. It made him want to yank his hair out this was so wrong it shouldn’t be this way it wasn’t fair but who’s fault was it--

Lewis’s snagged his hand, and the thoughts jarred to a halt. “I’m sorry. For snapping. I-- shouldn’t.” He looked away, and every instinct wanted to reach out and comfort him. Tell him it was alright, it wasn’t his fault. But Lewis’s mouth opened again. “But...Arthur. You need to take care of yourself. This... I know I’ve been hard to... talk to. Deal with. I’m so angry. All the time. And it bubbles up so easily with you.” 

Arthur hunched in silence and he nodded. Lewis continued. “But. But that isn’t your fault. It’s.... I don’t want to be angry at you, Arthur. I still.... I care about you. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Not like this.” Arthur looked up at him. There were tears, mostly clear with a pink glow, instead of the sludgy black they had been what felt like a lifetime ago. When so much of the anger had left him. 

“I know you’re still a good person. I know you always were.” Lewis shuddered. “I don’t want to keep hurting you because I can’t-- control my temper. It’s not fair to you.” Lewis wiped at his nose and sniffled, and that spurred Arthur to move.

He took his hand from Lewis’s, and it made Lewis pause. But instead of retreating or pulling away, his hand just came up to wipe at the tears and their glistening streaks. 

There was a silence. A long respite, where Arthur wordlessly wiped at his cheeks, and Lewis stared at his hand and then him. He could see his gaze in his periphery, but he couldn’t meet it.

“I just... want you happy.” Arthur muttered. “I can’t undo... anything. But if I could fix this, I would. But.... I’m just glad you’re here. I know you can’t help it. I don’t blame you.”

“I blame me.” Lewis’s hand overlaid his own. “I know it hurts you. I know it does when I get angry. Or when I try to not say anything so I don’t hurt you. I don’t want you to feel like I want nothing to do with you. I just-- I don’t want to be the monster I almost was. I don’t want to keep hurting you.”

Arthur swallowed something thick in his throat. “You’re not. You’re not a monster. You didn’t have a choice.”

“And you did?”

He froze solid, hearing Lewis say that. “I-- what--”

“You know what I mean. And I know you.” Lewis took his chin and tilted it so they’d meet each other’s gaze. “I don’t always... notice things. Or connect the dots. But I know you. And you didn’t have a choice either.”

Arthur looked at him a long moment, before he shrugged. It was the best answer he could give. Arguments filled his mouth, but he swallowed them for now. Disagreeing would just make Lewis try to convince him more. 

Lewis seemed satisfied enough with that. “I know what kind of person you are,” He continued. “You want to know who that is...?”

“Who...?” 

Lewis smiled. “The kind of person who jumps into an icy lake, to save our best friend from a spirit who pulled her under. The kind of person who doesn’t think twice about how dangerous it is. The only person who could go under that surface because of the magic seals, and who didn’t even need to be asked. Who didn’t know that, but didn’t care. The person who held her above water and risked himself. The person who did that even when your arm stopped working and weighed you down. Who still held her up when it did, so she’d stay above even when that meant you kept going under. The person determined enough to save her despite everything. And the person who did.”  

The tears were there again as he put his hands on each side of Arthur’s face. “Vivi is the love of my life. And my afterlife. She’s one of my best friends. And you saved her when no one else could. That’s who you are, Arthur. A friend who does what it takes for everyone he cares about. I wish I had remembered that. Because when it comes down to it...? That’s who you are. I didn’t lose her, because you saved her.”

Arthur made a choked noise, but it was nothing next to the sound that escaped when large arms wrapped around him, and Lewis held him close in a tight embrace. 

It was the first one Lewis had given him, since he’d come back to the team in full.

“I thought I was going to. To lose her. I couldn’t reach her. And then I thought I might lose you both. And that was terrifying.” Lewis’s voice wavered. He shook and clutched him tighter. He could feel his hands balling against his shirt with handfuls of fabric, just underneath his vest. “You matter too. You have to know you matter.” Lewis whispered it against his hair, clutching him tight. “I can’t lose either of you. Any of you. You have to know that, Arthur. I want all of us to be okay. You’re a part of that.”

“L-Lewis-- I--.” He warbled, hardly able to string words together. Lewis’s embrace was so familiar and nostalgic. It was so warm and he smelled like snickerdoodles and he held him so close he almost forgot how how far apart they were. He stayed frozen in his hold until Lewis’s warmth thawed him enough to hold back, making the numbness recede. There were butterflies in his lungs and the ice was melting where it’d seized him inside.

 He shook now, but he said nothing. He couldn’t. His voice was choked out and he couldn’t speak. He knew if he tried he’d just cry. He didn’t want to. 

Lewis did let go after a time, but he only pulled back, his arms going to Arthur’s shoulders. “Thank you. For saving her. I-- I know I’m still angry. But I want to try. I know who you are, Arthur. So we can try... to heal. Right? I want to. I want to get through this. And I still want you with us.”

Arthur could feel his eyes stinging and he nodded. 

Lewis hugged him again, though this one was shorter. But it still meant everything, and held all the weight he’d been shouldering, so he could breathe without gasping. “Good. Now this all can wait.” He gestured to the equipment, but Lewis’s gaze never left him. “Let’s just... it’s warm in the van, Arthur. Come inside. Vivi will kick my shins if she wakes up and you’re still freezing. You wouldn’t want to risk those, would you?”

Arthur made a sound. It might’ve been a chuckle at one point.  “N-no-- a-and V-viv-- she’d-- be-- be sad she couldn’t-- stick her cold toes on-- me.” He stuttered and halted as he spoke, slow and choppy. It was lighthearted, but his voice still threatened to break the dam with every word. It was the best he could do to keep himself steady and still say them. 

But Lewis’s soft laugh said it was enough. 

The divide felt smaller, with Lewis’s hand on his shoulder, as he ushered him in through the van’s back doors.

[prose-for-hire]

Right on time

Pairing: Spike x reader; Faith x reader [reader dates men & women]

Request: Not requested. I’m trying to write whatever’s coming into my head even if it isn’t my best so that I can be inspired to write something potentially better for a fic someone’s requested lolll. Requests will still be written but they may be a little slower than normal sorry 💖

Desc: Reader was in a relationship with Faith but since she was in a coma the reader turned to Spike for comfort and feelings begin to grow.

Warning: Sex references; set in hospital; mention or discussion of a kind of loss. swearing.

The walls appeared to be closing in again. The noise around you lulled every so often with a sombre silence. The hollowed eyes of loss surrounded you but had no reason to look your way. They were all stuck in their own minds. A funeral march in the making.

The occasional laughter bubbled up, from those that clutched hope so desperately their knuckles were perpetually white. It didn’t feel right in this place though, it was a surreal room that held both the impending horror and delight depending on what the doctor said next. You could nearly taste it in the air it was that strong. The mixture of such strong emotions blanketed the room in a thick tension. A kind of purgatory.

You were sitting in the adjoined café to the hospital coaxing your mug to give you some answers when you didn’t even know what questions to ask. You stared into your mug, wishing it could offer you come kind of comfort. The human touch you craved just couldn’t be replicated. Her touch. It had been so long now that you had almost given up.

Faith was in a coma. The only woman you had ever fallen in love with couldn’t open her eyes. Could barely breathe on her own. She shouldn’t be lying there. She didn’t deserve that, no matter the choices she made. She didn’t deserve to end her days this way. Or any way, in your opinion.

When you had been together, just the two of you it had been so good. You redefined the meaning of love together. You were unapologetically each other’s. You promised forever and she had been taken away from you.

She had confided in you in a way that she couldn’t with anyone else. You shared hushed whispers, swapping your pasts beneath the sheets together. You had loved her when she lived out of a motel and you had loved her just the same when she lived in her apartment that the Mayor had bought for her.

She could be so soft when she wanted to be. Holding you into her and not letting the cruel world touch either of you. You were completely embraced by her adoration and you just hope that she felt the same.

That she knew that you would rather be in her place. That you loved her just as much now as you did the first day you whispered those words to her. Your skin on hers, wrapped in a sheet as the afternoon stretched out before you. It had been such bliss.

You still visited every Friday. Held her hand and told her that you love her. Spoke to her, told her everything about your life. Everything except…

Spike. He appeared before you just as your mind turned to him. As it often did, recently. You squinted, thinking he must have followed you.

This was unlike him anymore. He would usually wait around the crypt or in the alley around the back of the Bronze for you to decide the inevitable. That you would spend the night with him. Losing yourself in his touch. Fucking him until you could almost forget her. But you never did, of course.

You both knew the arrangement, don’t get attached. Don’t stay for breakfast (or dinner, should it be that way around). It suited you both. It was for comfort, you had both found yourselves increasingly isolated. On the peripheries of the Scoobies whilst still being hauled back in to help when they remembered you both existed. Still, there was no warmth from them. None of them trusted either of you.

You turned to each other, shielding from the cold. The loneliness that seeped in no matter how you tried to protect yourselves. The reality was that you needed each other. These nights were necessary. The sex was good, you both knew you couldn’t get better anywhere else.

Admittedly though, more recently you became more and more present in those moments. Where you wouldn’t leave as soon as you finished. You had been shuffling away without a word passing between you. Not so much as a thank you, come again.

