#like disclaimer I just want something to help with the pain occasionally. you can probably tell that I'm very inexperienced | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eddiemunsonw · 1 year

Text

Your presence is a gift

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: After announcing your engagement to your boyfriend at Steve's birthday party, Eddie quite literally vanishes from your life. Just yours, though. You miss him terribly and when you run into him again two years later yet again at Steve's birthday party, you ask him for clarity.

CW/Disclaimer: A bit of angst with a happy ending I suppose?

Author's note: This fic came to life after seeing a silly text. I've put the image at the end. :)

Words: 4209

Time flies when you’re having fun, right? That’s what they say. Well, time also flies when you’re not having fun. Unless you’re in an excruciatingly painful disaster, then it’ll feel like you can feel every second painfully ticking by. For you, it felt like a combination of both.

Every day, he was on your mind. Eddie Munson. Someone you used to consider one of your closest friends. Up until two years ago, you used to hang out several days a week, a little less once you got a boyfriend but you never thought it would change this drastically. To think you hadn’t seen his face in so long felt impossible to you.

The last time you had seen him had been at Steve’s birthday party two years ago. Since you were sitting on the same stool you sat back then, you couldn’t help but think of him. Honestly, the whole environment reminded you of him. After all, you spent many nights with him, Steve and others here. Playing games, watching movies, talking until the sun came peeking through the trees again. You watched absentmindedly as Steve busied himself with entertaining his guests, occasionally glancing at you with mild concern. You told him you were fine, he just didn’t buy it. Oh well.

You knew it had been quick when you announced your engagement, you had only been dating Trent for about… four months? But he went down on one knee and you were always bad at saying no. Trent insisted on sharing it at Steve’s birthday party. You didn’t exactly want to take the attention away from Steve, but Trent… Well, sometimes it was just easier to agree than not to. Steve had been shocked, but happy for you. Eddie had been… Eddie. And yet he had been nothing like him at all. From being the life of the party he had gone instantly silent, gazing into his glass that he never ended up finishing. He congratulated you eventually, after asking you if you loved him, Trent. And you told him yes. Because who would marry someone who they didn’t love, right? Right.

The year after that, Eddie hadn’t attended Steve’s birthday. Supposedly he was sick but you knew he was simply avoiding you. Steve’s face never held many secrets from you and you could tell that the reason he gave you wasn’t a real one. Your husband had been sitting next to you, indifferent to it all. He frankly found it a little annoying that you were still so hung up over Eddie no longer being your… friend? Was that what it was? It felt like you had lost much more than a friend.

And that was that. No sign of Eddie since. He canceled on your get togethers, even the group ones, always claimed he was busy with the band which, for some time, seemed like a valid reason considering they were doing pretty well nowadays. However, all of that belief went out the window when you discovered that he did in fact still meet up with his friends. With Steve. Just not with you. Steve didn’t want to meddle, told you that you two should probably talk but Eddie made it impossible. Even when Steve tried to create an ‘accidental run-in’ between you two, Eddie figured it out before you even could arrive and had already bolted.

You forced yourself to accept that Eddie, for whatever reason, had decided he didn’t want to see you anymore. Maybe he needed time… or something. You couldn’t fathom why, not even when Trent exclaimed that ‘that weirdo’ had probably been waiting to get into your pants and when he realized he couldn’t, he had no more interest in being your ‘friend’. That remark had probably resulted in the biggest fight between you and Trent. Things had felt different after. Though looking back on it, things had never felt good in the first place. It had all just felt… expected and how it should be.

Despite everything, despite Trent’s obvious annoyance, you still sent Eddie a wedding invite. You missed him, you missed your friend more than you thought you could ever miss him. Sometimes, when you had a little too much to drink, you wondered whether there had been more. What if Eddie in fact did have… a desire to get into your pants. What if it wasn’t just a sexual desire. What if Eddie…

It never went much further than that. Eddie being in love with you was such a foreign concept to your brain that you couldn’t even entertain the thought. Not after dealing with your one-sided feelings for him for years. Not after seeing him kiss and take home whoever he felt like over and over and never once looking in your direction. Surely he would have considered you an option if it had been like that.

So, you had invited your friend. Asked Steve whether Eddie had brought it up with him or not. To which Steve responded that Eddie no longer wanted to talk about you. Yet you couldn’t help but hold on to hope.

It drove Trent insane when you insisted on adding banana flavored ice cream to the dessert options. He told you no one liked banana ice cream because it was rank and that it didn’t even taste like banana. Of course, he figured out who in your social circle did like it. Trent had gotten angry about a lot of trivial things and somehow Eddie was often wedged into the subject. If you were honest, you hadn’t really known Trent all that well before you said yes to his proposal. It was as if the moment he knew he had you, he slowly started to change or rather, be more himself.

Eddie never came to the wedding. No one ordered banana ice cream for dessert.

“Y/N, refill?” Steve interrupted your thoughts. You blinked and quickly propped a smile on your face before meeting his gaze.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” you handed your glass to him and moments later he handed it back to you containing an orange-red liquid. You gazed at it for a moment before addressing him. “Sex on the beach?”

Steve smirked. “That’s the one.” His hand squeezed your shoulder kindly before he joined the others again. He knew it was futile to ask if you wanted to join them, knew you sometimes preferred to just listen along from a distance far enough where you wouldn’t be expected to engage.

You never could have expected that about an hour later, you would be sharing the balcony space with no other than Eddie Munson. In silence. You went there for some fresh air, he went there to pollute it with his smoke filled exhales. Neither of you acknowledged the other. When you heard the door open you hadn’t even turned around. You had been there a while, so lost in thought that you barely registered it. It hadn’t even occurred to you that he was at the party, that’s how long you had been there. You had never seen him arrive.

However, you didn’t even have to look as much in his direction to know it was him. It was the mix of Old Spice, cigarettes and mint and something entirely Eddie that gave it away. A combination of scents that had quickly become your favorite when you first started to hang out with him. You felt it when he rested his arms on the railing just like you were. You wondered if his heartbeat felt as deafening to him as yours did to you. He could have said something. After everything that you tried, it felt painful to be ignored like that even when you were right next to him. As you were working up the courage to say something, your brain decided to take a plunge into your memory and skip all the polite small talk, instead going for the one thing that had been bothering you for a long time now.

“Why didn’t you come to the wedding?”

Eddie took the slowest drag of his cigarette mankind had ever taken, sighed and lazily inspected the ashes while he flicked them off into the wind. You still weren’t looking at him when he shrugged indifferently.

“Your invitation wasn’t really an invitation.”

An overwhelming surge of emotions clutched and clawed at your chest, begging to be let in or let out, it was hard to tell. You had missed his voice so much. It took you a moment to realize that what he said made no sense at all.

“What do you mean?” Slowly, you dared to look in his direction from the corner of your eye. He was still focused on his cigarette, watching it burn.

“Well,” Eddie started to cite it perfectly, as if he had just held your invite two seconds ago and it was still at the forefront of his mind. “Your presence itself is a gift. We don’t want you to bring any gifts to the wedding.”

For a moment you could only stare at him. Surely he didn’t mean…

“You can’t be serious.”

Eddie’s eyes followed the railing until they landed on your hands and the sublest frown etched into his forehead when he couldn’t spot a wedding ring, or any ring for that matter, on your fingers. Perhaps you were scared of losing it or something. Where was Trent anyway?

“It said I am a gift and to not bring gifts. It’s simple math.”

The indifference in his voice ignites a burning frustration in you. How could he act so casually about this when you had in fact cried (of course not in the presence of Trent) over his absence? How could he act like your years of friendship meant nothing to him, from one day to the other? Eddie, who always fantasized out loud about how you’d still get drunk enough together to think dancing on rooftops was a good idea at the age of 85.

“Everyone got that invitation and they were there,” you gritted out.

Another shrug.

“I’m sorry about that. Maybe they didn’t get it.”

“No, you didn’t get it,” you retorted, your frustration becoming more difficult to contain and be limited to just your thoughts.

“No, Y/N, you didn’t get it. You still don’t,” he mumbled.

You didn’t get it?! Your body was fully turned to him now and Eddie still refused to look at you. It drove you insane.

“Then please, explain to me why you ditched one of your best friends at her wedding after refusing to meet up with her anymore out of the fucking blue?”

“Oh you really don’t think there was something specific that went down that could have possibly caused all of this?” Eddie bit back, his eyes finally meeting yours. You were a little taken aback by the blazing fire they held, though. The hurt within them. As if all of this had somehow been your fault.

“Am I supposed to believe that you were so opposed to the idea of me being happy that you decided you no longer wanted to be anywhere near me, ever again? Is that it? Was it the engagement?”

“Yes. I couldn’t bear watching you throw away the life you had to get with some selfish prick that couldn’t even be bothered to see if you were okay when you tripped because ‘you should watch where you walk’. Who was so fucking different from you he kept wanting to change you, push you into boxes you weren’t. So yes when I heard you were willingly getting into that boat with him forever, I stepped back. What of it?”

He stood facing you directly now, arms crossed tightly over his chest, stance wide. His nostrils flared as he breathed out heavily, eyes wide as saucers as he tried to contain what seemed to be anger, built up frustration.

“Which life?! The one where I just had to miserably watch how everyone around me got settled and slowly slipped into a domestic-white-pickett-fence-with-two-children kind of life?”

“You had us! You had me!” Eddie unknowingly raised his voice, his hands pushed tightly against his chest to stop them from shaking.

“I had friends, yes! Such a crime for me to want something more, huh? Don’t get me wrong, Eddie, but it was only a matter of time before one of those bimbos you hooked up with after gigs became a long-term partner. I’m sure you’ve…” You vaguely gestured at him, his hands, something, because surely he had a great girlfriend by now. Someone that fit him like you never would.

Eddie shook his head vigorously, his wild hair following the movement. He revealed his hands, pointing at his empty ring finger.

“See? Nothing. I’m not like you. I don’t just settle for whoever.”

You scoffed and revealed your hands.

“No you’re not like me indeed. I got divorced. Guess you win again, congrats.”

For the first time, his hostility faded a little. It was almost as if he wanted to approach you but instead he crossed his arms again, not meeting your eyes.

“Sorry about that, I guess. I didn’t know. Steve never told me.”

“Steve told me you didn’t want to talk about me, so. Not surprised that he didn’t.”

Eddie groaned impatiently, his hands flying up to his hair to run through as he looked inside, where he spotted Steve quickly turning his head away. Fucker.

“He knows why I didn’t want to talk about you though. He should have, I could have— But now instead I’ve been— Fuck!”

“You’re… not making a lot of sense right now, bud,” you remarked dryly.

Another groan, though a bit more whiny.

“Don’t fucking— I’m not your bud alright?”

You rolled your eyes, fed up with him by now. It was as if he had taken four knives to stab you simultaneously with, twisting them occasionally.

“You’re right. You’re nothing to me, apparently. As you wish.”

Both of you were so lost in your own world that you didn’t even notice how Steve had closed off the view to the balcony doors by drawing the curtains to prevent anyone else from coming up. Neither had you noticed that he had in fact locked the doors as well.

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?” Eddie seethed through his teeth, taking a small step closer towards you with his eyes blazing. It was the last straw you needed after this agonizing build up of two years. You had had enough.

“Oh I’m a bitch?! You literally gave me the cold fucking shoulder from one day to the next, ignored all my calls, all my messages, you literally pretended like I didn’t fucking exist, Eddie! Why would you do something like that, knowing how much it would hurt me? Call me a bitch all you want, but you’re heartless.”

“I’ve been fucking heartless since the goddamn day you stole it, Y/N.”

What? Stunned, you looked up at him to witness the panic that flared up in his eyes and he quickly made a beeline towards the balcony doors.

“Eddie, wait—”

Eddie shook his head and tried to pry the door open with all his might. He was desperate to get away from you as far as possible.

“Why the fuck can’t I— Steve. Steve! Open the goddamn thing now!”

It didn’t take long for Steve to appear when Eddie started banging loudly on the window. He pulled the curtains around his head, making it look like it was floating amidst the black curtains and promptly shook his head.

“No. Fix it, Munson. Until then, enjoy your stay on the balcony,” Steve told him through the window, right before disappearing again.

“Fuck!”

He kicked against a heavy plant pot for good measure, causing him to swear some more before he meekly faced you again. You had quietly been following the whole ordeal and were still struggling to find the words to respond to any of it.

“So… What was that about me stealing your heart?” you asked softly and you had half the mind to be amused by the expression Eddie had on his face. There was no world where you wouldn’t find him and his panicky expressions at least slightly adorable.

“It sounds even more ridiculous when you say it,” Eddie sighed, slumping down against the door until he sat on the floor.

“Since when?”

“Since forever, man. How could I not?” He gestured at you as if he hated to admit it, arm dropping back down a little too harsh causing him to curse softly.

“How?”

“What do you mean how? It just happens, and I’m not gonna apologize for how I feel about y—”

“No, I mean,” you interrupted him, “you were always… You never gave me the idea that you even considered me that way.”

Eddie frowned and rested his head against the door as he let go of a long sigh.

“I literally said you were like Arwen to me. And that Aragorn was my favorite.” His pout was a little childlike, as if it had been something that had bothered him for years on end. In fact, it had. You groaned in disbelief.

“I hadn’t read it by then! You wouldn’t tell me why you thought I was like Arwen and told me to just read the book. Which I never did because I was always hanging with you doing other stuff in my free time. And once I did have the time, you were always hooking up with random girls so I didn’t really feel like it anymore.”

“Why would you not want to read Lord of the Rings because I was making out with random chicks?” he asked, clear confusion on his face. He almost looked a little insulted.

“Because I was jealous, you idiot! I wasn’t gonna read a thick book that I was going to read for you when you were busy exploring other people’s throats.”

“I’m afraid I’m not following, Y/N, what do you mean you were jealous? You always shot me those god awful finger guns with a huge grin whenever I went backstage with one of them.”

“Oh, was I supposed to pull them back by their hair and say something like ‘He’s mine, you bimbo!’ and stick my tongue down your throat instead?” you asked him with a dead panned expression, causing him to chuckle unexpectedly.

“Uh, yeah?! That’s exactly how I imagined it would go, but instead you were all supportive and nice about it so I figured you didn’t give two shits. I even tried two on one night and… nothing! Not even a jealous eyebrow twitch that I know you can do, the way you do when someone gets the best part of a cake with the extra chocolates on it. I was desperate, Y/N.”

You debated sitting across from him but figured the door would be more comfortable against your back, so instead you hesitantly sat down next to him. Eddie didn’t seem to mind, to your relief.

“Ever thought of just… I don’t know, walking up to me and saying you liked me or something?” you asked with a quip of your brow and a soft smile.

“Uh, right back at you.” Eddie rolled his eyes, though he wore the hint of a smile on his face.

“No but, seriously. You kissed random girls during your shows. All you had to do was pick me instead, no?”

Eddie shook his head.

“With them it didn’t matter. With you… if you rejected me, you’d break my heart.”

The silence settled between you again. Heavy, yet not uncomfortable. Eddie exhaled slowly, his shoulder touching yours so light you could have imagined it.

“And then suddenly you introduced Trent to us. I thought, this prick isn’t gonna last a month. You and him? Nah, not in a million years. But then he did. And another, and another, and another. And then… you were engaged. I was convinced it was all just a horrible nightmare. An awful trick played on me. But I just had to accept that I was some random side character in your life and that I had wasted my chance to become anything more.”

He played with the frayed ends of one of the holes in his jeans and exhaled shakily, his fingers trembling slightly.

“It’s why I asked if you loved him, you know? I thought… maybe. But you said yes, so I had to back away. I wasn’t going to act fair towards you if I didn’t. I— I was a mess, ask Steve. He got fed up with me so many times but he- he’s a good one, y’know. Of course you know. So yeah, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. The only reason I’m even here is because Steve promised that you weren’t gonna come. And then suddenly…”

“Here I was,” you finished for him. He nodded.

“There you were.” A sigh, a shy glance in your direction. “As beautiful as ever, if not more. I was so shocked to see you that I forgot to leave.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you told him softly. “I hope you never will.”

You reached for his trembling fingers and covered them with your own, slowly pushing them apart. Eddie swallowed audibly, his eyes flicking from your hands to your face.

“I’ve missed you,” he confessed in a whisper, his eyes wide and sincere. His thumb softly caressed your pinky.

“I’ve missed you too.” A beat of silence. “I put banana ice cream on the menu, you know.”

Eddie turned his head and smiled in disbelief. “You did?”

“Mhm,” you chuckled softly. “No one ordered.”

“What a waste. I would’ve eaten it all.”

You shared a smile and rested your heads against one another.

“Sorry I wasn’t there,” he said eventually. You shrugged.

“It’s fine, you didn’t miss anything anyway. Apart from the ice cream, of course.”

“You looked beautiful. Steve has— I’m sure you know but, he had the photo of you and him framed. He wanted to put it up but wanted to wait until he had more things to put up so he could arrange it all at once. But I guess… it’s a bit weird now.”

Steve. Always such a sweetheart.

“I didn’t know, actually. But yeah, a little weird I guess.”

You both listened to the music coming from inside, your fingers gently drumming along. Eddie’s head too, you noticed vaguely as he moved against your head. At least, that’s what you assumed until you felt his lips on your cheek. You could feel he was holding onto his breath, waiting for your reaction. Hesitantly, he kissed your cheek again, his trembling lips giving away how nervous he was. You turned your head slowly. His breath hitched a little when your lips brushed his, unsure whether to move away or not. Gently, you added the lightest pressure onto his lips with your own and pressed them together into a kiss. You didn’t care that his fingers squished yours a little painfully as he tightly grasped his knee in response. He leaned back shakily, just enough to break apart only so he could press your lips together again. Sweeter, more intentional, more mutual. He shifted slightly, his leg resting on your crossed legged ones a little as his other hand came up to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss he had desired to give you for years. Your lips danced together without a fight for dominance, instead it was all about unity, in the perfect alignment of your faces together. The softest giggle escaped his lips when his nose bumped into yours as you changed angles. He gasped when your fingers threaded into his hair.

The both of you were so lost in the kiss that you didn’t notice Steve peeking through the curtains, needing a moment to discover you were in fact making out against the door. You didn’t notice him closing them again either, however…

“YES!! FINALLY!”

Eddie bumped his head against the door in shock and you quickly broke apart, but only after gazing into each other’s eyes lazily with the dopiest smiles on your faces.

“Was that Steve?” you asked.

“Sure was. Steve!” Eddie knocked on the door before getting up and extending his hand to help you as well. Steve was quick to show up in front of the balcony doors again and removed the curtains before opening them.

“Shit, you saw me didn’t you?” Steve asked guiltily, bummed that he interrupted your moment. Eddie snorted and shook his head.

“No dude, it was your high pitched scream that gave us a near heart attack.”

“Oh. Well. I’m glad you guys uh… made up. Sorry for locking you out, but I had to do something. You can come back in now.”

As Steve stepped aside, Eddie chuckled and reached for the black curtains to pull them back closed again.

“Thank you, but uhm, maybe later? We’ve got some catching up to do.”

Eddie grinned down at you as he closed the balcony doors again and wasted no second to wrap his arms around your waist. You beamed up at him, eyes sparkling with delight.

“Where were we, sweetheart?”

Here's the image I mentioned earlier. Funny how a whole short fic can come out of it, right? :)

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfics #stranger things fan fics

297 notes · View notes

not-poignant · 8 months

Note

Everyone can feel however they want about any character etc etc obligatory disclaimer... that said, I do wonder how people would feel about Temsen if he was white. It's the same thing I wondered when I saw some comment reactions to Kadek back when he was introduced in FFS.

I'm a big fan of Temsen, btw. The way he talked about both Efneisen and Gary's abusive actions was really responsible and useful, and I love characters who have both an upright moral core and the smarts to be able to take actions effectively.

Hi anon!

Yeah I do...sometimes have these moments as well. I also have the self-reflective 'am I writing POC too often as assholes' and then think about Eran and Leo and some of the other characters I've written and it's like okay, I don't think it's necessarily that specifically (though there's always room for improvement) and I really really do like writing hot assholes dsfjkaf

I also love Temsen, I love characters who are just really complicated but ultimately still doing their version of their best. And that anon might not have been thinking of the race factor at all, but it is something that also occasionally plays in the back of my mind because after 10 years of writing, there is a certain kind of 'he just rubs me the wrong way' that characters like Eran, Kadek, and Temsen have gotten just a little bit more than some of the other characters (and on the flipside, the 'oh I didn't know they were POC' which is...a whole...*sighs* - probably at its most painful when it's fanart so you know someone's put a lot of effort into something but also blanked the description of a character's skin colour and features at the same time) - I guess there's just an awareness? Also an awareness of my role in what I'm perpetuating as a white person because realistically I will unfortunately fuck it up too.

I am team 'give anon the benefit of the doubt' because I do canonically write Temsen to be unnerving and intimidating and I do think some readers will be a lot more receptive to / sensitive to that than others. But yeah, I also think this is a really understandable thing to wonder? It's a crunchy space to be in, because I also think Temsen's hitting the mark if he is unnerving some people as a character, just like Gary does. A sort of 'I like it when disabled / POC / queer people can all be hot assholes' lol

But in this instance like, in addition, Temsen has been one of the least directly harmful characters in the entire cast in terms of his actions and I do think about that a lot.

I think until society gets better about racism and decolonisation gets way way way way further it's just a normal thing to wonder about tbh.

(And on an aside, I am glad that the sentiment largely swung towards very positive towards Kadek by the end of FFS. He's one of my favourite side characters that I've written in a while, and I'm hoping to write more with him in side stories one day).

Also re: the talk he gave Efnisien, that has honestly helped Efnisien so much. Him stepping into his strength and consciously thinking about it has directly led to so much of the positive growth he's experienced in the last like 10 chapters. It was so needed, even if the timing wasn't great, Temsen really delivered on that front.

