#i never have ever dealt with something like this
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Electric Touch
Part 1 - What Would You Do If I Went To Touch You Now
Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader
Warnings: none
Words: 1.7k
Summary: y/n's affection for Lando hasn't gone unnoticed by the Australians she works with but despite their encouragement, she's convinced that finding things to dislike about Lando is the only way to save herself and her job.
A/N: Well hello there, it's been quite a while. I've been terribly busy with school things but I'm finally free so I'm gonna try and start posting again. Most of my WIP are xmas' themed (that's how long I haven't written for) but I have other ideas so bear with me pls :)
After joining McLaren in 2021 as Daniel’s PR manager, the girl had found a routine in her work with the papaya team, some comfort and calm in a world that always seemed rapid. That had, however, all been blown to pieces when Daniel had announced he wasn’t coming back the year after. With this new piece of information had come the sadness of losing someone she had grown accustomed to calling a friend more than a coworker but also the uncertainty of her place within the team without the Australian.
Luckily for her, the arrival of a rookie in the team also meant that the PR manager position she was occupying was still available and so she kept her job. If Oscar and Daniel were both Australian, the resemblance pretty much stopped there. Where Daniel was all loud laughs and obnoxious jokes, Oscar was quieter and understanding his humour had taken some time.
Despite that, Oscar and y/n became friends quickly. The girl was always there for him when the car wasn’t working like Zak had promised it would and even when they had media to attend and her work should have been her priority, she always made sure Oscar was 100% okay before sending him into the lion’s den. It made her a good PR manager and an even better friend.
Being level-headed was a necessary part of the job and y/n liked to pride herself in how well she dealt with tricky situations without ever losing her cool or at least without showing any signs of it. It seemed like nothing or nobody could crack her. Except one person with a dimpled smile and green eyes that mostly sparkled with a hint of mischief whenever their eyes met.
Falling for someone who worked for the same team had never been in y/n’s plans, especially not falling for a driver and yet that was the predicament she was in now.
From the moment Lando had grown out of his timid shell, y/n had known she was done for. Lando was everything she liked in a person, he was funny, kind, smart and so beautiful it made her head spin. If the situation had been different, maybe she would have allowed herself to feel like that but she couldn’t risk her job for what she hoped was some silly crush that would pass.
However, the crush never faded and the more time passed, the more she found to like about Lando. She tried her best to ignore him, to ignore how her stomach felt when he was around and how she seemed to just forget how to act, how to be when he was close. She had hoped no one would notice it but the problem with spending so much time with a driver was that they got pretty good at reading you over time.
Daniel had caught on exactly as it happened and he had teased her relentlessly for it when he knew she was in the mood for that. When he noticed how she was beating herself up over something she couldn’t control, Daniel offered a reassuring smile and a hug, reminding her that she was only human and having feelings for someone, no matter how great they were, wasn’t worth getting all worked up about and feeling guilty for.
For the two years they worked together, Daniel tried to convince her to shoot her shot because if the longing glances his teammate was always throwing their way said something, it was that Lando was in the same predicament as her. No matter how insistent the Australian was, y/n never agreed to do anything to make her feelings known or even test the water with Lando.
In the end, Daniel gave up on her side and instead tried to convince Lando to do something. Just like she didn’t believe Daniel, Lando didn’t believe him when he told her that making a move was a good idea. Lando wasn’t confident enough to risk getting rejected, especially by someone he saw every time they were at the track. Before the Australian could make what he thought was a great love story happen, he stepped down from F1 and despite being a reserve driver for half of the season, he wasn’t there or had enough time to play Cupid so he just prayed that the two idiots he called his friends would wake up one day and realise how stupid they were being.
When Oscar took his seat and started hanging out with the two of them, it didn’t take him long to put two and two together and realise that they were both painfully into each other but too blinded by their fears to actually see the whole picture. He found it sweet at first how Lando would always keep a seat for y/n in meetings, acting like he hadn’t meant to when she came in or how he would always make sure her favourite coffee was available in the McLaren hospitality when she worked trackside. He could tell that despite being scared, Lando desperately wanted something to happen. All the Brit needed was a little push and Oscar was determined to be the one to do it.
When Oscar had told y/n that he knew about her feelings for Lando, she had wanted the ground to swallow her whole right this instant. Working with a new driver that didn’t know her or Lando had let her hope that she could pretend easily but Oscar wasn’t blind. The girl had immediately answered that her feelings would soon be old news because she had made a plan to be over Lando by the end of the 2024 season.
Her so-called genius plan was simple: if she managed to find things to dislike in Lando, enough for her to have the ick, her feelings would certainly go away all at once. So this season, she was determined to pay attention to Lando’s every move and find negative things to say about it. Despite thinking that the plan was terrible and wasn’t going to work, Oscar knew he had to somehow warn Lando. He couldn’t break her trust by telling him so he had to convince Lando that he absolutely needed to make a move before somebody else did and stole y/n’s heart away.
Oscar decided to start his master plan before they filmed a few challenges for McLaren’s youtube channel. Lando and him were hanging out in an empty meeting room, waiting for the shooting to start so it was the perfect opportunity to talk freely.
-“ I think Logan has a crush on someone at McLaren.” Oscar stated out of nowhere
-“ Why do you think that ?”
-“ He’s always hanging around the garage. He says he’s there to see me but he doesn’t really talk to me when he’s here. He mostly talks to y/n. Actually, he only talks to her.”
-“ So you’re saying he’s interested in her ?”
-“ I think so. We never really talked about this kind of thing but it looks like it.” Oscar lied, knowing he would have to warn the American about the lie he had just fed Lando
-“ Oh, okay.” Lando paused, toying with the hem of his sleeves “ Do you think she likes him back ?”
-“ I don’t know if he’s her type but I don’t see why she wouldn’t. She’s always with me and Logan is too so that has to mean that she enjoys his company a little. Otherwise she wouldn’t hang out with us.”
-“ Did she ever talk to you about her dating life and stuff ?” Lando asked, trying to look uninterested
-“ Well, I know she’s pretty shy so she’s not one to make the first move, even if she likes a guy.”
-“ Yeah that sounds like her.” he smiled fondly, remembering how she had been her first days at McLaren, all soft spoken and keeping to herself, not wanting to bother anyone
-“ So, let’s say if somebody likes her, he better make a move soon because she’s not going to do it herself and also there’s other people who may be interested…”
-“ What are you insinuating, Oscar ?”
-“ What do you think ?”
-“ I do not like y/n like that.” Lando argued
-“ So it wouldn’t bother you if I set them up on a date, then ?” Oscar said, pretending to take out his phone to text either of them
-“ Wait !” Lando exclaimed, grabbing Oscar’s wrist before letting go of it like he had been burnt “ Please, Oscar. Don’t do that.”
-“ See ? I knew you weren’t dense.”
-“ I’m not. I just don’t want to ruin our friendship or how comfortable she feels at work right now.”
-“ That’s not going to happen and anyway you won’t know what she thinks until you actually ask her out.”
-“ What if she says no ?”
-“ What if she says yes ?” Oscar mimicked his friend with a knowing smile
-“ You’re so annoying.” Lando scoffed, rolling his eyes
-“ Does that mean you’re going to at least try to ask her out before giving up ?”
-“ I’m going to think about it.”
-“ No, that won’t cut it. You have to promise me you’ll try.”
-“ I don’t owe you shit, Oscar. Why are you so persistent anyway ?”
-“ I’m doing this in the name of love, mate. I just heard through the grapevine that she might like someone and from all the time I spend with her, I’m saying you should shoot your shot.”
-“ What does that even mean ? Why are you being so cryptic ?”
-“I can’t explicitly tell you because that would make me a bad friend but you have to trust me on that one. Just ask her out”
-“ Alright, I’ll do it. But don’t you dare pressure me or anything. If I’m doing this, I’m doing it on my own terms and that’s it.” Lando caved in, pointing his finger at the Australian’s face
-“ I’m so glad you said yes. I hope I at least get to be the godfather of one of your kids.” he laughed as Lando became bright red and slapped his shoulder
-“ So you’re going to tell Logan not to go for it ?”
-“ I don’t need to.”
-“ What ?”
-“ I don’t need to and you don’t have to worry about him.”
-“ Oh my God. You lied !”
-“ It was for a greater cause so it’s okay, right ?”
-“ Greater cause, my ass ! You just like to torture me.”
-“ Maybe…”
-“ I’m gonna–” Lando started before being cut off by someone calling them both to start filming, saving Oscar who just smirked and walked away.
He might have lied to have what he wanted but it wasn’t selfish if he just wanted his two friends to be happy so he didn’t feel too bad.
#f1 imagine#f1#formula 1#formula one x reader#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 fandom#f1 scenario#f1 x you#f1 x female reader#f1 x y/n#lando norris x reader#lando norris
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Tether Me - Chapter 4
Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader
Summary:
Sweet, cold, saintly watermelon spread over your tongue and you ascended, tilting your head back as you nursed the popsicle like it was the ambrosia of the gods themselves.
Satoru skewed over and dropped his head on your shoulder, making you lour at him. You very much did not need someone else’s muggy body heat worsening the already unbearably humid air.
“Fan me,” he demanded, and you poked his cheek with your popsicle, leaving a sticky spot behind.
“Fan yourself,” you rejected.
Suguru chuckled to himself. “You’ll get used to it and learn how to manage.”
“Speak for yourself,” the man using your side as a bed snarked. “Been here my whole life and I still feel like I’m dying.”
CW: No y/n | polyamory | slow burn | slice of life | alt au - no curses | fluff | light angst | eventual smut | forgive me, there's internal monologues | I like using big words... | Gojo & Geto are whipped for you | emotionally constipated reader | (most of the tags have been condensed, you can find the full list on my ao3 here)
AN: arachnophobes beware, there is a spider in this one (it’s fairly early into the chap tho) (also v tiny boi, not even really described). Summer has arrived! No other notes for this one, lovelies ♥ except some more second-hand embarrassment. A bit more Suguru focused in this one ♥
Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4
WC: 14k
“Has this house really been abandoned for only 20 years?” You grunted as you forced a scraper under a crumpled section of a newspaper that might as well have been glued to the ground on purpose. Your arms trembled from the strain, knuckles drained of blood, your hands fighting for their lives to finally free the paper of its wooden prison.
With a shallow yelp from you, the scraper came loose, only taking a quarter of the browned paper with it. The section ripped partially through the head of a baseball player, giving him a rather unfortunate face lift.
“That’s what everyone says,” Suguru confirmed as he worked on scrubbing a chunk of the floor like he was trying to avenge someone. His nose wrinkled in disgust when he lifted the rag and observed the dark grime stuck to it. “I asked my gran, she said that she can’t remember the family’s name, something starting on ‘Fu’. Father, mother, and their son. The mother was diagnosed with some sort of illness that the village doctor couldn’t manage, so they had to go to the city.”
“Oh,” you frowned as you sat back on your heels. “Did she survive?”
He shrugged, dipping the rag into the bucket of once clean water beside him. “No idea. They weren’t super close with any of the villagers here, so there weren’t any updates after they left. I assume she didn’t, since they never returned here.”
“That’s sad,” you spoke low as you tossed the piece of ew away in the bag beside you. “I hope they’re okay, one way or another.”
The two of you worked together in the living room, peeling useless bits of goo and gunk to clean the house inch by inch. You'd already finished with the first pass of the kitchen, hallway, and master bedroom. After getting the go-ahead from Uncle Han a bit ago (you felt weird calling him that, but he insisted), you decided to start indoors to spare yourselves from the ever rising sun. With summer approaching, the lawn had been dealt with promptly, the three of you moving through it surprisingly speedily with teamwork.
Satoru, for all his rich boy credit, was actually helping. You were honestly expecting him to maybe work for five minutes, then laze around and whine about being bored, but you were pleasantly surprised by his productivity.
For one, he’d been gathering various architecture and designer house catalogues; stuff that was in, stuff that was out, and everything in between. Whatever might strike your fancy, he was there to offer his input, whether asked or not. You could tell he was having fun showing off expensive house designs, even if it was way too early to be looking at paint colors and matching furniture. He was acting like it was his house that was getting renovated.
He was also helpful with the physical labor portion of fixing this mess up, putting those beefy biceps to good use. He’d done some wondrous work in the kitchen.
That’s not to say he didn’t whine about boredom and hardship and whatnot, but at least he was working while doing so.
Presently, he was in the smaller room opposite to the master bedroom, addressing the tatami issue. Said issue being that the material was practically cemented to the floor below, strangely crunchy for being stiff as a brick, and very much showing its age.
He was experimenting with various methods for prying it off, at his own assertion. It gave him the opportunity to lean into that primal urge to break shit, and who were you to take that away from him?
Every few minutes, you’d hear a muted thud, some strangled noises, and a delightful little swear here and there. You’d learned that he quite hated tatami as a kid, annoyed that he had to be careful with it. He was grumpy that he couldn’t run about and stomp his feet like the spoiled child he was because it’d get damaged, then his folks would get mad. Now, he had the perfect excuse to take all that pent up anger out on some actual tatami.
“You think he’s having fun in there?” You asked as you lifted off another slice of the paper, turning it around in the tight pinch you held it in. Most of the words had faded off or bled from whatever liquid got onto it years prior. You could barely make out a cut-off phrase that made you snort. Left fielder is short!
Suguru sneered at the floor. “I sure hope not.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not having fun, so he doesn’t get to have fun, either.”
You rubbed your cheek against your shoulder, fighting the desire to scratch at the itch with your grubby, dirty hands. “Are boys always at each other’s throats like this?”
“Yes,” he answered bluntly, earning a half-laugh, half-cough from you.
You smiled apologetically at him. “I’m sorry. You really don’t have to do this.”
He shook his head as he got up, stripping off his yellow rubber gloves. “I’m not going to back out now after saying I’d help you. I’m gonna keep my word to you. But, I will go grab a drink and think about my life choices outside for a few minutes.”
You breathed out through your nose and waved lazily at him as he stepped out of the open front door, disappearing behind the wall. It was his idea to bring some options for hydration with him, and you lauded him as a genius for it. Even if a quarter of the options were cheap beer.
Deciding you earned yourself a break, too, you tossed whatever else you managed to free from the floor away, along with your gloves, and got up, shaking out your numb legs with a wince. Ow.
Sure, you’d done next to nothing compared to Suguru, but, oh, your back and arms felt so sore. Poor you. He could forgive you, couldn’t he?
Figuring you should check on Satoru, you trod down the hallway and stopped in the open doorway of the room he was occupying. He was turned halfway towards you, hunched over as he scratched aggressively at the floor with something you could only tell was made of metal. Sweat stuck to his forehead in a thick layer, droplets beading and running down his temples and the curve of his jaw. White hairs were plastered to his cheeks and brow, pale lashes clumped together, lips pulled into a wide grin.
A shiver dashed up your spine.
He looked positively feral.
You should probably leave him be, you didn’t want to get caught in his crossfire, lest you end up the target of his destructive goal.
You began to creep away, easing off the doorframe, hoping to avoid–
“Mochi!”
Damnit.
“Heyyy, buddy,” you greeted cautiously, meeting his gaze. His winter blues were alight with an untamed sort of fervor, sunglasses folded into the collar of his button-up. Had the moisture on the small of your back always been there? “How’s it goin’ in here?”
“It’s fuckin’ stubborn, but look!” He waved frantically to a boxy pile of…something. Vaguely tan and clumpy and gross. Listen, you weren’t very peeved out by nasty stuff as a kid, but even child you wouldn’t dare touch it.
Gojo, meanwhile, looked ecstatic, seemingly having figured out a method that worked. More or less.
The corners of your lips twitched upwards into a watery smile. Mainly because you were afraid that he’d pounce on you with that brutish glint in his intense stare if you didn’t show the appropriate amount of enthusiasm for his hard work.
“Wow!” You exclaimed, a smidge stiffly. “You’re doing a great job!”
Satoru ate that shit up. He glowed, preening under your praise, even if it felt like you were talking to a six-year-old kiddo wielding a hammer.
“I know!” He cheered. “This is fun!”
You questioned how long that zeal would last. You also debated whether or not you should tell Suguru that the maniac was having fun. You were curious to see what would happen, but you didn’t want to get dragged into the potential brawl they’d have.
The boy in front of you was panting, the collar of his shirt dampened by the droplets of effort he wiped off with it, and the temperature outside was rapidly rising. As hot as this image was, minus the eugh-factor of your house, you weren’t keen on him dying of exhaustion and leaving you short one extra pair of hands.
How noble of you.
“Wanna come take a break with me and Suguru?” You asked.
He glanced at where he paused his work, back to you, the floor, then you one more time before nodding. “Yeaaah, I did a lot, I deserve a lil’ break.”
He groaned as he pushed on his knees and rose up, absently dusting the front of his pants. You rolled your eyes at his show of theatrics, what with him stretching and whining. Not like you were any better, though.
“C’mon, you big baby,” you stepped out of the doorway, rotating to make your way down the hall.