No, you now didn’t even put up the pretence of going to the Bronze first. You found your way to him as soon as you could. You found yourself increasingly enjoying his presence. Which was something you hadn’t consciously found yourself feeling since Faith got hurt. Enjoyment. Maybe even happiness. In a strange way, Spike made you feel more than you could remember feeling.

One evening, you stayed up the entire night. Talking. His mind spoke to you. A connection that was fast becoming unbreakable since. Neither of you even suggested more and you hadn’t realised this until the morning came and you woke up with his arms draped around you. It was a soft intimacy that you hadn’t found yourself expecting but now it was happening you only wanted more of it.

More of him.

You hadn’t realised but Spike had been falling even before that night. He had a taste of you. Your body and mind. He saw the ugliest parts of you, the guilt and the sadness that you tried to conceal and loved you wholly.

He wanted to comfort you. Wanted to protect you from your sadness. From the guilt you held for even having a single moment of happiness when Faith no longer could.

He couldn’t help loving you, the way you spoke even in your sadness was appealing to him. You were a strong person although it was a task for him trying to get you to reveal how you truly felt.

It started to upset him, when you were upset. He found his mood lifted and fell depending on how you felt. On how you spoke about yourself. He was in love with you. All in. He was a fool for love. Or, more, a fool for you.

He so wanted you to see what he did. How he adored you so. That you were truly a gift to the world. That you were the reason he got up in the evening. On the promise of being close to you.

You kept things bottled up, held tightly to your chest. You didn’t tell him but you felt guilty, what with Faith still breathing and being involved with Spike. The doctors had told you multiple times that it would take a miracle for her to recover. That you should move on. But it was too hard letting go.

That was how you ended up here, psyching yourself up to go and join her by her bedside. Visiting hours started in less than an hour and you were still trying to convince yourself that there was still hope.

Her face, it looked almost peaceful lying in that bed but it brought you anything but peace. You knew she would rather be where the action was. Fighting and fucking in that way that only she could marry together perfectly. You could hold her hand in yours but it was often cold to match the room. You could bend it to curl around you but it never stayed.

You just wanted her to reach for you again, clasp her hand to yours and tell you that it would be okay. That she would make it out. That she could make it out of anything. Her confidence, you had loved it. She was so sure of herself and she had the same confidence in you. she was devoted to you in every way. Had near fought the Mayor over some of the comments he had made about you.

Spike spotted you immediately where you were sat hunched over your seat in the café. He stalked straight towards you, not moving out of anyone’s way. He sat down in front of you, characteristically throwing himself down and smirking as if this had all been planned. He took the mug from you and downed the remainder of the lukewarm liquid, grimacing at your choice of beverage. He slammed the mug back down, almost cracking it before sniffing and looking back at you expectantly.

“Did you follow me? You know you really shouldn’t do that to people-” You warned. You had this conversation more than once and he had mostly learned from what you had said. Or so you hoped anyway.

“I know. I wasn’t, I swear it” He said and when you raised an eyebrow he continued, “Stocking up wasn’t I?”

He pulled one half of his duster as if trying to sell you something but it revealed several concealed pockets that held blood bags. Human blood. He had come to get lunch.

This type of thing was what you had come to expect of Spike and so you just nodded and accepted it. In fact, you had begun to warm up his blood for him in the mornings when you both woke up together. He liked that you didn’t look at him in disgust for surviving. That rather you understood. He smiled at you before patting himself down again.

He took a cigarette from his pack and started to light up, forgetting where he was. You reached and took the object from him, dropping it in your cup. The dregs put the lit end out with a disappointing sizzle.

When you had leaned in, his eyes had widened. Your proximity was something he wanted more of. Those soft, familiar gestures of comfort. They meant a lot to him. Although, it wouldn’t stop him testing just how familiar he could be back to you.

“Question is, why are you? Doc said she’s gone, pet. No point making it harder on yourself” he said slowly, knowing not to push too hard. Last time he had started to press you to talk about it more you hadn’t spoken to him for a week. 

You knew what the doctor had said. But you couldn’t stop coming. You couldn’t let her go. You couldn’t leave her behind.

“I love her” You said sadly. The words stung Spike and he lowered his gaze to the table between you. His jaw tensed and he tried to blink the water from his eyes before you saw it. Your love meant too much to him. Sometimes, you wished it wasn’t true. You wish you could move on and just forget. But she had meant everything to you, even after she had joined up with the Mayor you stuck by her. You had fallen so deeply.

The way she always held you close. Kissed you until you were breathless as soon as she saw you. That smile that could light up a room. She would have died rather than see you hurt in any way. Faith loved you, you had never doubted it.

But as soon as you thought this your mind moved to Spike. In the same way, he clung to you protectively. Gave you all of his time. Would rather give up anything so that you could have even a second of happiness.

“But… I think… I think I feel the same about you” Your sentence exploded from your mouth before you could brace yourself. You hadn’t even thought them properly before you expressed these words. But, you knew that you meant it. That you adored every part of him.

You were scared though, that he may suffer the same fate as the only other person you loved. You didn’t need to explain this though, he understood.

He had gasped. Audibly. Spike was looking at you as if you had hung the stars in the sky. He reached for you from across the table, his features crudely carved out of the fluorescent lighting. Yet he still managed to keep this soft expression on his face. The one that was only yours.

“I have loved you since the first I saw you. Couldn’t even begin to deny these feelings inside. I need you, near crave you at times. Nothing compares to you, pet. Nothing even comes close”

He took your hand in his from over the table as he began to offer his feelings to you. This love that he had harboured in secret for too long. This soft adoration that he could now allow to flow freely. He assured you that he was yours, in any way you wanted him.

His hand caressed yours in such a way that you could no longer imagine him letting go. This intimacy meant more than you could even begin to describe. He slowly rubbed his thumb against the back of your hand as he spoke so earnestly.

You could have cried. Could have thrown the table aside and urgently pressed your lips against his. Instead, you clasped your hand tighter, wove your fingers firmly between his. You needed this. You needed him.

He squeezed your hand tighter as you spoke, trying to shuffle your thoughts into some type of cohesion. You wanted to explain. Wanted to match the beautiful way he expressed his own emotions to you. But something had stopped you. Or, someone. It felt as if someone had a hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing your throat until no words could form.

Your eyesight began to blur. The corners of your vision turning to static. But there was something, a flicker that caught your attention.

Her. Standing there in someone else’s clothes. Paler than you remembered but still completely her.

“Faith you’re…”

“Right on time” She nodded, smiling at you. Although her eye was almost twitching as she looked at the way you were both intimately sprawled across the table. Leaning in towards each other closer as the other spoke.

You couldn’t help but get up, dropping Spike’s hand in your shock. Your vision completely enraptured by her. You were so excited you didn’t hear a British accent muttering ‘Bloody brilliant’ as he contemplated that his relationship with you had just completely changed. Again.

To have everything he had ever wanted from you now potentially ripped away in almost the same breath hurt. Deeply. And so he blamed Faith for it. 

You launched yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her so enthusiastically. She hissed a little and you moved but you were unable to part from her. You pressed a chaste kiss against her lips before laughing at how amazing it was to have her standing before you after all of this time.

They scowled at each other while your back was turned, hugging Faith more gently again. They knew exactly how the other felt about you. Because they themselves felt it.

You opened your mouth to say something but then it dawned on you. You remembered what you had just said to Spike. Suddenly this reunion was bittersweet. You loved her completely and couldn’t leave her side now. But life had moved on and you had found yourself a spirit that spoke to yours. You also loved him.

You looked between them both and time stopped. There was no choice here. You knew who your heart belonged to. It was split in two, in equal parts. Your heart - it was theirs.

[alittleimagine]

just a favor pt. 1

derek hale x reader 

prologue

Derek looked tense. You understood why- it wasn’t every day a person brought a fake significant other for a holiday dinner with their parents- but, it simply wouldn’t do. 

You had this. You were going to be the best fake girlfriend the Hales had ever seen. Hell, if Derek’s purported terrible taste in women was true then you were likely to be the best girlfriend they’d ever seen fake or otherwise. 

Now you just had to make Derek believe it. 

You jotted down ‘basketball fans’ in your notebook and tapped the pen to your lips. “We should probably discuss any pet names.” You said. Your natural inclination was to watch him until his ears turned pink again, but he already looked ready to lose it at any moment and that was the opposite of your goal this time around. Instead, you kept your eyes on your paper, even if you watched him from the periphery. 

When you’d met with him days ago to start getting details together it was obvious he had no idea what he was doing. That was fine, you had plenty of experience with fanfiction and Hallmark movies.

From the corner of your eye you could see Derek glance your way. He didn’t look alarmed, per se, but he was far from relaxed. 

“Pet names?”

“Yeah. You know- honey, babe, snookums?” There was no way in hell you would ever seriously call Derek snookums, but if calling him things like Sugar Butt or Honey Bunches made his ears turn that pretty shade of pink you would have some fun with it. “If we’re going to use any kind of nickname we want to get in the habit so it sounds normal and not weird.” 

You angled yourself toward him, dropping the pretense of reading the same five lines on your notebook. 

He furrowed his brow, looking deep in thought. “I don’t know. Jennifer hated pet names.”