#asks and answers #ohlo ohlo temsen #underline the black #underline the rainbow #i also think i'm very lucky that i had to 'learn' that awareness vs.#POC having to carry it as a constant thing they can't let go of #anyway thanks for bringing this up anon #it's another part of the conversation whether or not it was with that specific anon #it certainly has been in the past?#so it's good to discuss

20 notes · View notes

mandy4ever69420 · 1 month

Note

you've said before about how Frank's addiction is not a moral failure but that doesn't excuse Frank cause being an addict isn't his only trait. in that same line, I would love to read your opinion on Monica, considering that other than being an addict she's bipolar and has never been properly medicated before as said in the show. maybe a character analysis too as the one you did to Sheila?

i have no idea if i can repeat the style of what i had to say about sheila, it took me by surprise that i had all that in me. but i can tell you my opinions on monica. also i don't know all that much about bipolar, just that it's intense and difficult. disclaimer.

i found her really charming. like i definitely wouldn't want to hang out with her at all ever, but she made episodes good invariably

maybe i want to start by saying here that monica doing so poorly by her children isn't necessarily just because of her illness (though, i mean, it didn't help. i don't think there's a way to be that sick around kids that won't screw with their heads) it's to me because she couldn't allow herself to look past her insecurities to take care of them first. i also want to give monica credit for the possibly the saddest and most evocative line in the entire show: "i don't wanna be me anymore"

i guess part of my belief about her is that her approximately level-headed, clear-minded impulse is to leave. sure, she leaves a lot when she's manic and not thinking clearly. but it's more painful to see her leave after escaping a hospital where she was seeking treatment. so it's her belief that she's inherently harmful that causes the harm. this is also something that ian winds up repeating. horribly enough, the insecurities that he's running from are usually to do with being like her.

crucially, also, she wants to be nice! she wants to think she's nice, but she just wants things to be easy more. this is sort of where the fanciful idea comes from that gets people's hopes up when she's around - that if she's feeling good, maybe she can come heap some love on her kids, and everything wrong will just go away. i remember also after she died, seeing all of her little "i love you!" notes and being struck with how much of a kid-like thing that was to do.

so monica's behavior towards her kids was exacerbated by but not due solely to her bipolar. i mean of course, being sick can't MAKE you treat people badly. it can make it easier though

there's a bit of a personal stance of my own in here: though it's an obligation to try to minimize how much you hurt others, it's never an obligation to get sober or seek treatment. part of my stance on bodily autonomy is that people even have the right to do things that are potentially harmful to themselves. if monica had the resources or motivation to manage her symptoms the hard way and minimize how much she hurt others in the process, she'd have as much right to staying unmedicated as bianca did to not trying to treat her cancer.

it does, however, seem she was at some point following some sort of semi-regular treatment in the past. probably never long enough to get past the hurdle of finding a balance that doesn't make you feel god awful (i have spoken to people about how lithium feels if it's not right for you. fucking brutal, apparently) but when frank complains that she's a zombie or ian expresses resistance to taking meds for the rest of his life i think this indicates she was just, occasionally medicated.

monica is also one of the most static characters in the show - in part because she doesn't have that much screen time compared to how much she influences the plot, and in part just because the instability she brings BECOMES its own form of monotony.

WRT: her wanting things to be easy, i think this is something she shares with frank. it's a slightly different form of selfishness but yields similar results. they really are suited to each other and can understand each other in a handful of ways, even if it mostly manifests in a handful of really painful honeymoon phases.

i remember fiona complained that lip was her "favorite" in season one, and maybe (maybe) it was true pre-series, i think it's more likely that this complaint says more about fiona than monica. that fiona might not see that monica has such favoritism for ian, because to me it seems like fiona shares the same soft spot for ian. it's perfectly well possible that monica's fondness for ian became MUCH stronger when she learned he was gay - because she could pretend he was just like her, so she could sort of play around with the idea of a new version of herself

i also think complaining that lip was monica's favorite was, more than anything, an early parallel between frank and lip. so monica's "favorite" is really none of her kids, no matter how much she loves them, but in fact just her frank, or herself again, when she realizes she can project onto ian.

there are a lot of these, and again, this isn't just about lip's alcoholism. lip has a lot of school-style smarts and is the only one of their children to go to college - we learn later that frank was in and dropped out of college. lip also gets more credit than debbie or liam for being academically successful, because he's a white boy with those traits, like frank. also, lip and frank's chase scenes fit together well. one of the bigger differences between lip and ian is that ian is much more likely to stand his ground for a fight than lip is. there's a vague argument to be made for this being a monica trait (having something in common with a shitty parent doesn't have to be a bad thing!) - she does insist frank apologizes, or she does kick him out of the car when he really pisses her off. also, though, it could just be an ian thing.¯\_(ツ)_/¯

fiona sees a lot of monica and frank throwing aside the well being of their kids to play in their fantasy perfect romance before things fall apart. instead of concluding that peoples kids should be their first priorities, she just concluded that when she was someone's girlfriend she was going to be their first priority. this is kind of what i think bit her in the ass with sean. i understand why she was upset at the wedding but taking offense at sean putting his kid first isn't fair.

jimmysteve, btw, is probably the only love interest who was enough of an asshole in the right way to work with fiona. also! the only kids he prioritized over fiona were her younger siblings. this pissed her off but it was in a context she could appreciate. i'll never get over how stupid of a choice it was to retcon his death. so unsatisfying.

i've seen a lot of really weird debate online about frank and monica's whole deal - like because monica, when she's upset with frank, loves to throw in his face that "he almost destroyed her", and then oddly there's the occasional claim that "monica ruined frank". IMO they're very evenly matched. they have a lot of really similar impulses, and are both some of the most wildly unreliable narrators out there. you can't get the full story, because it doesn't exist objectively.

like monica, also, the most difficult to watch parts of frank's character are the parts where he's kind. you can see so clearly that things didn't have to be this way! he's perfectly capable of extending kindness to people while he's drunk, in the same way monica is capable of care while unmedicated. it's a handful of choices, not an illness or innate state of being that make them act the ways they do.

1 thing shameless does really well is giving me things that make me extremely uncomfortable in parallels that i later decide i adore. the frank/monica to mickey/ian comparison might be at the very top of that list. i just love comparing how well suited both these couples are to one another, how desperate ian is not to be like that because he is so intimately familiar with the pain caused by the fallout of something that intense, the ways that ian and mickey manage to sidestep the things that really made frank/monica so bad for each other.

best comparison here is probably, sorry if this has been said before/better, just watching frank break monica out of the hospital whether she wants it or not VS watching mickey try to get himself locked up just so ian wouldn't be alone in there. monica drives away at the end and she's still alone, ian comes home after his hospitalization and doesn't have to be. this is also just one of those parallels that is so much better viewing the show as a whole and not serialized. my deepest condolences to anyone watching seasons 5-8 live

anyway, all my love to shameless for their horrible complicated fucked up mothers whose children are fully permitted horrible complicated fucked up feelings about. hate her if you want, she's in you, and that's a good thing.

#iangallagherisadeadman #thank you for sending me something this was fun ^_^#i considered rewatching some monica stuff to brush up on my specificity but it's already been a few days idk #ok um i'm so tired. goodnight #monica #ask

6 notes · View notes

davidmariottecomics · 2 years

Text

The (Cash) Value of Art

Hello again,

If you've been engaged in the comic and art spaces recently, you've probably noticed a number of troubling trends. While cost of living is rising, folks are looking up numbers showing rates have stagnated for extended periods (and given inflation, technically fallen). Folks are talking about being offered too little by places with big budgets. Folks are talking about massive delays or straight-up non-payments from comics publishers. And between NFTs featuring stolen artwork--a thing that has proven time and time again to be a scam of occasional worth, but no value; the seemingly ever-worsening state of actually crediting/acknowledging artists, much less listening when they say things like "do not repost or steal my art"; and AI tools that don't actually level any sort of artistic playing field and just steal and repurpose existing art (and user data and, sometimes, medical records?!) for the benefit of *checks notes* people who don't want to pay for art, it's a ROUGH time out there.

DISCLAIMER: While I'm happy to harp on the negatives of art theft, as noted in that last point, I encourage doing your own due diligence on the first few. These are conversations that are happening and that, in conjunction with the rampant art theft and general devaluation of art that I'll be talking about today, I wanted to make sure got mentioned. However, as a lot of these conversations are coming from social media, I do think it's worth doing independent verification of any claims. I'm not here to say whether or not companies are paying people--I don't know. I'm saying that it's being discussed.

What I am going to talk about more at length today is, generally, how you can value your art and take that valuation with you in all avenues you may pursue. These tips might not work for everyone, but maybe they'll work for you.

The Value of Art

Chances are, if you're reading this, you already know what I'm about to say, but maybe you need a reminder. Art is human expression. It is the distillation of an idea by an artist in whatever medium they may choose. It may be inspiring or emotional or wrought with pain or just a funny little picture of a funny little guy because you were bored. It may have meaning and purpose and depth, or be vapid and convenient and random, and both can be enjoyable. Art is, I'd reckon, one of the base ways we relate to each other. It can be communication and entertainment, and one can beget the other. I am someone immersed in art all the time--from my work to the things in my home to what I consume in the public sphere. Art pays my bills (speaking of, my cats had to go to the vet--routine check-ups and vaccines and stuff, but not great timing, so if you wanna support me, check out the shop and buy my art). It has helped me when I've been down. It's brought me great joy. Art is valuable. Your art is valuable. Even if it is for no one except yourself, your art is worth your time and energy in that you created something you set out to create.

So it really sucks when people devalue your art externally. It sucks that while social media has allowed for artists to find outreach and build audiences and community webs like never before, it's also an ever-churning engine looking for something to self-promote. An artist's post on Twitter is equally free promotion for Twitter as a place to find the artist and their work as it is the artist themselves. Sometimes, the equation's even more unbalanced as the proliferation of free art being shared by artists has led to entitled folks believing they have a right to all art--from taking and reposting art without credit (or, equally infuriatingly, with "credit to the artist") to piracy to the new wave of feeding other people's hard work without their knowledge or against their will into programs that allow other people to use and make a profit from their work. This is a particularly important point--the art's value isn't lost. AI generators, NFTs, the aforementioned social media--they're making money off of that work, instead of it going to the creators of the work. And people often submit that willingly because--at best, they don't know better, and at worst, they seek to actively cause harm to the artists.

When there's so much happening, it can be disheartening. It feels like attacks against the worth of your work on all sides. And as many artists point out, they'd love to be able to make art for free (and, often do, though when they do, the fact it was free is overlooked and underappreciated). But they have bills and wants and needs and as long as we're using money to pay for things, a need for money for their work (as one last aside, pretty sure you could sub artists for sex workers and art for sex work and have the statement be equally true--notable because many forms of sex work overlap with art and also, y'know, people who have their work and humanity devalued gotta stick together, y'know).

So, when it seems like things are against you, how do you value your own art?

A Fair Price

What is a fair price is for your art? How can you set a price that you feel is justified? Who decides that price? Big questions, I know, but hopefully simple answers.

The what and the how go hand-in-hand. I don't have it in front of me, but I've seen a pretty good calculation for setting rates in the past that is something like:

Minimum Wage x Estimated Hours to Complete a Piece [taking into account style, complexity, and layers--a sketch takes less time than a fully colored multi-panel comic page--as an extra note here, you may want to ramp your "hours" up as a valuation of expertise, if you are quicker because you've learned and practiced to become able to work more quickly, take into account the hours spent getting there too] + Cost of Materials divided by Number of Projects they can be used for [how long does your pencil last? Your iPad? Monthly costs of electricity and/or internet? Also including shipping costs if those apply] + X Project Specific Materials [if you're paying for a special font or canvas or reference material] + the biggest variable, Minimum Wage x Estimated Hours for Promotion [that is to say, if you're expected to self-promote a project, how much you expect that sort of marketing work will cost/would be traded off for other work].

You might go up or down with whatever number you come up with, but now you have a base and one that is justified through a lot of your time and consideration. And that's the biggest thing--despite art appraisers and the budgets of commissioners [or a private or business level]--only you can really set the standard for how much you'd like to be paid.

How to Go About Talking $$$ The short and sweet is, if you have a number in mind to start, you're ready for the conversation. Not all art budgets are going to match your number. Sometimes, occasionally, you'll be offered even higher (and unless the project is evil--probably worth saying, some art is inherently vile and bad and evil--you should take it). Sometimes you'll be lowballed and it'll be up to you whether or not you take it. A lot of the time, you'll be given a price that someone somewhere, not the person talking to you in the moment, said is the amount that can be paid.

To that end, remember to be polite to the person attempting to hire you. Keep your number in mind and see if they have any flexibility if it isn't being met. I recommend talking budget early--either with deadline or after confirming the deadline will work. And ask your questions early too. Places should be able to answer basic questions about the money: how it can be paid, if there is an average/expected time that it is paid in (sometimes called a Net period), questions about rights, other usage, etc.

From there, go with your gut. Ask a peer if something seems off. But if you know how much you value your art, that's the way to start the conversation.

Speaking of the value of art and how artists need $$$ to pay for things... my friends Elizabeth and Danny had their catalytic converter stolen right off their car and those are expensive, so if you like good comics and stuff, maybe go and help them out! And Becca's shop is slightly updated and open through 12/26, speaking of someone who has recently been giving a lot of free art to social media and deserves to be paid for their work. Also, if you're an adult and a Genshin Impact fan, they're currently doing one of those "strip" trends of a sort... Also, lots of really good Makimas recently for you CSM fans.

Next week: THE LAST BLOG OF THE YEAR! It's going to be a goodbye of sorts as I say a bit about my time with Transformers as we part ways for now, as well as saying goodbye to the first year of this blog. Hope to see you there!

Things I've been enjoying this week: Heading out shortly to hang out and watch Xmas movies with the aforementioned Elizabeth, Danny, and Becca! Candy canes. Honkai Impact (Video game). Chainsaw Man (Anime & Manga). Knowing Star Saber's on his way and should be here Monday (and some other TFs are going to be coming home soon too). Finding something as a present that you didn't think you'd see before Xmas and is now under the tree. Advent calendars. Lego Masters (TV show). The Simpsons (TV show). Tiansheng being such a good boy for the vet (Nadja was not and so we have to go back Wednesday with her dosed with a calming drug beforehand). Hades II!!!!!!!! Getting through a chunk of my to-do list. This past week wasn't quite as "Winter Slumpy" as I was expecting, but I made good progress.

Also, I took a pull on Genshin and got the artist formerly known as Scaramouche by accident and Becca still needs to pull him because they're actually much more interested, so one more plug, please buy some stuff from Becca so they can get this guy.

New Releases this week (12/7/2022): Sonic the Hedgehog #55 (Editor) Transformers: Best of Windblade (Editor--our penultimate TF book) Godzilla Monsters & Protectors: All Hail the King #3 (Editor! My first Godzilla book!)

New releases next week (12/14/2022): Transformers: Shattered Glass II #5 (Supervising Editor--Our last TF book. More next week).

Pic of the Week: Last week I drew a silly little comic about how doing self-promotion, including for this blog, kinda backfired as it seemed like I was being throttled in who my posts were reaching, as well as how to get past it (hint: he's fast and blue and I think I literally already posted this here, but whoops?).

#comic art #paid for art #comics #anti ai #anti nft #whoopsrepeatcomic #editorialtips

4 notes · View notes

ashfallsdown · 2 years

Text

Pinned Post!

Hi Tumblr! You can call me Ash (they/he), and this is my disability sideblog.

We’ll mostly be reblogging content, particularly constructive positivity and tips, but we might occasionally post some of our own experiences/advice.

Disclaimer: Please keep in mind that I’m not a medical or mental health professional, and any advice that I post is not to be taken as real medical advice, but just things that have helped me personally. If it helps you too, that’s great! But just because I say something has worked for me doesn’t mean it will work for you.

Content Description, Askbox Guidelines, and more below the cut!

About Ash

I’m Ash, I use they/them and he/him pronouns, I’m in my 20s, and I’m a queer POC living in the United States (unfortunately).

I’m currently working in retail, because it’s the only job I can get, and I’m racing against the clock to become a published fiction writer before my body gives out and leaves me without income.

Despite everything, we’re trying to live our life to the fullest extent that we can.

About My Disabilities and Diagnoses

I’m not going to be making any sort of a detailed list of diagnoses, for my personal comfort. If I post advice for any given diagnosis, it will only be for those that I have. I’ll reblog posts for many different disabilities, though.

We’re physically disabled (progressively getting more so), and mentally disabled (getting better, hopefully). Most of our advice posts will be about chronic pain, hypermobility, neurodivergence and trauma symptoms— the symptoms that we experience most heavily and most impact our life— and coping mechanisms and methods that help us.

One thing I will say here though— I/we have complex Dissociative Identity Disorder. At least for those of us primarily using this blog, we’re focusing on trauma recovery and coping, as well as doing a lot of parts work, in order to recover and better integrate. We won’t likely be pursuing final fusion, as it’s probably not possible, but we’d like to be more functional, less easily triggered, and to fuse parts where they’re comfortable and ready. I treat my DID as part of my PTSD, and while there are varying levels of comfort with various terms, we typically try to have more of a “parts of one” interpretation and focus, while at the same time not forcing this view on alters/parts that aren’t ready for it yet. The terms or pronouns we use (“I” vs. “We,” “Parts” vs “Alters” etc.) might vary based on the context and the part currently fronting. “Ash” is the collective name we’ve chosen to go by. I won’t be sharing any kind of “list of alters,” out of respect for the safety and privacy of each part. If they wish to introduce themselves, or sign off, that’s up to each of them individually. We have a long way to go, but we’re working on becoming more healthy. If my/our perspective(s) on our own disorder make you uncomfortable, please don’t follow.

This Blog’s Purpose

As is probably apparent, this blog is recovery-focused, but at the same time, as someone with a disability that has and will just get progressively worse over time, recovery can mean management too. Recovery, for me, isn’t about “getting better,” but about living a full life in the ways that we can.

I want to recognize that some disabilities are permanent, or won’t improve, or will get worse over time— and to find/provide validation for painful feelings, and celebration for whatever progress can be made. Whatever “getting back up” looks like for you, or me, or any of us.

Posts on this blog will be tagged with their type (tips, awareness, positivity, etc.) and the relevant disability or condition, as well as any common triggers in the posts. In addition, any personal posts I make will be tagged as “ash tells tales.”

Before You Follow & Askbox Guidelines

I don’t have a “don’t follow if” list, because quite frankly I don’t have enough energy to check everyone who follows me to see if they’re a TERF or not.

If you directly interact with me (asks, replies to my posts, reblogs), and exhibit any of the following, the ask in question will receive a generic response directing you to this post:

Questions about my Diagnoses

Questions about my Trauma

Any other non-casual personal questions

“Syscourse” or anything involving “endogenic systems”

Requests for medical advice (opinions are okay, just please don’t treat me like a doctor or therapist— I haven’t been to med school!)

Questions or advice relating to specific experiences, disorders, or conditions that I do not have/do not have experience with.

And if your interactions exhibit or contain any of the following, I will delete any ask or reply that I can and block, whether anon or not:

Racism

LGBT+phobia

Antisemitism or Islamophobia

Any other Bigotry

Ableism (not due merely to ignorance)

Victim-blaming

Preaching Chrxstianity or B*ble Verses

Conservative Idealogy

TERF Idealogy

Any Hate

Intentionally Triggering Material

In the meantime, I always love hearing about:

Positive things! Things that make you happy, accomplishments, things you enjoy. Some art you feel proud of, pictures of pets, happy stories and small daily successes.

Advice and Recovery Stories! If you’ve made a major step in recovery or symptom management, or if you’ve found something that really helps you, feel free to send it in and I’ll pass it on (just make sure to specify condition/symptom for tagging purposes).

Fun facts! Sometimes we all need a little distraction— if you know some fun facts about your interests that you want to share, feel free to send them in!

#pinned post

0 notes

onelovewonderwoman · 3 years

Text

first class || charles xavier x reader

i’ve been on an x-men binge and fell into a hole of james mcavoy and charles xavier again, so here we are. i haven’t written fics in a long time, so i tried to again. i’m uncreative so like the title is just the first movie because of the fact that it’s set during that time. kind of like self insert cause there’s a few bits and pieces where there’s canonical plot and interactions, so disclaimer for that. anyways, hope you guys enjoy! ps also don’t have enough energy to find a fitting gif so maybe i’ll find one later maybe i won’t. we’ll see

words: 5.8k

warnings: not proofread (i spent three days on this so i don’t have the energy anymore haha), writing lacks emotional depth, drug use and mentions, intent of murder, thoughts of (murder, rape, suicide, etc.), poorly written two paragraphs about kissing, angst, we ignore moira and charles’ romance cause... duh, it’s x reader and it’s too difficult for me to work around it rn a haha

masterlist

The rooms were always the same. They were dark, illuminated only by the dimmest of lights emanating from the occasional lava lamp or fairy lights. Fairy - ironic word for such situations, such rooms. Filled so heavily with smoke it made it hard to breathe, let alone see. And the floors; the floors always felt different.

In hindsight, it was probably the one thing that had her realizing the rooms were never actually the same. Sure, they had the same smell, the same overcrowdedness and moving bodies, the same darkness, even the same taste, but the floors testified to the difference each room held.

Sometimes, when the world would freeze and all the people around her became nothing but a mesh of warm bodies, she could hear the floor creak under her feet with every step she took. There she was - the house right down the street from her.

Other times, the floors felt sticky under her shoes. She assumed it was tequila. There were always too many bottles around to count, surely there would be spills. Or, some poor guy could have pissed himself like that one time. When her shoes sounded like velcro as she walked across the floor, she was at the house all the way across town.

In any case, she felt the same ankle up. One of her favourite parts had to be the way the music always abused her ears - so high, it made her feel lightheaded. More so than she already had been both. Sex was not nearly regular enough for her to compare, but she knew what she would feel every time the music was loud enough to make her head buzz and throb with a vengeance was more erotic than anything anyone could ever do to her.

The place could change but the scene never really did. Down to the people - she knew this for sure. She knew every beating heart around her like they were her own. She never only felt it there, but in her head as well. Even as it buzzed, she felt it. Sometimes it tore at her skull as if trying to escape - ironic.

Now, why did the scene change one evening in 1962? She told herself it was fate, but it had merely been wishful thinking when she knew why. How did she know? She knew the man sitting next to her on the worn down couch, nearly entirely unconscious and reeking of weed and vodka, knew the girl across the house, the girl across the house knew the man next to her and that - so on and so forth - meant she knew all three of them, even though they didn’t know her. So, for two new men to walk into the house, their eyes focused - focused on her - changed the scene entirely.