That was, until you noticed something on the wall beside you. A black dot, or speck you hadn't seen before. A stain, perhaps; a blotch, something dark stuck to the old paint. You could've gotten it dirty(ier) while you were cleaning at some point. You leaned closer to try and decipher it, squinting–
Legs.
Not two, four, or six. Eight legs.
With a gagged gasp, you screeched and immediately booked it out of the house, adrenaline pumping through your system at mach speed. You nearly slipped as you banked the corner, your sights set on the open front door.
The blinding white of day was burning into your retinas, but you couldn’t care, you needed to get the hell out!
Instinctively, you threw yourself into a surprised Suguru’s arms the moment you stepped past the threshold as he peeked into the house, concerned by the commotion. He stumbled back a few steps, eyes wide, then released a humorous chuckle as his arms wrapped protectively around you. Sturdy, strong, safe.
“There, there,” he soothed, stroking a hand up and down your back, fingertips pressing into pressure points along your vertebrae. It was easy enough for him to figure out what got you so panicked. “You’re alright, it’s just a spider. I’ll get rid of it for you.”
“Oh, my god!” You squealed and shook like a leaf, air whistling past your larynx. “Suguru! It’s giant!”
He cooed sweetly at you, obviously entertained by your frazzled state. “It won’t hurt you, you’re fine.”
“I am not fine!”
His laugh rumbled low in his chest, right under your ear as you squeezed the life out of him. “I can’t remove it for you if you don’t let me go, angel.”
You bared your teeth at him. “Don’t you dare leave me.”
Suguru opened his mouth to respond, only to get preemptively cut off by a girlish scream originating from within the house. Seconds later, Satoru was dashing out, colliding directly with you and Suguru. A mix of stifled noises of shock erupted, and all three of you toppled right over onto the hard-packed soil.
Suguru’s arms encased more firmly around your form when Satoru tackled you, one thick arm coming to cradle the back of your head while the other constricted your waist until you were pressed immovably to his front. He pillowed your fall, even though it meant taking the brunt force of the ground’s swift ascent by himself. Satoru collapsed on top of you, leaving you sandwiched between the pair.
This was not how you imagined you’d experience your first yukadon.
Cheek pillowed by a rigid tit. Spine crushed by a dense body. Lungs utterly squashed. Lavender, cypress, and musk overwhelming your olfactory senses. Super sexy.
“Are you fucking stupid, Satoru?” Suguru hissed out, voice strained with pain, compression, and thinly-veiled anger.
“It’s fuckin’ huge, Suguru!” Satoru shrieked back. “Massive! Like, a meter long!”
Amber eyes glared over your head, still clutched to his pec. “Get the hell off, you’re crushing her. And me. You’re heavy as fuck.”
Gojo lifted himself up enough to peer at you, blinked, then laid right back down on top of you. Your wheeze of suffering did nothing to deter him. “But this is so comfy.”
“I will castrate you,” your personal airbag threatened.
Cyan eyes filled with spite as he finally rolled off of you and to the side, allowing Geto to loosen his hold until you could breathe freely. While Satoru was busy grumbling to himself and looking for his glasses, the pair having been flung off in the clamor, Suguru gazed down at you with worry pooled in his softened hues.
“You okay?” He asked.
You wiggled your toes and fingers, then nodded. “Thanks to you. I should be asking you that.”
“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” he put away your disquiet with a smile.
You frowned at his attempt at paying no heed to the subject. “That was a pretty bad fall.”
He snorted. “I work on a farm and grew up with Satoru. I’d hardly consider that a fall.”
“Oi!” Speak of the devil. The snow-haired boy had located his glasses, it seemed, as they were resting on the bridge of his nose, free of dirt and dust by some miracle. “Get up already, lovebirds.”
Fire exploded across your cheeks and the tips of your ears as you realized the position you were in – straddling your friend’s waist, chest-to-chest, his strong arms enclosing you to keep you close.
You yelped and scrambled out of his hold, keenly aware that you were only able to leap off of him and stagger away because he let you do so. He was laughing breathlessly as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, endeared by your embarrassed reaction. He grabbed the hand his best friend offered him, their palms clapping as he got tugged onto his feet.
Meanwhile, you were fanning your face in a hopeless attempt to cool the steam lifting from your head, swearing up and down that it was the budding summer heat and not because you got stacked like pancakes by two unreasonably attractive men.
Yeah, that’s what it was.
The sun.
The literal sun, not the sun incarnated in the form of a man that was currently busy brushing off his pants, aided by Satoru clearing his back of debris.
Thank the gods you had tossed the murderous stepping stones off to one corner of the house just a few days prior. You did not want to think about what would have happened to Suguru’s pretty body if you hadn’t.
“You sure you’re okay?” The above-mentioned man with said pretty body called out to you.
You startled in place and cried out the first thing that came to mind. “You’re hot!” Fuck. “I-I mean, it’s– it’s hot! Outside! Right now! We should, uh, stop here for the day!”
Good save.
Dumbass.
You would have smacked your own head with a brick if it wouldn’t attract their attention and make them think you were crazy. Or worse. Turned on.
Suguru and Satoru shared a glance, exchanging in a silent conversation, then Satoru was walking over to the bag of snacks the former brought along, digging around it for a can of soda. He retrieved a separate can of light booze for the other boy, passing it along as they both shortened the distance between you.
“You sure you wanna call it for the day?” Geto asked, his drink opening with an acute crack and tss, shortly followed by Gojo’s. Thank God they seemed to worn to tease you for your slip up.
Breathing deeply to settle your nerves, you dipped your head twice. “Yeah, it’s starting to get too hot for me.”
For too many damn reasons.
He hummed, sipping his drink as he peered at the chalk-haired boy, who took a sizable gulp in comparison. “Fine by me,” he ground out past the tingle of carbonation, fingers threading through damp, white tresses. “I don’t wanna die of heatstroke.”
“How about we head to the park, then?” Suguru suggested as he stepped away to shut the front door, like that’d prevent intruders or something. The extra security was unneeded, the house itself was enough of a deterrent. “We can stop at Granny’s on the way.”
“Sure,” you assented rather easily. You liked the park. Sitting in the shade, surrounded by the sweet fragrance of the flora there, sounded like a wonderful idea.
Satoru was not as keen. “In this heat? No way.”
His best friend patted his shoulder, gulping down a swig of his drink before responding. “You gotta touch grass at least once in a while, dude. C’mon, it won’t be so bad.”
“Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting you.”
“You’re not gonna die, don’t be a drama queen,” he said pragmatically.
You simpered to yourself as you went to grab Suguru’s backpack, zipping it up to keep everything inside. The last thing you needed was to embarrass yourself more by spilling everything. You grabbed one of the straps, ready to hoist it over your shoulder, just for a big hand to grab it by the top handle and tug it out of your palms.
You didn’t even get a second to prepare to fight for it, the coarse material easily slipping from your grip in a pathetic display of weakness. Your guard wasn’t up. You never stand a chance.
Your head snapped up to find Geto himself, his bag resting against his back as he held it by that same handle, fingers half-closed near his shoulder. He gave you a charming grin, eyes squinted from the squish of his cheeks.
“Hey!” You gaped, hopping up to your feet. “I can carry it, I’m not helpless!”
The hell you aren’t.
He tipped his head back to finish off his drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing and causing more sweat to form on your brow, then tucked the empty can into his pocket to properly toss out later. “You aren’t,” he agreed, ruffling your hair affectionately with his now free hand, “but what kind of gentleman would I be if I let the lovely lady do all the work?”
All the work? You barely did any work. But, you did like being called lovely, so you supposed you could let it go this once.
Satoru scoffed. “Gentleman? You watched Shoko lug a heavy ass box of shit up two flights of stairs just last week. Hardly call that gentlemanly.”
“You think I’m going anywhere near Shoko and her medical supplies?” Honey-toned irises shifted from you to him. “Hell no. She’d have my head on a pike if I even got close to them.”
“You won’t hold the door open for Utahime,” he accused.
“I’ve held the door for her before. The only person I wouldn’t hold the door for is you, Satoru,” Suguru’s hand drifted to rest below the nape of your neck, scorching the exposed skin there.
He pressed lightly, urging you to start walking with them in the direction of town.
The 6’3” child moped, his eyes drooping. “My own best friend hates me. Practically my brother, and he wants me to die.”
Geto rolled his eyes and bent down to stage-whisper to you. “Drama queen.”
“I heard that!” Satoru exclaimed.
“That was the point.”
You sighed with levity, shaking your head. “Could you two at least try to not kill each other until we get to Granny’s?”
“No promises,” they both responded in unison.
They bickered back and forth over your head, one using you as a shield while the other used you as an excuse to ‘behave’. Not that it stopped either of them from hurling immature threats and insults, each one making you think about how a butterfly felt more scary than either of them.
Or, your presence was taming them after all, and they were more vicious when they didn’t have someone standing guard. What would happen if you were on the other side of one of them? Would the result be the same?
Since when were you into psychology?
“Oi,” a finger jabbed into your cheek, bringing you back to the present, where your trio was crossing over the bridge. “Don’t zone out. Pay attention to me.”
You sent the offending boy a sidelong glance, meeting his intensely cobalt, insisting stare, yet he reveled in it all the same. Attention was attention.
“I’m not zoning out,” liar, “I’m just thinking.”
“About what? About us?” He teased, poking your cheek again.
He squawked and jumped back when you bluffed a strike at him, your teeth snapping dangerously close to his finger.
“Not like that!” He hissed, nursing his finger to his chest. He went as far as pressing the digit against the likely lukewarm can of soda he still had, exaggerating his obvious injury. You know, the one that didn’t exist.
Suguru barked out a laugh. “Like I said; drama queen.”
Satoru harrumphed, mumbling incoherent grievances as he pressed the rim of his drink to his lips, presumably to ‘politely’ muffle his quips with sips of carbonation.
You wanted to bully him a little more, ribbing him when you had the high ground was too much fun.
Geto would probably have more material for you to work with.
“Hey, Suguwu, do you–” you abruptly cut yourself off and slapped a hand over your mouth.
So much for high ground.
Satoru snorted his soda out through his nose and yowled, crying out in pain between guffaws as he clutched his hand over his lips in a hopeless attempt to catch any spare liquid.
Suguru raised a brow at you, a bemused smile spreading lazily across his face, turning his eyes into mirthful, mischievous crescents. “Pardon?”
Your entire face glowing a deep shade of vermillion. “I– can we just pretend–”
“Suguwu!” Gojo wheezed, arms coiling around his stomach, free hand grasping the side of his shirt for dear life. “Y’hear that, Suguwu? Think the lady has something to say, Suguwu. Hah!”
“Don't tease her so much, Satoru. I think it's cute,” he said, adjusting his backpack to hang on his back by one strap.
“Can you, please, just let me die now,” you grumbled, hiding your face with your hand placed flat along the side. You felt like you pulled the pin on a flashbang but forgot to throw it.
Gojo wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm, coughing out whatever liquid had gotten caught down the wrong pipe. You could hear him crooning at you, but you were trying desperately to focus on your destination as it came into view, hoping and praying that Granny would save you.
Or someone, anyone, else.
“Hello!”
Prayers answered! For once!
Your head perked up at the sound of a familiar voice as you approached the store, and you were immensely grateful for the divine timing of your arrival. Candied reprieve kissed your skin, easing your humiliation right away.
“Iori-san!” You called back, returning the wave she sent you in greeting. Spotting a head of brunette hair next to her, you shifted your attention to her companion, lighting up further with both relief and joy. “Oh, hey–”
“Aha!” Satoru jogged forward and spun around, throwing his arm around a less-than-amused Shoko’s shoulders. “This is Ieiri Shoko, she’s the doctor I warn– told you about!”
“Ah, we already met,” you grinned at Shoko, who gave you a ‘can you believe this shit?’ look.
“Wait, what?” He blinked at you. “Really?”
You nodded in confirmation. “Yeah. She called you an idiot.”
Suguru snorted into his palm, briskly facing away to poorly conceal his swallowed back laughter.
Satoru balked, blinking between you and your mutual friend when she shoved his arm off her. “When was this?”
“Uh…” You pressed your curved index against your chin, calculating. “Same day you and I met, actually.”
He looked completely aghast, utterly betrayed. “Wh– that was ages ago! Why didn’t you tell me!?”
You lifted and dropped your shoulders, grinning sheepishly. “Didn’t cross my mind?”
Deflating with a wispy wheeze that imitated a sad balloon, he pouted and turned his back on the entire group. “Can’t trust anyone around here. Keepin’ secrets, callin’ me a drama queen and an idiot.
Shoko rolled her eyes. “You are a drama queen and an idiot, Satoru,” she grunted and shook her head, then shot a relaxed smile your way. “Thanks for the macarons, by the way. They were delicious.”
“Yeah!” Utahime bobbed her head. “You’re an amazing baker.”
You scratched your neck with one hand and patted Satoru’s back with the other to comfort him. “I actually only know how to make macarons.”
Utahime shuffled closer to you, mouth parted with disbelief. “What? No way! I bet you’d make a great baker! Nothing like that idiot over there,” the bridge of her nose wrinkled with distaste as she sent the whining baby a scathing side-eye.
“I told you she bullies me!” He was looking your way in an instant. “It’s her fault I’m like this! How is any of this fair?”
“She’s older than you, so she gets to bully you,” Shoko stated. “Sibling rules.”
“We are not siblings!” Utahime shouted, nose and forehead flushed red with anger. “Shoko! How could you say that!”
Satoru took that statement and ran. “By that logic, I get to bully Suguru!”
“You already do,” Geto responded.
You blinked, and found a face unexpectedly very close to yours. “What about you, huh?” Ocean blues pierced into the depths of your soul. “You bully me a lot, too. Does that mean you’re older than me– agh!”
He clutched the back of his head where Iori had landed an expert hit, delivered with a precision mastered only after years of training. “Jerk! Don’t you know not to ask a woman her age!?”
“Why is everyone abusing me today? What did I do to any of you, huh?” He sniffled, bottom lip jutting out as he pinned his watery, puppy-dog eyes on you.
Okay, now you were starting to feel bad. Letting go of a shallow, defeated exhale, you opened your arms to him.
His expression changed to glee faster than you could realize, and within seconds, you were being crushed against his chest. You didn’t give consideration to how strong he was, woefully unaware that his forearms alone could exert enough pressure on your limbs to make a few joints pop.
“Yippee! I knew someone cared about me!” He stuck his tongue out at everyone else, then nuzzled himself deep into the crook of your neck.
Too hot, too hot, too hot!
“Yeah, yeah,” you hacked out, patting his back. “You can let me go, now.”
“No way,” he refused, breath tickling your collarbone. “This is the least I deserve.”
Shoko was in your peripheral, a wicked smirk on her lips as she stuck a cigarette between them. You mouthed help me to her, and gaped when she pretended to get distracted and miss your S.O.S. request.
Screw Shoko, Utahime was your favorite person now. She was by you in a snap, prying the arms of steel keeping you caged off of you. Her strength was impressive, especially given that Satoru was actively fighting her on it. There was a hand on your shoulder, coaxing you to duck down under their arms, and dash into the safe haven that was Granny’s shop.
Sweet, sweet AC.
You visibly shuddered as a blast of arctic air hit you. Heaven was in all the things easily taken for granted.
The chime of the bell summoned the old lady out of thin air – or it might have been her ‘you’ senses, she had a keen perception for when you’d be coming.
“Oh, hello!” She welcomed you warmly, wholly ignoring the second person with you as she scurried across the floor to reach you.
Granny grasped you by the shoulders and pulled you close, pressing a couple wet, loud kisses on your cheeks, right in front of your ears, making your eardrums pop. Your theory that the sound of kisses grew louder with age was gaining credence.
“How are you feeling, dear? You aren’t working too hard, are you?” She planted the back of her hand against your forehead, steamrolling right along and not giving you a chance to respond. “Oh, my, you’re so warm! Are you feeling feverish? Sick? I’m telling you, you should leave that house to the men who are used to working in those conditions.”
“Granny–”
“Sit, sit, let me get you some water,” she nudged you towards the familiar stool you’d taken respite on many times now, ready to zip away to retrieve that promised glass of water.
“Hey, Granny,” Suguru interrupted that plan by raising a hand in greeting, only to be subsequently pummeled by an angered grandmother. “Ow–”
“Some man you are, letting a lady get ill!” She shamed him.
You immediately hopped up, bolting to his rescue. “Granny! Granny, I’m not sick, it’s okay! It’s just hot outside today.”
She stopped her volley of attacks on the poor, innocent man to take in your appearance. She lifted your arms, eyeing down your figure carefully, then hmphed.
“My apologies, darling,” she reached up to pinch Suguru’s cheek, which somehow looked more painful than the fairly weak smacks she delivered earlier. She was easily able to tug him down to be eye-to-eye with her. “But you have been taking care of her, haven’t you?”
Still, he put on a smile and nodded. “Of course, I have been.”