Jennifer. Hated enough that even sweet Kira had ranted and raved for weeks after she dumped Derek. If this was going to work, you thought, he could not talk about her. 

“Okay. New rule number one. If you want your family to believe you are over your heinous ex, it’s best not to mention her.” You said. “As far as you’re concerned any mention of Jennifer should prompt a ‘Jennifer who?’ in your mind. New girlfriends don’t like the mention of old girlfriends.”

He winced. “You’re right.”

“Also, screw whatever Jennifer liked or didn’t like. I’m asking 

Derek Hale, what you’re comfortable with.”

For a moment he said nothing, then nodded resolutely. There was the slightest loosening of his shoulders and you smiled to yourself. 

“You can call me whatever. Except snookums.” He added in a rush. 

You snorted. 

“I don’t know what I’ll call you though. It might just be Y/N.” 

“That’s fine. Go with whatever feels normal. I’m probably going to call you babe. Or Derek. Or D- you can blame Stiles for that one. Who knows.” You shrugged. Without thinking about it, you wrote ‘babe’ onto a separate line of the notebook. 

“Are you really taking notes?” The car slowed as you pulled up to a light and Derek took the opportunity to look over at the little blue and gold journal you’d been fiddling with for most of the car ride. 

“Not quite,” you said, unsure how to properly explain it, “I’m never going to review the notes or study them. But, jotting things down just helps me organize my thoughts and remember things. We’re planning a classic fake dating holiday shenanigan here- you want me on my A-game.”

“I can’t believe you even agreed to this.” He muttered as he started driving again. 

Malia and Kira had not been surprised at all when you’d told them. Kira had spit out her apple cider when you barged into the coffee shop you’d planned to meet them at and declared that you were now dating Malia’s cousin (Kira never failed to give you a good reaction), but after hearing the rest there had only been knowing nods. 

When you’d moved to Beacon Hills Derek had been almost a year into the ill-fated relationship with Jennifer. You’d been introduced to both of them at the same time by Stiles and Jennifer had seemed like a perfectly friendly person, but the face Stiles made when they turned their backs had been plenty indication that she was not the most well-loved. 

You never spent any time with Jennifer directly. As you began to fold more and more into the close circle of friends you noted that she never went to movie night and she never joined the girls for sushi. Lydia had insisted that they’d tried to be nice and include her in the beginning, but that hadn’t lasted long.

“There was pretty much zero chance I would turn this down.” 

The truth was Derek was a babe and so much your type it was almost painful, but you’d always assumed he didn’t like you very much. When he’d asked you to fake date him you’d figured either he didn’t dislike you as much as you’d thought or he was really desperate. Either way, you couldn’t say no.

“Because you’re a little crazy?” 

You flicked his arm with your pen. “Never mind, rule number one is don’t ever call your girlfriend crazy. Don’t call any woman crazy just to be safe.” You said.

“Noted.” He looked like he was trying not to smile and that was reassuring. “But, really, why would you say yes to a Thanksgiving pretending you’re my girlfriend in front of mostly strangers?” 

You shrugged. “How often does an opportunity like that come up?” He didn’t need to know that you wanted to become friends and that it wasn’t hard to pretend to be head over heels for him. “Besides, you looked really desperate. Who was your next option? Stiles in a dress?”

The image flashed in your head the moment you said it. 

“I should have said no. That would have been hilarious.”

“If you’d said no I would have had to fake some terrible accident.” 

You snorted. “And they say I’m dramatic.” You tapped your pen to the paper and wracked your brain for anything you might have missed. “Okay, let’s walk through it.” You said as you turned in the car seat to face him.

“Kira and Malia will arrive tomorrow morning, and they are prepared with our basic story. Which is as simple as possible. The more detail you give unprompted, the easier it is to spot a lie. I got to town, thought you were way hot,” Derek flushed and you added another mark to your mental tally, “but you were with Jennifer. You guys broke up, you got over it, we were hanging out with everyone else, you realized I am also way hot, we got together. Simple.” 

Derek, blush slowly fading, nodded again. “And if they ask for details we tell them about running into each other a couple of times on our own. At the pizza place first. Then the coffee shop the next time. And talked.” He said it like he was still trying to memorize every detail.

“I kissed you first. And tada, we’ve been together since then.” 

You’d kept it all simple and common on purpose. No one questioned such an every-day story. Both of Derek’s sisters had been to Beacon Hills to visit him since you’d moved to town so there were restrictions to keep in mind as well. 

A thought struck you. “Hey, pull over into the next gas station.”

Derek glanced at you quickly. “You need something?” He asked, already flicking the turn signal on. 

“Park to the side.” You said, then waited until he’d pulled all the way into a parking spot to unbuckle your seatbelt. You looked at him very seriously. 

The crease in his brow deepened. “Is everything okay?” Hesitantly he turned his body to face you. 

“We need to kiss.” 

“What?” Forget his ears and neck, you were sure Derek was red to the tips of his toes. He gaped at you and looked around the car once as though some invisible passenger had more information. 

“Relax. Breathe.” You had discussed physical contact days ago. He knew to expect casual touching from you and cheek kisses were a given. He knew that there was a chance you’d have to kiss-kiss because, as you’d said, ‘assuming we won’t is a surefire way to have a kiss demanded’. “I’m not talking making out, heavy tongue action, getting steamy in the 7-11 parking lot.”

He ran a hand over his face. 

“But, chances are the occasion for us to kiss will come up. I don’t know about you but I don’t typically make out in front of my mom, but kissing on the lips seems pretty standard.” When he nodded you went on. “So we should probably not have the first time we kiss be at that awkward moment. No one will believe us if we can’t even find each other’s lips.” 

Derek leaned his head back against the seat and took a deep breath. “You’re right.” He said. 

“I know. I usually am.” 

He rolled his eyes but it seemed like the casual arrogance was doing something to relax him. He sat up straight and turned to you again. “Let’s do this then.”

You adjusted in the seat, folding a leg under you and leaning forward. You expected Derek to be hesitant like he’d been about every other step of the way, but he seemed resolute when he reached forward to wrap his hand around the base of your skull and pull you in.

The kiss was chaste- nothing but a warm press of his lips to yours, but the heat of his hand against your neck was extremely distracting. 

You pulled back first, schooling your expression into something you hoped read amused and not like you wanted to give that another shot. 

Derek quickly sat back into his seat. His face gave nothing away, but you thought you could see pink crawling up his neck.

The place where his hand had been only a moment ago now felt cold. Unconsciously your hand moved to cover the spot while you leaned back in your seat and buckled up. “There.” You said. Your voice was steady and casual. “Now that that’s done, we can keep going.”

Derek cleared his throat and glanced your way before he buckled his seatbelt and pulled out of the parking spot. 

There was a tension in the car that you hadn’t felt before the practice kiss. It could not be allowed to continue. 

You reached down to pick your notebook back up. You clicked the pen open and tapped it against your bottom lip. “So, let’s be honest, which of your sisters is going to want to embarass you most?”

Derek groaned. 

[hellotvshowtrash]

Grief (W.M)

Summary: Wanda unsuccessfully tries to move on from Vision.

Word count: 1.4K

Warnings: loss, death, depictions of Vision’s dead body (nothing we haven’t seen before) grieving, depression, guilt, Wanda blaming herself for Vision’s death. Also wandavision spoilers

A/N: hello! This is my fic for @sventeen-daybreak’s writing challenge as well as the May MCU prompt challenge! Leave a comment/reblog/like if you enjoyed!

Wanda laughs, but it doesn't sound like her. Her ears don't recognize the sound which is more like static than giggles. The man sitting across from her is unfamiliar, some brown eyed, brown haired, bland man, smiling at her like she is sunshine, but she does not want to be sunshine, not to him, at least. She doesn't even remember his name at this point.

His hand is laying on the table, expecting to meet hers halfway, and she looks at it through her periphery. Internally, she battles herself, battles the part of her that laughs at his jokes and wants to hold his hand. She lays her hand gently on top of his, layering his with hers like a blanket that hasn't been used in years. The feeling of her skin on his is alien and her subconscious yells that it's not right, none of this is right, none-

"Wanna get out of here?" The man across from her asks, his eyes gentle and kind, and she knows he means well. Her thoughts aside, this date has been going rather well and if it weren't for her, maybe they could really be something, but this man is not who she wants nor who her heart needs. This man doesn't know the intricacies of Wanda, her heart, her magic. She smiles politely and nods, letting him stand and lead her out of the crowded restaurant. The night is warm and loud, the streets of New York City buzz with chatter and the smell of exhaust.

Still hand in hand, the conversation between them doesn't cease or even pause. Wanda will give credit where credit is due, this man is easy to be with. His voice is American, no accent to be found. No prose while speaking, no poetic bliss. She finds his voice to be velvety and smooth to the ears, but sandpaper to the heart. She realizes he doesn't know where he is going as he walks with her back to her apartment, he's shy enough to not admit that he knows exactly who she is, that she can defend herself perfectly well, but he's chivalrous, he’s down to earth, he’s not blowing his shot.