Now, the music became nothing more than an assault on her ears; the lights became too bright at the same time as the dark became too dark; the air became heavier than usual; and she sobered up at the feeling of something - someone - in her head. Then, it all caved in. It was as overwhelming as it always was, but she was used to it enough to handle it for a little while, at least whilst remnants of her high remained. She couldn’t say the same for the shorter of the two men she saw keel over at the pressure.

He got over it pretty quick, from what she could tell. “Charles Xavier,” he introduced himself as, “This is my colleague, Erik Lensherr.”

A quick trip from the couch to the door had her standing on the lawn of the house of the night with the two men. Crickets could be heard fighting against the sound of the music blaring from the house as she swayed on her feet, making wet sounds in the grass from earlier rain. Charles stood not much taller than her, charm emanating from him and the way his piercing blue eyes seemed to smile despite his furrowed brows and mouth set in a straight line as he stared at her, waiting for a response with his hands tucked into his coat pockets. Erik stood taller, stoic and calculating.

“And?” She crossed her arms across her chest, both in discomfort and the fact that the chilly night air had begun to bite at her skin, her long sleeve doing nothing to help. “I should care why?”

If the incident earlier wasn’t enough, the way the both of them looked at her was enough for her to know why. “What’s your name?” Charles asked, having her notice then the English accent on his tongue.

The second she gave it to him, he smiled - almost sympathetically - at her and hummed, “You have an incredibly busy mind, Y/N.”

“And you have an incredibly nosy one, Charles.” That had Erik letting out a chuckle, one that felt like approval to her ears.

Never in a million years would she dare say yes to anything of the sort the two men proposed to her that night. A team of mutants; not necessarily that she thought it was absurd or a horrible idea - no. It made sense, not factoring in their current climate, to have a team of mutants fighting against the evils of the world. The horrible idea was to have her join. No, she wanted to tell them, “I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking too,” Erik agreed with her, catching both herself and Charles off guard, “We’ll be going then.”

He offered her his hand. She didn’t know how long she stood there staring at his outstretched arm. Sometimes her high slowed time - it could have been five seconds or five minutes. When she finally looked away from his hand, up at him, she saw he stood unwavered and patient.

“You don’t have to, you know.” Her eyes shot to Charles as he broke the silence. He shook his head, brows still furrowed and mouth set in a straight line. “You’re under no obligation.”

For Charles to know, she understood. He had just been in her mind long enough to know that most of it wasn’t even hers. For Erik to know and offer her his hand made her wonder just how desperate he was to assemble the team - for whatever reason that she was about to find out in a moment.

“We leave now.” Was all he said after he tore his hand from hers.

An hour hasn’t even passed when she found herself on a plane with the two men, mind still buzzing but this time not with a high. This time, with an overwhelming anger and anticipation. The way Erik didn’t make eye contact with her and Charles sent worried glances her way throughout their trip to their “base” was enough to tell her that they knew she had already been briefed on what was happening - the reason behind their assembling of a team. Rather, she knew specifically of the personal motive behind it.

All it made her heart feel like it was beating a mile a minute. It pounded against her chest so hard she was sure at least one of them could hear it. So badly did she want to hide out in the plane’s bathroom and take something to stop the pain, but it was off the table. For now.

Soon enough the flight ended, and she came to find out their “base” was a covert CIA facility where they placed the other mutants they rounded up before her. She just as quickly met and said goodbye to Moira MacTaggert, a CIA officer working with Charles and Erik to stop Shaw. His name alone sent sparks of rage flowing through her veins.

She was left with the group when the three went off that night. There, she came face to face with Raven, Sean, Alex, Hank, Darwin, and Angel - or, Mystique, Banshee, and Havok. Darwin and Angel were “self explanatory”, considering they were already nicknames and described their powers fairly well. Hank was just… Hank.

Her turn came around quickly, once everyone settled down from Alex’s show of his “gift”, when all heads turned to her, sitting at the end of the couch. Raven smiled at her - she liked her, she was sweet - “What about you? What’s your power?”

“I’m,” She paused for a moment, the eyes on her making her anxious and curl into herself hoping, praying, another mutant wouldn’t touch her. “I can move things. With my mind.” She gave a tight smile to Raven and nodded her head, as if to reassure herself. “I can move things with my mind.”

Raven’s smile only widened, excited by either the prospect of her being able to move things with her mind or the opportunity to give her an alias. She assumed it was the latter. She excused herself to the washroom just as Raven asked the group what they thought. “We’ll have one for you once you get back! Promise!” Raven called after her.

Body filled with anticipation, she nearly ran to the washroom, willing the door closed behind her after she entered. It was small, but clean - CIA property after all.

She tried. She really did. Albeit, making contact with a mutant was always the worst; Erik especially. The trauma, the pain, the thoughts. All them clawed at her brain, as though they were tearing through it layer by layer until nothing but them remained within her skull.

Nothing could stop her from taking out the small baggy in her back pocket and tearing it open. Nothing could stop her from taking it, only to feel a rush flow through her. It would take a bit, but soon enough she would stop feeling them gnawing on her very existence. Soon, numbness would wash over her and she could just be no one.

She guessed she was in the washroom for about half an hour. Staring at her reflection, at the floor, at the ceiling, at anything, but when she made her way back to the room, she found it in disarray. Music was blasting from the radio, chairs flipped over, Raven on top of the couch dancing as Hank hung from the ceiling light, the rest of the group messing around with their powers. She couldn’t tell if they were experiencing some high of their own or just happened to have gotten their hands on some alcohol.

“What are you doing? Who destroyed the statue?” Moira’s voice broke her out of the trance she was in watching the group. Slowly, she turned her head to see her, Charles, and Erik walking over as everyone else froze. Moira was angry, that much anyone could tell, but the two men were unreadable.

Hank was the first one to reply back, jumping down the ceiling, panicked, “It was Alex.”

“No. Havok.” Raven seemed to stay unfazed, still standing on the couch with a wide smile on her face. “We have to call him Havok. That's his name now…”

Raven’s words melted away from her. Her focus wasn’t elsewhere; it was simply nowhere at all. She stared at everyone in the room, yet no one at all. So caught up in nothing she didn’t notice Charles himself staring at her until Erik uttered something under his breath and walked away with Moira following, brows furrowed in what looked to be confusion. Just as she caught his eye, he looked away.

Directed at Raven, he spoke firmly, “I expect more from you.”

Not long after, they had gotten word that Shaw would be in Russia, and so she was left with the group of mutants when the three left alongside the CIA to get their hands on him. Before, it would have made her wonder what purpose the group of mutants really served if they didn’t want them there to help. Now, after the incident, she understood why.

By no means were any of them prepared for such a task. She couldn’t claim to be either. She only agreed because she knew a part within her would hate her for not coming and at the very least trying to help.

Just when she thought she and the solemn group couldn’t be any more of a liability, she was proven wrong. Because now Sebastian Shaw stood in front of them, smug and irritating as ever, after having his lackey drop an unsuspecting CIA to his death in front of all of them and cornering them.

“Good evening. My name's Sebastian Shaw, and I'm not here to hurt you.” She was sure she wasn’t the only one assuming he had taken out every single CIA operative in the facility to make it this far; a thought that filled her being with even more dread than she was already feeling at the sight of him. “My friends, there's a revolution coming. When mankind discovers who we are, what we can do, each of us will face a choice. Be enslaved or rise up to rule. Choose freely, but know that if you are not with us, then by definition, you are against us. So, you can stay and fight for the people who hate and fear you. Or you can join me, and love like kings and queens.”

They all watched, both shocked and betrayed when Angel took the hand Shaw outstretched, standing by his side even when he murdered Darwin in his attempt to stop him with Alex. She didn’t see it - she turned away the second Shaw released the energy he’d taken from Alex into Darwin. She heard it, though. The explosion. When she turned back, as Shaw, Angel, and the men he had brought with him retreated, she saw nothing. There was no sign of Darwin; not even a speck of dust.

Suddenly, her chest tightened and the clawing came back.

----------------------------------

The person who happened to almost send them home also happened to be the one who provided them a new place to train their powers for the fight with Shaw. Charles was entirely serious and extremely close to sending them all home; “They’re just kids.” But Erik made it clear to him that they couldn’t be anymore, not after Shaw.

Charles lived, alongside Raven, in a massive mansion that had been entirely too big for her to take in, but it provided the perfect space for them to train their powers. Each of them were assigned rooms by Charles personally that day.

He took the liberty of walking them each there. She didn’t know if it was just her or a Charles thing, but he stayed quiet. Unusual for a man that had so much to say. But then again, with what they’ve already been through, she couldn’t imagine he was feeling very chatty. She certainly wouldn’t have been in his situation. Granted, she would be feeling the same way now, but in her predicament by this point, she wouldn’t mind someone else’s verbal company.

The second he guided her through the bedroom

door, she began to take in the sheer size of the room, feeling bigger than life itself in the way that she was feeling. The bed was even better; huge and looked as though the softness of it would swallow her into a warm hug. Her first instinct would have been to jump right onto it, but the fact that Charles ceased to leave and instead remained planted there, giving her a look she couldn’t make out once she turned to face him, made her fight against her urges.

She opened her mouth in an attempt to utter an “Are you alright?” but never got the chance. Instead, Charles spoke as soon as her mouth opened, slowly, as if to make sure she understood every word he was saying like she had been incapable of doing so before, “Training starts tonight, but I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.”

With her brows furrowed in confusion, she nodded, and Charles began to walk away. He stopped by the frame of the door, back to her, and spoke again, “Try and get some rest.”

With that, he shut the door behind him. Now, she was left in the room alone, tiredness washing over her. Awaiting the next day, she decided to fall into the cloud that was the bed and fall asleep while she could.

----------------------------------

The next morning was when Charles asked to see her - by Raven. The young woman led her over to a room, an odd dome shaped one, where Charles stood waiting. He wasn’t the same as the night before - uncomfortable, was the only way she knew to describe it - welcoming and encouraging.

“We’ve got plenty of work to do,” Charles spoke, hands in his pockets, as she entered and Raven excused herself elsewhere. Looking around, she could see evidence that training had started last night, namely Alex’s. Dark scuff marks were streaked across walls of the dome on the end farthest from them and small balls of fluff on the floor remained, assumingly left behind in the midst of a quick clean up of training dummies that had been torn open.

Despite the mess, several other objects were placed across the floor. All ranged from light to heavy. Chairs, weights - it looked to be anything he could have been capable of carrying in with the help of the others.

She stopped in front of him. “What’s this?”

The man’s smile widened before he started, rather loudly at that. “Well.” He moved towards the objects then spun around to face her, arms outstretched. “This is the beginning of your training.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking at the man unimpressed. “You want me to move this stuff around?”

“You’re not just moving stuff around.” Charles shook his head, arms dropping to his sides as he declared. “You don’t need to move everything here. I only need to see how much you can handle.” His head tilted as he looked at her, blue eyes meeting her own as his expression retreated to one of curiosity. “And how you handle it.”

She didn’t think the professor was aware of the innuendo within the situation, so she let it go despite the sweet stomach dropping feeling that came over her. Instead, she shrugged. “Then what?”

“Then,” Charles hesitated for a moment, “Erik was able to move a satellite dish. If it happens to be possible-”

“A satellite dish?” She laughed incredulously, “You can be serious.”

Charles nodded towards her, challenging her statements as he took a few steps forward. “And what is it that’s making you believe you’re incapable of doing anything similar?”

“Look.” She shook her head, looking directly at him when she said, “I can move the average household item, shut a door and maybe, just maybe, bust it down, but I couldn’t push your couch across the room, let alone move a fu- a satellite dish.”

Charles’ brows furrowed. “And that’s what you believe?”

She hummed. “That’s what I know.”

“Well,” he sighed, disappointment written across his face that sent her into a spiral, “There’s not much we can do if you don’t believe you can better yourself, is there?”

The second he walked past her was when it felt as though ice water had been spilt onto her. A mixture of confusion and gloom washed over her before she turned to see Charles’ back, still moving towards the door. “What?”

He stopped in his tracks at her exclamation, waiting several moments as if contemplating before he turned back to her. Carefully, he asked, “Why do you take them?”

She shook her head, looking almost offended. “How did you-”

“Your mind,” Charles confirmed, “It gets quieter.”

The offence on her face never ceased, but the uncomfortable mixture of feelings she was overwhelmed with had her shrug in response to his question. Charles only nodded and gave her a tight smile before turning back.

She closed her eyes, resigning herself with huff. She could go back to the life she had come to know and hate, or she could take the second chance he was giving her even if it did include the prospect of some suffering.

“I don’t take them for fun.” The sound of her voice made Charles stop again. This time, he waited. “When I touch a person I don’t just take every experience. I take every memory.”

He turned around to face her once more and gave her nod, signalling her to continue. She breathed in and out. “I see and I feel everything that’s happened to them. That’s a lot and it’s enough, but that’s not why I-”

She cut herself off, feeling herself choke on the words before shaking her head and persisting herself on despite Charles’ look of concern. “I take them because, when I take their memories, I take all of their thoughts too. Every one. So every thought of murder, or rape, or suicide, or any fucked up thing, keeps tearing me apart from the inside out.”

Charles nodded, walking closer to her, choosing his words carefully as he spoke, sympathy written deep in his soft voice, “And they scare you.”

She shook her head. Looking away from him for a moment, she willed away tears she felt gathering. She turned back to him. “The thought of acting on them scares me.”

Although slightly taken aback by the revelation, Charles holds his composure. He nodded before opening his mouth to respond, walking closer as he began.

The only reaction he got was her taking a step back, shaking her head. “I swear I’m not a bad person.” Charles assumed she didn’t want him touching her - considering she took away every thought. “I’m always all these people at once - I don’t even know who I am.”

“Then we will figure it out.” Charles tilted his head, making sure her eyes met his when she attempted to look away. His voice was soft and reassuring to her ears, even if she didn’t know whether to believe him or not. “You aren’t alone, Y/N.”

As it turns, the drugs were having a large effect on her ability to use her powers - the next few days told her as much. By no means was she capable of moving a satellite dish, but she had been able to take her powers to lengths she never thought she could have been able to.

Most of it was due to Charles - he’d spent most of the next few days with her, pushing her, sometimes to the point where she’d snap at him. She always calmed, though, and Charles always remained coolheaded.

Still, they grew closer. Or at least she grew closer to him. She couldn’t tell if the praise, the laughs, the banter, and the willingness to come back together after a fight only meant something to her. She hoped it did - because why else wouldn’t he just give up on her? All that time spent on advancing her powers to defeat Shaw, and he still talked about helping her as though their relationship would continue past this mission.

Part of her wanted to touch him so she could just know. Even if he hadn’t taken such a liking to her as she had him, at the very least try to understand him in his entirety and make a space for herself in his life. Then, another part of her was horrified at what she would find in there.

For the time being, there wasn’t much opportunity to dwell on it. The day they would head out was coming soon, and Erik suggested the group get a good night’s rest. They would all need it.

With her luck, she didn’t know why she thought that sleep would come easy that night. Whether it was due to adrenaline, anxiety, or anything else, didn’t matter. Because whatever was keeping her up had her pacing the hallways of Charles’ estate that night.

She wasn’t looking for it, but instead happened upon a conversation.

“… no difference. Shaw’s declared war on mankind. On all of us. He has to be stopped.” She heard Charles’ voice through a door as she passed by. Although knowing that he could probably make out the sound of her mind from a mile away, she still stopped by it. She grew even more curious when she heard Erik’s voice.

“I'm not gonna stop Shaw. I'm gonna kill him. Do you have it in you to allow that?” A moment of silence passed and she shifted on her feet. It made the floor creek. She shut her eyes and bit her lip, nervous, expecting to hear the sound of one of their footsteps coming to open the door and catch her eavesdropping. Whether they heard or not, she didn’t know as Erik continued on, “You've known all along why I was here, Charles. But things have changed. What started as a covert mission, tomorrow mankind will know that mutants exist. Shaw, us, they won't differentiate. They'll fear us. And that fear will turn to hatred.”

“Not if we stop a war,” Charles’ voice wavered on a line of urgency and assurance, “Not if we can prevent Shaw. Not if we risk our lives doing so.”

Charles very well could have been doing nothing but reassuring Erik with his words, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he was actually trying to reassure himself. As if the world wouldn’t either discard or abuse them once they’ve served their purpose of their betterment.

“Will they do the same for us?”

“We have it in us to be the better men.”

“We already are.” Erik’s voice quickly turned from calm to urgent when he next spoke. “We're the next stage of human evolution. You said it yourself!”

“No, no!” She heard Charles attempt to cut Erik off before he sighed. She could practically hear the disappointment in it, although she couldn’t say she felt the same. He only let Erik continue.

“Are you really so naive as to think that they won't battle their own extinction?” She heard him pause. “Or is it arrogance?”

“I’m sorry?” As if Charles had misheard him.

She shifted on her feet once more as their voices became more hushed, despite the feeling coming from the room becoming more hostile than calm. This time, she was more careful. Nothing made a sound below her feet when she moved closer to the door, pressing her ear against it, as well as her left palm for support.

“After tomorrow, they're gonna turn us. But you're blind to it, because you believe they're all like Moira.”

“And you believe they're all like Shaw.” Came Charles’ immediate response. Calmly, she heard him continue, “Listen to me very carefully my friend. Killing Shaw will not bring you peace.”

Erik’s voice never wavered when he told Charles, “Peace was never an option.”

Footsteps came far too fast for her to move away from the door. In a split second, she found herself leaning against the door to crashing into Erik’s chest when he pulled the door open. For a moment, Erik stood staring down at her, watching her attempt to recompose herself and attempt to apologize. She didn’t get a word out before he moved past her and walked away.

She watched his form retreat before she turned back to the room. Standing in the doorway, she saw Charles sitting in the chair facing away from her. With his eyes closed and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed, “You realize I can hear your mind from across this house?”

She took a step in, almost reluctantly. She didn’t imagine Charles would be content with anything she had to say, but maybe she could make him understand. “Erik’s right, you know.”

Her words had Charles’ eyes snap open. He got out the chair, setting down the drink he was nursing on the table next to him, before he turned to face her. “Excuse me?”

“Peace isn’t an option ‘cause we’re never gonna get peace.” She shook her head, desperation in both her voice and eyes as she stared into his. “Erik thinks they’re gonna turn on us. They might not, but it doesn’t mean any of us will get any peace. They won’t all be like Shaw, they won’t all be like Moira, but most of them - most of them will just be human. They’ll fear us and they’ll judge us. It doesn’t matter how harmless we are or not.”

She watched as Charles took a step forward, his head tilting to the side, expression unreadable as his voice remained calm. “You can’t be serious.” It was a statement - a wrong one.

“Shaw needs to die,” She spoke with assurance. She felt her eyes fill with tears, Charles watching her suck in a breath and release as he began to walk closer to her, before she spoke in a whisper, no longer trusting her voice, “Shaw needs to die for what he did to us. We’re going to kill him, Charles.”

They’re faces we’re merely inches apart, chilling her to the bone as he looked at her. What she thought he would never do is what he tried the second he began to raise his hand, speaking quickly to her when he asked, “Us?”

His hand almost cupped her cheek when she turned her head away from it. Immediately, his hand froze. Charles watched her profile as more tears welled up in her eyes and her lips began to tremble. Voice weak and tearful, staring away from him, she pleaded, “Please don’t confuse me. I can’t-”

“I know you feel it,” Charles’ other hand came up to guide her face back to him despite her, whispering carefully, “But it is not your cross to bear.”

His hand was warm against her cheek. Comforting - enough to make her mind go blank. Wishful thinking, of course, because soon the clawing in her head would come back with a vengeance at having a man such as Charles touch her. For now, though, he felt safe. Stable. Enough so that she could close her eyes for a moment and let the tears fall as he leaned down to her and let his forehead press against hers.

“You can’t help but feel his pain,” She felt his breath against her lips as he spoke, his voice the same soft and soothing as she’s known it to be, “But you can decide what you do with it.”

She shook her head gently and pulled away, but still letting Charles’ hand rest against her cheek. “It’s not just-” she whispered to him, mouth feeling dry as her eyes avoided his, trying to piece her thoughts together. His hand slid down to the base of her neck, guiding her eyes to his. She licked her lips before she swallowed. “I barely knew Darwin, but he killed him right in front of us. And it was cruel and scary and I couldn’t even make myself look at it when it happened.”

“I know.” Charles brought his other hand up to brush away slow falling tears she hadn’t even known began to escape. He voiced nothing but concern, letting her continue as if he knew what she was going to say next.

Her hands reached up to wrap around his wrists, not to pull his hands away from her, but to simply hold onto them. Almost as if they were an anchor to make up for the tears she now felt were falling faster down her face as she realized. “For the first time, I think I want something, I feel this anger and fear, because of my head. I saw it first and I felt it first. It’s mine, and now I have a real responsibility to take care of it.”

“Not with murder.” Her hands tightened around his wrists as he brought her face closer to his own. A frown on his face as he desperately told her, “I meant it when I told you that we would figure this out together. You told me you were never your own person, that you don’t even know yourself. We were - we are - going to bring you into existence. I beg you, Y/N, don’t let yourself be brought into this world as a murderer.”

His words, as beautiful as they were, only half registered within her brain. All she found herself focusing on then was how close he was. She would think back later and come to realize that it was because the only thing making her tears stop and giving her the will not to commit a murder was the prospect of approval she would get from a man like him. From someone who could never understand her struggle, someone who never tried to or tried to make her feel as though there was some way out. From someone who wanted to build on it and show her the strength she could find within it.

Realistically, she knew he would have a few words for her if she ever outwardly admitted to him that she used approval as a means for bettering herself, but it was the best she could do at the time being.

Charles’ brows furrowed as he watched her face, spaced out and regarding him with an expression not even he could read. Somewhere deep down, though, he knew he had gotten through to her. His lips curled up slightly, speaking lowly with amusement evident in his voice, “Now where did you go?”

Her eyes shot from his lips to his eyes once more. As quick as they made eye contact, she leaned forward to press her lips against his. Lips soft, she kissed him carefully, one hand moving to cup his face. Only in the last few moments did he respond to it by kissing back.