She smiled broadly at him and released his cheek, patting it gently twice. “My, what a good boy you are. But, if I hear you’ve been mistreating her, I won’t hesitate to beat you with my geta and bury you beside that fish of yours.”
Suguru grimaced as he rubbed the tender spot she had pinched, rising back up to his full height. “Ouch, Granny. Don’t worry, I’ve been keeping an eye on her.”
You planted your hands on your hips, eye twitching with irritation. “I’m right here. And, I can take care of myself, you know?”
“I carry extra bottles of water because you always underestimate how thirsty you get,” he fired back. “You sweat it out faster than you think you do.”
You coughed into your fist. That was fucking embarrassing. Now you were worried you had a sweating problem. “Maybe I’m a little forgetful, but it’s not that bad.”
This time, Granny was on your ass. “You need to take better care of yourself!”
“Granny–”
“What if you didn’t have such a dependable, strong, young man to take care of you?” She tutted in disappointment. “What about when your husband is away at work?” – HUSBAND!? – “Will you forget to drink water then, too?”
You half-inhaled your spit, looking up towards Suguru for help in getting out of your pseudo-grandmother’s scolding–
You almost questioned if you were imagining the flashing dots outlining him – or, rather, where he used to be. A quick twist of your head proved he had already sauntered off somewhere towards the back of the store, if the thump of a fridge door was anything to go by.
“Are you listening to me, young lady?” Holy shit, for being an older woman, her pinches hurt.
“Ai– yes, I’m listening,” you assured her, wincing. Looks like you had no savior to get you out of this one. There was some muffled yelling outside the glass pane behind you, implying that the three that didn’t come in were too busy squabbling to see you getting reprimanded.
Though, knowing Satoru, he’d just use this as ammunition against you.
She jiggled your cheek. “Very good. You’re a beautiful woman, you need to take care of yourself. Lots of water, avoid direct sunlight, make sure you eat well, all that. Understood?”
“Understood,” you assented.
That good-natured smile of hers was back, and you were pulled into yet another hug. “D’aw, I can’t stay mad at you, you’re too sweet. Don’t go letting anyone take advantage of that.”
There was only so much of the embrace you could return when your arms were pinned to your sides by your unnaturally brawny kinda-grandma, leaving you to awkwardly prop your chin on her shoulder. “I know, Granny.”
That was a lesson you learned a long time ago.
You observed Suguru as he walked between the aisles while he grabbed some stuff, his head sticking out high above the shelves. When he emerged back out at the front, you were seated on the stool that basically belonged to you at this point. He carefully set his gathered spoils on the counter next to the cash register, then slipped past you to go behind the counter.
His hand briefly rubbed your knee, something you noticed he did from time to time. While he wasn’t nearly as touchy as Satoru, who didn’t know the definition of personal space, he did often give you comforting nudges like that.
You noted with curiosity how familiar he seemed with ringing up his products by himself, working swiftly to tally them. Based on Granny’s lack of reaction when she returned with a mug, she trusted him to pay properly.
Smooth ceramic was placed within your palms, and you brought it up to guzzle down the life-saving liquid within. Damn, Suguru was right, you had no idea how thirsty you were. In terms of hydration, anyway. You were painfully aware of your other shortcomings.
“How’s that house of yours coming along?” She asked, resting a weathered hand on your upper thigh.
You hummed past a gulp, then answered. “Good, I think. We’re still washing the floors, but we’ve already cleaned up a lot. Satoru’s been dealing with the tatami in one of the rooms. It’s been stubborn as hell so far.”
“Try soaking it for a while beforehand,” she suggested. “And ventilate well. Goodness knows what’s been in there.”
Comforting. “We have been, don’t worry. Suguru managed to get all the windows open, which has been a huge relief.”
The elder leaned in close to you, ‘whispering’ in what could have only been a singular decibel quieter than normal talking. “See? Reliable, strong man. He’d take good care of you, I’ve known him since he was a child. Very dependable.”
Wha–
Was she trying to set you up with him!?
You glared at him when you heard him laughing under his breath, having heard her suggestion. It’d be more shocking if he didn’t.
Instead of coming to dispel her wild offer, he stuffed his goods away into a bag and walked towards the exit. You got up to follow after hastily finishing your drink and letting her take the empty mug from you, fully intending to give them both a piece of your mind the next chance you got. “Thank you for the water, Granny. We’ll head out, now.”
“I left some extra cash for you, Granny,” Suguru said as he held the door open for you. “From my mom, paying you back.”
She clicked her tongue. “I told her not to worry about it. Be safe, you two. Suguru, tell your mother to sleep with one eye open.”
“Will do,” he agreed too easily for such a casual threat, pushing you out into the humid summer air, and you were tempted to return to the sanctity of her air-conditioned shop.
“You’re back! Thank God!” Utahime ushered you further away from your salvation, to which you whined and peered back at it forlornly. “Come with me to the shrine! I found more mythological history books recently, and you promised to tell me about Sne– sneguh– snah?”
“Snegurochka,” you corrected.
“Yeah! Her!”
A limb wrapped around your middle, drawing you back into a board chest. “No can do, Utahime!” Satoru shut her down cheerily, pressing his cheek against yours. “She already agreed to go on a date with me to the park.”
Utahime’s appalled expression was mirrored in your own. Her upper lip lifted in a snarl directed at your captor and…date, apparently.
“Like hell! I’m not letting you corrupt my friend!” She growled.
“Corrupt?” He pouted, playing the part of virtuous maiden. “Me? Why, I’d never.”
Suguru crossed his arms over his chest. “With us, Satoru. Don’t forget about me.”
“Hard to when your head is so big,” the other boy snapped in return.
You gawked at Geto, disbelieving. He was supposed to be your savior! “It is not a date! Don’t go making Iori-san and Shoko think the wrong things!”
“Welp, I gotta head back to the clinic,” Shoko said as her name was called, beginning to walk past. She patted your bicep on the way. “Good luck.”
“Shoko!” You cried out after her. “Come back here!”
She merely waved over her shoulder with her cigarette pinched between her fingers, blowing out a stream of smoke.
Utahime cupped your face in her hands, expression taut with seriousness. “Blink twice if they’re holding you prisoner.”
You heard ‘blink’ and went with it, batting your eyes as fast as you could.
“I knew it!” She bayed, tugging at Satoru’s arms – but she couldn’t free you. “Let go of her, you dog!”
He jerked his head towards the hill her shrine sat atop and gasped theatrically. “Oh, no! Is that a fire near your shrine?”
“What!?” She whirled around in horror, opening up the opportunity for him to tow you away, one arm staying around your waist while he led you into an unwilling sprint.
“Ohp, so sorry, guess I was wrong!” He yelled back, giggling at the rage painted all over her twisted expression.
“Satoru!” She shrieked, watching with grit teeth as Suguru jogged to catch up. “Yeah! Get him, Suguru–” Her jaw dropped when he grabbed your hand with his free one, making you run faster. “Oh, Heaven’s sake, not you, too!”
What the fuck! You didn’t agree to extra exercise today! And poor Utahime! You really hoped she wasn’t assuming things about your relationship with the men.
“Hey– guys! Slow down, damnit!” You heaved out. “Ugh! You two are awful!”
They simply laughed, hauling you right along to the park. Their long ass strides made this hell for you, and you were certain that if the park wasn’t so close, you would have eaten shit and died from the amount of times you stumbled. Their tight grips kept you from falling, and you partially wished they’d just let you collapse.
Pavement gave way to grass, the impact of your shoes becoming dulled. After running a few steps further, they finally gave you mercy and let go of you, slowing their gaits to a stop.
You slapped your hands against your knees, greedily sucking in air through the ache in your throat.
“You two–” pant, “really–” pant, “fucking–” pant, “suck.”
Satoru snickered and smoothed a hand over your messy tendrils, ignoring your death stare, finding it humorous in your current state. “Aww, come on! That was fun!”
“You’re gonna give Iori-san and Shoko the wrong idea,” you groaned, wiping wetness off your brow.
He feigned innocence. “What idea?”
Bastard.
“That we– tch,” you took in one more deep breath to catch your breath. “Nevermind. Shut up.”
“Don’t be like that!” He purred, right on your tail as you trudged to a nearby maple tree.
With the impromptu run, plus the season, the heat was finally getting to you. For all of Satoru’s bravado, you took solace in the fact that it also looked like the temperature was affecting him.
You flopped down under a maple tree you picked out and loafed back on your palms, trying to survive the immense wave of evil weather that chose to sweep across the valley. You felt like you were turning into a prune, or a sponge that got tossed into an oven set on broil, despite all the sweating. You weren’t a stranger to high summer temperatures, but this was asininity.
Somehow, you survived the trip to the park, mourning the glacial morning dew that had long since evaporated, leaving the grass tepid at best. But you’d take anything, whatever it cost to keep you from roasting like a fine crème brûlée.
Satoru dropped down beside you, not doing much better than you, and Suguru slumped against the bark of the hulking plant, taking respite under it.
The shrill songs of cicadas took presence everywhere, chirping and pestering the females in hopes of copulating and passing along their live-underground-for-17-years genes.
You were immensely happy that you managed to clear out most of your lawn before the true harshness of the season kicked into full swing. You would not have lived through that, and doing it at night would have been too dangerous.
Work was very far from what you wanted to think about, though.
“Why the fuck is Japan so hot in summer,” you lamented, lethargically fanning yourself with a slack hand. It did zilch to help. “How do you deal with this?”
You squealed when something chilly touched your forehead and squinted up to see Suguru holding out a popsicle to you. You grabbed it without a second thought and ripped off the plastic covering, stuffing the crumpled ball back in his awaiting hand.
Sweet, cold, saintly watermelon spread over your tongue and you ascended, tilting your head back as you nursed the popsicle like it was the ambrosia of the gods themselves.
Satoru skewed over and dropped his head on your shoulder, making you lour at him. You very much did not need someone else’s muggy body heat worsening the already unbearably humid air.
“Fan me,” he demanded, and you poked his cheek with your popsicle, leaving a sticky spot behind.
“Fan yourself,” you rejected.
Suguru chuckled to himself. “You’ll get used to it and learn how to manage.”
“Speak for yourself,” the man using your side as a bed snarked. “Been here my whole life and I still feel like I’m dying.”
You chomped off a bite of your snack with your molars, flinching at the slight sting, then relaxed as the chunk rested on your tongue. Bless Suguru and his mother hen tendencies. Towards you, anyway. He seemed to find humor in his best friend’s suffering up to a certain point.
The newly purchased, refrigerated, highly-sugary fizz he bought while at the store showed he did care at the end of the day.
Summer in rural Japan smelled nice. That was about all the praise you were capable of giving this hellish landscape when you were getting steamed like a damn dumpling. Winter you could deal with; in winter, you could just add extra clothes or blankets or whatever for more warmth. You could only get so naked in summer before you were melting into a gross puddle.
“I wanna skin myself,” you slurred around your icy treat.
Suguru snorted. “That’s morbid.”
You bored into him blankly, examining his clothes – light-colored long sleeves and full-length, loose pants versus your tank top and flappy shorts. “How the hell are you dealing with this so well?”
He simply shrugged and gave you that closed-eye smile that always had your insides doing funky things they flat-out were not allowed to do. “I’ve always preferred summer.”
Hm. It added up. You always associated him with the sun – warm, inviting, making you want to lay somewhere soft and bask in his glow. But that feeling was warmth, not sweltering fire making your muscles shed off your very bones.
“You’re a beast,” you mumbled, unsure if you were admiring or fearing him. “What ‘bout you, Toru?”
“Ehh?”
“Season.”
“What about it?”
You whined and placed your head on his. “Pay attention, idiot.”
“Well, excuse me, princess. I’m busy trying to not die of heatstroke over here,” he pinched your thigh, making you yelp.
You flicked the back of his hand in retaliation. “What’s your favorite season?”
“Oh,” he pried his limpid orbs open and eyed you from over the rim of his sunglasses. Those glistening, forget-me-not hues never failed to whisk your breath away. “Spring.”
“Good choice,” you approved.
Suguru bent down from the tree, angling his head to the side as he pointed a finger at himself. “Oh? Is my choice not good?”
“Ask me again when I don’t feel like I’m evaporating,” you muttered, taking another bite of your ice snack and plainting at the sharp pain radiating in your teeth for a few seconds. He merely laughed in the voice that had you feeling twice as flushed, instantly soothing the pain away.
“Don’t eat it like that if it just hurts you,” the silver-blond grumbled, his eyes already closed again as he fought to fend off the temperature mentally, if he couldn’t spare himself physically.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” you huffed pettishly.
You partially closed your eyes and lazed back on your free palm, absentmindedly licking up the melted drips before they landed on your hand and coated it in residue. More than they already had, anyway.
A welcomed breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees surrounding you, a relieving balm against scalding skin that had all three of you sighing in alleviation. It rustled the yellow of the leaves above your head, creating a mesmerizing show of dancing golden fans, their edges dipped in crimson.
The droning chirps of cicadas, the tweets of birds calling to their brooding mates as they brought back food from a successful hunt, the fragrance of blooming flowers being pollinated, having their nectar gathered in preparation for being turned into honey – all of it surrounded you in a deep serenity you didn’t know you were capable of feeling.
Your head was optimistically empty, merely taking in the ambiance in fine detail. The lush, fluffy grass underhand tickled your wrist and the back of your hand, and the pleasant silence with your closest friends made you…happy.
You’d been happy for a while now, but never stopped to notice it until this moment.
You found two idiots and two other kind-of-normal people to call friends, and you always ardently anticipated hanging out with them, rather than dreading it. You were pouty when they were busy, and ecstatic when you could all gather together.
Especially these two dumbasses, Tweedledee and Tweedledum. You spent most of your time with them, doing things that reminded you of the nostalgic highschool and college years you didn’t recall having.
You ruminated on how different your life would have been if you knew them from childhood; if you went to school with them, grew up as neighbors, mourned when Satoru left for his studies, celebrated when he returned. Would you have still ended up like this, a paranoid kite that was running out of thread to cut?
Or would you have been normal – or, at least, normal-adjacent? How would being raised in Japan differ from your home nation?
…
Home nation.
What was your home nation, again?
All that came to mind was here, now, with your best friends on either side of you. You knew where you were born, but that seemed so far away, now. You didn’t remember what the sky looked like over there – if you caught a glimpse of it at all in the first place.
Reflecting back left an odd emotion welling in your chest, like you were forgetting something. You wouldn’t say melancholy, nor yearning. It wasn’t nostalgia, either, seeing as you were semi-nomadic for a good portion of your life. You didn’t stay in one place long enough to form attachments to anyone or anything.
When you tried to think about your childhood friends, you saw Geto, Gojo, Ieiri, and Iori. The boys were smaller, childlike, with chubbier cheeks and brattier attitudes, but your boys regardless. You remembered how Satoru was the class clown that frequently set off your teachers, while Suguru egged him on from the backlines, purposefully getting on his nerves.
Shoko was there, too, watching with a shit-eating grin and not doing anything to help. Utahime at least tried.
And then there was you.
You didn’t really know if you were there or not. Just a spectator, possibly, but it didn’t seem like that. Not an empty, silent, emotionless observer, no. You couldn’t put your finger on it. What you were was there, on the tip of your tongue, you just didn’t know the word for it.
These memories weren’t real, you knew that. But it didn’t hurt to imagine they were, especially when they felt like they were.
You could see yourself growing up with them, spending days lazing under the shade just like you were now, losing half the water in your body under the unforgiving summer sun and turning into a sort of sad excuse for a cucumber. You could remember the sharp sting of a wadded up piece of paper hitting your temple from across the table, your head shooting up so you could glare at jubilant Satoru that concluded throwing notes at you from two feet away was a better use of his time than just whispering or, gods forbid, studying.
You were certain he did it specifically because it pissed you off, and because he was unafraid of repercussions from the teacher. Discipline didn’t exist in his dictionary. Suguru would grab the wad from your other side to toss it right back and nail his best friend in the center of his forehead, leading to a paper ball fight that you were, unfortunately, directly in the middle of.
Shoko and Utahime, the lucky bitches, were smart to choose seats a few tables back, safely out of the firing and collateral range.
You tried to join the two several times, yet the boys somehow always managed to sit you right back between them. You were their ‘mediator’, even though you tended to exhort them rather than soothe. You did calm them down, but only after you, Shoko, and Utahime had a good show. It was payback for all the times they dragged you into their messes.
Other memories filtered in bit by bit, sporadic sections popping up as they pleased; dying on the track field together, sparring against one another, learning vague concepts in a classroom that scarcely had anyone in it. You and Satoru would crack stupid jokes until you were both in stitches, Suguru would be there when your thoughts became too much to handle, Shoko was the one to mend you with a touch that felt both toasty and mellow at the same time.
There weren’t a lot of you, but you had each other, and that was all you needed. You had your friends by your side, and you were complete.