She smiles as he talks about his family, his sister and her children who are his favourite little kids in the world and how being an uncle is amazing and how someday I'd really like to have a family of my own, y'know? He doesn't know it but he strikes just about every nerve possible in those few sentences and her chest tightens. Pietro, mom, dad, Vis- all in one horrible fell swoop. She takes a deep breath, her smile unbreaking. Chatter continues, mostly one-sided as Wanda pretends to listen to his voice. She isn’t focused on the words he’s saying, just the burning feel of his hand in hers and how wrong it is.

Wanda assumes he’s stalling as they get closer to her building, her dingy one-bedroom apartment is waiting for her, and she can feel the sanctuary she has found there. They approach the building, and he pauses, he’s finally stopped talking and is deliberating on what to say next. Before he had a chance to say anything, Wanda speaks up.

“I had a really nice time tonight, thank you.” She smiles again, it’s small and kind, and she’s anxious to get inside.

“I did, too. Thank you for coming,” he’s beaming now, like he can see their second and third and last date together. He steels himself and pulls her close by her hand, his other cupping her waist. She’s surprised when his lips meet hers, but she lets her eyes close and her other hand rest on his shoulder. He pulls away and smiles at her. “I hope we can do this again, soon. Goodnight, Wanda.” He gives a small wave and begins to walk in the direction he came.

Wanda releases a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, the ache in her chest lessening as she watches the man walk away. She curses herself for not remembering his name, it’s the least she could have done.

It’s a fitful night’s sleep. Not that she ever rests anymore. Her waking moments are consumed with thoughts of Vision and his dull red and grey and lifeless form. How it was her who did it - who killed him- the first time and how he had to suffer a second time. How he wasn’t coming back. Her dreams weren’t any better.

She’s back in the S.W.O.R.D headquarters, staring at Vision’s body and her words come back to her, “I can’t feel you.” Here, those words ring true over and over again echoing through her ears. It is when Vision’s mouth opens in a gasp, and she still doesn’t feel him. Instead, she feels a horrible dread because she’s had this dream, over and over again, and she knows what happens next. Vision��s body is no longer dissected and on different tables, he is put back together in a tangled jumble of wires and sparks, and he’s still dead. His eyes are still blank, he is swaying in front of her in this new black space - what happened to the surrounding lab? - His arms reach for her, and she feels her legs carry her toward him. She still feels the love for him, the pain for him, but she still does not feel him. She wraps her arms around him, around the stitches and the incorrect parts.

Something is different, in this dream. Vision looks down at her with his horrifying eyes, and he examines her, that much she can feel.

“Wanda, darling,” His voice is monotonous and fading, like his program is trying to restart. “Someone else has kissed you.” He observes.

“It was a mistake, Vis, I-,” Wanda begins to speak but Vision’s color begins to flood through him, vibrant red and silver. Her breath escapes her lungs - how could she forget how beautiful he is? He is repaired, whole, made anew and he is holding her in his strong arms, just as he used to.

His eyes are alive now, and they’re analyzing her. They bore into hers and she presses a hand against his cheek, a tear sliding down her own. “When you look into his eyes,” Vision begins to speak and Wanda’s memory of the man’s mocha eyes flash back into view, crinkling as he smiles at her from across their shared table . “Do you think of mine?” His lips graze hers gently, never actually planting. She can’t handle the idea of never kissing him again.

Wanda’s breath has left her lungs and she can’t breathe. She’s drowning, she’s sure she is.

“Vision, he is nothing to me.” She chokes and blinks, and Vision is back to his muddled red, dead eyes seeing her soul. He cocks his head and pushes her away from him, sending her stumbling backward. “Vis, please,” she cries now, a sob escaping her lips.

“This is all your fault, Wanda.” His voice is loud and electric, like he’s speaking through a megaphone at her. She crumples to her knees as he continues to stare her down, and she feels so small. She sobs and cries and can’t look at him any more, her arms wrapping around herself. She can’t make herself look up at him because she knows his eyes will break her. She can’t tell if he’s still there or now as she cries, because she still can’t feel him. Guilt and fear and panic rise up her throat like bile, tasting like blood.

She’s underneath abrasive sterile lights again as the scene changes once more, she’s back in the S.W.O.R.D lab and Vision is lying motionless on the table, pulled apart in chunks. She does not try to feel him again. She knows he will not be there. His words echo around her. “This is all your fault, Wanda.”

She wakes in a cold sweat, her tears streaming freely down her face. She is exhausted and frayed and left alone in the nearly empty apartment she has for herself. She sits up and pulls her knees to her chest, letting her cries come as they please.

She can’t feel him anymore, and it is all her fault.

—

Taglist: @elijahs-wife @dumble-daddy @alwaysfangirlingish @akshi8278 @nikmikaelsonswife @njeancastro316 @brown-eyed-babes

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “An Honest Conversation.”

Addressing the elephant in the room, and beginning to deal with a problem that has been ongoing for a few months. Hope you all like :)

The room was half dark, it wasn’t due to the time of day or anything, but mostly because he considered it the perfect ambiance for practicing. Besides, it was easier to see if the lights were dimmed just a little. He adjusted the holographic headset over his head and eyes and dropped into a low crouch. In front of him the small Drev warrior in the hologram did the same. He followed it’s movements repeatedly practicing the forms laid out before him. Forms that were unfamiliar.

The forms of what the Drev were now calling the Resurgence….. The new spiritual fighting forms brought about by their new saint and distributed to Drev all over the galaxy, brought down from the mountain and their saint. The saint of the Sun.”

Sunny

His current weapons specialist and ex.

She had returned to the ship after the incident with the writing not everyone could read.

He spun the spear in a tight circle.

Now that was another can of worms entirely considering that he had been taken over…. Possessed? By some kind of cosmic being who said he both was and wasn’t Deus, but was and wasn’t Adam himself, which of course Adam took issue with considering --the last time he checked-- he didn’t have any unfathomable godly powers. From the short and…. Admittedly awkward, conversations with Sunny, it seems that that same being had helped her to develop the fighting styles, coming to her in the middle of some ritualistic trance, taking his form and also claiming to be him at the same time.

Due to these encounters, the UNSC and GA had added this Deus/not Deus to a watchlist of possibly dangerous alien species which included, right now, only the space dragons and that weird organic structure which had given him the vision. Anything they couldn’t explain or understand went on the list.

And yes of course there were a few people who had managed to study the space dragon, but they still didn’t understand how it could so easily travel from one area of space to another, or how it seemed to move faster than it should be able to even when it wasn’t creating its own warp tunnels.

And now there was this Deus, who seemed to be able to read people’s minds, encroach on their dreams, and had the power to survive in environments hostile to man or alien.

He jabbed forward with the spear and spun back.

He was practicing the human form, which he found to be the most pleasing and convenient. 

Not that he was biased or anything.

Around him, a few more bodies filtered into the room  heading to the periphery where the TVs and games were set out. No one bothered him, where he practiced in the center dueling ring.

At least not until.

“Try keeping your elbow a little higher.”

He was startled out of his rumination, and turned to look towards where the voice had come from, only to freeze when he saw Sunny standing at the edge of the circle, shimmering spear in hand.

Ever since she had come back , there was something different about her. 

A cool, poise and confidence that hadn’t been so evident.

In his opinion it just made her more of a badass, and tried very hard to intimidate him though he didn’t let it.

He adjusted his elbow, “You mean like this.”

“Better, you’ll get more power out of a thrust.”

He lowered his spear and rested it against the floor. An awkward silence reigned between them for a moment. But based on the calm expression of her face, he knew it was only awkward because of him.

He sighed and then straightened himself, smiling. He lifted his spear gently swaying the tip back and forth in her direction, “So what does the great Saint think about a little friendly duel.”

She looked at him in mild amusement, and he knew that she knew that he knew she was going to kick his ass, but what else was he supposed to do? Talk? What would he even say?

Getting his ass kicked was much easier.”

“I’m not sure about that….”

 She trailed off 

He shook his head, “Oh come on you’re like the best warrior on Anin now, it's not like anyone is going to give you a really GOOD fight. But if you’re looking for a mediocre one, you might as well pick me.”

The corners of her mouth tightened, ‘I don’t thin-”

“I challenge you to a duel.”

She cut off and looked at him.

He continued to smile.

He had made a formal challenge, there was really no way for her to back out and the two of them knew it. That didn’t stop her from looking mildly concerned as she stepped into the circle. Adam kicked off his shoes looking for better grip against the floor with his bare feet. Sunny set herself up on the other side.

Adam’sl challenge had drawn attention from a few of the Drev in the room, who wandered over to watch the fight, no one had seen Sunny in combat just yet, and everyone was more than a little curious about what she could do now, Adam most of all. He knew that she had gone and practically been exalted, but also, he had always thought she was a talented warrior. He had trouble imagining her being any better.

He was about to eat those thoughts in a  moment as one of the Drev took the opportunity to referee the fight.

They clicked out the starting command, and before he really knew what was going on, he was surrounded by a mailstrum of metal as her spear whipped around this way and that faster than he could have thought possible. He came out of the first attack surprised that he wasn’t dead and unsure how he had kept her back. Though he was sure that a large portion of that had been luck.

She came at him again, and he threw himself into a wild dodge, careening backward around the outer edge of the circle as she continued to advance.

He tried to fend her off, but that was about the only thing he COULD do.

Months and months of practice, and another month fighting with the neospartan colony on the archipelago and the only thing he could do was just not die.