She pulled away, looking at him nervously and letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in. Her mouth was dry again. “I’m sorry-”

She was cut off by Charles’ lips on hers once more. She kissed back instantly, sighing into the kiss in content. Feeling Charles smirk against her lips and deepen the kiss, she put both hands behind his neck, pulling his body closer to hers. He took her lower lip between his teeth, pulling slightly as he let his hands trail down her body to her waist, pulling her to make sure there wasn’t the slightest gap between their bodies.

Their lips broke apart, but only long enough to allow for a quick breath. Charles pushed his lips back into hers as her hands snaked down to the collar of his dress shirt, playing carefully with the top button.

Eventually, their lips broke apart as they caught their breath. Bodies still pressed together, Charles leant forward to rest his forehead onto hers, her eyes still close, for a moment before pressing a kiss to it. He placed his chin on top of her head and rested there, her head resting against the crook of his neck as she felt him - anticipating what it would feel like to feel nothing but him.

#x-men #x-men first class #x-men days of future past #x-men apocalypse #x-men dark phoenix #charles xavier x reader #charles xavier imagine #charles xavier one-shot #x-men imagine #x-men one-shot #charles xavier #erik lensherr #raven #mystique #sean #angel #hank mccoy #james mcavoy #michael fassbender

288 notes · View notes

cherrynojutsu · 3 years

Text

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chapter 7/?: Catalysts

Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often, despite the frustrating paradox that is the male endocrine system’s apparent determination to make him do so. He finds it feels… empty, after. Like there’s supposed to be something more, but instead there’s just whatever is situated above his head to stare at while his breathing levels out, an interminable abyss of silence and stars, or tree foliage, or apartment ceiling. Impulses and feelings of a sexual nature are probably normal for anyone his age, but in the past, satiating desires like this has made him feel guilty, given the context.

When he's not plagued by nightmares rife with gore and blood and bodies, or the occasional aching memory, his subconscious takes the opportunity to bombard him with dreams of a suggestive nature, having deduced somehow that it’s the most effective method to get him to… tend to things.

This variety of dream customarily involves pale pink hair, multifaceted eyes, and soft fingertips, branded into the part of his brain that controls his most base instincts with a hot iron.

He notes begrudgingly as he gazes at plain plaster above him, brows furrowed, that ostensibly, it works well enough, if the intricate mess of thoughts and feelings in his head and on his abdomen are anything to go by.

Sasuke would never admit it to anyone, but Sakura has headlined exclusively in nearly every sexually-charged dream he's ever had, and resultingly the majority of his sentient thoughts while indulging outside of dreaming, too. When they were Genin, it was innocent enough; he had reasoned that, being the main girl his age he associated with, it made sense his inadvertent dreams, beyond the scope of his control, involved her. He'd shaken it off in those early days as the by-product of the developing hormonal cocktail that is the pubescent masculine mind, and ignored the part of himself that kind of had a crush on her even then. Or definitively more than a crush, after the Chunin Exams and the hospital and jealousy.

He had tried convincing himself of the same thing at fourteen, once he'd left the village and had attempted to sever all bonds. It didn’t work, though; by that point he knew better, knew what the feeling he was trying to squash actually was.

Which meant it didn’t work at fifteen, either.

Nor sixteen, and definitely not seventeen, eighteen, or nineteen.

All of that has been wholly indecent on its own in the past, causing him to feel shameful every time it happens, and even more ashamed if it’s a rare day where he’s weak enough to act on it, a day where he wakes up mere seconds from an edge rather than minutes.

But this morning, he woke up on the tail end of all of that with the addition of freckles , of all things to fixate on, and he just knows he's never going to forget about them now, that they’re branded into his grey matter in perpetuity. Freckles just above the interior of a shoulder, eight of them, a small scattering he had been pressing his lips to, listening to a softly whispered Sasuke-kun, reaching around her with his only arm, so he could make her say his name like that again.

It is far from the first time he’s touched himself to the thought of Sakura, but it is the first time he’s indulged since they’ve been… together.

Except this time felt… different.

Less like an unrealistic reverie he should try to abstain from and more like an eventuality. Less guilt, too, or rather, almost none, because he’s in a relationship with her now, and he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to have feelings like this regarding her. Not that he is anywhere near ready to do anything about them, because he absolutely is not; he’s not certain he even comprehends that level of vulnerability, to touch another person and allow yourself to be touched by them, though he badly wants to, someday.

No, Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often… but he did this morning, when he woke up teetering just on the precipice, fantasizing about tiny tan flecks seen and unseen, and he’s trying to work through how he feels about it, this guilt surrounding the fact of not feeling guilty like he ordinarily does, as well as the lingering curiosity he’s struggling to force down regarding how many other freckles Sakura has.

Even moreso, he yearns for soft words that he has often thought may be sentimental to the point of being utterly quixotic. It's why he doesn’t typically submit to this kind of inclination in the first place; it’s meaningless on one’s own, he secretly thinks, though he has nothing to compare it to. No sense of connection or true lasting fulfillment like he imagines there must be, for people to talk about it the way they do; just pleasure that's there for a blinding scattered second and gone the next, with nothing tenderhearted or meaningful in the moments following as his vision refocuses and he picks up the pieces.

He stares at his ceiling, an aporia of longing and complicated compulsions ricocheting in the hallways of his head, or perhaps from his skull to the roof and back again, an absurd push and pull that leaves him with more questions than answers.

Has she ever thought about him the way he thinks about her?

What would it sound like, Sasuke-kun, when she’s like that?

Is it okay to feel like this, now? To think about her in this regard?

Sasuke is accustomed to not sleeping well - it comes with the territory of his lived experience, an unfortunate fact of life he’s somewhat learned to deal with - but during the mission to Sand, he'd slept fairly restfully, though in short increments of five or six hours. That's apparently the tipping point of how long he gets to go without being sojourned by some variety of vision in the night.

He eventually makes his way to the shower, using torrid water and soap to double cleanse what’s left of his mess. That's a big contributor to his consternation, too; it's so embarrassingly messy that it’s impossible to imagine ever doing anything like it with her . He flips the dial to cold after he’s bathed for the better portion of five minutes, because serpens caput is still burned into his retinas, and he’s hoping against hope to freeze it out of himself like he has tried to do with shame in the past.

It doesn’t work; it just induces shivering, algidity overwhelming the senses but doing nothing to distract the mind.

He shoves his face into his book after, desperate for the distraction a proverbial fiction featuring an old fisherman can provide and thinking once again that he needs to acquire a lamp. Anything to get the thought of pressing his lips to her freckles out of his head, because he’s pretty sure if he keeps thinking about it, he’ll have to take care of things for the second time today, and then he really won’t know how to feel.

So when a banging erupts on his apartment door shortly following eight, followed by a shout of, “TEME! I'm here, let’s go!”, all he can think is finally, because he knows it will at least get his mind off of this strange lack of guilt and a curiosity he’s not ready to unpack yet. The book helped, but he thinks he needs the challenge a fight against Naruto can provide to truly leave behind this level of prurience. He doesn’t know how he’s going to look her in the eye when they meet at three as they planned, otherwise.

Sasuke shoves on his sandals and grabs his chokuto before opening the door. “So you finally showed. Thought you'd sleep all morning.”

Naruto’s eyes narrow, indignant and already launching into a retort. Good. Maybe he’ll get some iota of order knocked back into him, enough to put compelling constellations away for the time being.

XXX

Sasuke feels monumentally better by noon. It’s another draw, an absolute whirlwind of swinging limbs that made it impossible to focus on anything else. He didn’t take joy in it necessarily, and he suspects Naruto bruised his ulna bone to the extent it almost cracked, but it helps, the diversion of pain; the tinge he feels when he moves it is a welcome hindrance. They’d stuck mainly to taijutsu and clashing weaponry, so physically, he’s pretty exhausted.

They’re resting in the dirt, making a valiant attempt at rehydrating. It’s moderately hot for this time of year, barely on the cusp of mid April, but it’s seeming like the Konoha heat will be returning with the same vengeance it always does. A small trickle of sweat sinks its way down his back.

Sasuke feels nearly normal again. Or normal to the extent he generally feels, anyways. He gets the urge to do something good - to tip the scale, so to speak.

"...The cutting board works. Thank you." It’s not what he’s most thankful for right now, but it’s a nice thing to say as substitution.

His friend grins at him. "Welcome! It was all me, by the way. Hinata-chan didn't even help me pick it out!" Naruto scratches his head, downing more water. He’s moving rather slowly, as if he is sore, too; Sasuke thinks perhaps he came close to beating him this round.

They stare upwards for a while, soaking in the sun as clouds roll lazily by. Birds fly overhead, finches and song sparrows twittering their selections, collecting materials to build more nests for this new season. It’s another effective distraction, one that fills him with a sense of nostalgia, replacing his earlier sense of compunction regarding the mystifying concept of physical love and the whims that accompany it.

Naruto speaks up after a bit. "Ne, teme, wanna go to the market with me? Hinata-chan asked me to get some groceries and some stuff for the backyard."

Sasuke glances at his teammate and contemplates. It can't hurt. He did want to pick up potatoes to make actual curry with, and he could get some other things, too. He'll still have time to shower before he meets Sakura at the hospital.

"...Sure."

Naruto takes longer to rise than he does, shuffling carefully as if he is in pain, but once he’s standing, he seems fine enough, stupid grin slapped on his face at Sasuke’s agreement to go with. They set off in the general direction of his building so he can drop off his weapon first. He gets dirty looks sometimes, walking around, though it’s not nearly as bad as when he first returned and it doesn’t bother him on the same level that it used to. When he’s with Naruto or Sakura, he gets less of them, but he can't imagine a sword strapped to his back in the market will do much to help his reputation.

Naruto doesn't allow the easy silence to last. "Y'know, teme, it's really good to have you back in the village. It feels like everything's finally coming together. We'll have to do some fun stuff this summer. And also in the fall!” Gears are turning behind cerulean eyes, and he adds, ”...Hmm, and the winter, too!"

"...Yeah." He stares at the mountain, thinking about what cherry blossom trees look like in summer and fall and winter. It will be nice to see the one across the street change colors throughout the seasons. Or the one on the hill, where they're going later today. He has seen their like numbering in the thousands, scattered everywhere on his journey - he’s highly cognizant of them, for obvious reasons - but he hasn’t been granted the privilege of watching the same one through the whole of a year’s growth cycle in a long time.

"Sakura-chan seems really cheery lately, too. Can't imagine why." The second sentence is said flippantly, without any real conviction, as if Naruto knows exactly why.

Sasuke glances at his teammate, neck warming and heart skipping a little at the mention of her. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing that Sakura is happy from secondhand sources; it makes him feel like he’s doing something right for once. Maybe not all his impulses are complicated in nature enough to require dissection, as he was accustomed to doing when he was away; spending time with her is one, and he's been indulging it often.

He briefly entertains the idea of outright telling Naruto that they're together, then, but the dobe is moving on before he comes up with the words. "Well, anyways. Wanna spar Monday morning, if neither of us get a mission by then?”

That’s… specific. Maybe he doesn’t need to say anything to him, after all; he’s sure it’s no coincidence that Naruto is asking about the exact time period Sakura is busy training with Ino, probably as aware of her schedule as Kakashi is. Their old sensei might have told him, he supposes, or maybe Sakura said something; Sasuke wonders when he last saw her.

“...Sure. If you think you can handle it.”

The response he gets is a slug on the left shoulder, but it’s not overly hard. Sasuke narrows his eyes in response more out of habit than any real malice. He sees as Naruto’s hand retreats and slips out of a fist that words are written on his palm. He didn’t notice it throughout the morning due to their hands constantly being locked around weapons or thrown in punches, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes; it's likely a grocery list.

Naruto leans against the brick downstairs while Sasuke drops off his sword, and then they head to the main market area as the dobe chatters. It’s fairly busy, it being a Saturday, but it’s not intolerably so; most people are busy eating around now.

Sasuke is completely unsurprised when Naruto beelines straight for the noodles; naturally he would be out of them. He takes the opportunity to procure a blend of wild rice. Thus far he only has white and brown in his own pantry, and he’s been trying to eat it often. He's always liked rice, but it’s high in calories, too, an easy way to try putting on weight. Another variety to choose from would be beneficial.

He trails after his friend to the baking supplies next, where Naruto examines containers of flour and sugar. Sasuke concludes Hinata must bake, because he’s confident any cookie prepared by the dobe could not possibly be edible. While his teammate is occupied, Sasuke turns the corner and procures a half dozen eggs, a large bag of potatoes, and two different varieties of tomatoes. The extra five pounds of weight held in the crook of his arm doesn’t do wonders for his bruised bone situation, but it’s not wholly unbearable; he’s fairly used to dealing with pain.

“Hinata-chan said to go to the gardening stall on the north end,” Naruto says once they’ve paid and exited the building, so they begin a course in that general direction. “She said they have the best perennial bulbs; that means they come back every year!”

Sasuke twitches, surprised he can even pronounce the word perennial if he’s lived this long without knowing what one is.

“Anyways, she wants to plant some, uh…” His voice trails off, and he peeks at his hand, where Sasuke now sees the names of flowers written in feminine writing that has to be Hinata’s.

Of course. Like he could spell the words, let alone read his own sloppy handwriting.

“Iris, phlox, and uh… echo-na-na-chee-ah.”

“Echinachea,” Sasuke corrects dully, giving him a withering look.

“Sure! That! She wants to plant those in the backyard, kind of line the house with them, since the front is looking pretty nice now. She said to get bulbs; they root better. They might bloom this year, but if not, they’ll for sure come in next year!”

“...And she entrusted you with this?” Sasuke asks, raising an eyebrow.

Naruto just laughs, utterly unphased. “Duh, that’s what the list is for, teme. Hinata-chan is super smart like that. Putting it on my hand makes sure I don’t lose it!”

They meander to the northern edge of the market, past the congregation of other stalls selling seeds and garden starters. It's getting towards the end of planting season for Fire Country, but there is still plenty to choose from here, allegorical gates of green swinging open in salutation. They pass some tomato plant starters, already starting to climb their cages, but Sasuke decides against it; his hand is full presently, and the bone still kind of hurts, and none of them are red heirloom tomatoes anyways, being smaller variations like plum or cherry or grape. He likes all tomatoes, honestly, but if he was going to grow one, he’d just want the one of a favorite to worry about. Repotting a starter would also require a planter, which he doesn’t have; another thing to carry.

The stall Naruto leads them to is probably the nicest one there, judiciously laid out and everything labeled neatly with precise calligraphy. The few tables the vendor has are overflowing with perennial starters, but Naruto goes to the three vertical displays of seeds and bulbs, so tall they are at eye level with both of them. They’re filled to the brim with diminutive packages, printed with large pictures of the flowers they contain the beginnings of, along with genus names and common names in smaller text. The blond examines them, surveying his hand, then the display, then back to his hand again in scrutiny.

Sasuke watches, resisting the urge to sigh and waiting for the inevitable.

“Hmm… I guess this would be a lot easier if I knew what any of these looked like. Gonna have to read them all.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes and steps forward to point to the section of iris bulbs to start with. He gives him a minute to work out which colors to pick, observing the throng of people entering and exiting around them, young and old and in-between.

Phlox are next; he directs his teammate to the appropriate section, where there are quite a few options of hues. Naruto examines them as if he is making a grand decision transformative in nature, mumbling to himself.

“Hmm… She likes blue and purple. Maybe I should…”

His own gaze wanders as he tunes Naruto out, taking in pictures of begonias and caladium on plastic shiny in the sunlight, before his vision locks on the far display.

He wanders over to it as if his body is moving of its own accord.

There are several varieties of lilies, he learns as he scans the packaging, oriental, trumpet, and what is apparently called nerine. White nerine lilies had been the variety his mother grew, lining their yard with curved porcelain petals, clusters emanating from many single stems.

He sets his groceries at his feet to free up his hand, picking up one of the packages to read the instructions on the back. His arm aches as he does so, but he couldn’t care less.

Nerine lily bulbs require good drainage. If there are still puddles in the prospective planting area 5-6 hours after rain, locate another site, or amend the soil with organic material to raise levels 2-3 inches. Nerine lilies also require soil that is somewhat gritty, though it also must be organically rich. Adding compost may increase nutrient content.

In spring, choose a location in full sun. If you are in a hotter region, site them where they will receive morning sun and afternoon shade, and plant the bulbs with an inch of the slender top above the soil surface. The top of the bulb is the area that looks like the stem of an onion. Install bulbs 8 to 11 inches apart for a massed look.

Nerine bulbs develop foliage that gather sun rays and strengthen the plants during the spring and summer months. Flower stalks develop in the fall. Provide water when the plants are actively growing, and very little when they are dormant.

You may cut the final flower stems to display decoratively. This will not hurt the plants and the cuts last long periods of time indoors. After they finish blooming for the year, cut off any remaining flower stalks. Your plants will rest for the winter months before sending up new growth in the springtime. Over time, nerine lilies will form clumps. They like to be crowded, so don’t feel pressed to divide them unless flower production begins to decrease. Clumps can then be dug, split apart, and moved to other parts of the garden, or shared with friends.

When Sasuke looks up, deep in thought, he notices Naruto searching for what he assumes is echinacea, flitting stiffly at random between the first two displays and scratching his head. Wordlessly with the package of lily bulbs still in hand, Sasuke points to the bottom right corner of the first, where several color selections are.

“Thanks, teme!” Naruto plows back to the specified stand and stoops down comically slowly, though Sasuke barely sees, gaze drawn pensively back to the packet he was examining.

The memorial stone has decent drainage, aside from the occasional hard rain like last weekend; that will become less common as the weather warms, and one or two monsoons a summer never drowned his mother’s lilies. Shade in the afternoon could be an issue, though. There’s a large oak tree on the west side that might cast some protection over it, but he only ever visits under the cover of night, so he’s unsure. He would have to examine the trajectory in person to gauge.

He considers the market bag the groceries were handed to him in earlier, studying it closely.

Carefully, he puts the package back where he found it, though his eyes linger on it. He’s no gardener, not like Sakura is, and besides, his arm hurts.

XXX

He’s leaning up against one of the blue columns outside of the hospital when Sakura emerges at three, sprightly as ever. She’s holding the two journals and the medical text from their first trip to the library; she said yesterday that she needed to return them, but there shouldn’t be any new ones she needs to check out just yet. He hadn’t stayed terribly long after they’d finished the tenmusu because he needed to shower and write his mission report, but they’d made plans to swing by the library and journey back up the hillside to read together again. There was also mention of possibly picking up food afterwards, to take to her place. Hazel Wood must be in her tote, hooked around her shoulder.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets cheerfully. “Whew. It’s getting warm out already.”

“...It is,” Sasuke comments before he extends his hand for her texts, his own already held there, a silent offer to carry them for her.

She blushes as she passes them to him, sliding them into his hand. His eyes drift to the freckle on her cheek, and he wipes his mind blank by sheer willpower alone as they head east. The books aren’t as heavy as the groceries had been earlier, so it doesn’t hurt as much, but he's wondering at this point if the bone might actually have a small crack. He thinks he should ask her to look at it; maybe later, at her apartment.

“My balcony days may be numbered by now, at least until the fall comes,” Sakura observes as they meander.

He contemplates. “...Do you sit out there often?” It is so utterly befitting of her that he thinks he can picture it, her reading out there, surrounded by plants. He wonders if she ever admires the night sky. Their team had stargazed sometimes, on missions that first year as Genin.

Green eyes settle on him from his right. “I like to, when it’s nice out. A lot of times in the summer it gets too hot, though there is an occasional night when it’s cool enough. Fall is really the best for it. You can see the changing leaves from above. Even if it's a chillier day, it’s pleasant with some tea and a blanket in the evening."

He debates for a long moment, but decides against bringing up stout squirrels or chestnut-flavored everything or Naruto slipping on a leaf.

“...It sounds nice,” he comments simply instead, wondering if he’ll be invited to sit with her on her balcony, once fall arrives. They would have to sit kind of close; the space doesn’t seem very big from below, and it's cluttered with greenery.

Sakura smiles up at him, a look that says she agrees with his assessment.

Then, she offers softly, "You can sit out there sometime with me, if you'd like."

His neck warms; all he can do is nod and avert his gaze elsewhere, an abundance of something tender and sweet flaring to life in his belly.

Returning the books barely takes two minutes; they’re wandering towards the outskirts of the mountain in short order. Sakura sprawls in the same spot she did last time, so he takes up the same position, too, leaning up against the trunk of the tree, stable and strong.

And then his eyes catch on another freckle she has, this one near her elbow, and all he can think about is the slightly textured consistency of his ceiling, and whether the impulse to press his lips to her skin without guilt was an okay thing to feel.

She reads and he more contemplates than reads for about an hour, sprawled beneath the scant amount of shade provided by this tree that has lost its petals, trading them in for florets of a greener variety. It’s pleasant, once he can drown his inner disarray of thoughts. He eventually gets through a sliver of his book, though turning the pages is a little cumbersome, tinged lightly with pain. Perhaps he shouldn’t wait until later to ask her to examine his arm.

Sakura finishes her own book, though she keeps the pressed petal between its pages; she must have gotten through more of it while he was on the way to and from Suna. She just reclines there, after, looking up at the sky with her arms at her sides, near exactly the relaxed pose she used to lie in when they were younger.

Sasuke finishes the passage he’s on, and marks his place with the petal she’d plucked from his hair last week, before pointedly setting the text aside and following her eyes to the azure. Fluffy clouds are floating by as the sun inches closer to the west horizon, pushed steadily by the breeze.

“How is Ichika’s recommendation?” She questions.

“...Interesting.” He genuinely is enjoying reading it, despite his aberration.

Her head angles towards him, lying against a gnarled root at a slightly different angle. Her expression is curious, like she’s encouraging him to elaborate.

“Simple, but heavy with metaphors.” He considers for a second, then adds, “You might like it. Poetic.”

Full lips twist upwards. “Maybe I’ll read it next. Her recommendations are usually pretty apt; she gets a good read on people.”

“...How was yours?”

“Hmm.” She pauses, as if thinking it over. “A girl and her mother who get caught up in some bad luck. They inherit an estate - that’s where the title comes from - and supernatural things start happening. It’s kind of a story within a story situation; the grandmother they inherited the house from was an author, so they start going back and reading her writing for clues.”