You were pulled from your woolgathering when you felt someone pluck your popsicle from your hand, your eyes flying open to gawp at Suguru in disbelief as he took a sizable bite out of it, then returned it innocently, as if he hadn’t just robbed you blind.
“Hey!” You cried out. “Thief! That was mine! You said you were fine in summer!”
“I said I prefer summer, not that I’m immune to it,” he corrected you, licking off a spot of juice from the corner of his mouth. Such a simple action from him legally wasn’t allowed to be that devastatingly attractive, yet here he was, casually breaking the law and sending you into disarray. “Besides, I paid for it.”
“Unfair,” you pouted, staring down at your now half-gone heatstroke preventer. “You can’t just give me something, then take it back.”
He chuckled and knelt beside you. “Relax, I’ll buy you another one.”
You instantly perked up. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Will you buy one for me, too, Suguwu?” Satoru flapped his long eyelashes and stuck out his lower lip.
“No.”
“What!?” He sprung upright. “Now that’s unfair! It’s favoritism!”
Suguru snorted and dropped the bag between your knee and Satoru’s, which the latter took to like a raccoon to a dumpster. He dug around inside the plastic until he located his drink and held it up like Arthur did with Excalibur.
Only Gojo could down this amount of sugar in a single day and not suffer the consequences, you mused, watching him greedily gulp at the borderline dessert. Maybe there was some merit to his body being godly, after all.
“Hey,” Gojo called out after chugging a solid 2/3rds of the soda. “What are those, uhhhh…maple syrup snow candies called?”
“I think they're just called maple syrup snow candies,” you filled in.
“Maple candy, or maple taffy,” Suguru enlightened you. “Popular treat in winter in Canada.”
Satoru gave a thumbs-up in appreciation. “Yeah, those. I want one of those.”
You lamented. “It’s the middle of summer.”
“But they sound so cold and good. Mm…I can taste it already. I just know they'd save me from this god awful heat. Thanks for the soda, by the way, Suguru.”
Geto hummed in acknowledgement.
An idea flittered into your mind and you sat ramrod straight, clapping your hands together and grabbing their attention. Satoru grunted, slipping partially off you. “Let’s go to the river!”
“Hm,” Suguru considered it. “Not a bad idea, might help us cool down.”
You celebrated at obtaining his approval and passed the rest of your popsicle to Satoru, who devoured it in a single chomp.
A large hand was offered to you in way of assistance and you grabbed it, getting pulled easily with a short ‘hup’ from your aide. He inspected your form for a moment, then plucked a fallen leaf from the top of your head, twisting it between his digits. When a gale lifted, he released it, letting the unseen hands of the sky carry it away.
Satoru was up on his feet, too, the plastic bag in his hand crinkling from the shift in position. “Let’s go!”
He took the lead, speed-walking through the park to reach the shallow slope that allowed easy access to the river. For someone who was about as dead as you minutes ago, he obtained an infectiously energetic zest out of nowhere. Motivation is a hell of a drug.
You caught up to him and skipped forward, unburdened by needing to carry anything like the pair. Already able to feel the refreshing bite of the water as it came into view, you picked up the pace, racing towards the cure to your ails.
You tore off your tank top in the process and threw it somewhere carelessly, stumbling out of your sandals as you neared upon the shoreline of the river. Leaving them behind on a boulder, you skidded down the bank to the icy waters and jumped in, dressed in your shorts and sports bra.
A shrill cry and jubilant hoot echoed in the valley as goosebumps coated your skin, prickling the hair on your arms and nape. Frigid liquid surrounded you, abruptly replacing torrid solstice with frozen tundra.
“Fuck, cold!”
Satoru was rolling up his pant legs, his own button-up having been disposed of like your top. Just as eager to experience the same liberation you did, he toed off his shoes and ripped off his socks, then he was kicking up water next to you as he joined you. The crystalline liquid came to about mid-thigh for him, but that didn’t stop you being able to see all the hairs on his body stand on end all at once.
“Cold!” He echoed you.
You laughed, running your wet hands through your hair. “That’s what I’m saying!”
Not wasting a second, he threw a handful of water onto you, making you twist your body to avoid the splash. You shrieked from the pellets of frost raining down on you, his icy-toned orbs brimming with mirth at your reaction.
Suguru was still on the shore, more composed and patient than either you or his best friend. He went about methodically locating both your and Satoru’s shirts, setting them down on the ground beside the bag and his backpack, then focused on his own clothes.
He slipped off his shoes and socks, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and legs of his pants, and stepped into the river.
Just to get grabbed and pulled further in by Satoru before he could get acclimated to the pressure of the running stream.
He took in a shallow breath, bounding forward to keep his balance and not fall splat into the rapid. “Satoru!”
“Come on!” Lanky fingers pushed back ivory hair. “Relax a bit, would ya?”
Chestnut eyes narrowed. “There’s a difference between relaxing and getting waterboarded.”
Gojo huffed. “Yeah? How would you know what getting waterboarded feels like?”
“How many times have you nearly drowned me in your hot spring?”
“Doesn’t count.”
“It does count!”
The two were distracted, arguing about drowning technicalities, which meant they weren’t paying attention to you.
Perfect.
You sank down into the flowing water, shivering from the hibernal wet as it surrounded you. Once you were absolutely certain they had no idea what you were up to, you made your move.
Crawling along the riverbed, you let the flow guide you, using the sound of water breaking to further creep up on your companions.
You could hear the Jaws theme slowly ramping up in your mind, each beat growing louder as you neared. Trembles wracked your body, caused by a mesh of the nippy waters and budding adrenaline.
A little further, you were too far…still too far…almost…
“Rrah!” You jumped out the moment you were within range of your target, unleashing your fiercest battle roar as you threw yourself onto Satoru’s back and wrapped your arms around his neck.
The man choked in surprise, and based on the way he promptly lost balance and dropped like a rock into the waters with a heady splash, you could proudly say you caught him off guard. You both surfaced with deep gasps of breath, and you were on top of him as soon as he sat up.
Using your position of straddling his thighs to your advantage, you skipped past the torture and went straight for the kill.
Your fingers grabbed his sides and started lightly scratching at them.
Satoru hiccuped and howled, writhing and trying to shove you off him as you attacked him with endless tickles. “Wait! S-Stop, no! That tickles!”
“Give up your throne, Gojo Satoru!” You demanded, doubling down on the siege on his crown. “Name me king, or I will never stop!”
He easily turned into a blubbering mess despite his attempts to stay stoic and strong. “N-No way! Oh, god– stop! Please!”
“Not until you hand me your crown!”
“Never! I’ll–” you pinched his hip and he yowled. “Okay! Fuck, fine, it’s yours, just spare me! Please!”
“Yes!” You released him at long last and threw your arms in the air in victory. “I’m the king of this valley! Haha, suck it!”
You climbed off Satoru as he took deep breaths to calm himself, turning your focus on Suguru, who was losing his shit on the shoreline. Wheezes slipped past his lips, the boy barely getting a chance to inhale before he was cackling all over again.
Standing with your legs shoulder-width apart and one fist on your hip, you pointed at Geto authoritatively. “You! Surrender to me now or face the punishment of one thousand tickles for defying the king!
“Oh, god,” he heaved, arms clutching his ribs to keep himself together. Bunny lines formed on the bridge of his nose, brows pinched tight, tears springing to the corners of his amber eyes. “I can’t, the threat of tickles is too much. I surrender, I surrender!”
“The king is triumphant! All hail the king!” You thundered, throwing your head back to unleash a demonic chortle that soon turned into real laughter. “Mark my words, on this da–”
Powerful hands pushed against your side, and you went crashing unceremoniously into the river.
Poor Suguru was wiping away more tears at the point of you reemerging, flushed red from head to toe from the exertion.
“This is a coup!” Satoru announced. “I’m taking back the crown!”
“Wh– no fair!” You objected, wiping your face free of water. “I won that fair and square!”
He beamed down at you, summer skies reflected in his spring eyes. “Come and get it, then!”
An all-out war was waged then between you and Satoru, a motley of screams, hollers, and demands getting thrown back and forth at one another. The activity and sweltering sun kept your blood thermal within the oasis of the numbing waterway.
This pearl of time belonged to the three of you and the three of you alone. The seconds slowed infinitely, and though they never came to a true stop, they lasted longer than the birth, life, and death of a distant star. This, to you, was paradise. Your skin was frosty, but your heart was blooming as you skylarked and frisked with people you’d met only a short time ago, but treated like you’d known one another all your lives.
The limits of your joy seemed to shatter with each passing day, expanding more than you ever thought possible. Hell, you never so much as considered that experiencing exultation to this degree was possible in and of itself, but you basked in it all the same.
As long as it lasted, you would savor it.
The sun was beginning its descent when your trio chose to end your excursion, feeling sufficiently chilled.
“Brr,” you quivered as you made your way out, squeezing water out of your hair. “My fingers are like icicles.”
“Come on, ladybug,” Suguru offered you his hand, which you took gratefully, allowing him to guide you out of the river. “That’s enough for today, you’ll catch a cold. Let’s go get you warmed up.”
You moaned in complaint at the thought of having to walk all the way back home. You really should have considered it before deciding to take a dip. Curse your spontaneity. “I forgot, Satoru’s house is on that damn mountain.”
“We’re going to my place,” he corrected nonchalantly, as if it’d been long decided. “It’s closer, and my folks are out for the weekend.”
A hand towel was dropped on your face by Satoru, probably one Suguru brought with him when packing his backpack earlier in the day.
“Dry off, princess,” Satoru instructed you as he crouched down by Geto’s backpack, popping open a bottle of water to knock back. He tossed a second one towards the noiret, who caught it with ease.
He waited for you to finish rubbing as much water off your head as you could before he twisted the top of the bottle off and handed it to you with a pointed look. A veiled threat to drink before I make you.
Well, jokes on him, you actually did want to drink water.
You took it from him and gulped down half the fluid inside it without hesitation. By some boon, you had the self control to stop before you got sick, and returned the water with a thank-you. Suguru took it upon himself to finish the rest of it.
Satoru snatched the towel from you, replacing it with your tank top (also placed on your head). You blew him a raspberry and tugged it on, cringing at the feeling of your dry (sorta) clothing getting caught on your damp skin. Maybe you should have considered bringing a towel. You would have, if you’d known beforehand that you’d be making a stop at the river.
You hooked your fingers into the back straps of your sandals when they were handed to you, the other two following suit. The village was kept clean, so none of you were worried about stepping on anything concerning, especially since Suguru’s house was right nearby.
“Ready to go?” He asked you, and you nodded.
His palm had returned to its normal calidity, something you noticed as he helped you up the slope. The boy’s body ran like a damn furnace, even after playing in the stream for a couple hours with you. Granted, he somehow managed to keep himself dry above the knees, but regardless.
All three of you were tired out, and you were looking forward to unwinding for the evening. The two boys didn’t bicker much, some light teasing in quieter tones, and – as promised – the trip to Geto’s home was short. You were standing within the genkan of his house in no time, waiting patiently while he disappeared further in to grab a couple towels.
His house resembled the buildings around the middle of town, sitting on the side of the river your house did. There was a stretch of land behind it, but you didn’t get a chance to see much, having been ushered into the cozy abode.
Being a bit nosy, you peeked around. There was a staircase leading up that hugged the wall of a turn to your left, leaving only the bottom few steps visible to you. The hallway straight ahead was clean and minimalist, likely leading to a dining room, if you had to guess.
Each home had its own unique smell, and his smelled of spices and something faintly earthy, like fresh soil.
“Here we go,” Suguru announced his return, rounding the corner with a few towels in tow. He tossed one down at your feet above the genkan, motioning for you to step onto it. Obeying, you moved out of the pit, allowing him to layer a second towel around you before tossing the last one to Satoru.
“You can shower first,” he said to you.
You grabbed at the towel, pressing it into your hips and thighs to absorb the water that remained in your soaked bottoms. “Are you sure I can go first?”
He nodded. “You can take a bath, too, if you want.”
“Just a shower is fine, I think. I don’t want to take too long, since you two need to shower, too.”
Satoru sidled up to you, his smug ass grin coming into view as he hovered his chin over your shoulder. “Or, I could shower with you.”
Frankly, you were too drained to let that statement fluster you.
Suguru placed the tip of his index between Satoru’s brows and pushed his head away. “Leave her be, creep. Dry your legs, dude, you’re getting water everywhere.”
“You’re no fun,” the towhead pouted, but retreated anyway.
“Come on,” Geto settled his hand on your nape, guiding you inside. “Don’t be shy, the walls don’t bite.”
You snorted. “New fear unlocked.”
He snickered, shaking his head in amusement. “Relax, I won’t let any walls bite you.”
He took you around the bend, past the stairs, which opened up directly to the living room. While following a more traditional structural style, the interior was comfortably modern. A plush, gray couch was pushed against the wall, with side tables on either end. You immediately noticed that the place was littered with a bunch of plants. Some hung from the ceiling, a few were situated on floating shelves, and a potted shrub was situated near the flatscreen opposite to the couch.
You gawked around shamelessly with parted lips, intrigued by the domesticity of his home. “Your place is so nice, Suguru.”
He chuffed beside you. “Don't go making fun of me while you're my guest, now, angel.”
“I'm not!” You gasped, affronted. “I swear! I like it. Lots of plants.”
“My mom’s an avid plant parent,” he explained.
You hummed in appreciation. “It’s homely.”
He exhaled through his nose and pressed his thumb and first finger into your trapezius. “Thank you. Go shower; second door to your left down the hall. I'll lay out some clean clothes for you in a little bit.”
He pointed towards an open sliding door on the other side of the shrub, bumping you forward. You needed no further prompting, trotting off in the direction he showed.
Thankfully, you didn’t get lost on the way, his instructions easy to follow. Finding the bathroom, you went into it and closed the door. Your fingers hesitated over the lock on the knob, debating. He said he’d bring clothing, but didn’t mention where he’d put it…
You chose to leave it unlocked and hurriedly got to work shedding your drenched clothes. Placing the towel down on the sink counter, you unabashedly peeped the details of the bathroom while you dropped the pieces of your outfit onto the towel.
Just like the rest of his place, the bathroom was well taken care of, also adorned with a few plants, albeit smaller and out of the way. He wasn’t kidding when he said his mom liked plants.
The ceiling light gave off an inviting glow, subconsciously helping you relax. Naked, you fiddled around with the shower knobs until you got hot water to blast out. You squeaked in surprise, adjusted the temp to be your desired level, and hopped right in.
It felt like years of stress were dissolving right off you. His shower might not have been high-techy and super modern like the one you used back at Satoru’s, but the familiarity in its style brought you a kind of comfort you didn’t know you were missing. You melted into the rising steam, sighing deeply and simply doing nothing for a minute to unwind.
It was a good day, the chaos with Granny, Shoko, and Utahime included. You’d have to reassure those two later that Satoru and Suguru were just teasing. Well, Utahime. For Shoko, you’d probably have to convince her, and you didn’t have faith you’d succeed.
You glanced around, spotting a bottle of body wash that looked like it belonged to Suguru on an inset tile shelf. You grabbed it, hoping he wouldn’t mind you using it.
Reading over the label, you admired his choice in soap: lavender and green tea, both for scent and the benefits they provided.
You couldn’t help the giddy little burst of vim you got knowing you were about to smell like him, too.
You squeezed some onto your palm and lathered it between your hands, then started rubbing it onto your body. The day’s strain, dirt, grime, and weariness lifted with it, washing off in thin and slow waves of white streaks down your figure. You felt lighter and lighter with each pass over your chest, waist, hips, and thighs.
Tension thawed from your shoulders as you scrubbed your hands along them, muscles loosening with each bit of cleanliness you gained. It felt nice. Really nice, a calm time away to yourself to let go.
His shampoo also smelled like green tea, and you were occupied with massaging it into your hair when there was a knock on the door.
“Yeah?” You called out.
The door cracked open. “Just me,” Suguru responded. “Brought some clothes for you. I’ll leave them on the counter.”
“Oh, thank you!” What’d you do to deserve a friend like him?
There were some rustling noises as he spoke. “It’s no problem, I’m not gonna leave you hanging without something to change into. Do you mind if I take your clothes to toss in the wash?”
“That’s fine,” you permitted. “I’ll be out soon.”
“Don’t worry about it, take your time,” he said, and then the door was closed once more.
Even if he told you to, you still didn’t want to hog the shower to yourself, knowing that Satoru got just as river-bathed as you did, and he was wearing pants to boot.
You rinsed off the shampoo and followed it up with the matching conditioner, using your fingers to delicately comb out any tangles. Though they weren’t your own products, they felt amazing, making your tresses silky smooth. You would have to ask him where he got his products.
You were out as soon as you were done washing your hair. You cocooned yourself in the clean, fluffy towel he also provided, loving the texture. It was soft yet absorbent, coaxing away any droplets that clung to your curves and planes.
You wanted to steal it.