She whipped her spear around and he deflected it to the side, but she came back again reversing the momentum of his deflection and nearly catching him on the arm. He quickly switched hands and caught her third attack which came from under and up. The clattering of their spears had brought the attention of the rest of the crew, who turned in their seats to watch.

Sweat rolled down from his hairline.

Then she did something she had never done before and kicked at the back of his knee with her forward foot. Drev didn’t do kicks, but there she was, and suddenly he was on the ground. She came in for an overhand strike which he just barely caught and had to struggle to keep off him. His eyes were wide.

He was losing.

And losing badly.

He tried not to think about it, but couldn’t help but be reminded how Drev battle partners worked…. How they had to be equal in a fight.

She was just toying with him.

His hands trembled as the spear bore down towards his chest struggling against her strength. He was going to lose…. Just like that, right here on the floor… on his back.

He had given into the inevitability when.

NO!

He could do better!

With a primal yell of anger and frustration spurred on by adrenaline he thrust his arms forward, throwing her back and nearly off balance. Around the circle the Drev muttered as he leapt to his feet. His teeth were gritted, and this time it was he who attacked his focus and frustration meeting at a sharp spearhead point.

This time it was her backing up around the circle as he came forward.

It might have been her surprise that allowed that sudden lapse, but soon she was throwing her own attacks in, sharp and snapping like a whip. He caught them, just barely.

Their fight grew faster and faster, the blows grew harder and harder, until his hands grew numb with every strike struggling to even keep hold of his spear.

Together they fought back and forth shedding sparks. 

A crowd had gathered, a few of the humans looked as if they wanted to intervene, but Drev stopped them.

Adam came in for a side blow, which she caught, but this time the vibrations were too powerful, and his spear was knocked from his hands to go rolling across the floor and out of the circle. The Crowd stood with a cry of shock expecting the fight to be over. Sunny swung at him, and he ducked following up with a tight twisting kick that somehow caught the shaft of the spear against the ball of his foot. The blow was so powerful that her weapon was reached for her hand to go spinning after his own.

The room stared in shock and awe as they ended up on opposite sides of the circle from each other.

Sunny glanced over at the proctor as if expecting him to reset the match with their weapons.

But by then he was too far gone. All his pent up frustration at himself came out in one fell swoop as he rushed forward across the circle leaping into  a flying tackle which threw both of them violently to the ground.

The sound they made as they hit the floor was like the crack of gunfire. 

Four hands against two they fought, Sunny kicked him off, and he skidded across the floor onto to right himself and came running back. He caught her around the neck this time, grabbing her around the throat with one arm in a choke hold squeezing at the arteries on the slides of her neck, just similar enough to work like a human did.

Her hands scrabbled at his arms, and for a moment he forgot about her second pair of arms.

That was at least until the sharp carapace of her elbow came down on the inside flesh of his thigh. That loosened his grip sufficiently enough for her to throw him off. Unfortunately things didn’t work out well for him.

And there was a sharp crack and sudden roaring pain in his temple as his head hit the ground and bounced.

There was an audible gasp from the crowd as he rolled to land on his stomach on the other side of the circle. He was dazed and his head hurt horribly, but as if he was being guided on autopilot, he got back up.

Across the circle Sunny was just getting to her feet, and with a grimace she looked as if she was about to speak, but he didn’t let her, coming at her again.

Their grappling took them to the floor on multiple occasions, only for them to jump back up when one or the other broke free.

Across the circle the proctor motioned for their attention, and with the flash of metal on metal, their two spears were tossed back into the circle. Adam caught his from the air, as did Sunny, and then they were back at it again with no holds barred, full speed and full strength.

He caught Sunny high on the shoulder causing her to stagger and hiss in pain. 

She caught him on the thigh, which almost caused him to keep over in agony sure that the bone had been fractured.

Around the circle the faces looked uncomfortable.

He snarled and rushed forward. They caught each other in a sharp exchange of blows that left his fingers on fire.

And then, it happened. He saw it in her eyes as a subtle narrowing, and before he knew what happened, she spun her spear around and cracked it against the side of his prosthetic knee. In the dead silence of the room, he heard something snap, and then the steel eye whirring grinded to a halt.

He was suddenly helpless tipping onto the floor and unable to rise.

WHen he lifted his head he saw only the spear pointed towards his face.

The room was silent.

He tried to get to his feet, but the prosthetic did not respond. He was left to sit on the floor under the point of her spear.

The narrowing of Sunny’s eyes faded and she looked down at his leg…. The leg she had modified for him in something close to shock.

“Adam I….”

He tried to move it again, but it only dragged like the limb of a useless doll.

The thought repulsed him, and he quickly unlatched the leg causing it to drop to the floor with a dull thud.

There was a mummering around the room as people hurried forward to help. Nairobi picked up the leg to examine it. Ramirez helped haul him to his feet. He bit back the sudden feeling of helplessness that came with a handicap he often forgot about, but looking, looking at the broken prosthetic in Narobi’s hands he became acutely aware of his own physical weakness.

Someone sat him down in a chair, while all the engineers gathered around the leg trying to determine what had caused the crack. Krill hurried over, giving him a look like thunder. Adam hadn’t even noticed he was bleeding until that moment.

Sunny knelt next to him, “Adam I-”

He held up a hand, “It’s ok, it was my fault. I got carried away.”

He didn’t let her continue.

It was thankfully, and almost mercifully at that moment when the Celzex showed up bringing the Tricar scientist with him. It took much of the focus off him and Sunny, and gave him time to spew some orders. He tried his best not to think about the fight, and his missing leg though limping along on the aluminum forearm crutches was hard to forget. With calm, patience and poise he dealt with their stowaway in good humor, allowed Krill to treat his head and check for a concussion, and then gave himself leave to retire to his room.

With the door shut, the turned to face the mirror across from his bed.

He wasn’t used to this picture of himself, less the admiral of the UNSC and more a veteran of the Drev war, with his missing leg, and the shitty aluminum crutches that had been military issued.

He hopped over to the edge of the bed and sat down, looking at the cold metal of the crutches, remembering the first time they had been given to him, on his return trip to earth. He didn’t really understand why he had kept them. 

Adam often forgot about this particular handicap. Or that of his missing eye, most of the time he thought of his new robotic parts as augmentations giving him advantages over other humans, but now he realized how dependent he was one them. When the lights were off and the augmentations were removed he was reminded of the past.

Sure there were times in his day where he remembered. The early morning before he put his leg on, and the fact that his on suite shower had a bench so he could sit, but those were minor things he could almost forget about. Looking down now, that didn’t seem possible.

There was a knock on his door.

He didn’t want to see anyone, but no. He could deal with this just as he had everything else.

“Come in,” He called 

He had not expected Sunny, sitting up in surprise as she walked in.

His first instinct was to throw the crutches to the side and cover his messed up leg, but he didn’t resist the urge and looked at her straight on. He leaned against the crutches, “I’m going to go ahead and apologize for earlier, I got carried away.”

“I think we both did.”

There was silence as she stood in the doorway.

He sighed. He knew what was coming, “Why don’t you sit down.” he patted the bed beside him, “or go grab that chair over there.”

She didn’t bother with the chair, instead, walking over to sit next to him. He adjusted himself as her weight sank the cushioning next to him. They both stared into the mirror across from them meeting eyes in the mirror.

“I’ll fix your leg. I just need a single part.”

“I didn’t doubt that someone would.”

She glanced over at him, “I’m sorry….. It was a…. Low blow.”

“I thought it was more good tactics honestly.”

“You don’t need to lie to me.”

There was another silence, as he looked inside himself for the truth. Granted that was part of it, but there was more. He wondered how honest he should be before deciding it was time to just say it. The worst that could happen was she would leave, and while that would kill him, it wouldn’t “kill” him.

He turned to look at her, “Yeah…. I suppose I don’t like being reduced to this.” He motioned down at himself, “but that's a personal issue, plenty of people handle it better than me. And I think I was honestly asking for it. You’ve been sainted in our time apart and I…. well I have done nothing of note, so I guess I was just trying to prove something to myself.”

She turned her head to look at him, and this time they made eye contact for real.

“Prove what to yourself.”

He gave her a brittle smile, “Prove that I could still match you in battle on the vein hope that one day I could repair what I did, but knowing I probably can’t.” 

She stared at him, her golden eyes unblinking.

He found himself continuing to talk, “And it's not just that of course. I admire what you went and did. I wish I could be more like you. I wish I knew what I wanted and I wish I could make myself better.”

She was silent for a long moment.

Before.

“You hurt me you know.”

He knew she wasn’t talking about the fight.

Adam wanted to look away again but didn’t , “I know I did.”

“But I also understand that humans are different from us. You often do things against your best interest to protect people. I believe that that is not the way, but, in the end, this is subjective.”

They waited quietly.

“Do you think…. I will ever be able to repair what I did.”

His heart hammered in his chest, but he took a few long, deep breaths.

He wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe some cryptic answer like, I don’t know, or you’re just going to have to find out.

The kind of answer you’d expect from what popular media says about relationships.

Of course he should have known better. Sunny wasn’t like that.

She tilted her head to look at him, “Really, Adam?”

He felt as if his heart was sinking into the stub of his leg.

“I see.”