“...A mystery.” It seems like she’ll read any genre. Mysteries would probably entertain her; she’s always liked to solve things.

She laughs, music to his ears. “Yeah, I suppose it is. It was pretty good. Well written; better than the last one.”

There is a pause.

“...Maybe I’ll read it next,” he echoes, her same words from earlier.

Green sparkles at him, amused before she shifts back towards the firmament.

“...Sounds like a book club.”

It is the most Sakura joke. He huffs a ghost of a laugh as more gauzy clouds drift idly by. It is peaceful, sitting here underneath the same sky as her, observing in easy silence through branches with fresh emerald buds.

And then Sasuke flexes his forearm, shifting slightly, and it still hurts. He considers; she probably won’t mind.

"...I think Naruto cracked my arm bone," he finally confides.

She turns to him, expression fluctuating immediately into one of disquiet, pink brows knotting closer in concern. He blinks and she's standing already, walking over and sitting cross-legged in the nearest open space, an indent in gnarled roots that she navigated through and found a place in as if it were nothing.

Wordlessly, Sasuke holds it out for her to inspect once she’s seated, and she gently rests her fingertips on his forearm.

"It’s from this morning?” Sakura asks, looking concerned in a way that makes his heart thump a little. Or maybe it’s from her hands encircling his skin.

He nods; she must have deduced that they trained earlier. She prods gently before threading green chakra beneath his skin towards the bone, probing for a break.

She frowns. "Oblique fracture in the ulna, though it's very slight and non-displaced.” Her gaze flicks up to him, and all at once, it’s the exam room again, him hyper aware of how close she is to him even though this is clinician Sakura. “I’ll fix it; you really shouldn't have been carrying anything on it."

It takes him a moment to realize she’s referring to him carrying her books earlier, because he’s thinking about the groceries from the market, which were definitively heavier. Her proximity and the aroma of tart berry and the freckle on her cheekbone are all incredibly distracting. Especially the freckle. He peers at her fingers, glowing verdant, and notices one on the inner portion of her right wrist, too.

"...Sorry." He says finally, flicking his eyes back up to her nervously after a long minute is spent mending marrow back together. She inclines her head back down to his arm, apparently accepting his apology for not mentioning it sooner. It's an odd sensation; he can feel the crack fusing from the inside out, ataractic chakra seeping into the diaphysis to fortify.

He feels like he should clarify, so he adds as she works, eyes fixed on her face which has settled in concentration, “I thought it was just bruised at first.” She nods as if that makes sense, working on it for another minute or so without glancing up.

He hopes she's not mad at him. Sasuke shifts his gaze downwards, something in him sinking.

“Flex it, then bend, please,” she requests, not moving her digits; she must need to feel the arm move to determine if it’s healed. He does as she asks and it’s notedly improved, no lingering pain.

“It’s better. Thank you.” He looks upwards just as she does, hoping the jade will still be soft on charcoal.

It is, startlingly so, and she’s flushing all of a sudden, dropping her hands from his arm and rising to her feet a step away, as if she, too, just realized how close they were. It's different here, daylight and not part of their routine like her entryway is becoming.

“You’re welcome,” she says somewhat hastily, complexion darkening. He’s not sure he’s much better; his neck is warm, and he remembers very specifically where each of her fingers had just been on his skin, like the ten points of contact are singed into his epidermis, and likely his grey matter, too.

As he tries to force his pulse to even out, Sakura adds, softly, “You could have just come in with him.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “...What?”

Sakura blinks, countenance appearing as if she is sorting through a problem in her head. Pink dissolves back to her normal coloring.

“Naruto came in with a slipped back rib, earlier today. I assumed it was from sparring with you.” She rolls her eyes, then. “He went and got groceries before coming in; he had them with him. Luckily nothing chilled; he had to wait for a bit.”

"...He didn't say anything about his rib." Now the slow rising and crouching is making more sense.

She sighs, closing her eyes for a second as if something has become clear, but she only replies, "Ah. Of course."

"...Wouldn’t shut up?"

"...Yeah." She turns away slightly, cheeks stained anew for some reason; it makes him curious what their third teammate babbled to her about. "He said as I was kicking him out that he was going to plant flower bulbs with Hinata this afternoon. He showed me the ones he picked. It’s good timing; the perfect time of year to plant some. Pretty soon it'll be too warm."

He lets those words drizzle slowly into his being, a little gentler than a summer monsoon.

"...Our next Hokage can't pronounce echinacea," he eventually tells her.

She chuckles with mirth, a sweet sound he finds relieving; she must have gathered he was present for that endeavor, now, and she can't be too mad at him if he can still make her laugh. Sasuke inwardly hopes she doesn’t gather that he also got groceries; he doesn’t think she’d be very impressed. It was kind of stupid to do that with a questionable arm, in retrospect.

"No," Sakura acknowledges finally, appearing highly entertained. "And he didn’t know what a perennial was until this morning, yet he’s planting an army of them. Probably without reading the directions."

They look over the village together for a lengthy moment in which he considers text printed on the back of a white package.

Then she says his name, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. "Sasuke-kun.”

He angles to her, and sweet jade is on him again, ebbing seafoam cresting as the late afternoon sunlight hits her.

"Thank you for telling me about your arm. In the future, please come to the hospital, if I'm working. You can wait in my office, if you’d prefer. I don't mind; use the window.” Her expression changes to troubled, and suddenly she is no longer the clinician version of Sakura; everything is tinged with something more, something that burns him in its intensity. “You shouldn’t just… suffer in silence, if something hurts. Even if you think it’s nothing. Please tell me."

Oh. She’s not mad, just worried. Heat grazes his ears, and he swallows, staring down at his forearm.

He wants to be close to her. He really does.

"Okay,” he agrees, and means it, carefully meeting green.

They head down the hill together to seek dinner before the rush hits, deciding to go to the yakitori stand she mentioned when he first returned. She chatters about how Naruto wants to have a bonfire in his backyard, once summer’s here and everything is planted.

“...He’s excited about his yard,” Sasuke comments after they’ve ordered, leaning against the wall of the exterior waiting for their takeout. He requested his without the sauce, since Sakura said it’s on the sweeter side for yakitori.

Sakura grins, and she’s really pretty, shadows of a nearby tree dappling her skin, cheeks still red because he paid. It’s only fair; she’s been feeding him. “Yeah, he is. I’d like to see their flowers and garden in the back, eventually. I’m sure once they’ve got it how they want it, they’ll have all kinds of get-togethers back there. Last year we carved pumpkins at their place, instead of at Ino’s and Sai’s; there’s less mess to clean up if it’s outside. He said today that you should come this year.”

“...What?”

She blinks as if remembering something, then smiles sheepishly. “So I never mentioned this, because it happened after I…” She flushes, and she looks away for a second. “...After I sent a letter for the month already, but Sai learned about this artistic thing they do in the Land of Woods, a couple years ago.” Her gaze shifts back to his. “They hollow out pumpkins and carve designs into them, in late October. Warding off evil spirits as they go into the cooler season or something; they put them on their doorsteps with candles in them so the carvings light up the night. It’s odd, but I think it’s become a tradition now. It’s fun, once you get the hang of it. We roast the seeds with salt and Hinata bakes pumpkin bread.”

That sounds entirely odd and completely characteristic of Sai; he supposes there is the artistic angle to consider. Sasuke passed through the Land of Woods three separate times, but never in the fall. “What kind of designs?”

She smiles as if she’s trying not to laugh; his expression must be that of one who is exceedingly perplexed. He supposes it’s not an expression he wears often. “Well, they’re supposed to be scary, I think, but we don’t really do well at making them that way. They’re more funny or decorative. Sai makes pretty good ones, I guess, mean faces with sharp teeth.”

“...What do you carve?”

Her eyes twinkle. “I tried a leaf, the first year, and a crescent moon the second. Sai and I teamed up to carve one for Kakashi-sensei, too, last year; a scarecrow with a cat.”

A crescent moon is not at all what he would have guessed she’d gravitate towards; he thinks immediately of the Six Paths Yin Seal that once adorned a hand he no longer has. Then he comprehends the final part of that sentence.

“...A cat?”

“Oh. Yeah, he got a cat.”

“...His summons are dogs.”

She giggles. “Yeah, Naruto and I thought it was weird at first, too, but he does kind of seem like he’d be more of a cat person overall, the more we thought about it.” Sakura shrugs. “He’s in the village most of the time now, being Hokage, so I guess he thought he could be around enough to take care of one? They’re more low-maintenance than a dog would be. I usually get tasked with feeding it and changing its litter, when he travels to watch the Chunin and Jonin Exams.”

Momentarily, he wonders if Sakura knows what’s under Kakashi’s mask; their old sensei allowing her into his space in his absence may have given her opportunities for some form of low-key reconnaissance on the matter.

Then his brain seizes on another notion, one that’s far more amusing, because she said she teamed up with Sai, and that can only mean one thing.

“...What does Naruto carve?”

Sakura’s grin widens as if she perceives exactly what thought he’s just had. She probably does; she knows him well. “He’s terrible at it. His never look like anything; just orange mush. He loves it, though, and Hinata puts it on their front step anyway.”

He snorts. Figures.

A bell dings, so they peer back in, and sure enough, their food is ready. Sakura steps forward to collect it, thanking the worker, but as she turns, she pauses.

Sasuke follows her gaze, and sees none other than their third teammate in the street, walking their direction and waving emphatically. He’s wearing a different pair of pants, knees absolutely covered in dirt and grass stains.

“Oi, teme! Sakura-chan!”

Sakura glances up to him before swiveling towards the road, their food in hand; Sasuke trails close behind, pushing apart the hanging banners of the stand as he steps beyond the threshold of the restaurant.

“Naruto,” Sakura greets when they’re out in the open.

“...Dobe.”

“Looks like you’ve planted everything,” Sakura says more than asks, gesturing to his pants as evidence.

“Hehe, yep, all of ‘em! It was work, but it will be worth it, later in the year.” Naruto scratches his head, grinning. Sasuke lets those words sink in, too, drenching dead roots.

“And now you’re getting Hinata yakitori as a treat?” Sakura pushes, seeming incredibly amused.

“Well…” Naruto looks away bashfully, grinning ear to ear. “Yeah. Gotta repay her somehow. She has good ideas. I just follow her lead.” He looks back to them, then. “Did you tell teme about all our awesome plans?”

Sasuke’s focus falls to Sakura, who is flushed, biting her lip in a smile.

“I may have started to.”

“Well, good, because our yard is going to be totally the best, and if he thinks he’s getting out of it...” the dobe points at him accusingly, “Then I’ll kick his ass!”

Sasuke scoffs. “As if you could.”

Sakura shakes her head, pink locks fluttering with the motion. “Always with the physicalities... Anyways, I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.”

An uncommonly stretched pause passes where blue eyes zero in on the food container Sakura is holding, before they travel up to the two of them.

The grin shifts to something remarkably tender.

“...Yeah. I’m sure it will be.” He says it with the utmost confidence, like he is as certain about it as he is about the sun rising tomorrow, and Sasuke gets the sense that he is no longer referring to gardening.

The moment passes, and then Naruto is punching them each on the shoulder respectively and sidestepping away towards the yakitori stand. “Anyways, gotta go, so I’ll catch ya later! I’m guessing you have plans of your own.”

Sasuke blinks as their teammate disappears into the restaurant, ears burning a little. When his vision travels down to his right, Sakura is blushing a dark red. She meets his gaze, smiling sheepishly.

They turn to go to her building. The entire way there, Sasuke considers everything in the beginnings of a green that seems endless, nurtured by people from all walks of life. He has been noticing it this whole time, since his return, but now he's thinking about how dull it would be without it, whether it’s dirt roads or lifeless grey granite. This is not the wilds, where seeds sprout unabated. Here, one must put in the work to grow things, find suitable locations and till the soil.

When they reach Sakura’s apartment, his eye lingers on her plants as he follows her inside. She sets the takeout on the table by her window. A shadow of a leaf from the jasmine above them is cast hazily out of focus on her left cheek.

“Would you like any sauce with yours? I could make some teriyaki sauce quick, or I have lemons I’ll be cutting up anyway for mine.”

“...Lemon?” Citrus complements chicken, he knows, but he understands that to mean she’s planning on putting it on hers, over top of the yakitori sauce.

Her lips curve upwards. “I like it on other things, too. It’s good on yakitori.”

So Sakura slices a lemon and it sits on the center of the table between them as they eat. She drizzles her yakitori with three of them, and he takes the other three. The chicken is pretty good, tart with the citrus and seared alongside green onions. It’s still warm, as it wasn’t a long walk to her place at all, a convenient sort of sustenance.

“...What else do you like lemon on?”

She chews thoughtfully, swallowing before answering. “Hmm, a lot of things. Fish, even ones that are usually served with lime. Pork. I like it on vegetables, too. Salads, pasta, rice. Most desserts that include lemon I like, as well.” She pauses again, and adds, “Lemonade, if it’s homemade.”

No wonder they’re always in her fridge. “...And tea.”

His heart flips at the way she smiles at him.

“...And tea,” she agrees.

They watch the streets fill and empty from her window, finishing the meal in a companionable reticence, smelling faintly of citrus rind and shadowed by greenery from above.

He helps her prepare decaffeinated sencha after, trying not to stare at the freckle on her cheek. He’s pondering this morning further, the notions of impetus and yearning, and also the way she says his name, but this time uttered softly under a cherry blossom tree with an invitation into her office, if something hurts.

Sakura cares about him. A lot. Sasuke knows this, has known for years, but it’s the actions of her affection, the way she expresses it purely and simply as if it’s a true north cascading through her veins, that has inched its way into his bone marrow, engraved on the latibule he carved inwardly to avoid dry swallowing life’s more bitter medicines.

As she stirs sugar and honey into her own cup, she asks, “Care for a chess rematch?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it; he nods his assent. It’s time to test something.

They arrange the board together at her table. The first round, Sasuke cautiously plans every move, surveying alternating squares and attempting to predict what strategy Sakura will employ. In some instances, he mirrors her, moving a rook a turn after she does, shifting a pawn out of imminent danger, and so on. It’s a very involved way to play, requiring attentive calculation of each move.

It’s a prolonged match that he eventually loses with a final sweeping motion of her remaining bishop, but it’s fairly close.

“...Again?”

She grins and wordlessly starts setting up the pieces she has captured, so he begins to set up hers. It’s an interesting task, a message of opposites, her setting up his dark figures and him setting up her light ones.

The second round, he simply follows his instincts, negating planning ahead farther than a couple of turns. If he gets an impulse to shift a pawn one way, he does. If his gut tells him to move the knight into her territory or to retreat a rook, he goes with it.

It drags on for the better part of an hour, and ends in a stalemate.

The smile she gives him is breathtaking, a broad and warmhearted validation.

“You’re good,” she comments, jade eyes dancing with joy. He gets the impression that it is not often she gets forced into a draw. He wonders who else she plays with. It can't be Naruto, but maybe Sai or Ino also play.

“...So are you.” He is somewhat reassured now. His impulses used to be ruinous, stemming from anger and anxiety and loss, but perhaps his journey helped in that regard. He just needs to make sure they're rooted in the right things, whether it be logic or affection, and then the major task becomes to feel rather than to overthink.

When he kisses her good night in her entryway, another movie watched and plans for tomorrow later, he doesn’t reach for the freckle the first time, though his hand twitches with the longing to. It’s treasured, this tender pressing of lips that feels like dipping a toe into still water. It is imbued with both of her hands resting on his shoulders again, ten fingertips that have him in her grip more than she could possibly fathom.

He studies her eyes when he pulls away, staring down into soft depths of viridescence. He will drown in them someday, he thinks, slowly but surely working up the courage to wade into the deep end.

The second time he kisses her, he lets himself graze her cheek to truly appreciate the difference, allowing acknowledgment of the impulse, compelled forward rather than backward as if bound by some metaphorical form of northern star situated on the rise of her cheekbone.

Sakura leans into his touch once more as she did yesterday, but this time, she brings up her own hand and delicately lets her fingertips rest atop the outside of his, as if she encourages the caress, thumb brushing against his knuckle as his lips gently brush hers. Her other hand stays resting on his clavicle, a tender embrace, osculant in a way he has hoped for countless times, inclusive of this morning.

It is exactly what he needed, a catalyst of encouragement comprised of a heat that is gentle, coaxing, but still brands him all the same.

Maybe it's okay to want to skim her freckles and more, to allow the affinities he has to breathe. They’re together now; it stands to reason they'll one day venture into territory more uncharted, if he can concede to that kind of vulnerability. Not that he’s anywhere near ready for that - he’s not - but his instincts don’t appear to be all disastrously calamitous. Touching her cheek is something she clearly welcomes.

Sasuke gave in to darker tendencies once. Perhaps it's okay to give in to lighter ones; nothing grows in the absence of light, after all. He brushes a thumb across the high point of her cheekbone once more with her hand encompassing his before they part, embracing a new habit prior to whispering good night.

The way she smiles up at him, skin aflush and glimmering eyes, is everything.

XXX

He inspects the stone and the soil surrounding it for a long while, heavy-heartedly trying to ignore the encyclopedia of names in favor of envisioning what it would look like with lilies surrounding it. Less lugubrious, probably. The trajectory of the tree’s shadow would touch the stone in the evening, he sees, now that he’s here in person. He only ever haunts this place after nightfall when there's less chance of someone happening upon him. He wishes it was more secluded for that reason; maybe healing happens in the sunshine, and that’s why he still struggles with coming here after so many years, creature of the night that he is.

Evenings with Sakura feel like healing, though, and they linger after hours consistently. Maybe next time he’ll visit his dead kin at twilight, a brittle sort of compromise.

He'll see if the impulse still grips him tomorrow, and then decide. He knows his mother would like them. Itachi would, too, although it never feels like he's here, not the same way that it feels like the rest of them are, the air weighted with an accursed brand of perfume pouring outward in all directions.

White lilies may be able to touch the light in his stead for the time being. Even if they don’t grow, he at least will know he tried, and there is always next year. By then, he may have the capability of asking Sakura if she would help him; she’s clearly a capable gardener, and there should be less sediment, if he puts in the work.

By the time he leaves for his apartment, a thin layer has loosened.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #i said chapter 7 by the end of august and we cut it kind of close but we made it B)

52 notes · View notes

softinkshadows · 4 years

Text

running into adultrio for the first time (x female reader) (3/3)