But, reluctant as you might have been, you refrained. You used it to dry your hair some, and folded it to set aside after you were sufficiently devoid of liquid. Checking the clothes Suguru provided you, you noted he gave you a pair of sweats with a drawstring, allowing you to adjust the waistline as needed. Ever the observant mother hen, you were grateful for his foresight.
You slipped on the t-shirt first, pleased by the material as it came to rest against your freshly washed skin. It was noticeably oversized, but in a sleepy-Sunday sort of way, big enough to be cute and snuggly.
The sweats were huge on you by comparison, what with his absurdly long limbs. You tugged the drawstring to your preferred tightness, then rolled up the legs until they were out of the way and you wouldn’t trip over them.
All dressed, you opened the door with your used towel in hand and walked out to find Suguru waiting for you, leaning against the wall beside the room. He smiled warmly at you and pushed himself off his support, holding out his hand to take the towel from you.
A quick sweep over your form showed he was appraising your outfit with an approving eye, pride undisguised. “That shirt looks good on you.”
You were probably imagining the hint of possessiveness in his tone.
“Ehehe,” you giggled fiendishly, channeling your inner menace as you lightly tugged at the fabric of the top. “Mine, now.”
His expression softened into a smile that had little cupid wings fluttering on your back, a smile you only ever saw him give you. “All yours, angel. You can go sit down in the living room, I’ll be right back.”
“Sure,” you nodded and followed his instructions, making your way back to the flora-infested room.
Settling down on the couch, you exhaled and closed your eyes. You heard the shower start up again before it became muffled by the door, presumably because of Satoru. You weren’t left waiting long, the five or so minutes you were alone flying by. The padding of feet signaled you to Suguru’s return, your eyes prying open halfway to peer languidly at him.
“Here,” he jutted his chin towards you. “Sit on the floor, I’ll do your hair.”
Finding no reason to object, you stood and let him take your place on the cushion before plopping yourself down between his legs. He tilted your head forward, then got to work. His touch was ever so gentle, fingers diligent in their movements as he treated your hair with a knowingness you didn’t expect him to have.
Amicable silence filled the space around you, just the shifting of clothes and the slick sound of leave-in as he spread it evenly through your tresses. It gave your mind the freedom to drift away undisturbed.
As he was carefully drying and styling your hair, you thought about how Suguru often reminded you of a cat, considering his tendency to groom you. Or a bird, like a crow or a raven, that liked to preen you.
If you were all some sort of animal hybrids, you could easily imagine him being either some sort of corvid, a vulpine, or a big cat. A black leopard, to be specific.
If Satoru was a big cat, he would be a snow leopard. You refused to take any other suggestions. The tall freak was touchy, cuddly, and so proficient in hiding himself within an environment that did not suit him that he could be breathing down your neck and you'd be none the wiser.
The more you thought about it, the more you could picture them as their respective animals. Satoru would undoubtedly sunbathe with his belly up, paws curled, tail flicking side to side happily, unafraid of showing his biggest weakness.
You compared and contrasted between your options for him. He did like to give you small, shiny things, and you'd never refuse because oooh, shiny! His hair reminded you of crow feathers when it caught the light from the sun. It bore a faint iridescence, a chrome that shifted between emerald and the time just between midnight and dawn, in the earliest hours of the morning where stars still sparkled brilliantly. You could picture him preening his feathers, plucking out the pins and fluffing the downy fuzz.
Though black leopard might have suited him better. He tended to rub his cheek against yours or the top of your head whenever you embraced. You could easily picture him loafing under the shade, licking his paw to smooth out his fur and ensure it matched the rest of his satiny complexion. He had the personality of a laid back, lazy feline that could turn from a sweet teeny baby kitten into a merciless predator in the blink of an eye.
You'd seen the way he behaved when he wanted something – the narrowing of his eyes, the set of his jaw, the concentration in his brow.
It made a tremor flit up your body, especially when he set his sights on you like that. He was capable of being a silent stalker, an expert in scaring the ever living shit out of you any chance he got, just like Satoru.
That soursop boy was surely the type to roll over and let others do things for him. Feed him, rub his belly, comb through his fur. You hadn’t seen him when he was prowling, searching for a meal to hunt down, but sometimes you got a flicker of something similar to it in his eyes. Like a passing rumination, where he considered if it was worth exhausting energy to chase down his prey.
…Could the reason you’d had yet to witness his hunt be because of his ability to camouflage? Because he didn’t want you to see?
The concept gave you chills.
You suppressed your reaction at the introspection, remembering that Suguru was behind you, gently drying your hair with tepid air and tender touches. You didn't want to embarrass yourself by giving him the impression that he was pleasuring you.
Which he undeniably was, but he didn't need to know about the prickles and tingles traveling all the way from your crown to your tailbone.
You continued your train of thought.
Satoru the Snow Leopard would spend his days grooming you endlessly, licking at your fur until it stuck out in all kinds of wild angles. After that, Suguru would mend the spiky hairs until you were glossy and sleek like him.
What did that make you in comparison to them?
Standing side by side with them, it was clear you were prey – unless you were a black-footed cat. But given your dynamic and how the two of them liked to coddle you, you doubted you'd resemble any kind of predator.
If you had to be prey, then what? A doe, or gazelle?
No, those were unfortunately too majestic, and you weren't nearly as graceful as those lovely creatures. Your habit of tripping over your own feet proved case enough.
Okay, so if you weren't either of those…you supposed you could still fit into the cervidae family. Pudu deer was a possibility.
You tried to imagine it, but sadly, you couldn't put yourself into deer hooves.
Were birds prey? Some of them had to be, like doves, right?
If you were a bird, then Suguru had to be, too. You only trusted him to primp and help you maintain your feathers. Satoru would just chomp on them.
Alright, so no-go on the birds, then. Field mouse?
No, too small. You were short, but not that short. They’d also likely accidentally swallow you whole if they tried to mend a stray whisker.
Fennec fox?
You contemplated it, then mentally shook your head. You weren't high-pitched and energetic enough to qualify for that. Satoru would beg to differ, and you’d let him, because it’d be funny. Also, they were predators, anyway.
A brief memory flashed in your mind of something Satoru said, back when you first met Suguru.
‘I don't know,’ he hummed in deliberation. ‘I prefer bunny. Or mochi.’
Bunny.
Bunny…
A rabbit with floppy ears and an upturned tail. Fuzzy and velvety, obviously small and squishy, as much as you grimaced at those choice words of his.
Flumped right between either of their front paws, or stuffed in the middle of their bodies when they curled up to nap. Or chilling on one of their backs, your little paws on their head to watch the world from an angle you could never see on your own.
Bunny fit perfectly, a glove with no rips in the stitch.
You three together would consist of a snow leopard, a black leopard, and a small rabbit that they decided to keep as a pet and not dinner. For whatever reason that could be. Fish are friends, not food.
You had no idea why you chose to start daydreaming about being animorphs. Imagining being squished by their hulking forms in the afternoon rays, or being wrapped up in their fluffy tails for warmth on autumn nights. They were fun images to entertain.
“You seem to be quite deep in thought,” Suguru's breath brushed against the shell of your ear, spooking you. You hadn't even noticed he was finished. “Care to let me in?”
“Eep!” You squeaked, rotating partially to give him the stink eye for doing the thing he and Satoru always did. No way were you going to let him in on your weird brain doing weird brain things. “It's nothing important, just fantasizing a bit. Zoned out.”
Ohp.
And there was that hungry gleam in his eye, the shimmer in his black tea hues. You hit the nail on the head with the black leopard comparison.
“Fantasizing about what?” He purred. Cat. “About me?”
Your lashes fluttered and you whipped your head back in the other direction, tucking your newly dry and enviously soft hair behind your ears. “N-No?”
Man.
You were such a bad liar.
He, merciful god that he is, elected to only tease you and not try to dive into the unreasonably bizarre pool of thoughts that swirled and whirled in your consciousness like the godsforsaken mess you were.
Nor ask about why most of them revolved around those two boys. Bless him, your hero. Satoru would have tormented you until you gave in out of desperation, just to make him shut up. Then, he'd tease you about those ideas for the rest of your days. Probably double down on the bunny related nicknames, poke right above your tailbone and make jokes about how he should make you wear a pair of bunny ears and a tail. And then make the tail option extremely not family friendly.
Heaven’s mercy spare you if you give him any more ideas beyond that. Like a skimpy outfit that barely covered your tits and had a crotch narrow enough to give you a wedgie-induced friction burn where friction burns did not belong and would not wish on your worst enemy.
Well, no, maybe you would, but that's besides the point.
You chuffed out your nose and let your head fall back against the cushion between Geto's legs. His fingers found their way back to your scalp, massaging and lightly scratching at it until you were pushing into his hands like a needy kitten.
“Comfortable?” He asked with an amused lilt in his voice, to which you chirped merrily in answer.
You really were. Limbs like jelly, squeaky clean, tired out after playing in the river with them. You felt good, truly and genuinely good.
Aversion to permanent routine or not, you’d welcome every day with open arms if they were like this. Peaceful contentment after a long stretch of sunlit hours, able to let loose and uncoil any strain in your body, it all sounded so…
Happy.
You were okay with being happy like this.
You were okay with forgetting your past and what drove you here in the first place. You didn’t mind having your eyes shift shut, lashes sweeping over the highs of your cheekbones. You were alright with one of your best friends playing idly with your hair, and you were fine with listening to him hum some melody to himself as he did so.
It was okay.
This was okay.
You were okay.
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taglist: @kimi01985
#Tether Me#gojo x reader#satoru x reader#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#geto x reader#suguru x reader#geto suguru x reader#suguru geto x reader#satosugu x reader#jjk x reader#chimera writes
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Something dark... maybe like Eddie lived but was displaced by the Gov... and like 5 years later you find him.. in a little hole in the wall and maybe a little angst.. maybe a little smut maybe a little longing.. falling back together etc.. idk Something freaky fresh 🤪
Okay, I love this idea! But I’m going to change it a little if you don’t mind!
Eddie x fem!reader
cw: MDNI (18+) unprotected sex (please don’t do this) fingering, angst, grief, whole lot of hurt/comfort
It had been five years since Eddie had passed away down to the day. It was a day that was one of the hardest of the year for you. It felt like it had just happened and the emotional wounds were still fresh, still exposed and you were hurting more than ever.
You had been going to therapy ever since, but the nightmares never stopped even though they were less frequent. You could still feel Steve pulling you away from Eddie while you watched his lifeless body lay there, covered in blood. You felt his hand let go of yours and the life left his eyes. You screamed his name over and over, but he never responded. He was officially dead.
The funeral was rough. The very few people who showed up sobbed the entire time and you all huddled together, vowing that you would be there for each other. And you were. You all had dinner together almost every night and it was pretty much the only thing you looked forward to in your life.
Every single year on the anniversary of Eddie’s death, you went to his favorite bar that was a few towns over and ordered his favorite drink to honor him. It was your own little tradition and everyone knew not to bother you while you spent the day by yourself while you mourned your dead boyfriend who very much should have been alive.
What you didn’t know what that Eddie was very much alive. After he had escaped the Upside Down, he had somehow stumbled upon a hospital that had nursed him back to health. He had no idea what had happened to everyone, so he decided that he wouldn’t call anyone and go into hiding to avoid the police no matter how much he wanted to see if you were okay.
He ended up heading to the town with the bar that he loved, knowing that he was far enough away from home that no one would recognize him. It was a win-win all around. But he missed you. He missed you so fucking much that he could hardly stand it and he felt so guilty for not contacting you and telling you the truth.
So, he dealt with it the only way he how. He drank away his problems. He’d go to the bar every day and order margarita after margarita and throw them back like they were water. Maybe it wasn’t the best coping mechanism, but it was the only way he knew how to deal with the pain.
You sat on your favorite stool and ordered a margarita, holding back your tears as you waited for your drink. You lowered your head so no one could see your face and your drink was set in front of you along with a plate of mozzarella sticks. You looked up at the bartender and he gave you a wink as he pushed the plate towards you.
“On the house. You look like you could use something comforting.” The nice gesture made you tear up even more. You weren’t hungry, but you felt like it would have been rude not to eat them, especially since he wasn’t going to make you pay for them.
“Thanks,” you smiled weakly. You took one of the sticks from the plate and took a bit despite your nausea and ate until the plate was empty. You hadn’t eaten anything that day because your grief had been taking up your thoughts.
“Of course,” he nodded then turned to take care of the customer who was sitting a couple of stools away from you. You turned to look at them and did a double take, absolutely sure that your mind was playing tricks on you. There was no way that your dead boyfriend was sitting right there. It wasn’t possible.
You were sure that you were hallucinating. The guy looked like Eddie but it couldn’t be him. You missed Eddie so much that you were imagining him to make yourself feel better. Maybe if you reached out to touch him, you could confirm that it really wasn’t him. You just wanted to be sure so you could put it out of your mind and put your curiosity to rest.
You tried to get off your stool, but the whole thing ended up toppling to the floor, taking you with it. The loud sound of it hitting the hard wood made everyone turn to you. You weren’t sure why, but your ears were ringing. You couldn’t hear anything but muffled voices as everyone in the bar hovered over you to see if you were okay.
“I’m good, I’m good,” you assured them as you sat up, actually telling the truth this time. Your arm hurt a little, but other than that, you were okay. You didn’t even care anyway, the man making his way towards the front of the crowd being the only thing on your mind.
Once they confirmed you were okay, everyone dispersed and went back to their tables, leaving you and the stranger alone. He was looking at you with wide eyes like he couldn’t believe you were there and your expression matched his. His eyes were watery as he reached up to touch your face, his thumbs wiping away your own tears.
“I knew it was you,” you told him, throwing yourself into his arms and he was quick to catch you, wrapping them around your waist tightly. You sobbed in each other’s arms for what felt like a while then pulled away, your lips attaching to his in a messy kiss. You tasted something salty and realized that it was the tears that you had both cried but that didn’t stop you from breaking apart until you both needed to catch your breath.
He took you by the hand and led you outside and down the block to an apartment building so the two of you could have some privacy. Part of you felt like you were in a very surreal dream but feeling his hand in yours made you realize that he was actually there. Right in front of you.
As happy as you were that he was alive, he had lied to you. For five years you thought he was dead and he had failed to contact you even though you were his fucking girlfriend. He had told you had he loved you in the Upside Down when he was dying in your arms, but apparently it wasn’t a lot since he had kept something like that from you.
He pulled you over to the elevator and pressed the button that would take the two of you up to his apartment. The doors opened not too long after and he pulled you inside, his lips attaching to yours once again. You felt a pit in your stomach and pushed him away, causing him to hit the wall.
“Still like it rough, huh?” He asked, his lips chasing yours, but you kept your hand on his chest, keeping him against the wall. Tears welled up in your eyes again and Eddie’s face softened, the lust completely gone from them. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? You lied to me, Eddie. You’ve been alive this whole time and didn’t even think to contact me?”
“I was trying to protect you. I knew that the police would be after me if I came back to you. I know it was selfish and I’m sorry, so sorry, baby.” That made sense to you, but it didn’t make you feel any better. Did he think that you would tell anyone? Because you wouldn’t have. Not if he didn’t want you to. He had your full trust. Always.
“You still could have called me. I could have hid you just as well.” Eddie knew that and he wanted it so bad, but as time went on, the guilt was too much to bear and he couldn’t stand to see the look on your face when you found out that he was actually alive. The look you were giving him right now.
“I know, I know. And I’m sorry. You have no fucking idea.” His hands cradled your face and you let him wipe your tears away. “You can say anything you want to me right now and I won’t blame you. I’m a fucking dick-”
“You’re not a dick, Eddie. You were just doing what you thought was right. And as mad as I am right now, I’m just so fucking grateful that you’re alive.” You pulled him in for a kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him as close to you as possible. The elevator doors opened and Eddie grabbed onto the backs of your thighs and lifted, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist. His hands held onto them as he carried you to his apartment, only breaking your kiss to fish his keys out of his wallet. Once the door was unlocked, he slammed it closed with his leg then attached his lips to yours once more.
You licked into his mouth as he set you down on the kitchen counter, neither one of you able to make it to his room. Your pants and underwear were off in a flash and Eddie spread your legs open to get a good look at your sopping wet cunt. You were nervous because you hadn’t shaved, but he didn’t seem to give a single fuck about that.
“Glad to know I can still get you so fucking wet,” he chuckled. “You’re soaked.”
“And desperate,” you replied breathlessly. If he didn’t do something right then, you were going to have to take care of it yourself. “Haven’t fucked anyone in five years.”
“Me neither, sweetheart. Gonna need to open you up, huh?”
“Eddie, hurry,” you urged and as soon as the words left your mouth, he shoved his fingers inside your cunt. “Oh,” you moaned, realizing just how much you missed the feeling. Your fingers didn’t do the job nearly as well as Eddie’s.
“Fuck, angel, you’re so tight,” he commented as his fingers pumped in and out of you. “Gonna be good as new when I’m done with you.”
“So good,” you whined, leaning your head back, your eyes closing in pleasure as Eddie fucked his fingers in and out of you.