She rolled her eyes in a very human manner, “Not that you moron. You didn’t even do anything that bad, at least not in your culture. So YES of course you can fix it. Now I can’t exactly give you a timetable on that, but obviously I would be interested. You seem to have worked some things out, and from what I’ve heard about your escapades these last few months I’m not the only one who has been seeking higher knowledge.” 

She stood, “Anyway, I’m going to see if I can’t rig up something to hold you over until we can get parts at Europa.”

She ruffled his hair a little before turning and walking out the door.

He blinked in her wake.

Why did she always manage to throw him off balance?

And why had that been the most adult conversation he had ever had in his life?

He sighed and leaned back on his bed.

Ah yes 27 and he was finally becoming an adult.

How nice. 

[magpiefngrl]

Do you think people taking issue with the noncon/consent exploration in mdzs are people who mainly read fanfiction? I'm wondering because I've recently read both atonement and the world according to garp and I found both interesting and good reads even when I morally disagreed with the main characters actions or opinions, whereas in fanfiction I often look for 'canon fix its'. All my favorite mdzs fics are about people making amends. Maybe for some reason people want mdzs to be an explicitly queer fanfic version of the untamed? Idk, I think what I really want is to read a full-blown thesis on fandoms

Hi anon and apologies for my late reply.

The short answer: I don't know. I have to say, first, that I'm mainly on the periphery of the mdzs/cql fandoms (who congregate on twitter), I haven't made many new fandom pals, and I keep seeing posts about drama that has happened somewhere somewhen but never the actual drama. I keep missing all the wank lol (seriously, tho: fandom wank can be very illuminating as to the attitudes of the fanbase)

In short, I'm not very knowledgeable as to the prevalent fandom mentality and why people might complain about the consent issues, but if I were to make some assumptions, this is what they'd be:

Firstly, the topic itself. Consent is a sensitive topic, it's a huge trigger for many, and it's understandable that some people don't want to read wangxian's con noncon kink or a dub con kiss or anything similar. Which is perfectly fine, they should stop reading a narrative that explores consent throughout in order to keep themselves safe.

But my gut tells me that you're right, though, in that many of the people kicking up a fuss about the consent issues of mdzs are mostly people who came from cql; in other words, people who have watched the subtle version of wangxian romance, and are used to fanfic or published romance novels like Carry On etc, and expect something similar. They expect romance. Porn. The kind of sex you read in fanfic or in the romance novel section of KU, which is meant to arouse and titillate. When I began reading MXTX's novels, I also initially assumed they'd be like fanfics: a story with a canonically queer pairing posted on internet? It was also my own assumption, come to think of it.

From what I've seen, the romance is the key re: consent (the dub con kiss, the incense burner extra etc) because few, if any, have made similar complaints about the non-consensual golden core transfer, which is the only massively and unarguably noncon instance in the whole series. I've seen excellent meta about it, but not the vehement reactions and hate that the sex scenes have gathered.

The number of fans who began reading danmei recently (and I'm including myself here) must have quadrupled since the success of cql. It's a niche, very niche genre that became almost mainstream, and of course there'd be friction. The success of cql plus other adaptations brought a lot of people that prob wouldn't read danmei or enjoy it. Which is fine to not want to read it, it's fine to dislike the genre, as it's fine to explore new genres and discover new things but many fans, imo, came with the expectations mentioned above. That it's cql but with hot sex. Fans of the novel mdzs are (I'm speculating) people who are comfortable with a highly nuanced book about many weighty themes incl. consent, and prob read similar books which all seem to feature hugely messed up characters and grey morality and be angsty af, so I'd be surprised if the original danmei fans were the ones complaining about a rape fantasy in an extra.

As for wanting to see different things in fanfic, well, that's what fic does, isn't it? It's pure wish fulfillment. You write about the ship you think should be together, or happy endings for the ship that didn't get one, or the yunmeng siblings reconciliation that we all wished we'd see, or Wen Qing being alive etc. It's what we didn't get. I love reading this in fics but I also loved the actual canon story. If I read books that remind me of fanfic (in that everything is neat and orderly and people are being their Best Selves and make few, understandable mistakes for which they immediately apologise), I don't actually enjoy them. I relish the Atonement angst (read this ages ago; should give it a reread), but if I were to read Atonement fanfic, I'd like a happy ending, you know? I get different things from fic than I do from novels, but a lot of people read only fanfic and perhaps they think that's how stories are.

I've rambled on and on. As I've said, I am just a lurker in this fandom. I assume others might have a better understanding of why people have whined so much about the noncon elements of a novel nobody forced them to read. (i'm being salty bc most of the times people complained about this they were also incredibly dismissive towards the author and the genre to the point of coming across as culturally insensitive and racist. Lots of bad faith takes, basically.)

I'm also fascinated by fandom ecosystems---I'd love to read a good thesis on the mdzs/cql fandom too.

[veorlian]

honey tongue

The stories will tell you that falling in love with your best friend is as easy as breathing, that it's the height of romance. Varric Tethras had written far too many stories to believe that crock of nonsense.

my submissions for @hightown-funk are up!! here’s the first one <3

read it on ao3 here

The Hanged Man was legendary for two things: bar fights, and ale that was at least 50% vinegar. There were also the suspiciously sticky floors, the rooms you could rent by the hour, and enterprising individuals keen on relieving you of all that burdensome coin you had on you. It was what people had come to expect. The barkeep had offered a higher-quality ale once, and the regulars had stormed out in protest. And Maker have mercy if they ever decide to clean the place up a bit. There’d be riots in the streets.

Well. More riots than usual, at least.

Marian Hawke spent most evenings in the Hanged Man. The petty crime and general chaos faded into the periphery as she played Wicked Grace with her friends. It was replaced with a different kind of petty crime and chaos, but at least this was hers.

And speaking of chaos, at the moment Varric was regaling the crowd with the tale of their most recent trip to the Bone Pit. There was a rough semi-circle of regulars standing around Varric, with the kind of slack-jawed, wide-eyed expressions that normally accompanied one of his particularly tall tales.

He was in fine form. Marian had never quite figured out how he could look so laid back and engaged at the same time. She’d tried it once. Carver had just said that she looked constipated. Varric made it look easy. He made most things look easy.

“And then Hawke raised her sword and leaped through the air, landing on the dragon’s back, killing it in a single blow—”

“It was already mostly dead,” Garrett called. Marian flipped him off. A few of the stragglers towards the back of Varric’s audience turned to face the two of them.

“It was not,” Marian tossed back.

“Was too."

Marian rolled her eyes at her brother and leaned forward on the pitted table.

“Hey Varric, tell them about the part where I did a sick back-flip off of the dragon—”

“And fell on your ass—” Garrett interrupted. More of Varric’s audience turned now, their eyes bouncing back and forth between the twins like a tennis match.

“And landed perfectly and took a little bow,” Marian finished, pointedly ignoring Garrett. She kept her eyes fixed on Varric’s face, and the wry little twist of his lips.

“Of course! How could I forget,” he said, his eyes dancing. “As she struck the killing blow, the dragon came crashing down to the ground. Hawke gracefully leapt off of its back, landing neatly on the ground.”

“I can’t believe this,” Garrett complained. Varric continued to regale the audience with tales of the twins’ exploits. Marian patted Garrett on the arm in a way expertly calculated to be both patronizing and comforting.

“Sorry little brother, it’s just not very dramatic when you wave your fancy baton around,” Marian replied. “Doesn’t have the same impact as a bigass sword.”

“Last I checked, fireball has a hell of an impact,” Garrett shot back.

“Potato, potahto,” Marian said dismissively.

“There’s only one way to settle this,” he said. He rolled up his sleeves and set an elbow down on the table, his hand open. Marian smiled crookedly and did the same. Varric lost his audience again, as they formed a loose circle around the table. There was the clink of coin changing hands, and an exaggerated sigh and eye roll from Carver.

“My money’s on Hawke,” Isabela called.

“Which one?” Garrett and Marian asked in unison.

“Whichever one wins,” Isabela said cheerfully.

“I’m not sure that’s how that works,” Merrill murmured anxiously. Isabela waved her away airily and tossed a few coins on the table.

“Have you seen how ripped I am? Of course I’m gonna win,” Garrett said. Marian snorted and shook her head.

“Bigass sword. Fancy baton,” she said. She gripped Garrett’s hand, and the arm wrestling began. It was evenly matched, as most things were with the twins. But not for nothing did Marian swing around a giant hunk of metal nearly the same height as herself.

She slammed Garrett’s hand down into the table, grinning widely.

“Best two out of three,” he said immediately. She laughed and shook her head.

“You lost fair and square,” she said cheerfully. Garrett flipped her off and went to refill his drink. Marian glanced up to find Varric making his way over to the table, settling in his customary spot at her side.

“You couldn’t wait until I was done?” Varric asked agreeably. Marian shrugged nonchalantly.

“Not my fault your admirers couldn’t resist the lure of my rippling muscles,” she said. “You’ll just need to make me sound even cooler. What if I had a sword for a hand?”

“No good,” Varric replied, shaking his head, “it’d interfere too much with the romance scenes.”

“Varric, I’m not exactly seeing a lot of that kind of action at the moment,” Marian said dryly. “Let me have a giant sword for a hand. It’d be cool as hell.”