disclaimer: this is a feels fic CHROLLO The melodic sounds of pop rock from the speakers are louder this evening, over the clink of beer bottles and rowdy conversation. Propping your chin with one arm on the pub counter, you scan the sparse crowd - sure enough, business is slow today. Even the cigarette smoke which usually cling obstinately to the walls feels more distant. As expected of the Halich festivities, where most people in Saherta would be home with their families. For a small establishment like yours, in a town just on the eastern outskirts of the Gordeau desert, this means an early closing day. You are itching to get some rest tonight after handling the merrymakers in the past week leading up to the festive season. It is almost 6pm, you note, your eyes wandering across the pub. There is just a table of three regulars, and a man sitting alone in the far right corner near the windows. He looks slightly out of sorts, dressed in a long purple coat, his black hair combed back but slightly tousled. You can’t see his face properly now, but you recall the unusual cross tattoo on his forehead and the way he came in earlier, silent with the tell-tale shuffle of a worn traveler. You were a bit annoyed that he only asked for a glass of water before taking his seat, not budging an inch. Strangely, he seems preoccupied with the decorations on the wall, in particular the large and fading world map placed amongst photographs and notes from customers. “Sweetheart! The tab please!” You hear a familiar yell that jolts you out of your thoughts. You stride over to the table of the three, late middle-aged men who are already slightly tipsy from all the drinks. “Hope you gentlemen enjoyed,” you hum cheerfully, collecting the cash. As you bend forward to clear the bottles, you feel a hand on your lower back moving down to pat your bum cheekily through your skirt. Internally, you roll your eyes. You immediately brandish the dagger sheathed in your belt and stab it right between the fingers of his other hand resting on the table. You move so fast that no one has the time to react, but you sense the man in the purple coat look up and glance your way. “How many fingers do you want to lose this time, Hanz? Shouldn’t you be getting back to Lina now?” you retort teasingly, used to your regular’s drunk antics. The table breaks out into hearty laughter as Hanz turns sheepish, and they shuffle out of the pub to return to their families for the night. You gather up the empty bottles and bring them to the counter, before turning down the music. Now it is just you, the yellow glow of evening light slanting through the dusty windows, and the strange traveler in the corner. “Hey,” you say as you walk over, wiping your hands on your shirt, “I’m closing up. You don’t need to pay for the water, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” You notice the slightest shift in his eyes to the sheathed dagger around your waist. Then, he looks up and you meet his gaze for the first time. He is extremely good-looking for a traveler, and the light scuff marks around his cheek somehow accentuate his attractiveness. His dark grey eyes are undeniably beautiful, but something about their intensity catches you off guard. His eyes are alluring, almost calculative, but they harbour a flicker of vacant sadness. It’s the latter that stirs something in you, and against your better judgement, you ask, “Do you... need help with anything?” “I am just travelling through the area, but I am looking for a place to stay the night,” he explains pleasantly, smiling slightly. His tone is friendly and warm, you’d dare say even charismatic, but your gut tells you that something is off. You spend a few seconds wondering about sending this dangerous-looking man out into town, rapping on the doors of houses filled with elderly and young children for the holidays... Here, it was just you. You could probably handle him. And it’s been many years since you had company on an occasion like this. You sigh deeply. “If you don’t mind sleeping on a couch, you can stay at my place. It’s just upstairs. Every other home will be packed today.” ---- “Here you go. There’s nothing much,” you say as your swing open the door to your apartment. Thankfully you didn’t make much of a mess, save for some books left open on the sofa. The deepening orange glow of the sunset filters through the glass doors to the balcony, and your apartment appears cosy. The simple furnishings, the small table near the open kitchen, and the few cutlery by the sink only serve as an indicator that you live alone, and coming home to this sight every day always tugs at your heart slightly. You hear the click of the door closing shut behind you, and you wonder why the man hasn’t as much as said a word. You walk to the kitchen counter, intending on offering him a drink, when you register a sudden flash of movement. You feel the dagger in your belt being pulled out swiftly, so quick that the hair on your neck stands on end, so quick that you don’t even have the time to feel shocked, as it is immediately followed by the telling rush of air as the blade swings down above your hea- your instincts kick in, and you turn around rapidly, missing the blade by a few inches, ducking fast before pinning the man to the kitchen table with his arm twisted behind his back. All is silent except for the clattering of the dagger to the floor. “Listen, you piece of shit,” you growl fiercely. “I didn’t bring you up here so you could kill me. Here, you’re my guest, and I am your host. So you better start treating me like one.” You’re not sure why you’re hesitant to finish him off, but you release him. He turns to face you, rubbing his wrists, and in his dark eyes you notice a glint of intrigue. Somehow, he looks impressed. “I apologize for my rudeness,” he says with an amused chuckle, his previous innocent demeanour falling away. From this short interaction you can tell he is incredibly powerful, but you are not going to let it faze you. You pick up the dagger and place it back in your belt, giving him a glare. “The least you can do now is help me with dinner. You haven’t had anything to eat didn’t you?” The man looks at you stunned for a brief second, a puzzled look crossing his face, before he relaxes. “Alright,” he relents, removing his coat and draping it over a chair. You find yourself trying to stifle a laugh as you pan fry some meat, watching the man clumsily washing vegetables at the kitchen sink, his long fingers peeling and prodding the lettuce leaves without much experience. He doesn’t speak much, you realize, but you notice his eyes wander to the meat cleaver on the counter. “Don’t even think about it,” you snap, and you see a smile tug the corner of his lips. Later, you have dinner outside on the balcony, overlooking the glimmering lighted windows of other homes in the town. Beyond it the large rolling sandy hills of the desert. On most days you’d feel a crushing sadness being on this balcony as the past creeps back upon you. But tonight, it feels bearable. Your look to your side at the man eating in silence, looking out to the view occasionally, his eyes glazed with pensiveness and slight discomfort. He catches you looking at him. “The food is not to your liking?” you asked, preparing to be offended. “No, it’s just... this is new to me,” he replies. “What is? Eating?” you snort derisively. “Being taken care of,” he replies so softly you think you must have misheard. Your cheeks feel warm, and you grumble in your own awkwardness as you collect the plates and head back inside. “Earlier on, why did you let me stay?” he asks, following you. You let the water from the tap run over your fingers absentmindedly before falling to rinse the dishes below. “Even after I tried to kill you? Aren’t you afraid not knowing what I could do?” You hear his voice coming closer, now a shade darker. “Who knows...” You turn off the tap, sighing, then turning around. “What more can you possibly d-” He grips your wrists firmly and pushes you against the counter, his knees between your legs pushing them slightly apart, making you lean back to maintain your balance. His face presses close to you, lips almost touching. The suddenness of intimacy sends a shiver up your spine, and for a while, you’re speechless and confused, searching his gaze for answers. “I could take you, like this, right now,” he murmurs, his warmth breath fanning your face, and for a moment you feel your desperate loneliness rush into your chest, lightheaded and heavy with want. You could kiss him now and not care what happens later. You could let him ravish you without a thought, graze your body with his lips and hands in places you’ve long craved for...Then you notice his eyes, lidded, sultry, but beneath it a pained undercurrent of emptiness. The rippling desire in you begins to fade, and you understand. “I’m a killer and a thief. Yet you still help me, and you don’t even know my name.” He whispers, his hands not letting go of yours. “You never asked for mine,” you reply, looking straight into his eyes. You both stay like this for a while, in silence, though it feels like he’s on the brink of saying something more. Then, he pulls away. For the rest of the night, you and him barely talk. He spends some time checking his phone, reading the books you left on the sofa, while you clean the dishes, shower and make some preparations for the pub tomorrow. Every now and then he gets up to help you wiping the dishes, or carry the laundry to the balcony. When it is time for bed, you watch as he removes his shirt swiftly, before lying down on the sofa. “Goodnight,” you say softly, turning into your bedroom. “Goodnight,” he replies, not looking back. The events of the day and the past week catch up to you, and exhausted, you fall asleep almost instantly. You don’t notice when he comes into your room in the early hours of the morning. It is still dark, and his footsteps are quiet so as not to wake you up. You don’t notice as he bends over at your sleeping figure, gazing with fondness. “It’s Chrollo,” he whispers. He leans in closer, and cups his hand around your face. You shift and mumble a little in your sleep. He smiles to himself before placing a kiss on your forehead. He knows you aren’t listening, but says it anyway. “Wait for me.” Then he pulls on his coat and heads out the door, leaving soundlessly into the cold, dark morning as the first slivers of light begin to break across the sky.

#adultrio #adultrio x reader #hisoka morow #illumi zoldyck #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hisoka morow x reader #illumi zoldyck x reader #hunter x hunter #hxh

116 notes · View notes

interstellarflare · 4 years

Text

Bend and Break || Homelander

-PART TWO-

Warnings: Gore, violence, course language, angst.

Summary: People can only bend their morales so far before they break. Homelander is the world’s greatest superhero, and you, a tech analyst, somehow become entangled in his world when he learns that you provide intel to The Boys. He makes it his personal mission to find out exactly what you know, but he never expected such resistance from someone as damaged as you. But broken things can be mended, sometimes in the most unexpected ways possible.

Author’s Note: As a bit of a disclaimer, I have only seen snippets of The Boys. I haven’t actually watched all of it, so forgive me if there are some details that are wrong, as well as the many spelling errors that will undoubtedly be in this series. There is a tag list open for those who wish to be added. Gif by @voughtgifs

|PART ONE|

Homelander was keeping you on edge. It had been a week since his abrupt appearance at your apartment, and you knew that the fucker was watching you every hour of every day. And you knew that he was contemplating the best way to scare the shit out of you. It was only a matter of time.

The bruise on your forearm remained. It had turned a darkish purple, almost black, which you assumed wasn’t a good sign. But you didn’t care. It still hurt like hell, and it annoyed you to have to wear long sleeve shirts everywhere, but what could you do other than hang out at your apartment wondering when the bastard would show up?

Well, get drunk of course.

Pissed beyond comprehension at a nightclub downtown, you were happy to be somewhere else for the night, escaping the fucked up reality that you now lived in. Downing another shot of vodka, you cringed at the now disgusting taste. The room was swaying, the music was too loud, and the sound of people cheering and laughing happily irked you to no end. But you loved it. It was something different, and you were too drunk to care. “Another round~” You slurred, slamming the small glass onto the bar top with a slight hiccup. The bartender winced, approaching you with a calm expression. “I’m sorry Ma’am, but we can’t serve you anymore, you’ve had too much to drink” he explained, shouting to be heard over the loud music. As you opened your mouth to respond, the crowd behind you began to cheer ecstatically. You sluggishly turned to see what all the commotion was about, feeling your buzz suddenly disappear, slamming you back into a state of mild sobriety as the crowd chanted a chorus of ‘Homelander! Homelander! Homelander!’.

You turned to face the bartender, leaning against the bar top as you slurred “Please, please just one more. I won’t tell anyone”. Hesitantly, the bartender obliged. He handed you one last shot glass, and cringed as you downed the vodka greedily. Just you placed the glass down before you, a shadow loomed over you to your right, the stupid blue suit and American flag cape obscuring your view. “Out of all the places I could find you, I find you here” Homelander shouted, leaning on his elbow against the bar with a taunting smirk. “Fuck off, I was having fun” You snapped in return, feeling a surge of happiness swell inside your chest as Homelander’s expression contorted into one of pure bewilderment. This was only your second meeting, and you had a horrifying feeling that drunk you would likely get you killed. But that small sober part of you was glad that drunk you would say what sober you couldn’t.

Homelander’s eyes narrowed, watching on in annoyance as you abruptly stood up from your seat from the bar. Tipping the bartender for his amazing service, you left the superhero behind and disappeared into the crowd, silently hoping that you would lose him as you left the nightclub. As you stepped outside into the cool night air, you sighed heavily in a mixture of frustration and content. A few moments of silence was all you could savour, as the door to the nightclub opened once more for Homelander to step out onto the street. You could hear his footsteps close behind you as you did your best to put some distance between the two fo you, though it didn’t help that you stumbled occasionally on raised parts of the pavement. “I have to ask, what are you doing here?” Homelander questioned, suddenly appearing in front of you and standing tall with his hands braced on his hips. You groaned, pushing past him as you could see your car down the street “When one has their life threatened by a supposedly beloved superhero, and their life has completely gone to shit, then I think I have a right to have a few moments of self loathing don’t you think?” you retorted, ignoring his scoff as you managed to fish your car keys out of the pocket of your jacket.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Homelander questioned, his tone of voice suddenly changing from cocky and sarcastic to concerned. You rolled your eyes, spinning clumsily to face him whilst throwing your arms out in exasperation “I’m going home, do you have any objections?”. Homelander’s eyes narrowed, his gaze flickering between you, your car, and the keys in your hands. As he stepped towards you, you stepped back, challenging him with a lopsided smirk. You could tell he was growing frustrated with your behaviour, and you enjoyed pissing him off so much. “You’re too drunk to drive-” “My buzz died when you entered the nightclub, so I think I’m sober enough to drive home....” you interrupted, bracing your hands on your hips and mocking his so-called heroic stance “and if I happen to die whilst driving home, it’s not your problem right?”.

Homelander’s expression changed into a deadly glare, his eyes glowing a faint red in anger. He stepped towards you, so close now that you stumbled back against the side of your car with a small yelp. His jaw clenched as he spoke “It is my problem, because you are the only chance I have to find Butcher. If you die, I have to start all over again, and I’d rather not to that”. “Oh, that’s such an inconvenience...” You responded sarcastically, lightly pushing the bastard away from you and turning back to face your car “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m done talking to you and I just want to go home”. Before you could even manage to unlock you vehicle, the keys were snatched from your hand, and you were suddenly lifted up into the supposed hero’s arms. You screamed, thrashing around in his grip. “Put me down you fucking arsehole!” You cried, hitting your hands against his chest whilst completely oblivious to your surroundings.

Homelander stared down at you with a cocky grin, tilting his head to the side with a small shrug of his shoulders before responding “Very well, if you insist”. And then suddenly, you were falling. You barely had enough time to scream, as Homelander’s form in the sky grew smaller and smaller. The wind blew your hair in all directions, and all you could do was gasp as the ground rushed up to meet you. You closed your eyes, bracing for the painful impact before you felt a strong pair of arms wrap around your form. You shrieked, opening your eyes to loud and obnoxious laughter as your found yourself in Homelander’s arms again. Hesitantly, you wrapped your arms around his neck and held yourself closer to him, out of fear that he would drop you again. You buried your head into his chest, not wanting to watch the world fly by as Homelander flew to your apartment. If you weren’t sober before, you definitely were now. Your heart thundered in your chest, and as Homelander gently set you down on the rooftop of your apartment complex, you leapt from his arms and collapsed to your knees. Your stomach churned angrily, the sick feeling growing more intense, and the alcohol didn’t help.

You could feel Homelander’s stare boring into your skull as you grovelled on the ground, as you tried to stop the world from spinning. Eventually, you managed to stand to you feet, bracing your hands on your knees as you swallowed thickly. You could feel the hero’s presence behind you, “There, that wasn’t so hard was-”

Crack!

Homelander stumbled backward as your clenched fist connected with his jaw. His mouth fell agape in shock, his eyes wide in stupor. As his gaze met yours, you stepped forward and pointed an accusing finger at his chest. Your eyes narrowed, practically seething with rage as you growled “Don’t you ever fucking do that again, ever”. Time suddenly slowed down as you realised what had just happened. You had punched him. You had punched Homelander, The World’s Greatest Superhero. “Oh fuck...” you mumbled, ignoring the throbbing pain coursing through your hand. You stood in horrified silence, as the man before you rubbed his jaw in surprise whilst an amused chuckle. If he said anything, you didn’t hear it, as you fled inside the complex and down to your apartment. Once you got inside, you locked the door, not that it would help much, and made a beeline for the small kitchen. You found a bottle of bourbon, half of its contents already gone, but you drank from it anyway. The amber liquid left a pleasant burning sensation at the back of your throat, but your true aim was to get your buzz back. It was better to be numb to everything if Homelander followed you downstairs.

Whilst punching him in the face seemed like a good idea and an impressive feat, you were certainly regretting it. You downed the rest of the alcohol that remained and turned back to face your living room, a shocked scream leaving your lips. Homelander stood in the centre of the room, his arms folded across his chest as his expression formed a dangerous scowl. “How the fuck did you get in here!?” You exclaimed loudly, your eyes narrowing harshly whilst your grip tightened around the neck of the empty bourbon bottle. The bastard’s expression didn’t change as he responded “Your window is unlocked, you should probably fix that-” “Who the fuck is going to climb down the fire escape to the fifth floor to kill me!? You can fly, so you cheated”. The room fell into a heavy silence as you ran a stressed hand through your hair, your (eye/colour) eyes never leaving his own blue hues. You took a deep breath to try and calm your racing heart as the blue-clad tyrant approached, but it did you no good.

“Look, I’m sorry I punched you. Actually, no I’m not, you deserved it. But if you’ve decided to kill me now then go ahead and do it. But I’m letting you know that I have done everything you’ve asked. No one knows that you’re here, I haven’t told anyone that you’re practically using me as a hostage. The Boys don’t know anything about your random unscheduled visits, so do whatever you want-”

You froze mid-sentence as Homelander’s eyes began to glow, the red hue increasing in brightness. For a brief second, you thought that this was it. That The World’s Greatest Superhero was going to lazer you into oblivion. You tried not flinch as his gaze moved away from you at the last second, instead directed towards the kitchen island bench. You watched on in dread as your phone completely melted into nothing, the intense heat of his heat vision obliterating the metal mass into nothing. As Homelander approached, you didn’t meet his gaze. You could tell that the fucker was revelling in your fear, as he stood only inches away from you. “Next time, that will be you. Maybe you’ll think twice about punching The World’s Greatest Superhero, hm?” he taunted, before disappearing from your view. When you looked up, he was gone. The window to the fire escape was open, the only sign that Homelander had been here aside from the smouldering hole in your island bench.

You sighed heavily, blinking away the tears in your eyes as you trudged into you bedroom. All you wanted to do now was sleep, and forget about everything that had happened. There would be one hell of a hangover in the morning, but you hoped that it would give you something else to worry about than a mad superhero tyrant.

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander imagine #the boys x reader #the boys #the boys imagine #antony starr

540 notes · View notes

ibis-gt · 3 years

Text

moooore boxer au, directly following my little drabble from last night. there's good reason boxer cam and boxer laz haven't fought before, cos 6'8 heavyweight cam and 5'6 welterweight laz aren't even close to the same weight class, but laz is confident-leaning-to-arrogant enough that he thinks he can land some solid hits and dodge enough of cam's to at least not suffer a knockout loss in this supposedly-friendly spar.

he is wrong. 3600 words. warnings for a little blood and violence, disclaimer that i literally only know boxing from anime and webcomics so some of this is gonna be Incorrect Terminology

~~~

Laz and Sal step into the gym's arena and see Cam chatting animatedly with a short, curly-haired guy. Cam glances over his shoulder when he hears the door open and somehow lights up even brighter. He waves and calls out to them, then plants a hand on the turnbuckle and vaults over the top rope, easily swinging his 300-some pound bulk in a graceful arc clear.

Laz's throat tightens and his already racing heart starts working overtime. This guy shouldn't be anywhere near as nimble as all that. He's an aging slugger whose most famous matches involved him sitting still and tanking hits.

He's just showing off, Laz reassures himself. It's an intimidation tactic. Let's see him three rounds into the match when I've given him a couple straights.

"Hey, great to see you!" Cam's voice booms out as he crosses the gym floor. "I'm so glad you took my offer. I've been watching you pretty closely as of late - you've got real skill! But I just had to find out how you are firsthand." He extends his hand for a shake, then pauses as he sees Laz already has his gloves on. Cam laughs, a short, booming sound that seems to shake the room. "Okay, down to business already, huh? That's fine! Let me get changed and I'll join you."

He settles for slapping Laz on the back, which nearly knocks him over, and offering Sal a fistbump, which Sal returns shakily. Cam ambles off towards a changing room. As he passes by the mat, he holds up a hand, and the curly-haired guy tosses his gloves at him, which he catches deftly. Then he stops on his heel and whirls around, clapping a hand to his forehead.

"Oh! How rude of me. You probably don't know Luther, he's my boyfriend and occasional second.''

Luther waves. "That's me! Nice to meet you." Laz nods, and Sal waves back.

"Lazarus...'' Sal begins, but Laz cuts him off.

"Don't worry so much. Just a friendly fight, right? That means he'll take it easy, and I'll knock his head off while his guard is down.''

Sal can't help but laugh, a high-pitched, almost frantic giggle that explodes out of him without warning. Laz is always so keyed up, like he turned the dial to 11 and snapped it off. He's deadly serious of course, but he’s not bothered by Sal's laughter. He starts to bounce on his toes, swaying side to side a little, then takes a swift step to the left, back to the right, circles an invisible opponent, and - onetwothree, quick jabs in succession that trail down his phantom foe's body, no doubt leaving them stunned.

Cam comes back out of the changing room, now outfitted in a pair of black shorts and classic red gloves. He smacks them against each other a few times and beams at Laz.

They climb up into the ring together. Sal hovers behind one corner, while Luther calls out from the other side.

“We’re goin’ three rounds, one minute between each! Standard ten count, three downs in one round is a TKO. Keep it clean, fellas! And go!” He dings the bell to start the round and leans on the turnbuckle, watching intently.

Laz moves side to side, keeping his eyes on Cam. The larger man has a gentle smile on his face. Well, he’d soon wipe that clear. Laz just needs to wait for an opportunity and slip inside his guard. They’d see how that legendary endurance stacked up against Laz’s counter.

Cam moves forward and closes the distance, leading with a jab. It’s almost offensively lazy, clearly just testing Laz’s reflexes. He dodges around it and lets out a huff. I’m not going in on something that obvious, he thinks to himself. Give me something real, old man, this isn’t kindergarten.

Cam grins as though he can hear Laz’s thoughts. He lets loose with a quick combo, faster than Laz would have expected from a slugger his size. Laz dances around the first hit, blocks the second, and steps in under the third, landing a hit on Cam’s stomach. It’s his first sign that he might be in over his head. It’s like punching a concrete wall. That layer of fat must hide a solid slab of muscle. Cam barely moves, even though Laz put most of his weight behind the blow. Laz dances back out of his reach as quickly as he can, narrowly avoiding a right hook.

Okay, okay, okay. Your opponent’s bigger and stronger than you, he’s got the longer reach, and he can take what you’re throwing at him. Stay on the defensive, don’t let him get you riled up. Laz tosses his head to get his hair out of his face - how many times had Sal urged him to wear a headband? Well, too late now - and starts circling, trying to get a better angle. Cam turns with him. That smile from earlier has settled in and kicked its feet up now. It’s going to take some doing to wipe it off his face. Laz can feel his temper start to rise. It’s something he’s struggled with his whole life - he just gets so angry sometimes. He’s usually able to channel it into something productive, cool anger instead of burning rage, but something in Cam’s demeanor is starting to set him off. Cam’s guard isn’t fully up. It’s like he’s taunting Laz - you’re so small, your reach is so short, I bet you can’t even hit me up here. Try it. Laz slows his breathing and focuses on Cam’s hands instead of his face. Try and knock his head off and you’ll only prove him right. You’ve got to keep it together now and explode later when it won’t get you clobbered.

Cam comes at him with a few more jabs, putting on some pressure. Laz slips them each in turn, backing up and watching him whiff. He’s starting to catch on to Cam’s rhythm. It’s pretty simple - two jabs with the left, one with the right. Two left, one right. Two left, one right. Laz is trying to keep the ring in mind and not let himself get backed into a corner, and that’s why Cam’s sudden change in rhythm takes him by surprise. One left, and suddenly a right that catches him just as he’s shifting to anticipate the second left. He blocks it - he’s no rookie, he knows to keep his guard up - but it shudders through his body like a cymbal crash. Jesus - if I'd taken that straight on - but there’s no time to think about the hypotheticals. He’s stuttered in his movements and Cam is closing in on the opening, backing him up against the ropes. Laz ducks left, right, blocks another hit that makes his arms ring with pain, and then ducks right under Cam’s arm and spins around him, dancing away with quick hops. By the time Cam’s turned to face him, Laz is bouncing in the middle of the ring again.

“Good!” Cam calls out, and Laz wants to hit him so bad he could scream. “You’re slippery as all hell. That little trick’s won me a match or two, y’know.”

Laz grits his teeth and resumes his defensive stance.

“More of the strong silent type, huh?” Cam says conversationally. “I like a little chatter myself. Good to touch base every now and then. Anyway!” He makes a sudden lunge forward, winding up for a devastating straight. Laz sees his opening and takes it.

He slips under Cam’s punch, using his short stature to his advantage. Just inside Cam’s guard, he crouches low and explodes upwards, slamming an uppercut into Cam’s chin. Cam stumbles back, head tilted to the ceiling. Laz closes on the opening, landing blow after blow now that his guard is down. He’s about to go for a straight when Cam’s head snaps back up along with his hands. Laz doesn’t have time to slip or dodge, he’s already committed to the punch, and time seems to crawl to a halt as Cam’s right glove speeds towards his face. Red fills his vision and he has time to think: ah, fuck.

He gets up. He does not start swinging just yet, opting to hang back a moment and take stock. Cam looks a little ruffled, a few hairs loose from his immaculate bun, some red marks on his body that will no doubt bloom into bruises later on. He shifts his jaw from side to side and licks his lip, which has split open, letting a trickle of blood down his chin. Laz is much worse for wear in their exchange. Sweat drips down his forehead and nose, and his cheek is throbbing with pain.

Lazarus has been punched in the face many times before; getting your nose broken in practice a few times is how you learn to block your head. Cam’s right couner feels like all those nose-breaking punches joined together Voltron-style to fuck his specific shit up. It connects with his left cheek and eye, which almost immediately begin to swell. Laz staggers backwards, head reeling, trying to keep lucid enough to avoid a follow-up. Cam hangs back and watches, which is almost worse for Laz’s pride than if he’d kept trying to beat Laz into the mat. Cam is breathing hard, though, and clearly he felt some of those blows. Laz leans against the ropes and tries to see through the haze of pain that’s settled over his vision. His head feels like it’s been encased in concrete. God dammit, push through, he growls in his head. You’re not made of glass. Get up and get swinging. Show him why he should take you seriously.

The bell dings. Round one is over.

Cam grins and heads to his corner, where Luther is waiting to give him a kiss and fret over his injuries. Laz slumps back against the ropes again, letting out a heavy sigh. He trudges to his corner, where Sal is biting his thumbnail down to a stub.

“Well, how’m I doing?” Laz asks.

“I’m surprised you’re still standing!” Sal quavers. “It looked like he was going to smash you into dust! I mean, did you see that counter? I could hear the impact from here! And the way you fell back, I thought for sure you were going to hit the canvas. Lazarus, you’ve got to play this safe!”

“Encouraging as always,” Laz grumbles. “I’m not doing that bad, c’mon. He’s only landed the one hit. Y’know, if you don’t count the ones I blocked.”

“Sorry, I just - you know you have the Leeroy match coming up, and he’s no pushover. It’s really important if you’re trying for a shot at the title, and I can’t have you getting injured here. But you’re doing really well at slipping his jabs and you’re clearly the faster and more maneuverable fighter. You just need to know when to quit. I could see him recovering from a mile away, and his core’s really strong. Those gut punches aren’t going to do much good unless you can land a hit on his solar plex, that’ll take anyone out of commission for a moment. The punch to his chin was good, keep an eye out for his slower swings and try to slip inside his guard a few more times. You’re not going to win this by knockout, probably not even by downs, but you can give him something to think about at least.” The longer Sal talked, the calmer he got. The gears had started spinning in his head, grinding the raw anxiety into the grist of innovation. “Frankly, I don’t think you can win this fight,” he said, voice steady and sure now. “I mean, you’re simply outclassed in weight. Best you can do is stall it out and go for a tie. Just as long as you don’t go down, you’ll be fine.”

Laz tilted his head to one side, thinking it over. “Not too optimistic, there.”

“It’s just a friendly,” Sal said weakly. “And he’s several weight classes above you. Don’t take it too seriously? Please?”

“Fine,” Laz sighs, conceding at last. But you mark my words, I’m gonna give him at least one more hit that cleans his clock. He smiles too much.”

“This is exactly what got you in trouble in the Miyata match,” Sal groans.

“No it’s not! It’s nothing like that! And anyway, I’m still proud of that match, I don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘trouble’,” Laz lied. “Look, one more good hit. That’s my goal for this round, and then I back off and play defense til the bell rings.”

Sal doesn’t look convinced, but their minute to talk shop is up. The bell rings for round two, and Cam strides forward, smacking his gloves together with a loud thwack. Laz rises to meet him, jaw set. One more good hit. He’ll wait as long as it takes. That anger is back but it’s cold now, no longer the bubbling cauldron in his gut, rather a cool composure settling over his mind. His objective is clear, his goal is right in front of him, and he’s got all the patience in the world.

That is, he had all the patience in the world, right up to the point when Cam winks at him.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Winking? Winking?! Who does he think he is? Who does he think I am? Well, he’ll be winking permanently when I drill him in the eye so hard it closes up for good.

Cam actually laughs as Laz lunges forward, sharp jabs bouncing off of Cam’s raised gloves. But it’s the laughter that clues Laz in. Cam is toying with him, of course he is. He can’t take the bait, he’ll only play right into Cam’s hands. He has to relax. The angry boil is reduced to a simmer as Laz’s calmer analytic mind takes over. He’s no fool and he won’t rise to the bait. He backs off again, dancing out of range. Come and get me, big guy, he thinks, and when your sloppy footwork betrays you, I’ll nail you between the eyes.

Cam advances, not willing to let him out of range. He seems a little more cautious now, though - he won’t forget that uppercut in a hurry. They trade careful jabs, each blocking or ducking the other’s strikes, and for a moment it seems like they’re both playing it safe. Then Cam goes for a sneaky gut shot that Laz deflects, and Laz slips in under Cam’s guard and lands another shot on his chin. He slips back out as quick as he can, not wanting to get caught committing again, and Cam presses, shaking his head sharply to clear it. Laz notes with satisfaction that Cam is no longer smiling. He doesn’t look upset, though, merely focused. Good. Take me seriously.

Cam starts up his rhythm again. He’s been pressing a little more aggressively than Laz had expected all match. It makes some sense - a swarmer is a good counter to Laz’s more careful fighting style, and having to fend off constant attacks doesn’t leave him much room for mistakes. But Cam is a slugger, used to ending fights quickly with a few punches, and the strain of keeping up this offense is starting to show. He’s just a little slower, and the blows that land are just a little lighter. A bubble of excitement rises in his gut. If Cam keeps trying to overwhelm him, he could potentially wear him down and win this. He’d agreed to stall, but…

There it is. Just for a moment, Cam’s guard goes down. Laz steps in and drives a straight right at his nose, but Cam gets a hand up and it glances off. Laz bounces back, dodging a wild swipe, and goes for a body shot while Cam’s still in the followthrough. It lands, and Cam grunts. Laz is starting to sport a grin of his own. Finally, a sound out of the big guy that isn’t snark. He skips forward, aiming jabs at Cam’s head. The relentless pace is really taking the wind out of Cam’s sails; he eats punch after punch before he’s finally able to get his hands up and defend again. He staggers back in a defensive position, and Laz presses hard. He’s not about to let Cam get a second to breathe, if he can keep the pressure on and land some good hits he could actually win -

Too late, he realizes Cam’s game. It happens again. He commits to a straight, just in time to see Cam’s right coming for him. He gets his hit in first, the advantage of his proximity and speed closing the gap before Cam can, but a split second later Cam’s glove knocks into his chin enough to lift him off his feet. He feels one brief moment of weightlessness before he sinks into darkness.