“Don’t go dumb on me now, angel,” he urged. “Haven’t even gotten inside of you yet.” His fingers moved harder and faster inside of you and you came undone at the feeling, forgetting just how good it felt to have him do that sort of thing to you.
“Need your cock, Eddie.”
“Don’t have any condoms.” That was the least of your worries. You needed him right then.
“I don’t care. I haven’t fucked anyone and neither have you and I’m still on birth control. So let’s do this.”
“Still needy for me, huh? Some things never change.”
“Eddie, hurry up before I care of it myself.” Your eyes bored into his and he got rid of his jeans and boxers, his dick springing free. It was bigger than you remembered and you wondered if it would even fit.
He lined himself up with your cunt and pounded into you, his lips meeting yours in a filthy kiss, his tongue scraping against yours as he continued to pound into you. You moaned into his mouth and the sound was just as delicious as he remembered. His lips moved to your neck as he hips bucked against yours so his mouth wasn’t muffling the sounds falling from your lips.
“Feel so good, baby. Still know how to take me so well,” he whined. “God, you’re so hot.”
Your back arched as he moved faster, his dick hitting just the right spot to make you melt. You were already reaching your orgasm and he had barely even done anything. Your vision went hazy from absolute euphoria he kept going and his moans were doing wonders for your already sopping wet pussy.
“Look so hot taking my cock, baby. Guess I’ve still got it.”
“Eddie, I think I’m gonna-” you finally reached your climax and felt embarrassed that it was so quick, but Eddie was not long after you, his body leaning over yours as he reached his own peak.
“Guess I did too,” he chucked, as he wiped the sweat from your forehead. “Did so well, sweetheart,” he praised as he pressed his lips to yours. “And again, I’m so sorry.”
“We can work through it,” you rubbed your thumb along his cheek. “I know it’s still daylight, but can we please go to bed?”
“Sure we can, sweetheart.” He picked you up and carried you to the bathroom to clean the both of you up and once you were all done, you both got into the bed and got the best sleep of your life because you both were finally reunited. And there was no way that Eddie was going to let you go ever again.
#stranger things#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson fluff
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qrow's drinking wasn't exactly news. he was introduced drinking in a bar, and when he arrived at beacon he wasted no time pulling out his flask in ozpin's office; "he's always drunk." is something glynda could say without hesitation.
but when qrow is spending time with yang and ruby, playing video games with them and what not, he doesn't drink. not once does it even look like he's about to pull out his flask, just to stop midway or put it back again.
and it's not like qrow tries to hide it or that ruby and yang don't know. ruby's reaction to qrow arriving to The House™ in mistral all happy drunk tells it all: "qrow, did you get drunk again?" but it still has this air of... it's not the norm, ya know? qrow drinking isn't that surprising, but getting drunk even to this extent isn't that usual; even if he's drunk, he's still functional, and with the way he doesn't drink while spending time with his nieces in a scenario that is the most like it would have been in their childhood, it gives this feeling that qrow did his damnest to keep his drinking away from the home life on patch—barring celebrations, maybe.
another thing that supports this is what yang says when they find qrow passed out in argus: "i've never seen him this bad." qrow being happy drunk? that's familiar. him being depressive drunk (to the point of passing out)? nope, never seen that before. so either qrow managed to keep himself together after summer's disappearance that it never got that bad and only broke down completely when the rug he had dedicated his life for in hopes of doing something good in the world in spite of his semblance was pulled out from under his feet, or he managed to keep it behind closed doors, away from ruby's and yang's eyes.
the stains on qrow's team photo tells me it's probably the latter, and i think that's something he shares in common with tai. after summer's disappearance, both of them were at the breaking point—they could have self-destructed—but they managed to keep themselves together for ruby's and yang's sake. the cracks are still there—qrow was still drinking, tai shut down his emotions and refused to talk about anything that could threaten to open that dam—but they kept it together, and if they ever had bad days or moments, they kept it behind closed doors.
but it's clear that they never got help for their problems. never dealt with them, it was just surviving with the baggage weighing them down. and all it takes is that one final nail in the coffin for the cracks to spread and bring the whole dam down.
for qrow it was learning the truth about salem, that ozpin didn't actually have a plan.
for tai... summer being alive and in a state where she could have returned but didn't would probably do the trick.
#qrow's past and how he was treated bc of his semblance influenced his breakdown#so i wonder if there's something in tai's past that has that effect as well#...in before he was abandoned by his parents like nora and emerald#<- apollo don't touch this one 😭
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War is Over (and what have we done?)
Part Five
Paring; Graves x m!reader (slow burn)
WC; ~8.8k
Summary; where was Graves in all those months he was gone? What brought him back?
Warnings; just some general internal turmoil, brief imagery of death, implied human trafficking when including the context of past chapters, a lot of self doubt/feelings of betrayal. Tame compared to my usual stuff tbh
A/n; I hate dialogue. Also the moon phase mentioned in the beginning is what it would have been in-game for that mission too :3
---"I'll crawl home to him"---
You arrive a few hours later, according to the ticking clock above the bed—knife still embedded into the plastic face and all, he hadn't bothered to remove it, even after all this time—and at that point Phil had started to believe Venn had chickened out. That, or she just didn't bother telling you.. perhaps she had forgotten. All were of an extremely low probability. He should know better by now than to doubt her.
Even now, only a few weeks later. You looked so.. so drastically different. Phil takes stock, compares your current form from when he had last seen you all those weeks ago—had it been weeks? Phil didn't even know what day it was.
Drifting. Up, down, and across every inch of your concealed form. Something foreign pulls at the hardened strings of his heart—strands of silk toughened up by years upon years of repressed emotion and poorly dealt hands—at the sight of you. Standing tall and confident, as if he can't see the strain buried in your shoulders from the effort of holding yourself up, keeping yourself from crumbling to dust right before his eyes. And he swears you've lost weight, a noticeable difference in the amount of muscle mass wrapped around your bones, even under all that clothing.
When his gaze meets yours, taking a peek into the torn and frayed patchwork of your soul, all he can feel is the stinging reminder of you wishing him dead. Telling him you'd hoped he'd died all those months back; suffocated by his own lungs.
And it's like the past decade of getting to know you, watching you open up, never happened. Wound so tightly, that all that progress is dumped right down the drain; he isn't sure if he'd ever be able to tear down those walls again. Not this time. He scrambles brick by brick to reach the top, but you're too fast, replacing those crumbling stacks with bolts and iron at an alarming rate.
He can't see over the wall anymore, it's too high to reach, too steep to climb. And he fears he may never have the honor of reaching that softer center ever again, barred by thick metal and scathing words.
“You wanted to see me?” Hell… you even sound different. Cool and collected on the surface, but there's an edge there that tells Phil you're not as put together as you are trying to appear to be.
“I did.” But now that you're here, he can't remember the script he'd spent the last week constructing, so delicately, in his mind.
“Well,” you drawl, lifting your arms and gesturing widely. Dropping back down to your sides with a dull smack. “I'm here.”
Are you? Phil doesn't think so. Not really.
Your eyes are the only thing on display, and just a year ago Phil wouldn've prided himself in the fact that he could read you so well. But not anymore.
He can't see that lighthouse shining through, guiding him through the night. There's nothing there. The lamp has run out of oil, and the keeper died months ago.
You're right here, and yet Phil has never found you to be so out of reach.
Who would've thought; his savior, and the one who had damned him to the fiery pits of hell, were both the same man. It felt almost poetic.
Phil thinks he had made peace with his death. Sure, this hadn't been what his younger self had imagined when the topic of death was brought up; still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, believing himself to be near invincible.
He had never been particularly religious, even after being forced to sit in those church pews and listen to some old man drone on and on about shit his child brain didn't care to make sense of. Bored out of his mind, but only sitting still, behaving, because doing the opposite meant taking over his younger sister's chores for the rest of the day.
Phil still couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was some sort of fucked-up retribution or some shit like that. Paying for the sins he'd committed within his lifespan, and so on.
And he wasn't just speaking of the blood that permanently stained his hands, no, he was thinking of you. Always you.
You and those endless pools of warmth that made up your eyes, always a slight glimmer in them when you looked his way. You and those rough, work-hardened hands, always so soft and gentle when you handled him. Like he was something delicate, something to be cherished and protected. Him the altar and you the devoted worshiper knelt before him, praying for the mercy of a god who never answered your calls.
And that laugh. Like nothing else he had experienced before, a blessed thing he was granted the honor of witnessing. Of having directed his way. So rare, but so carefully captured and sealed away in Phil's heart when he heard its boisterous sound.
The main reason Phil had never really connected with the religion he was raised into was, even though they were the same people who preached about community and loving thy neighbor and whatever the hell, they were also the kind to shun and exile those they deemed unworthy. Those who didn't fit into the cookie cutter shapes chosen for them before they'd even taken their first breath.
He had completely dismissed his family's religion entirely when, after one of the members of his church discovered him getting a bit too cuddly—nothing more than an innocent hug that lasted a few seconds longer than it should—with one of his male classmates, they were outcast from the very same church he'd practically grown up in. And Phil would forever be thankful for having parents who stuck up for him to the very end, he doesn't think he'd ever seen his dad so thoroughly pissed off than when going after a churchgoer who'd slung a few cruel choice words at a younger Phil.
And Phil can't help but feel he knew this was how it would end when he made the decision; like some cruel method of justice.
So, while he no longer considered himself aligned with any specific religion, Phil still held onto that deep-rooted fear of something. Of damnation and redemption. And in that moment, as his heart began to slow and stutter in his chest, when his head felt too heavy to hold up, and the simple task of breathing caused his chest to burn, he did something he hadn't done since middle school. Something he never thought he'd do again.
He yearned for forgiveness; begged and pleaded until black swallowed up his vision whole.
Phil doesn't remember when the world had gone dark; doesn't think he had even fought against the pull. Willingly, had he responded to the siren's call through the waves crashing in his ear, a sound so alluring he would never even consider resisting, one that held a certain likeness to your voice.
What he does remember is the sudden gulps of stinging ash in his lungs, shocking his system into alertness, and the touch of oddly cool hands pulling at his shoulders. Hard, sandy earth beneath him, but he can't look up, can't peel his eyelids open and take a glance at his savior when those hands disappear. Only to wrap a pair of arms snug around his waist and continue dragging him over jagged stones and bits of metal.
It's not until Phil abruptly feels a lot cooler than he did moments ago that he's finally able to force his eyes open, a gasping breath kick-starting his heart back into motion.
And when he looks up, dazed and more than a little out of it, what he sees nearly steals his breath away once again.
Smoke wafting off your uniform in waves, dancing with the remaining embers still shining bright in a sea of black like stars in a night sky. It should be terrifying, but it's not.
Because Phil cannot see how the material clings unnaturally to your body, his brain is too fogged up still to notice the torn patches in your clothing. Blood stains the dark fabric into a deeper shade, trickling from gouges in your skin and dripping onto his.
All he sees is that perfect, unmarred face of yours. Mask pulled down and out of the way as you pant for breath; the flesh warmed a more intense reddish tone than usual, but Phil didn't register that, unable to yet comprehend that what was once untouched would soon become scarred and disfigured within the next few hours.
And with the setting sun positioned behind you, glowing almost like an angel's halo to frame your head, he had never been so enraptured by the sight of you as much as he was in that moment.
It's clumsy and uncoordinated, taking a few tries to even get the limb to function, but he manages. Reaching up to gently cup the jaw of his savior, his guardian angel, to feel that familiar warmth against his skin.
Only to have his wrist snatched out of the air by your still gloved hand, the hold a little tighter than normal, held for a second before being dropped carelessly onto his chest. And Phil doesn't have the energy to lift it again.
“You breathin', sir?” Comes your once angelic voice, now sounding like someone had shoved a saw blade down your throat; scratchy and not at all the soothing rumble he was used to, a strange shiver alighting his nerves at the sound.
All Phil can muster up is a strained, grunt-like sound in response. But that seems to be more than enough for you as you stand back up from your crouched position, sigh, and look over the ruined training grounds.
There's a hard set to your jaw, and Phil begins to feel something akin to fear. An emotion he doesn't think he could recall ever feeling around you if he tried.
“Good enough.” You huff, leaning back down to wrap your strong arms around his waist. Dragging him like a ragdoll to a more secluded, out-of-the-way spot just outside the remains of the designated training area.
He can't fight it, can bring himself to move or speak or do much of anything, really. Laying limp in your hold and letting himself be hauled away.
Phil considers that whatever method of exfil you had prepared must be this way. He doesn't remember making any plans like that with you and the others. But why else would you take him here?
Those hopes are crushed when you prop him against a fallen log, the remains of Alejandro's base now just barely out of sight, then pull away.
“This should be fine,” you mumble to yourself, cold gaze studying him briefly before darting back to where you two had come from. “Mhm. They shouldn't patrol this far.”
“-nant?-” Crackles through your radio before Phil can muster the energy to ask you what you meant by that. The feed is distorted, the device had probably been damaged sometime during the fight, but it's clearly a panicked voice speaking on the other end. “-Lieu-en-t? Are- y- there? Pha-nt-m?-”
“2-3,” you respond, voice level. “I'm here. Problem?”
“-N-o, no problems, sir-” Kip, 2-3, says. A little calmer now that he has heard your voice. Phil watches the scene through blurry eyes. “-We got- he's- Viper is stable-”
“For now.” You mutter bitterly, switching the radio back on to reply with, “Give me a sit-rep, 2-3.”
“-V-enn’s got ‘em lo-aded up-” a pause. “-a quarter left, sir.”
A quarter left. Even in Phil’s muddled up state, he knows what that means. It meant three-quarters of the soldiers he had taken with him were dead. Too many to feasibly count. So many bodies left unidentified, in enemy territory.
“-How-re yo-u and the- c-mander, Lt.?-” Phil would've said something if he could. But his vocal cords are paralyzed and his tongue feels like it's constructed of pure lead.
“I’m breathing.” You joke, your slight amusement is obvious even in such a bland tone. At least to Phil it is.
“A-nd,” if Kip notices, he doesn't mention it. “-and the commander?”
You spare one glance down at his slumped, barely breathing form, gaze shut-off and distant, and a cavernous pit of dread opens up in Phil's stomach.
“KIA.” You grunt, eyes narrowing down at Phil. And he may as well be, to have you look at him like that.
Kip doesn't respond and you click your radio off. And it's as easy as that, as if Phil, your co-founder, your friend, you lover, meant nothing to you.
You turn and leave, and Phil doesn't even possess the ability to call your name.
The next time he wakes, Phil doesn't think he's been colder in his damn life. And he's done his time in deep dive operations in the frigid hellscape that is the wilderness of remote foreign bases just past the Bering Sea.
It's dark, stars and the illumination of the moons’ waxing gibbous all the man has to light his way.
For a prolonged moment Phil doesn't even consider pushing himself up from his current pathetic, slumped over position against the decaying log. Would it even be worth it? He had nothing but the singed clothes on his back to call his own, not a weapon he can use in sight. Not even a pocket knife up his sleeve or a heart nestled in his ribcage.
Phil has experienced his own fair share of betrayal within his lifetime; ranging from small, nonsense instances with his little sister, to slightly bigger ones like with the church; then there were the more prominent, glaring ones that stuck out like a sore thumb. From before he started this damn company, freshly enlisted, and only a year later when he met you.
With shitty, high ranked officers who didn't give a single fuck about what happened to him or his squad—not that that had changed much after being taken under the watchful eye of General Shepard. Freezing to death in bumfuck nowhere Russia, or nearly drowning in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic Ocean.
You had been there for every single one. Such a constant in his life; a steady, unmovable force by Phil's side no matter what happened. Even before he'd fallen for you, before you became more than just a friend. Like two peas in a pod, you two.
There was no you without him, and vise versa, the soldiers you two worked with knew it too. They were always sure to throw in a teasing jab now and again, asking the typical “trouble in paradise?”, when you were spotted away from each other for more than a few hours.
So forgive Phil for being a bit melodramatic, because, out of all the people on this godforsaken planet, he never expected such a thing from you.
Maybe he should have. He wouldn't be on the verge of catching fucking hypothermia in the middle of nowhere in a foreign country.
Phil tries to think back, to push past the pounding in his skull to recall even a moment that would have given away some sort of clue to your betrayal before it happened. Maybe he could've prevented it if he had just looked closer.
But no. There's nothing. If anything, Phil recalls you being a bit more.. clingy, before this whole thing started. In your own way, of course; he's pretty sure you would rather be caught dead than let someone catch you hugging him or, heaven forbid, holding his hand.
Your neediness manifested in standing just close enough to him that any shift in stance or movement caused your shoulders to brush together; getting up in his personal space and staying there.
Maybe that was it? Maybe you had been so unusually affectionate because you'd planned on betraying him. And Phil was just too blinded by the sudden influx of your undivided attention to see it; he's starting to consider that that may have been your intention all along.
To distract him with your attention, to hide your true intentions under the guise of gentle words and adoring eyes.