“C’mon Hawke, a romance plot is always more compelling. Why not ask the pirate?” he said, gesturing to Isabela. Isabela caught the motion and winked broadly at them. “I can see it now; a daring love story, set against the backdrop of a ship tossed at sea. Readers love that stuff.” Marian snorted derisively and shook her head.

“I’ve got enough going on trying to stop this city from going to hell,” she complained. There was a deep ache in her chest that she couldn’t quite place. Fortunately, she didn’t have to think about it for very long, because Garrett arrived back at the table, his arms full of terrible beer.

“How come I never get the big dramatic retellings?” he griped.

“Because you keep heckling me,” Varric said dryly. “Plus, you’re not as good-looking.”

Marian’s heart stuttered and fully came to a stop. She ducked her head to hide the blush that threatened to set her face on fire. What the hell…?

“Nonsense, I’m the prettiest person in Kirkwall,” Garrett said primly.

“C’mon, we all know that’s Merrill,” Marian said, swallowing down her embarrassment. A crooked grin spread across her face. “At least, that’s what Carver always says.”

“Hey—” Carver began.

The ensuing chaos and overlapping voices covered up the weird and alarming thoughts floating through Marian’s head.

 Plus, you’re not as good-looking.

Did Varric think she was good-looking?

Andraste’s sacred knickers, did that actually matter to her? Marian tossed back her drink in one go and stumbled to the bar to grab another.

Somewhere between the witching hours of 2am and 4am, the others traipsed out. Now, Marian was good at traipsing. She’d elevated it from a science to an art. She could traipse with the best of them. But when 4am rolled around, she didn’t.

It was a weekly ritual at this point, and it happened more often now that she was in that stuffy old mansion. Such a big place, but it felt like the walls were constantly creeping in on her. More than a few hours there and she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

And so.

“Varric, don’t make me walk all the way back to Hightown,” she would groan, and he would chuckle that warm chuckle that brought the blood rushing to her ears. Probably just the alcohol, she always thought.

“Alright, you can stay just this once,” he would say, and she would flash him a crooked grin.

“You’re my favourite.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, serrah,” he’d say. She’d generally waggle her eyebrows at him suggestively, and they’d both laugh.

She didn’t remember when the flirting had started. A few minutes after they’d met, she figured. It was just a part of them, both of them. An easy way to keep everyone at arm’s reach. If they both agreed that it didn’t mean anything, then there was no harm no foul.

After all, it’s not like anything was ever going to come of it. Varric was happily married to a crossbow, and he’d repeatedly told her that he wasn’t into humans. So that was that. Marian was perfectly happy being Varric’s best friend and partner-in-crime.

And if she couldn’t sleep these days without hearing the gentle scritching of his quill on parchment, well, no one needed to know that. … Varric Tethras was a storyteller, most comfortable staying unobtrusively on the sidelines of a tale. It was safest that way really. Fewer people shooting at you, for one.

He couldn’t remember when it had started, becoming a part of Hawke’s story. He hadn’t been, at first. He’d been a plot device, a quest-giver just tagging along.

“You won’t even notice I’m here,” he’d told her. Varric Tethras: such a gifted liar that sometimes he almost convinced himself.

It had shifted by inches, their friendship. They’d gotten along almost instantly, like they’d just been waiting for the other to come along. So it was natural for them to spend most of their time together. And then it was natural for her to sleep on his couch when she was too drunk to walk home. His palatial suite at the Hanged Man was her palatial suite. That was all perfectly natural and normal and fine.

Until it wasn’t.

He couldn’t fall asleep these days until he heard her snoring (she and Dog seemed to be in a competition for who could be the loudest. On occasion it shook the dilapidated rafters).

She’d slipped into his life as easy as breathing. Easier, in some ways. So many little rituals. Like putting extra jokes into his manuscripts, just for her.

“Hey Hawke, you think you could give this a read for me?” he asked. She glanced up from where she was lounging on one of his chairs. She arched an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across her face.

“Am I going to blush?” she asked. He chuckled and shook his head.

“I just want to make sure that I’ve got the character right,” he replied.

“Aw, you’re no fun,” she said cheerfully, already on her feet and moving to lean over his shoulder. She rested an elbow on top of his head, like he was an armrest. He cleared his throat pointedly.

“Problem, serah Tethras?” she asked innocently.

“Hands off the merchandise,” he said easily. She leaned down to meet his eyes, her haphazardly cut bangs flopping in her face.

“I think you’ll find it’s my elbow on the merchandise. Very different part of the body,” she pointed out. To prove her point, she shifted her arm and rested her hand on his shoulder instead. He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t quite keep the smile off of his face.

“Just read the damn passage,” he said. She shrugged and turned her attention to the page. She hadn’t moved her hand, and the warmth slowly seeped into him. He realized with a start that he was leaning into her touch. What the hell?

The smell of cinnamon and honey drifted through the room. Not that that was unusual either. It clung to every part of the room. Even his trademark leather coat smelled permanently of cinnamon and honey, from that tea she drank at all hours of the day and night.

He missed it, when it wasn’t there.

He knew she’d gotten to the unflattering description of the Knight-Captain when she began to laugh. He thought her laugh was the best thing he’d ever heard. It wasn’t graceful by any means, caught somewhere between a cackle and a snort. But she laughed with her full body, like it was the funniest thing she’d heard in her life. Joyful, reckless abandon.

It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

 Oh.

With Hawke’s hand digging into his shoulder, her laughter ringing in his ears, the smell of cinnamon and honey on the air, Varric Tethras realized that he was in love.

Shit. … The stories will have you believe that revelations of love are dramatic, that they’re accompanied by flights of angels or some other shit like that. Marian Hawke had heard too many love stories to believe in them anymore.

She was sprawled along the couch leafing through Varric’s latest draft of The Tale of the Champion. She liked to leave little notes and doodles in the margins. It drove Varric’s editor up the wall. She heard Varric’s familiar footfalls coming up the stairs.

“Hey, you forgot to mention the bit where I single-handedly took down a chimera,” she called, not looking up. Varric hummed noncommittally in response. She glanced up from the page to study him. He was swaying slightly on his feet, eyes a little unfocused as he leaned against the doorframe.

“You okay?” she asked. “Merchant’s Guild crap?”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his face and he shook his head, running a hand through his graying hair.

“No, it’s not that,” he said. Marian’s eyebrows knitted together, and she shifted on the couch to make room for him. When he didn’t move, she pointedly patted the space next to her. When he still didn’t move, she made her way across the room to meet him.

“Then what is it, Varric? Crossbow troubles?” she asked. He looked away and his hand came up to rub at the back of his neck.

“Marian, I—” Record scratch, freeze frame. Varric never called her Marian. Never anything than Hawke, actually. He’d never even given her a nickname, like he had all the others. She was just Hawke.

“Didn’t realize you knew my name,” she managed. Another faint smile, only barely reaching his eyes. It was gone as soon as it came.

“Shit, I’m not good at this kind of thing,” he said. The smell of cheap ale and whiskey clung to him like a second skin.

“What kind of thing? You’re freaking me out, Varric.”

His warm amber eyes turned up to meet hers. Carefully, seemingly giving her every opportunity to move away, he reached up a hand on her face. Distantly, she realized he must be standing on his tip-toes. She might have laughed, if he hadn’t gently tugged her face down towards him.

His lips were softer than she’d imagined they’d be. His calloused hands tangled in her short hair, bringing her closer. She could taste the faint touch of alcohol on his tongue as her mouth slanted over his.

She looped an arm around his waist and easily lifted him up into the air.

“Hawke, put me down,” he said indignantly. She laughed breathlessly against his mouth.

“My shoulders were getting sore from bending over,” she said. She wound her free hand through his hair and tugged him back to kiss her again. She realized suddenly that she would be quite happy staying right here, like this, for the rest of her life. Well, maybe with a stool. She was strong, but Varric was sturdy. He’d probably whack her on the arm if she told him that though.

She set Varric down on the table, standing between his legs and bringing both hands up to cup his face.

“Better?” she whispered. He grumbled something indistinct and unflattering that was abruptly cut off as she began to trail kisses down to his neck.

“Would you believe that I’ve wanted to do this for years?” he rasped. Hawke stilled. And then, she began to laugh, resting her forehead against Varric’s.

“Well, there’s no call to be rude,” he said. She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, still chuckling.

“I have as well,” she said at last.

“Ah,” Varric managed. And then, “So, what now?”

“You in a rush, Tethras?” Marian asked. She gently tipped his chin up to face her. “Seems to me we’ve got all the time in the world.”

“So we do,” he said, and he kissed her again.

[phantom-curve]

kiss prompts: 17, 21, and 36 for Juke!

Me: I'll write some coney island Juke for Shelly! Also me: *writes this angst heavy scene that showcases the breakdown of their relationship in that AU*

I swear I didn't mean for this to hurt so much, but I'm gonna go ahead and blame it on the prompts. Taking place before the events of did I shatter you? here is the first time Luke makes a promise he can't keep.

#17: kisses as a promise #21: "we'll face this together" kisses" & #36: kissing away tears

(I'm not gonna rate this for angst but this is your last official warning that there is no happy ending to this scene unless you're willing to slog through the emotional baggage of the fic that follows it!)

also available on ao3!