~~~

“Ten!” someone shouts.

“Whuh,” Laz says, opening his eyes. For some reason, he’s lying down. And his face hurts really bad. Then it all comes flooding back and he sits up, his vision blacking out in protest. “Fuck.”

“Oooh, just missed the count!” Cam says, walking over and holding out a hand. “Good show, though. For a zippy little pipsqueak, you sure can throw a punch! I was seein' stars for a minute there. How’s your jaw?”

“Fuckin’ hurts,” Laz says. “How’s your ribs?”

“Fuckin’ hurt!” Cam laughs. “C’mon, let’s get some ice on that and talk shop.” Laz takes his hand and tries to pull himself upright, but his legs don’t want to take his weight. Cam takes notice and kneels down, getting Laz’s arm around his shoulder.

“Up we get,” he grunts, straightening up. Then he looks down and sees Laz’s feet dangling a good six inches off the ground and bursts out laughing. “You really are tiny,” he guffaws. “Why the hell’d you agree to fight me?”

“Why the hell’d you offer?” Laz grumbles.

“Well, to tell you the truth,” Cam says, walking the two of them towards the corner, where Luther and Sal have stepped onto the mat. “I hate retirement. I miss the ring. I wanna get back into the game somehow, so I figured I’d see how the up-and-coming competitors are doing. And frankly, kid, you’re not half bad.” He unslings Laz’s arm from his shoulders and guides him over to the little chair set up against the turnbuckle. Sal holds a bag of ice to the swelling on his eye and cheek. Cam sighs as though admitting defeat. “So fine, I’ll do it. I’ll train you.”

Sal and Laz gape at him for a moment. Luther clasps his hands to his chest and sighs dreamily.

“I already have a trainer,” Laz sputters. “And there’s nothing I want to learn from you. No offense or anything, but look, you’re not - “

“You’re in shock,” Cam said, nodding solemnly. “I get it. It’s fine, take a few minutes to really let it sink in. Cam Mersharc, five time world champion, agreeing to train you, I mean, it would throw anyone for a loop.”

“Listen, you deluded old man,” Laz starts to growl, but Sal puts a hand on his shoulder.

“What we mean to say is, of course we’re flattered and thrilled by the offer, but there’s a contract, you see, so it’s really legally out of our hands…”

“Oh, sure, no problem. Luther, honey, you still friends with that lawyer?”

“Sure am,” Luther chirps. “I’ll give her a call, schedule a chat, we’ll have you out of that in no time.”

Sal glances at Laz and shrugs. “Could be useful just to see what he has to offer..?”

Laz scowls and glares up at Cam. “Okay, old man, what’re you thinking?”

“Obviously your footwork’s impeccable and your speed is top notch. You’ve got a brain in there, too, I could see it working the whole time. Your strength is okay for someone your size, and your endurance could use some work. You train with me, I’m gonna round you out. Technically and physically,” he says, playfully tapping Laz’s chest. “Put some meat on those bones, tighten your core, bulk up those arms. Don’t give me that look, you won’t move out of your weight class. Just a little extra padding so when someone gives you one of these - “ His fist stops a half inch from plowing right through Laz’s gut. He’d barely seen Cam’s arm move - had he been holding back in the fight? Or was that head injury messing with his vision? “ - you don’t fold like an omelette. Whaddya say?”

Laz weighs his options. It never hurt to round out a little. It almost sounds like Cam’s offering to shift him towards being a boxer-puncher instead of an out fighter.

“Well… can’t hurt. But if I think you’re full of shit, I’ll tell you to your face. Don’t expect me to start fawning and kissing the ground you walk on just ‘cause you beat me.”

Cam laughs and slaps Laz on the back, nearly knocking him to the mat again.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, pipsqueak! Now, get down and give me twenty.”

“What? Now? I still have my gloves on.”

“Sorry, was I not clear? On the mat. Twenty push-ups. If you’re doing them wrong, I’ll make your friend sit on your back. Go.”

Laz drops to the mat, cursing up a storm. Cam nods as he watches him bob up and down.

“Oh, yes. This is going to be the start of something wonderful.”

#writing #cam and luther #underbelly #boxing au #not gt #size diff tho uwu #writing fight scenes is so hard ;-;#i will improve i promise....

21 notes · View notes

celestialmarks · 4 years

Text

“I’m not the bad one here”: Muu Analysis and Interpretation

here is my personal muu analysis and interpretation. i'm really wondering: does muu really believe herself to be justified? is this a front she's presenting because her apologies remained unheard to the bitter end? is she really vindictive and somewhat indifferent deep down, or is she really pretending to protect herself? somewhat a bit of both? this is what i'll be trying to answer. i'm going to be using : - her official character intro in the character intros MV - her intro voice lines (from the official website) - her interview questions - her drama CD content basically every piece of muu extra content we've got, aside from minimal interactions from the app. AS WELL AS - her MV, After Pain, which i'm going to be deciphering based on the color coding! i don't think anyone has done this in full yet (if anyone did, i apologize)

(general TW for discussions & depiction of severe bullying)

as a general disclaimer,

i'm not going to reiterate points that have already been made. if you've looked at youtube comments of previously made analysis, it should be enough to determine what's going on. i'm interested in exploring why muu may feel justified in her actions and what the "darker" side of her is, is all.

there have been no hints as to the fact that she was a bully in the past or something. it could still come out that she was, or that her behavior was awful in whatever way (which i really wouldn't like bcse it reinforces the notion that bullied people "have to had deserved it" which is gross) and it still WOULD NOT change my opinion of her bcse she's still been through all that and pushed to the limit. at the end of the day, there's no way she lied about or downplayed this. she WAS horribly bullied and she almost died from it.

muu has her flaws, clearly. i'm just pointing out what they are here, her mentality and how it might allude to her being shown in a less sympathetic light next round, but that's it.

first, where does the "muu feeling justified" even come from?

to begin with, it's been stated in her intro "she can have a attitude at some times." it's also confirmed by the insults on the blackboard, transcribed in eng and edited onto the MV's visuals here (TW suicide baiting, self-harm baiting).

"So arrogant" as well as "are you looking down on us?" are written on the first blackboard, "eww poor people" on the second.

in her drama CD, muu also appears to be :

overly blunt at times

spoiled. used to being treated well, since she's rich

quite manipulative, even if she's straightforward about it

i suggest u read the whole thing to get a sense of what she's like, if you haven't yet!

once again and at the risk of repeating myself... she still doesn't deserve any of what happened even if she was condescending or flaunted her wealth. which i don't even think might be the case (it's not like the bullies are objective, they're just using it as a way to justify their treatment of her. and in the MV she says herself "There's no special meaning / I just got the short end of the stick"). she's kind of naive about her wealth (see the crepe incident dfdghjd) she doesn't appear to do it to annoy others or look down on them. she's just used to a life of comfort.

moreover, it's been implied she may have been taken advantage of initially because of her wealth (see the chat on her phone and the picture of her with the three other girls, which i'll call Girl A, Girl B and Girl C for convenience's sake and also bcse the ref to dr is funny). probably her bluntness and occasional attitude caused her more problems, but i'll come back to what triggered the bullying later.

regarding her manipulative behavior, it's because she's used to getting her way (crepe incident, her telling Es she'll just make him like her : "All I have to do is gain your favour, right?"). "my sorry spells must be wearing off" in After Pain alludes to this. since she was previously quite privileged, she had never been treated like this before. even when she made mistakes she was forgiven, so she may have been a bit of an entitled brat, once again. when she starts being bullied, her world REALLY turns upside down. she's so used to getting her way that she even THREATENS Es at the end of the drama CD. we're past manipulative here. no way to know if she has done this in the past though. this might just be due to her desperation, really, but the fact that she does it right after another attempt at sweet talk does make me raise a brow

also the way she turns the tables on Es. "i won't forgive you" when she's supposed to be the one who's forgiven or not? she's rejecting the fault onto Es, just like, ALL the way through her drama CD, she's been saying she wasn't in the wrong. that's her way of justifying herself when/if she causes harm. literally she will not stop saying it :

"I’m not the bad one here!" "I did kill them. But, they’re to blame! They made it to the point where I had to kill them… I… I had such a tough time." "Sure, I might’ve killed them, but… If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to escape. The cruel things they did to me were far worse!" "If you’re gonna say that I shouldn’t have killed them, then… Are you saying that I should’ve continued suffering forever?" "Even though I’m not the one in the wrong, they want to sentence me to penal servitude… That’s so messed-up." "It wasn’t a bad thing to do, right?" "What should I do then? What should I do in order for you to forgive me, prison guard? I’ll do anything! Um… Anything painful or embarrassing is out of the question though… And, I don’t wanna do anything scary either…"

muu is DESPERATE to be proven innocent. she'll do almost anything, though she's reluctant to put herself in any situation that might be triggering for her (understandable after what she's been through so i wouldn't say she's whining here.) in one of her intro voice lines on the website she says pretty much the same thing:

That’s right. I killed someone. But I couldn’t help it! If I didn’t, there’d be no way to escape. I’m… not the bad one.

in addition, here is what we get from her intro in the character intros MV:

"Fufu... it's your fault for doing horrible things to me." → Lack of remorse ?

from her interview questions:

"The person who did something wrong should apologize first." → Waiting for others to acknowledge their faults first, bcse she doesn't want her apologies to be ignored again... and to just be mistreated again, as a result?

maybe she wants to be declared innocent so that she can finally feel like she's heard, acknowledged. so that she can feel that her pain has reached people, and she might start apologizing outwardly then too, bcse part of her's sorry. but a part of her genuinely believes she had no other choice and as such should be treated as innocent. it's kind of a complex mentality.

what i'm focusing on is that she has this belief she is justified still.

something caught my eyes in relation to that : the "thinks she's the hero" on the second blackboard. muu has a self-righteous side like futa, even if it were (partially?) a front.

also, the quote behind every inmate : "every saint has a past and every sinner has a future." muu "saved" herself by killing someone else and now has a future, so she's her own hero? perhaps. perhaps that's what is helping her cope with the crushing guilt, and that's why she's outwardly so insistent on it.

but then again, something doesn't click: why would muu be saved from killing someone? the bullying has just gotten worse. why does she seem so relieved in that situation? is it because people at least don't touch her now, because they're scared of her? she is literally getting suicide baited though... well, i have an idea. but first let's decode After Pain properly.

more substance to her feeling justified: the color coding and hidden messages in After Pain

so, here goes. on the official site, people who got the innocent verdict are shown to have green eyes, while people who got the guilty verdict have red eyes. so from this, we can deduce that innocent = green and guilty = red.

well... muu's MV is coded like that all the way through. we have a theme of greens (cold colors) VS oranges (warm colors). to represent her thoughts in relation to her actions, and others'. they’re complementary colors, so it’s rather clear cut (black and white?) the color that's inbetween is the yellow from the screen with the handwriting writing that keeps coming back as well as... yup... the yellow from the box cutter she used to kill Girl A, her crush (presumably). and the yellow that is muu's character color! so very significant. i'll analyse After Pain sequence by sequence so u can see what i mean in detail. beginning of the MV : she's sitting in the classroom alone. the first thing we see is the green hourglass = i'm innocent! and we see the orange glow of the sunset. the light isn't hitting her directly, as u can see: she's left in the shadows = blameless, the victim here. it's hitting the blackboard with all the insults, however.

together with the lyrics this scene is basically everything about muu screaming "SEE? IT'S THEIR FAULT, LOOK WHAT THEY DID. I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING." and then of course we have the first instance of the screen with writing in yellow! this one says "ねえなんで" ("say, why?") nothing surprising there so far.

then BOOM the hourglass. very very clearly depicting her pain, her suffocating and being cut from the world. and thus proving her "innocence" bcse she's trapped, in danger of choking, and helpless.

it of course covers her (more of her basically telling you she's innocent). and then it cuts to a pinker, more orange-y scene with the bullies (they're guilty!)

and WAIT A MINUTE? WHAT IS THAT? yep... the box cutter. and what color is it in this scene? orange. it was orange here.

clearly she's saying that the others are much more at fault here. when she wields it, the box cutter is of a lighter color--still a warm color, since it's yellow. but a yellow that's very close to the lime green of her hourglass, isn't it? for now let's say it represents something in between, ambivalent feelings. the writing in yellow comes back and so does the chorus (look at how much i tried to apologize and make them stop). it feels to me like that's muu taking back the mic like HEY, listen up, you saw this right. in conclusion. here it is again: look at how innocent i am! look at how much i've suffered! and thus naturally it cuts to a hourglass scene immediately after.

nonetheless, the writing in yellow says... "でもたぶん" ("but maybe...") which is intriguing.

haven't mentioned this before but obviously muu herself is a mix of warm and cold colors, aka pink (her uniforms highlights, the sleeves and tie + her hair) and green (her eyes, with a highlight of lime/yellow...) then we're back in the classroom and once again the orange light = guilt isn't hitting her directly.

and the colors picked in the LINE chat with the others areee.... naturally, green for her, pink for the others... yellow for the whole background, just as yellow encompasses the entire MV as her true feelings on the matter.

title screen in yellow then flashes yet again, followed AGAIN by the hourglass scene (muu repeating, just like in her drama CD: "yeah, here's my whole story, and i'm innocent!")

the writing in yellow says "ねえもしも" ("hey, tell me...")

the writing in yellow flashes for the FOURTH TIME and this is the most interesting instance: "それなのに" ("even so...")

this shot is doused in orange/warmer yellow on the bullies' side and in the background too. super self-explanatory really

the orange light of guilty is still not hitting muu. meanwhile on her lap...

on the left, the bullies' stockings are blue, but they have a orange hue to them. the rest of the objects here in cold tones are all related to muu or touching her. the picture on her phone is split between yellow and blue. like the blame and innocence was, back then, even/balanced in the sense of peace and quiet, or perhaps just hidden in the background before it jumped out?

she's hit by the orange light here and please look at how the bucket is not blue at all and the floor below her is more yellow. Girl A is the one to open the door, so i think this might show Girl A's POV in relation to muu. not perceiving her innocence.

Girl A's eyes here are green and yellow, so to some extent innocent but guilty in a way that is justified in muu's mind? which is why muu reaches out to her. thus here's my theory on what happened with her : muu confessed, yes. however, the girl didn't out her. especially bcse the blackboard doesn't have any mention of muu liking girls (going by the TL previously shared at least). she just started avoiding muu. given the lyrics here: Girl A used muu's attitude concerning other matters as justification for avoiding her, which kickstarted the bullying. hence "the stabbing of the little devil's voice" which references something Girl A said about her attitude, prompting the rest of their friend group to see muu in a negative light so as to side with her. (since muu's planned counterattack to what Girl A said is a suicide note, it can only be Girl A that's the "devil". the cause.)

also please note how the light is only HALF hitting the background. she's to blame, but not entirely. not yet. besides her eyes are a different shade of green than muu's: darker, far from lime. clearly just green + yellow highlight, without the blatant "innocent" of the lighter lime. entirely ambivalent!

in this shot, the light is deserting muu's eyes. no lime green or yellow here. she just has dead eyes, resembling Girl A's eyes at the end of the video. this is muu telling us that this was her last chance not to become a corpse.

then muu reaches out to the one person she could ask for help. the one person who could have cleared any misunderstanding and possibly stopped this. she's running and everything is soooo yellow and orange. EXCEPT for the bushes which are green, a firm line (literal lines!) that allude to the possibility that Girl A might change her behavior. "perhaps she'll realized she crossed the line/know where the line is and walk off this path."

however, muu steps into the light here. she's been hit by the window's light even if we can't see it, as seen by her shadow. hence, she's already guilty, it's just out of frame (she doesn't realize/know it yet.) still, note that the light hitting her is not orange but ONLY YELLOW. less guilty than the others! but the school? orange. guilty place. guilty people

Girl A is still framed by green stuff. she has a possibility of being innocent, of being forgiven by muu, but the path she's walking is orange, clearly.

we see a tiny hourglass fall off, a timid reminder from muu "i know what you're about to see, just remember i'm not to blame." and then muu reaches Girl A and the background is just SO yellow and orange for the both of them. but notice something? on muu's side the background is more yellow. on Girl A's side it gets darker, more orange.

Girl A doesn't respond for a moment and her eyes are still green and yellow! muu has hope that she might still change for the better and forgive her! see that muu's innocent!

but nope! she rejects muu! and we get this deep orange!!! NOTHING like the yellow in the background earlier! this is the last straw for muu!

contrasting with the green of muu's hourglass breaking as she hits her limit:

yellow, vengeful fire burning next to muu. it's practically shimmering as she stabs Girl A. it's so light it's almost white.