Phil gives it a few more minutes, shivering his ass off against that damn log, before he finally gives in and decides to stand. He wasn't dead—yet—and by staying he was nothing more than a sitting duck in shark infested waters—which was a weird saying, wasn't it; how could the waters be infested when that was a shark's natural habitat?
Traveling under the blanket of night provided him with the highest chances of survival, even if it meant he was constantly on the verge of freezing to death. Under the dark, star speckled sky, he was, for the most part, safe from the prying eyes of enemy soldiers. It would be much more difficult for them to spot him under the protection of a waxing moon than, say, the full, all-encompassing concentrated power of the fucking sun.
So he gets his hands under himself, weakened arms trying their damnedest to force him to his feet. Phil takes a moment, leaning against a strong, tall tree that was luckily rooted right beside its fallen brethren.
The last time he had put anything in his stomach was yesterday (?) morning before they had been so rudely interrupted by the 141 boys knocking on their—or, really, not theirs at all—front door. And after an afternoon like that, all his energy was beyond drained. It's a surprise Phil was still standing—not that he was exactly doing a very good job at that—, though, to be fair, he wasn't new to going lengths of time without proper sustenance. It was a byproduct of the job, of the life he led, after all.
Phil can't do anything to rectify his current hunger right now, so he has no choice other than start getting some miles between himself and the wrecked base next door.
Signing, he looks down, spotting a small dagger lodged into the tree he'd been resting against before. Huh, at least you hadn't left him completely defenseless.
Knife secured in his boot, Phil begins the long trek to who knows where. It's not like he could just make his way back to company HQ, now could he? Not when it was so damn clear he was an unwanted face there.
The chipped watch on his wrist reads o-five-hundred, giving him about an hour until sunrise. Phil has already made pretty good progress, if he did say so himself. And the Vaqueros base has long since faded from his view; leaving Phil to now wander aimlessly through the harsh Mexican terrain; traversing over dry, crumbling rocks through a sparse forest, avoiding sudden drop offs and twisted roots on wobbly legs.
Phil had detoured around the broken city of Las Almas, a certain brand of discomfort crawling up his spine and settling heavy across his shoulders at the mere thought of passing through the ruined city. The barest glimpses of it he'd gotten bore the harsh reality of cobblestone roads still bathed in watery crimson, the familiar color splattered over everything within reach; streaked over stone walls and staining the clothes of bodies still laying cold, face-down in the streets.
One look at the carnage left behind and he'd nearly doubled over from the sheer force of the sudden churning of his stomach. Expelling the bile building at the back of his throat would only end in the burning of his esophagus from his empty, acid-filled belly. There were likely valuable resources left behind in the town, something to aid him in his solo travels, but he quickly dismissed the idea at the sight.
He'd rather skip this city and continue to walk with nothing to his name but the clothes on his body and the knife in his boot then be forced to face that massacre.
Phil hopes, come morning, the very same people he'd stabbed in the back take the time to ghost over the town and dispose of the mess he'd left behind. To reap the souls of those innocent civilians and treat their bodies with much kinder hands than his own Shadows had.
Phil was really getting tired of waking up to people dragging his ass around.
Well, judging by the way, at least this time around, there were no sharp rocks digging into his spine and the fact that this ride was.. quite bumpy, it appeared Phil was being carried this time. What an improvement.
And while he should probably be very concerned as to who, or what, exactly, is carrying him from point A—aka, where he'd likely had passed out again—to point B, the man can't bring himself to care. He doesn't have the energy for it.
Instead, he's in a bit of a daze. Wondering how in the everloving fuck this damn country jumped from near freezing in the night, to scorching hot temperatures that could rival the damn devil. All Phil remembers leading up to this is him cursing the damn sun with his whole chest, feeling like his freaking skin was melting off, then somehow finding himself face-down in the goddamn sand—when had he made it into the damn desert??
And now he was here.
Being carried to God knows where, still sweating profusely under his clothes—how his body still had the capability to sweat when he was already so dehydrated, was beyond him—and too tired to do anything more than lay there.
Phil must've drifted off again at some point, because when he wakes again he's no longer moving. Instead he's flat out on his back, a hard surface beneath him not unlike the old bunks he'd slept on when he was a newbie, and his entire body feels like one giant ass bruise. An all encompassing ache that traveled from the base of his skull to the tips of his toes—as if, now that he was finally resting, his entire body had collectively agreed to seek revenge on his overused muscles.
Distantly, he can hear the chatter of a man and a woman speaking in hushed voices, muttered Spanish drifting from somewhere to his left.
Every instinct that had been ingrained into him screams at Phil to launch himself up and either attack or make a run for it. He does neither, too exhausted to even move or open his eyes, much less to try and stand.
He ends up dancing on the fine line between consciousness and slumber while the two strangers talk, presumably, about him. Lingering in that peculiar space where you're not quite awake, but you're not sleeping either; able to hear and feel, but not aware enough to get up and move.
Phil chose to use that time to attempt to listen in, see what all, if any, of the words he could catch. He wasn't going to pretend to know more than he did, as Phil really only knew the more simple Spanish phrases from his time in highschool when it was a required course. He picks up the usual filler words, a few pronouns, something that sounds much like ‘the American’, and the suppressed voices briefly increasing in volume, rushed, before quieting. Then silence.
With nothing to stimulate his brain, Phil once again falls into a fitful rest.
Power? Is that what this had been about? In all the years Phil has known you, he never would've thought of you as the type. But could that have been what you were after the entire time? And all these years you were just biding your time, waiting for the best time to strike.
How could he have been so blind, how did he not see this coming? The person closest to him, a man who knew more about Phil than any single other person to exist. He should've seen this miles away before it hit him like a fucking freight train.
This is why you had to turn on others before they had the chance to flip the blade on you first—a lesson Phil had learned oh-so long ago. After all this time, how the hell had he forgotten that?
Which is why, the second Phil has the capacity to, he bolts upright and does his best to regain his bearings. A little dizzy, body shaky, limbs trembling from a lack of nutrients, but no longer in the fetal position at least. As aware as he physically can be.
Somewhere between blinking away the blur obscuring his vision and forcing himself into a fully seated position, Phil hears the two voices again
Faint at first. Then growing louder. Closer.
Phil's eyes, still unfocused, dart around his surroundings.
A room. Closed off with only one door, and a window too small for his body. Below him is some sort of flimsy cot placed in the corner furthest from the exit, one that's metal frame squeals with the slightest movements.
Getting distinct now, one woman and one man, just as before.
Phil's hand shoots down, patting his boot; heart rate skyrocketing when the man realizes the knife is missing. His crutch, the only thing he'd possessed to defend himself beyond his own bare hands. It was gone.
They'd taken it from him.
Closer, closer, closer still. The door opens, hinges creaking as a tall, heavy set man walks in; black, cropped hair and a well kept mustache are the first things he notes. And Phil can immediately tell that, even if he were standing, there's no way this guy wouldn't tower over him.
That is a problem. Not because Phil hasn't taken on much large men than himself, but because he usually managed such a feat when fully put together and decidedly not when half-starved, dehydrated, and barely conscious.
While the man approaches Phil with a certain air of caution, the woman, on the other hand, stays behind. Leaning against the doorframe, watching.
But not afraid, no, there's nothing to hint at fear in her intense gaze. Long, dark hair pulled up and tied in loose updo, arms crossed tight over her chest, and mouth set into a firm line. And still she appears to be more curious, or concerned, than fearful; perhaps a bit heedful, but that's as far as it goes.
The man, surprisingly, seemed much more on guard than his counterpart. To be fair, and give the poor guy some credit, he was the one tasked with coming closer to Phil. And Phil, in all honesty, was not of the.. low-risk variety.
Not that the two would know that, all identifying parts of his uniform were either torn or stained, but it's always safer to be wary of strangers. And given Phil's appearance—dirtied, bloody, and cowering like a caged animal ready to strike at any given moment—he obviously wasn't just some random guy who they'd stumbled upon.
Come to think of it, Phil wondered what they thought had happened to him, or why he was out there—wherever he was when they found him—in the first place.
Beyond that, who were these people? Why did they bring him here, why not just leave him, a complete stranger and possible danger, where they'd found him instead of risking their lives carrying Phil to their home? At least they'd been smart enough to check him for weapons, for their sake.
Which begs the question; were these people just plain stupid, or did they trust enough in their own abilities to put him down if need be?
“So,” the man begins, now within a few feet of where Phil sits. Spine straight, chin lifted, and arms crossed much like his partner; posture firm, aiming to appear confident. “You military?”
Oh, what could have possibly given that away?
“Sorta.” Comes Phil's stilted reply.
To Phil's great unsettlement, the man smiles. Only a tiny thing, a barely twitch at the corner of his mouth before it's gone.
“Where am I?”
The man hesitates, and the woman chimes in with a few uttered words of Spanish again.
“Not too far from the border, a few hours most.” when Phil doesn't respond, the man continues. “Name's Eric and this,” he tips his head slightly in the woman's direction. “Is my wife, Sofia. We have.. decided to help you back onto your feet.”
Another murmur, then Eric corrects with an, “if you want.”
Lovely. Now it didn't sound as much like he was being held hostage.
“Y'all want to.. help me?” Phil asks, skeptical as he flicks his gaze between the two. Trying to decipher any double meaning, any sort of threat veiled under these too-good-to-be-true words. “...And why would you do that?”
“My wife was a field medic, and me a soldier,” he begins. “We know what a person looks like wounded.. not only physically.”
Oh, so they wanted to be some sort of great savior or some shit? Give Phil some weird form of therapy? He didn't need that, he didn't need anyone's pity. Especially not these strangers who knew absolutely nothing about him.
Eric must sense something off about him, because he immediately rushes to continue. “Like it or not, we are your best option. You go out there? Try to get home in the state you are in? You will die before the sun sets.”
Phil wasn't quite sure he'd be opposed to that.. but the man had a point. He couldn't seek his revenge if he were dead, now could he?
“I won't stay long.” Phil asserts, sitting up a bit straighter with a challenging glint in his eye.
“Of course not,” Eric agrees easily. “Just until you are better. Maybe a few days, yes?”
Phil shouldn't, he should get up, tell these people to go fuck themselves, and get as far away as he possibly can. Even if that means, come morning, he’ll have succumbed to the elements- “Okay.”
“Okay.” Eric offers a smile and Phil isn't quite in his right mind, but he swears that man, this complete stranger, has some of the kindest eyes he's ever seen.
A few days turns into a month, and a single month becomes four. Phil learns a lot about the couple he's been staying with.
Learns that Eric was telling the truth and that they both had met in the field; apparently the man had been outright refusing treatment so that his fellow soldiers could get it first, claiming it to be nothing more than a light scrap. According to Sofia—from what little Phil could gather with the language barrier; though narrowed eyes and flailing hands are pretty damn telling no matter the language, Phil supposed—it was most likely a lot worse than Eric let on.
Only when Eric had conceded and pulled down the collar of his shirt to expose the long, jagged scar that began at just below his collar bones then traveled further, larger than the tugged down fabric could show, did Sophia give a satisfied hum. And Phil could tell from the gentle way she looked at Eric as he spoke, this woman wholeheartedly adored that man—he had to look away after a moment, feeling out of place, like Phil was intruding on something not meant for his eyes.
Phil also learns that the couple is very active in their little community, often volunteering for social events and making whatever donations they could to the local church, and more specifically the program involved directly in helping children in need.
The two had discovered many years ago, after they left the service, that neither were capable of having children. And while it did put a strain on their relationship for some time, the couple loved each other too much to let that fact tear them apart. Instead, they dedicated their time and whatever leftover funds they had into helping provide for the few orphaned kids in the area.
They even had some adopted children of their own, ones now grown and dispersed around the country; attending college and creating families of their own.
At some point, Phil had been baffled by how utterly good these people were, he couldn't believe how lucky he had been to be found by such genuinely kind people, ones who knew nothing of him or his crimes. They would hate him, surely, either cast him aside or turn him in to local authorities. Who would then hand him over to federal.
He was a criminal on the run, something that had taken Phil a while to come to terms with.
A thing he had realized on the very same porch steps he was setting on right now in month two. Eyes on the horizon as the hot, late spring sun faded in an array of nostalgic warm tones of red and orange, of yellow and pink. Dressed in clothing a few sizes too big; the ones he'd donned when he had arrived far beyond salvageable.
A small, child sized soccer ball rolls to his feet. Bumping against the toe of his boot, quickly followed by little feet stomping over to where Phil sat. Picking it up, Phil cradled the ball in his palm, offering it to the boy running over to him with a soft smile.
One of the orphaned kids; has a sister only a year younger than himself, something Phil knows not because the couple told him, but because he'd started doing some volunteer work himself—with Eric and Sophia’s encouragement. It helped keep his mind wonderfully empty, able to concentrate on the now rather than past or inevitable future.
It also helped remind Phil why he'd even joined the military in the first place, what his younger self had aspired to be all those years ago.
Phil had been able to reflect on a lot over these past seven months. Given the opportunity to think on why he did what he did, who he wanted to be. And, most importantly, you.
After months upon months of denial, cursing your name before he went to bed each night. Reminded of you by the absence of a warm body curled up behind his own; the lack of a soft, rumbling voice murmuring a sleepy goodnight before you'd fall asleep with your face tucked away in the place between Phil's neck and shoulder. The gentle puffs of your breath ghosting over his skin and the secure weight of an arm draped over his waist, luring him to join you in the depths of dream land.
Always making him feel so warm, so safe, in that perfect in between, just after the sun set and right before it rose again. For a few hours you were his. For a few fleeting hours he had you all to himself; he had someone.
Someone more than the names of all the men he'd killed, ingrained permanently in his psyche no matter how hard he tried to ignore it; something more than a pen and himself up against stack after stack of paperwork containing nothing but political bullshit Phil couldn't care less about.
For that brief time Phil had belonged.
But now.. now he had nothing.
He wasn't a commander here, wasn't a soldier. Phil didn't have the responsibilities he'd had to manage back home at base anymore. He should probably be grateful, it was a stressful life.
But.. but he still wasn't quite.. anybody. He was nothing but the stranger who'd appeared in town out of nowhere. Who was silent and kept to himself, who barely even left the residence he'd been so lucky to be offered a place in. Not unless he was doing some volunteer work here and there.
He had nothing; he was nothing. Phil used to hold the reins of dozens who'd act solely with his interests at heart, and now he didn't even have an army to command. He wasn't anyone anymore. Not here.
At least, if he went back, he'd have something. Something more than this endless repetition of kindness he didn't deserve. You'd hate him, surely, after what he had done.
To you, to your friends, family, fellow soldiers. Phil was supposed to be a leader, someone who those under his command looked to for guidance. Someone dependable, someone trustworthy.
It was, again, sometime ago on these same steps, where Phil had the grand revelation that maybe, just maybe, you hadn't betrayed him. You were just doing what you thought was best for yourself and the rest of the company. It was in everyone's best interest—except his.
Phil had pushed you too far, stretched you too thin. Even though he knew how fragile delicate vulnerable-
Even though he knew damn well how you used to be, the cavernous depths of your own mind Phil had single-handedly had to drag you out of kicking and screaming several times over.
Phil knew all of this, and yet he still did it. Never considered the consequences his actions would have on you—or the others, but you were more important—, never stopped to consider your own feelings on, well, anything. On what your opinions were for improving the company—even though you two had built it up from the ground up, together—, or what applications to accept, or whatever it was that you two had going on that was surely more than friends and co-founders did with each other.
He'd pushed and pushed and pushed- and Phil had broken you.
Snapped you in two.
So, at the very least, if he went back, Phil would have someone to hate him. Anything from you was better than being nothing. Even if it were hatred; he just needed to be someone again.
Just needed to belong.
“You can't stay here.”
Phil turns his head slowly, the sun now barely a sliver as darkness overtakes the sky. Stars begin to join the moon in illuminating the town.
“I'm sorry?” He asks, spotting Eric standing on the porch behind him. A somber sort of expression painting his features.
Eric sighs, rocking on his feet briefly as his hands move to tuck into his pockets, seeking warmth as the lack of sunlight drops the temperature by several dozen degrees.
“I don't mean- I am not kicking you out,” the man clarifies, looking off into the distance. A bittersweet smile gracing his lips. “But you are not happy here, are you?”
It's a rhetorical question, and Phil, too, turns away, looking back towards the sky, mouth pressed into a thin line. The sun had disappeared completely, and Phil instead looked to the moon.
Now a completely different phase from that fateful day where you'd abandoned left him against that log. So long ago, and yet Phil swore he could still smell the smoke burning his nostrils and scorching his throat.
He was lucky to have not borne many scars from being trapped in that tank; he didn't want to know how you'd fared.
“You miss them.”
“What?” The words break Phil out of his trance, brows furrowing, but he doesn't turn back around.
“I don't know if it is a family or something else,” Eric continues. “But you miss them. This is not the life for you; you still carry that.. spirit I only remember having during my time in the army.”