There were piles of confetti and champagne bottles scattered across the main floor of their house, the trash decorating the hardwood with pastel patches and sticky puddles. Fog hung suspended from the ground, leaking in through the windows cracked open by the smokers the night before. Colorful streamers spiraled down from the ceiling, limp and listless in the still morning air. The depressing remnants of what should have been one of the greatest nights of their lives strewn about like cobwebs in an abandoned house.

Julie carefully picked her way around the mess, dragging a trash bag along in her wake as she slowly collected various reminders of the night before into the black plastic. Luke was sprawled out on the couch, passed out in a mess of wilted limbs with a small amount of drool collecting underneath his right cheek. He had been in a mood all night. Julie had left him to his own devices around 2:00 am when the last of the party guests had been shooed out the door, and he had never made it to bed. That made three nights in a row since he’d last slept next to her. One night in the studio, one night over at Reggie’s apartment, and now last night on the couch.

It was happening again. The fractures. The distance.

She had hoped the party would help him reset. It was supposed to be a celebration, their celebration. Their big win. Their first album going platinum, a new record deal, an almost sold-out international tour. All of their wildest dreams coming true. It wasn’t enough. Because Bobby Wilson had beaten them to every milestone.

It didn’t matter that Bobby’s fame was mostly burning itself out recently. His family had plenty of money to keep him relevant enough that he was always in their periphery somewhere. It didn’t matter that their band was becoming more and more successful with every passing year. They had fought for every bit of recognition, earned it through blood, sweat, and tears. And always there was Bobby in the background, haunting their every step, like a curse they couldn’t break no matter how hard they tried. Julie was exhausted. Constantly fighting the ghost of what could have been while trying to keep the band they did have alive and well was draining all of her energy lately.

Luke wasn’t much better. The anger that always seemed so close to the surface overtook him now more often than it had before. Like the more successful they became, the angrier he was that Bobby had gotten there first. She had stopped trying to tell him it wasn’t a competition. To him, it always would be.

“Jules?”

His voice was rough with sleep, blurry around the edges as he peeked his eyes open to watch her collect discarded plates and cups. It was impossible to be upset with him like this. He was always softest in sleep and the moments just after waking up. It was easier then, to remember that his tough outer shell housed a heart made of glass, already cracked and damaged from the betrayals he had suffered at the hands of those he had loved that had claimed to love him in return. Julie never wanted to add a crack of her own, always mindful of the trust he had placed within her hands when he offered his love to her, so fragile and fleeting she still felt blessed by its presence, even in their darkest moments. She let the bag drop slowly, careful not to rattle the bottles against the floor.

“Hey. How’s your head?”

Luke frowned, carefully propping himself up on an elbow as his eyes began to open fully, studying the mess of destruction that had left been behind by the partygoers, slowly illuminated by the sun cresting above the hills to the east. Studying Julie herself, outlined by that same rising sun, breakable soul with limbs of porcelain that felt stretched to the limit of their fragility in the pale morning light.

“Hurts. Why’m I on the couch?”

Julie’s heart ached. Of course, he didn’t remember. She shouldn’t have expected him to, not after the way he had been downing champagne in between shots of harder liquor the night before. She had two options here: she could tell him the truth and break his heart alongside her own, or she could grin and bear it like she had learned to do the first time he forgot about a drunken fight.

“Too sleepy to make it to bed, I guess. It’s been lonely without you there recently.”

She couldn’t resist the last little dig. Luke was hurting, sure, but he was hurting her in the process of dealing with his own pain, and she hadn’t done anything to deserve it. Luke’s frown deepened.

“Did Alex...get mad at me? Why did Reggie leave so early?”

Alex had gotten mad. Reggie had left early. Julie wished Luke had forgotten those moments, too. She moved to sit on the edge of the couch. Luke, softened by confusion and his hangover, leaned to drape his body against hers. The contact was soothing, his weight heavy and reassuring against her side. Julie kept her tone calm and steady.

“Someone made a stupid remark. You got upset. Flynn took care of it.”

Thank God for Flynn. The dumb intern that had made the quip about Bobby had promptly been removed from the party, but Luke had heard it, and it had been the beginning of the end of what had originally been a good night. Luke sighed heavily, his breath hot against her skin. Julie shivered slightly.

“I’m sorry, Julie.”

Luke’s voice sounded genuinely regretful. Julie didn’t doubt that he was sorry. He was always sorry.

“I know. I love you, Luke.”

She let her arms curl around his back, fingertips hooked into the large cut open sides of his tank top so they rested lightly against the curve of his ribcage there, his heartbeat humming strong and steady beneath her touch, his lungs only stuttering slightly as they worked to pull in a deep breath. Luke’s own arms moved around her waist, pulling her close as his face dipped into the hollow of her neck.

“I love you, too. So much. I don’t deserve you.”

He offered his statement like another apology wrapped up in different words. Julie accepted it as such, moving one hand to sift softly through his unruly, overgrown hair. Luke nuzzled into her touch like a cat seeking comfort after being rightly chastised. They were silent for a long moment, and then Luke stiffened slightly.

“I said you were just like my mom last night, didn’t I?”

The horror and disgust were clear in the way Luke breathed the words out against her neck in starts and stops, like he didn’t want to believe it but couldn’t deny the memory. Julie felt tears spring to her eyes. That wasn’t exactly what he had said, but it was close enough.

You’ll never understand or care about how much this kills me! You’re just like she is!

As if Julie Molina and Emily Patterson even came close to living on the same plane of misunderstanding Luke. She knew it was mostly the booze talking, but sometimes it was hard not to think about that stupid adage involving drunken minds speaking sober thoughts. Luke tightened his grip around her hips, pulling her as close as he possibly could like if he was able to ground her in this physical moment the memories of the night before wouldn’t feel so sour in the back of her throat.

“I didn’t mean it. I swear, I didn’t mean it. You’re nothing like her.”

Luke’s words were wet with the tears she could feel tracking down his cheeks to pool in the space between her shoulder and collarbone. Julie knew he didn’t mean it. He never meant it. He just also never remembered that until he was faced with it in the cold, sober light of the following day. It didn’t make the words sting any less.

“I know,” she repeated, lips buried in the top of his head, so the words were muffled against the kisses she pressed into his scalp.

Luke pulled his face out of the home it had found against her skin. His nose trailed a soft line up the side of her face, the sensation gentle and soothing, a whisper of how things were meant to be. Julie turned to meet his lips with her own, the kiss wet and salty through their combined tears. It was the quietest whisper of apology and reassurance that could be offered. Julie could feel every hurt and battle Luke had fought behind the caress of his mouth against her own; every moment of self-loathing he had suffered for the pain he had inflicted against her. It didn’t soothe as much as he wanted it to, some of his hits had burrowed too deeply under her skin for that, but she couldn’t help but cling to the promise of better days that he was trying to push them towards. He didn’t lash out because he wanted to wound her. She simply always seemed to be caught in the crossfire, a casualty of a war she had never signed up for.

“I’m so sorry, Julie.”

She felt his lips form the words against her own, swallowed his penance down like it didn’t taste like poison as it seeped into her system.

“Please, don’t leave me. I’ll be better, I swear.”

And there it was. The assurance she had known was coming. She had expected those words. Luke had said them before. She just knew better than to believe them by now. But the part of her that wanted to, the part of her that desperately begged her to, allowed them to lay like a dirty bandage over the scratches he had left behind the night before, sinking into her open wounds with a kind of dodged determination that only viruses seemed to possess.

“I love you.”

It was all she could offer. She loved him. For all the bad days and bitter words, she loved him. She had loved him for longer than she had known possible. She had loved him through every stormy day and through all the sunshine as well. It was written into her DNA at this point, an indisputable fact. Luke could cut her over and over again, and she would still love him, just as he loved her.

“I love you, Jules. Bobby doesn’t get to take this from me, too. I’ll always love you. With my last dying breath, I’ll love you, and I promise I’ll do better. I’ll be better. You and me.”

Luke offered his pinky for her to hook her own around, the feeling of their fingers interlocking grounding her more than it had any right to.

“Always and forever,” Julie breathed, forehead falling to rest against Luke’s as she finished the vow they’d been promising to each other since the day Julie had joined The Phantoms, a promise that had existed even before their romantic relationship.

Luke leaned past their intertwined fingers to press his lips to hers once more, sealing the deal with a kiss. A way to say we’ll get through this, you and me against the world, even though he wasn’t able to articulate it verbally. Julie let her own lips meet his in equal agreement, I’ll be here, I’ll love you through it all, forever, forever, forever, until there was nothing left but the potential of brighter tomorrow, the unpleasantness of the night before washed away in the dawning of a new day.

It wasn’t until later that night, house cleaned and Luke resting in bed next to her where he belonged, that Julie realized his words had clanged with the type of hollow echo that hid behind a promise that could never be truly fulfilled. For all his desire to fix the cracks he continued to create, at the end of a bad day, it was still Julie absorbing Luke’s emotional blows. She had been so worried about creating a fault line within his love for her, she didn’t notice when the first major fissure in their relationship was created by Luke’s hands alone.

For all of her willingness to bleed herself dry, she never stopped to think about what would happen when there was nothing left to give.