Girl A's eyes have turned orange bcse in that moment in muu's mind SHE is the guilty one. she deserves this.

while in contrast, even if the background behind muu's very orange... her eyes are glowing lime/yellow.

i hit picture limit so this is part 1! (reblogging this to add more. here is the full post with part 2 as well)

#milgram #mu kusunoki #kusunoki mu #milgram analysis #mu milgram

92 notes · View notes

rainecreatesstuff · 3 years

Text

escaping is not the same as running away- chapter 1: goodbyes are not for good

DISCLAIMER: ALL names in this story are in reference to the CHARACTERS of the Dream SMP, NOT the CCs. Please be respectful in the replies.

Characters: Tubbo, Ranboo, Philza, Technoblade, Mentioned TommyInnit, Mentioned Michael_Beloved

Relationships: Tubbo & Ranboo (Platonic), Philza & Technoblade (Platonic), Philza & Ranboo (Platonic), Technoblade & Ranboo (Platonic)

Warnings: Swearing

Ranboo climbed the stairs of the factory, reaching the top and letting his shoulders fall as he spotted Tubbo sitting on the edge of the roof. He carefully made his way over, sitting down beside Tubbo, who had one of his legs held to his chest, his chin sitting on it, staring at the sunset.

“Thought I might find you here.” Ranboo swung his legs back and forth a bit.

Tubbo hummed.

“Is Michael in bed?”

“Mhm,” Ranboo leaned back, “Luckily his chicken plush was dry, so he went to bed easy tonight.”

Tubbo smiled, but it was tight, and fell away easily after a moment.

As much as he wanted to ask Tubbo what was wrong, he knew it was probably a bad decision. Tubbo was a man of secrets. He kept everything on the inside, and trying to pry just made him upset, so Ranboo sat patiently as they watched the sunset.

Snowchester really was beautiful at this time. The golden hues of the sun reflected off the snow and water, creating a warm tint over the town. Tubbo really was an amazing builder. The cute, cottage-esque homes somehow became even more cozy-looking in the setting sun. A distant part of Ranboo hoped they would make it inside before the moon rose, and the cold of the night truly settled into the village.

“You ever think about leaving?”

Ranboo was broken out of his thoughts by Tubbo’s question.

“Huh?”

Tubbo shifted, turning his head to face Ranboo.

“You know, just packing up, getting in a boat, and disappearing. Finding somewhere far, far away where you wouldn’t have to worry about governments or terrorists or wars. Somewhere safe.” Tubbo’s eyes didn’t meet Ranboo’s, instead seeming to trace the lines of his face.

Ranboo frowned.

“I mean, not, not really? I… if I’m being honest, I like it here.” He paused for a moment, “well, not like, here, but… Snowchester. I like being here with you and Michael, and whoever else happens to be around. It’s… calm, I guess.” Ranboo swung his legs idly as he spoke.

Tubbo hummed, glancing back towards the sunset.

“Do you?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think about running away?”

Tubbo’s brow creased.

“I mean, sometimes. Feel like it’d be easier. Just disappear into the night, before anyone could stop me. Maybe I’d finally get to have that apiary. Like the one we built in L’Manburg, but bigger, with machines and’ stuff.”

Ranboo smiled softly.

“You could make a villager trading ring, like you always wanted. Get all the best enchantments and all the best loot.”

Tubbo laughed quietly.

“And we could build a house, a nice one, in a flower field, with a big backyard for Michael to play in. And we could get a dog.”

“And a cat.”

“And we could learn how to cook properly.”

Ranboo laughed, airy and loudly. Tubbo grinned, leaning against Ranboo. Ranboo stiffened for a moment, and Tubbo began to pull away, before Ranboo carefully wrapped an arm around Tubbo, holding him by his waist.

“Imagine it, just us and Michael, and Tommy, just living super far away from all this bullshit. Maybe sending the occasional letter back. Just. Living. Actually living, without constantly worrying about everything.” Tubbo’s voice went soft, like he was sharing a secret.

Ranboo hummed, before going silent and still.

Realistically… what was stopping them? They could pack everything they needed in like, an hour tops, and tell Tommy to do the same. They could sail north, and keep going until they were safe. Until they found that perfect little flower field. They could bring Michael. They… they could leave.

Tubbo clicked his tongue, bringing Ranboo back to reality.

“You alright boss man?”

Ranboo bit his lip gently, considering for a moment, then…

“What’s stopping us?”

Tubbo tensed up beside him, pulling away to stare at him.

“What?”

“What’s stopping us from packing up and leaving?”

Tubbo blinked, staring at Ranboo incredulously.

“You. You’re serious?” Tubbo’s voice shook a bit.

“I mean, yeah. Like, I don’t know about you, but, I don’t really have anything holding me here other than you and Michael. I’d… I’d miss Phil, and Techno, but they’d understand. God, they of all people would totally understand.”

Tubbo brushed the hair away from his eyes, and Ranboo had to glance away.

“I… Like, you actually want to? You’re not just saying that?” Tubbo looked away slightly as well, focusing his eyes on Ranboo’s hair instead.

“I mean, yeah. I, I um, I think it’d be good. For all of us, especially Michael. He should, uh, he should get to grow up safe n’ stuff, you know?”

A smile slipped onto Tubbo’s face, becoming a grin, and then a laugh. He hugged Ranboo lightly around the waist, and Ranboo gently squeezed back. A sharp pain erupted from his shoulder and a low hiss escaped from his mouth, and Tubbo quietly gasped and pulled away.

“Fuck- sorry Boo, I wasn’t even thinking-“

“You’re crying?” Ranboo held Tubbo’s face in his hands, carelessly wiping away tears even as they burnt his thumbs.

Tubbo batted away his hands gently.

“Stop it, you’re not burning your hands just because I got all sappy n shit.” Tubbo laughed gently, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve.

“You’re okay?” Ranboo half-reached out to Tubbo, as if to dry his tears again, but pulled back.

“Fuck, Boo, I am so okay. I am very okay.” He laughed as he spoke, bringing his hands up and flapping them back and forth as he spoke.

Ranboo giggled, leaning back on his hands.

“Okay, okay, sorry about that, I just- I’ve been wanting to just leave for so long but I didn’t want to leave you or Tommy or Michael so I just- Assumed I wouldn’t ever be able to, and-“ Tubbo shakily drew a breath in, running a hand through his hair, “You’re sure? Like, 100%, no going back, sure?”

Ranboo let himself think it over for another moment, just in case, but he still couldn’t find any reason to stay. As long as he had Tubbo, Michael, and Tommy with him, he could care less what happened on SMP soil. He’d miss Niki, Techno, and Phil, and it hurt him to know he’d probably never speak to Fundy or Quackity again, but part of him was inclined to believe he wouldn’t have in the first place. So, drawing in a breath, he nodded.

“Yeah. Whenever you’re ready, I am.”

Tubbo rammed his forehead into Ranboo’s chest, making a small “oof” escape him, hugging him tightly. Ranboo wrapped his arms around Tubbo, smiling softly.

“Okay, okay, um, tonight? Do you wanna go tonight? We can carry Michael, and he can sleep on the way, and we can sleep once we’ve gotten a ways out.” Tubbo sprang back, then jumped up, pacing back and forth on the edge of the roof, nearly giving Ranboo a heart attack.

Ranboo stood as well, grabbing Tubbo’s hood and pulling him away from the edge.

“As long as you don’t wander off any roofs, yeah, sure.”

Tubbo just huffed, but his smile didn’t waiver. He passed Ranboo, headed towards the stairs, gently hitting his arm on the way by. Ranboo followed him down.

“Alright, so I can pack up my stuff, and I’ll go convince Tommy to come, and then you can go get your stuff and come back and help me pack for Michael?” Tubbo asked, fidgeting excitedly with the drawstrings on his coat.

Ranboo nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, sounds good, I’ll be done in like- an hour probably? And then I’ll just come back to your house.”

Tubbo nodded, and ran up the steps to his cabin. Swinging the door open, he turned around once more, flashing Ranboo a grin.

“See you in a bit!”

“See ya.” Ranboo replied, smiling as the door slammed behind Tubbo.

Ranboo made his way to the community portal, careful to avoid Tommy’s property. He was pretty sure there was a reason Tubbo had wanted to tell Tommy, and not just for convenience. The blond probably wouldn’t be super on board with their plan right away, and he’d probably need Tubbo to convince him. Either with their super long friendship, or his puppy eyes. Ranboo was sure even Tommy couldn’t be invulnerable against that.

He reached the portal, and stood in it, the familiar nausea hitting him as he entered the Nether. He leaned against the portal’s frame for a moment, and the nausea dissipated as it always did. He walked along the messy cobblestone path that lead to the Arctic, nearly falling off a couple times due to ghasts, and eventually reached the Arctic.

He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the whiplash that was leaving the Nether and entering a tundra.

He reached his house just as the sun fully set, sending the sky into its beautiful twilight palette. He made his way around his basement, arranging as many of his riches as he could fit in his enderchest, and stuffing the rest, as well as survival supplies, into his inventory and a bag. He looked around his basement one last time, and his Enderman… “roommate,” we’ll call it, croaked something that sounded familiar in the same way all Ender did.

Ranboo bit his lip. He didn’t want to just leave the poor guy here, confused… Maybe a note could work? Surely Endermen had translators. He wrote his roommate a note explaining that he was leaving, and handed it to them. The Enderman looked down at the note, and seemed like he might actually have understood it, at least to some degree.

He made a sad croaking noise, and gently pat Ranboo’s head. Ranboo laughed a bit awkwardly, but smiled at the Enderman, who gave him one last look, then teleported away. Ranboo sighed heavily, biting his lip.

All his pets would need someone to look after them, then. He brought them all upstairs, then sat and gave them pets for a little bit. He could probably sneak Dogboo into Techno’s dog house. He was pretty sure the hound army had been decommissioned, and Techno definitely wouldn’t notice the extra dog until he read the name tag, if he ever did.

He was sure Phil wouldn’t mind one more addition to his flock- crow or not, the man was good with birds, and Ranbird would be well taken care of.

That just left him with his cats. Enderpearl, and Enderchest. The thought of leaving them behind put a sharp ache in his heart, but not more so than the thought of seeing Tubbo passed out at his desk after working himself to exhaustion did. Okay. Maybe Niki could take care of them. He knew she’d had foxes before, and cats were similar, if not a bit more independent. He could drop them off at her place on his way out, then.

He took a deep breath, giving one more round of cuddles and pets, then moved to action. He led Dogboo into the doghouse, where the pack immediately started trying to play with Dogboo. Ranboo let him off the lead, and knelt down, hugging him one more time, then leaving and closing the gate tightly behind him.

This next part would be more difficult, but he was sure he could do it without being confronted. Phil was still in Techno’s house, he could hear them talking from here. He brought Ranbird into Phil’s house on his forearm, leaving the bird on the counter in an area where he couldn’t get into too much trouble.

A crow flew down from one of the rosters, poking at Ranbird. Ranboo wondered for a moment if this was a bad idea, but then a few more crows flocked down and cawed curiously at Ranbird before flying back up, with Ranbird joining them. Ranboo let out a sigh of relief, then reached into his pocket, where he’d written Phil a note.

He walked out of the small house, pinning the note to Phil’s front door. If all went accordingly, Ranboo would be gone by the time Phil saw it.

He went back to his house, scooping up his cats and gently placing them in the duffel bag he’d slung over his shoulder. They seemed displeased at being jostled around, but after a moment, they curled around each other and laid down. Ranboo closed the bag as much as he could, still giving the cats room to move around and breathe.

He glanced around his home one more time, then took a deep breath, and stepped outside.

He glanced at Skellyboo for a moment, pondering if he should bring the undead horse, but no, he did not want to have to ride a skeletal horse for as long as he would need to. He could borrow a horse from someone else if he needed to. Tubbo probably had some in Snowchester.

He made his way to the gate that led out of Techno and Phil’s property, and stepped out, closing it behind him. He took another deep breath, and looked up at the sky. He was really doing this. They were really leaving. He suddenly felt giddy in a way he hadn’t in a while. He could picture it now, his and Tubbo’s little cottage, far, far away from here, where they could raise Michael in peace, and-

“What are you doing?”

Ranboo whipped around, suddenly faced with a very concerned Phil, Technoblade standing a few feet away with an expression that implied he was ready to kill someone.

Ranboo hoped it wasn’t him.

“Phil.” Ranboo’s voice turned shaky.

Phil made his way out the gate, his eyes not leaving Ranboo for a second. When he finally stood before him, he wrapped Ranboo in his arms, and Ranboo nearly began crying, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was that he couldn’t remember being held like this by his real parents. Perhaps it was because Phil was hugging him like he was already forgiving Ranboo for something he hadn’t even done yet.

“Come back inside, mate.”

Ranboo glanced over to Techno, whose eyes held a bitterness in them that he’d only seen a few times before. Ranboo bit his lip. He was supposed to get back to Tubbo soon, but…

Phil and Techno had been so kind to him for so long. They at least deserved a goodbye, an explanation.

“… Okay.”

Phil sighed a breath of relief, and led the other two back into Techno’s house. They each kicked off their shoes at the door before stepping further in. Ranboo gently placed his bag on the floor, glancing up at Phil when Enderpearl made a “mrrrrp” sound, announcing his awakening.

“You can let them roam for a bit, mate. Seems like they’re gonna be holed up for a while.” Phil sat down on one of the chairs around the fireplace, gesturing for Ranboo to do the same.

Ranboo leaned down, unzipping his bag a bit, then nervously made his way to the couch, sitting on the side closest to Phil’s chair with his legs curled up, knees to his chest, leaning against the couch’s armrest. Techno sat behind them at the table.

“Alright, why don’t you start off with explaining why you’re all packed up?” Phil took his hat off, placing it on the armrest beside him.

Ranboo drew in a breath.

“I’m leaving. Not just, not just here, I’m leaving the SMP lands.” He carefully kept his eyes focused on the fire, nervous that if he looked at Phil, he’d find disappointment in his gaze.

“All by yourself? That can’t be good for you, mate. It’d be dangerous, even.”

Ranboo tilted his head, biting his lip.

“I’m, um, I’m not. Going alone, that is. I, uh, I have people I’m travelling with.” Ranboo’s tone hushed on reflex, and he heard Techno chuff behind him.

Phil looked slightly taken aback for a moment, then his face took on a look of consideration.

“Ahh. I see.” His voice held a hint of amusement.

Ranboo blushed lightly, coughing gently.

“It’s not like, um, what you’re thinking, we just- we just want to get away. From everything. From the prison, and the egg, and the wars, just- everything.”

Phil hummed, then sighed. Ranboo risked a glance up, and Phil was looking over at him with a sort of sadness held over him, but still smiling.

“That’s fair. You guys shouldn’t have to deal with all this at your age. I hope you find somewhere safe to grow up. And for that kid of yours to grow up.” Phil spoke gently, like he was scared he might make Ranboo scatter if he was too harsh.

“Your what?”

Ranboo flinched as Techno’s rough voice filled the room.

Phil looked straight at the ground, the look on his face equivalent to him outright saying “I fucked up.” Ranboo turned around, facing Techno, who was staring at him like he’d grown a third eye.

“So, um, I’m kind of, I kind of got married? And we adopted a kid.”

Techno’s staring didn’t stop.

“Aren’t you, like, 16 or something?”

Ranboo swallowed.

“Or something, yeah.”

“And you have a spouse, and a kid?”

“Um. Yes?”

Techno rubbed his eyes tiredly, his elbows leaning on the table.

“Why is that not the weirdest thing about you? That should be it by a landslide. And yet it’s not.”

Ranboo shrank in on himself sheepishly.

“Sorry.”

Phil laughed gently.

“Don’t apologize for it mate. You’re fine, right, Techno?” Phil turned a pointed gaze to Techno, who was looking between the two of them with tired eyes, like they’d lost their minds.

To be fair, they probably had.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re fine kid, just, jeez. Maybe tell me before you run off into the night next time, alright?”

“I, um. Yeah, that’s, that makes sense, yeah.”

Phil chuckled at the interaction.

“Can I ask who it is?” Techno said with a sigh.

“Hm?”

“Who’re you married to?”

Ranboo’s tail whipped across the couch nervously.

“Oh. Um. You, uh, you know Tubbo?”

Techno sighed.

“That checks out. Makes our visit there make a lot more sense.”

Ranboo furrowed his brow.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you two kept, like, jumping away from each other whenever Niki or I got close by. You’re not very good at keeping secrets, either of you.”

Ranboo held an ‘if only you knew’ on his tongue, humming instead.

“And your kid?”

“Oh, um, he’s a little zombie piglin named Michael. We found him in the Nether a few months back, and it didn’t seem like anyone was coming back for him, so we brought him back to Snowchester and we’ve been raising him there.” Ranboo’s voice took on a tint of warmth as he spoke about his son, and a soft smile resided on his face.

Techno hummed again, nodding.

“You’ve been keeping him warm, yeah? He hasn’t gone into hibernation?”

Ranboo shook his head vehemently.

“God, no, we’ve got a fireplace in his room and he only goes outside with like, three layers on. We, um, we didn’t know much about piglins? But, but I knew you hibernated because of the cold, and I wasn’t sure how that would affect a kid, so…”

Techno grunted.

“Sounds like you’re doing alright then. The kid’s happy?”

Ranboo turned away slightly, smiling warmly.

“I think so. He, um, he doesn’t know much common yet, ‘cause it’s kinda hard for his vocal chords to replicate the sounds, but, um, we’ve taught him sign, and he seems happy, so, yeah.” Ranboo fidgeted with the fabric on the couch as he spoke.

“Good.” Techno said before standing up.

Phil looked over to Ranboo and raised an eyebrow.

“Tech, where’re you going?”

Techno began making his way down the ladder.

“‘M grabbing some stuff.”

Ranboo checked the time again, biting his lip anxiously. He should really be getting back to Tubbo.

Techno emerged from the basement with a bundle in his arms, and placed it on the table he’d sat at before. Ranboo peered over the couch, spotting an assortment of items, four of which looked suspiciously netherite-like.

Phil whistled.

“‘S that a whole other set of armour?”

Techno grunted.

“You said you have travel companions, and one of ‘em’s Tubbo, and he doesn’t go anywhere without that stealing gremlin, so.” He gestured to the armour, frowning.

Ranboo sprang up from the couch, making his way over to the table. He admired the netherite, and as he touched it he could feel enchantments rippling across it.

“I- thank you, so much, Tommy lost his armour a while ago and I haven’t had a chance to make more yet-“

“Don’t. Don’t thank me or anything, it’s just paying you back for the axe and everything else that’s suspiciously shown up in our chests.” Techno grumbled.

“Of- of course.” Ranboo smiled, beginning to gather it into his inventory.

He was short on space, but he could make do. Once the armour was in its place, he noticed some books and parchment.

Phil strode up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he read the paper.

“It’s a recipe for a special type of mushroom stew. Uses mushrooms from the nether, used to make it for Techno when he was younger. Didn’t know he still had the recipe I gave him.” Phil glanced back up to Techno, who looked to become more and more embarrassed by the second.

“Yeah, well, I’ve already got it memorized, and your kid’ll probably like it, so.”

Phil laughed.

“And the books?” He jabbed Techno in the side gently.

“They’re doubles, I’ve been meaning to get rid of them anyways.”

Ranboo slid his hands over the books, which seemed to be centuries old, their spines and pages worn. On the covers were embroidered lettering, spelling out several classics and myths.

“You’re giving him your myth compilations? The first editions at that. Damn Techno.” Phil’s tone remained teasing, but another layer of softness piled onto it.

Techno grumbled something Ranboo couldn’t pick out. Ranboo stared at the books in awe for another moment, then looked back up to Techno.

“Thank you. Seriously. I’ll take care of them.” Ranboo carefully slid them into place in his inventory, then folded the parchment up and did the same to it.

Phil pulled him into another hug, and Ranboo leaned over and hid his face in the older man’s shoulder. Phil patted his back twice, then gently pulled away.

“I’m proud of you mate. You’ve gotten a lot stronger since I met you. Lot more wise too.”

Ranboo chirped out a nervous “thank you,” to which Phil laughed.

“We’ll miss you kid.”

Techno reached over and ruffled his hair.

“Don’t do anything Phil wouldn’t do. Remember our sparring lessons. And tell those brats that we hope your trip goes well.”

“Thanks Techno.” Ranboo smiled up at him, and the piglin let out a soft chuff.

“You’d better get going. Tubbo’s probably waiting for you, right?” Phil patted him on the back, and Ranboo made his way over to his duffel bag.

“Yeah, we’re leaving tonight. I’m supposed to meet him at his house in a bit.” He kneeled down beside his bag and realized Enderpearl had indeed gotten out and was now nowhere to be found.

“Don’t worry about the cat. A couple more animals aren’t gonna break us.” Phil smiled, nodding over to where Enderpearl was sleeping by the fireplace.

Ranboo carefully zipped up the duffel bag most of the way, still leaving room for Enderchest to move around a bit. He stood, then made his way over to the door and slipped on his shoes, heaving the bag over his shoulder.

“Thank you both so much. For everything.”

“Anytime. And don’t forget to write us. Or I’ll have my flock come find you.” Phil grinned.

Ranboo laughed, and nodded.

“I will. I’m guessing just give my letters to the nearest crow?”

Phil made a clicking noise with his tongue, then pointed to Ranboo.

“You got it.” He walked over, giving Ranboo one last hug, then opened the door for him.

“Bye. I’ll write soon.” Ranboo promised, making his way down the steps.

“Stay safe kid.” Techno leaned against the doorway as he spoke.

Ranboo nodded with a soft smile, and began making his way back to the gate. He turned and waved one final time, and then he was off, back to his husband and best friend.

God.

He couldn’t wait to get there.

#escaping is not the same as running away #raine writes #raine creates #tubbo #ranboo #tubbo dsmp #ranboo dsmp #tubbo fanfic #ranboo fanfic #bee duo #dream smp #dsmp #dream smp fanfic #dsmp fanfic #runaways au

11 notes · View notes