“I can't go back.”
“Because you think they will not take you?”
“I,” Phil barks a hushed, humorless laugh. More of an exhale of air than everything, bitter and leaving a foul taste on his tongue. “I do not belong with them anymore, sir. They don't want me, I can promise you that.”
“So grown,” Eric chides, coming to sit on the same step Phil was on. “And yet still so damn naive.”
It's not cruel, but it does have Phil opening his mouth in protest, only to snap it back shut again with a huff.
“You don't know what you're talking about.” He grits out, mouth forming a small pout, an ache of something opening up in his ribcage. A void, once full, overflowing, almost, but now so, so empty. Starving.
“Did you even consider, maybe,” Eric continues on with the same patience he'd had all those months ago. “..they miss you, too?”
Phil swears his heart stops just then, slow, stuttering to a halt before ba dum.. ba dum.. it gradually starts back up again. A frog leaped, lodging itself in his throat, suffocating him, echoing the beat of his heart.
Eventually, he manages to croak out, “They don't.”
“And how can you be so sure?”
And Phil doesn't have anything to say to that, so he doesn't. Continuing to gaze up at the moon as if it held all the answers to his problems. Wondering if, maybe, you were looking up at it too.
“I will not pretend to know what you are going through,” Eric hesitates. “What you are running from. But.. but you cannot stay here, it's killing you. Sophia and I can both see it.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Phil forces out. “you don't understand. He is stubborn, he is childish, and he is- he was. You wouldn't understand.”
“You are talking about this man like he's dead,” observant, are we? “And yet he is not, is he?”
You may as well be. “No.”
“Then maybe it's not too late.. maybe..”
Phil could feel hope sparking in his chest at the man's words, and he immediately crushed it between his fists.
“It is.” Phil says, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “It is too late.”
A sigh. “But you're right. I can't stay.”
The distant sound of a coyotes’ howl and the rustling of leaves fills the space between them as the conversation lulls to a stop. It's peaceful out here, much more so than any base Phil's stayed on, and even before that, far quieter than a house full of gentle chatter wafting in from the living room, or the sounds of childish glee from his sister's bedroom when she had a few friends over. Drifting down through thin but sturdy walls; both a perfect ambiance to listen to while he did his homework at the dining table.
Nothing compared to the heartwarming sound of your laughter. Of your soft, rumbling voice; always so quiet, even when just chatting in his office or while overseeing the Shadows honing their skills in the courtyard.
Quieter than his family, but louder than the silence between you two when you would give him the cold shoulder; a sea of rage hidden neatly within a show of blank stares and empty words.
He misses you.
You didn't do anything wrong.
Why did he break you? When did he break you?
Was it just the incident all those months ago? When he'd forced you to shoot down people who, just the day before, Phil had told you to treat like family? Like brothers?
Or was it something far before that? Something you had been holding on to all this time; keeping caged within your heart instead of taking it out in him.
He wishes you had taken it out on him. Maybe then he wouldn't be considered KIA by his own people, men and women and all alike, whom he—and you—had practically raised as his own?
Anyone who tried to proclaim that Phillip Graves didn't care about his soldiers, his Shadows, was just flat out wrong. A piece of his heart, of his soul, had been ripped out of him when one of his squads died in that botched mission Shepard had sent them on. Ambushed by Russian PMCs. Now that had been one very dreaded set of paperwork; writing down the names and cause of deaths for people who he knew, his friends.
He hadn't even been able to tell their families what had happened to them when they came knocking on his door. No closure for any of those grieving relatives, phone calls day and night. Endless sobs and askings of why, why can't you? And my baby gave their life for your cause, but you can't even do me the honor of explaining why they're buried halfway across the world instead of with their family?
“Where will you go?” Phil had been so lost in thought, he'd entirely forgotten Eric was still beside him. Five months ago and that would've never even been a possibility.
He was losing his touch. Would he even be useful back home?
After all these months, surely not.
When the silence drags on a little too long to be comfortable, Phil murmurs a delicate, “I don't know..” then, “maybe I'll go back after all.”
Phil does, in fact, not go back.
Instead he finds himself staying at an apartment complex just a few cities away. Like a coward.
Phil had left that night, before the sun rose again, and without saying goodbye to the couple who'd let him stay with them for a little over four months. He's only left a little note as thanks.
Also, like a coward.
But Phil decided to embrace this sort of cowardice, at least for now. It's not that he couldn't just go over to the ol’ base, pop in and say hello to the people whose lives he had ruined- of course he could!
He could do it right now if he wanted. He didn't want to.
Phil could just pack up his shit—it had been fairly easy to retrieve his emergency fund, held in one of the many banks he had an account or two with; for security, of course—and skip over to that familiar town, take a few turns down some back roads and bam! Back home he would be.
Back home.
…
..would it still be home?
What if his Shadows hated him now? What if you'd turned them against him? Couldn't even stand the sight of him? Would they kill him then and there upon first sight?
Or would they detain him, torture him maybe?
Either way, Phil couldn't risk it. It's been a few weeks since he left Sophia and Eric's residence, and he's no more motivated to go back to you his old stomping grounds today than he was all those months ago.
He can't imagine which would be worse; seeing that look of disgust, of simmering hatred in the Shadows’ eyes or your own.
Phil tries to keep his mind blissfully blank every moment of his waking hours. Preferring more to spend his time sleeping, but when he could not do so anymore, when his legs ached with the need to move and his stomach rioted in the name of it's hunger, he would have to get up.
Reading, listening to a radio, sometimes even adding the background noise of the old TV in the corner of the living room whenever Phil needed to complete a simple task such as eating or another.
As of right now, he was doing just that. Only this time.. this time it doesn't work. Swirling around the remaining bits of cereal in the now sweetened milk, gaze drifting up from the little floating pieces to the window before him instead.
Thinking. Thinking of you. Because there wasn't any time where Phil wasn't thinking of you. Even with all these distracts, meant to keep his mind off his old life, off what he used to have, off you.
It didn't work. Not when it came to you.
Wondering what you could be up to right now. How you were faring commanding an entire army of your own—or however many were left—, how you were handling all the politics that came with such a job.
When you two shared ownership, Phil was always the one to handle the people, scheduling meetings and dealing with generals and such.
It's been months, surely you were handling this fine on your own. You didn't need him, there was no reason for Phil to go back. Nothing more than his own selfish reasons.
A little over ten months now, it has been. Phil shouldn't bother you. You were dealing with it perfectly fine, he'd bet.
There was not a single excuse for him to assume you didn't have everything under control, for him to swoop in like some sort of savior.
Sure, you'd always been a bit.. off kilter. But who wasn't in this line of work.. right? It was only to he expected after what you had been through, or what little you had told Phil.
He knew you didn't like crowds, didn't even like talking for that matter, hated interacting with the stuck up higher ups most of all, of course. Everyone did. But Phil knew you could also reign yourself in if need be.
Well, that was unless something threw you off center. It would have to be something huge, something life-changing for you to really-
Oh, fuck.
The metallic crash of his spoon bouncing off the ceramic bowl and clattering against the floor doesn't even register in Phil's mind. Not even the sweet milk that goes splattering everywhere pulls him away.
He'd broken you. He'd left you alone. Left you alone with her.
Fuck staying here, lying to himself and avoiding any and all subjects that reminded him of you. Reminded him of what he had lost.
Maybe if the event almost a year ago had never happened, and even if Phil had still been removed from your day to day, it wouldn't have been a possibility.
But you were broken. Shattered. Vulnerable.
And for someone like you; that was a concoction that spelled nothing but bad decisions.
Phil left a few hours later. A single stuffed backpack and a rental car all he took with him in his haste.
He hoped he wasn't too late. Hoped he hadn't broken you too much.
Maybe you were able to resist her offer.. maybe there was still a part of you left that knew it would bring nothing but your own destruction.
Maybe.
Standing before you now, with those empty eyes and stiff posture, Phil knew something was off. More than he had assumed before. Sure, he knew you were a bit fucked, had always been a bit fractured, but Phil had cared for you all the same. Knew there was something more to you beyond that rough, off-putting exterior.
But now, the way you covered yourself head to toe, the little twitches and fidgets you tried so hard to conceal—but Phil had been able to identify them then, and he still could now—, now it was obvious. There was no hiding it.
“You're..” Phil begins, hesitant. “Different.”
You scoff, something in those clouded depths flickering. “You've said that before.”
“No, no, Phantom-” he winces, noting the way the name has your right hand—concealed in a glaringly different glove than the other—twitches, fingers curling slightly in one, quick movement, at the name. Your head ticking a bit to the left.
“You are.. not yourself.”
“Is that all you had to say?” You grit out, gaze narrowed, voice more a growl than the gentle rumble Phil was used to. “You called me down ‘ere again to tell me I'm “different”. As if it hasn't been almost an entire fucking year since you last saw me.”
A step closer, another fidget. “People change, Graves. Just because you can't, too caught up in your own damn ego to care, doesn't mean others don't.”
Phil can think back on that little insult later, pick another time to lick his wounds. Right now he needed to know. Needed a confirmation.
“Just tell me-” he doesn't care if he sounds like he's begging. He needs to know. “You told her no. Please, for Christ's sake, tell me you said no.”
Phil can hear the way your breathing hitches briefly, see the way you try to shift your posture impossibly straighter. “I don't know who you are referring to.”
A part of Phil shrivels up and dies in that moment, frozen in time as you basically confirm what he already knew. What he knew and yet so desperately hoped he was wrong about. Hoped and prayed you'd be strong enough.
He was wrong.
“Oh, Phantom,” He breathes, right when his body kicks back into motion again. Unable to hide the pure, unfiltered grief in his croaked out words. “What.. what have you done?”
Phil never gets to hear your reply, because right then there's a frantic knocking at the door. Panicked or enthused, Phil cannot decipher.
It catches you both off guard, heads snapping to the person who hurts through the entrance. Not bothering to wait for an okay to come inside.
“Alik? What the fuck are you doing here?” You snap, glaring at the newcomer.
1-5 comes to a halt right in front of you, breathing heavily from the exerting of running from wherever the hell he'd come from. Phil feels himself stiffening, waiting for something, anything to happen.
“Sorry, sir,” Alik pants. “But this couldn't wait.”
“Spit it out.” Phil cuts in, seeing how you tense and ready to go on one of your rare—or maybe not rare anymore—tangents.
1-5 barely spares Phil a glance before locking eyes with you once more, unflinching.
“Viper,” he says, chest still heaving. A single word, a single word that bore so much weight within its five letters. “He is awake.”
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Masterpost | One | Two | Three | Four | Next
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#this man is so in love w reader its unreal#wasnt my intent in the beginning#but it wrote itself#call of duty#cod x male reader#male reader#call of duty x male reader#call of duty x reader#reader insert#gay#phillip graves x male reader#graves x male reader#phillip graves
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I'm about to respond to AO3 comments, now that I'm migraine free and have a clear head. But I just need to share this soul warming comment I received. (Blurring username just in case, but this is not a negative thing at all)
And if you didn't read this fic, which is totally absolutely fine, I wrote a chubby Steve Harrington work. Where he's got this negative mindset towards being bigger because of past comments made by his mom (something I dealt with via my grandmother for years and ongoing). And then he makes a comment about his body in front of Eddie and Eddie's put off by it because he thinks Steve's literally beautiful (chubby chaser Eddie, my beloved). And they get all sappy with each other and Steve realizes he can be at peace and not worry with Eddie. And so on and so forth (they get together and it's cute).
But I wrote this initially to make myself feel good about my body because I had a moment the other day. Where I saw a photo of myself and literally said out loud in front of my stepdad, "Is that what I look like, god..." and then he gave me the saddest eyes I've ever received from a grown adult. So I just needed a space to work out that comment and maybe hear something nice about a body like mine (self-indulgent fic, also my beloved).
Anyway.
Don't let anybody ever tell you that your writing isn't impactful or doesn't make a difference or that it's stupid. You never know who needs it. And this comment alone has made me extremely proud of what I've done.
Like I legitimately read this a minute after it came in and cried.
Thank you to this user and everybody else who's commented on this fic, it really truly means something. Love y'all. <3
If you'd like to read this work, here's the link on Tumblr and here's the link on AO3
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rant regarding my crazy ass stats + midterm story
prev info
ok so if u have read my previous long ass paragraph u know that i couldn’t take my midterm for my statistics class because my screen was frozen.
SO. i sent 3 emails to my professor that she didn’t respond to, and I sent another one today asking if she has gotten my other 3 today. FINALLY she responded (at 11pm) and she sent me a LONG ass email, saying that i was the only one who experienced this problem and basically accused me of cheating.
and then she said that she contacted the dean. fuck. my. life.
so! i have decided that i am going to drop the class for a multiple of reasons:
1. i cannot learn from a textbook and i am struggling immensely
2. my teacher cannot communicate correctly and effectively + she now thinks i am cheating.
3. she is giving me time to make it up but i must schedule it by 4pm tomorrow and go in on the 18th to take my exam again, but i am too busy to go in.
4. what if the same things happens on my final exam
so tomorrow i have to go into the deans office and talk to him and PROVE that i didnt cheat (even tho i sent her a video of proof of me not cheating) because if i dont and i get accused then i will be suspended from school and will never be able to get into PA school. so. wish me luck 💖
i am literally shaking right now from nerves. what has my life come to, this is genuinely insane
#🔪 - mello talks too much#guys this is so#so bad#it’s fine#it will be fine#but like#i never have ever dealt with something like this#whatever#in 2 months from now this will be a crazy story i tell my friends#right?#right?!!!!#or i get kicked out of school and my dreams are crushed#i’m crying again#SORRY IM RANTING ON TUMBLR I JUST SEE THID AS A SAFE SPACE FOR ME
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as a jew, seeing what all of these israeli leaders have said is sickening. as a jew, anti-palestinian rhetoric is sickening. as a jew, zionism is sickening.
how dare my people -- a people who've been massacred, ethnically cleansed, dehumanized, forcibly removed, and discriminated on religious grounds for their entire existence -- do the same to another people? how dare we turn our backs on them, when they suffer like we have?
i understand that so much of us have been fed zionist propaganda our entire lives; the same happened to me. i understand the desire for a homeland where we don't have to fear antisemitism at every turn; i want that too. but it doesn't take much thought to understand that a homeland for us, which actively oppresses and kills another people, is antithetical to what we want.
if you, as a member of an oppressed group, believe that your freedom and safety can only exist when you oppress another group, you are acting no better than the people who oppressed you. such a belief is horrible, and cynical, and wrong.
as a jew, i want jewish people to be happy and safe and connected to our heritage; as a jew, i also want other peoples to be happy and safe and connected to their heritage.
don't call the palestinians "amalek". you are turning us into amalek.
doesn't the torah tell us to have empathy for those beaten down by the world? doesn't the torah tell us to make the world a better place? doesn't the torah tell us to free people of their shackles and help them escape oppression?
i have so many israeli aunts and uncles and cousins; i fear for their safety. of course, my parents do as well. i'm worried that this fear, in addition to anything they were led to believe earlier in life, is placing my parents even deeper in the zionist camp. but it doesn't have to be this way! my relatives' safety does not rely on the continued oppression of gaza!
it is easy to be uninformed, to be swayed by propaganda, to blindly hope that israel was founded in good faith -- but we can't lie to ourselves. a world steeped in senseless hatred (which we are now promoting!) could never be a home for us. none of us are free, liberated, equal, until all of us are.
as a jew, to other jews, i implore that we stand with our palestinian siblings. i want us all to be happy and safe. i want us all to live in harmony -- in the holy land and around the world. that is what we all deserve. <3
#melonposting#i apologize for not reblogging/posting much stuff about israel/palestine until now#i kept having this fear that my mom would see and get angry at me#but what do i care? i want both jews and palestinians to be happy#oh yeah. and i keep hearing the argument that 'jews living in the holy land before israel was established weren't treated well'#i don't know if that's true or not... but does it matter?#like of course antisemitism is horrible. but that can be dealt with#forcibly taking over their land is not the answer#like if israel were never a thing and people saw that jews living in the holy land didn't have rights#they'd do something about it!#and if you think they wouldn't (which is a fair thing to think)... well then you should do something about it!!!#don't solve oppression with more oppression you idiot!!!!!#no positive change will ever come to a world which doesn't think positive change can happen#and oppression is not positive change.#and it also pains me how so much of zionist rhetoric feeds off of post-holocaust fear#and i get it. i get that in the mid 20th century we were so scared and angry after the holocaust#and that we desperately wanted a safe haven#i will never not empathize with that fear and rage because it's justified#but that is no excuse to oppress another group of people. there are other ways to be safe and happy i promise#just stop hurting each other... please... you're not helping anyone...#palestine#israel#zionism
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Unfortunately relatable. I grew up in the church and have a lot of Christian trauma from that. I show up for special occasions for my parents… sometimes. But it’s uncomfortable from the moment I step through the door. Bigoted pastor, the self-righteousness disguising the prejudice, the political comments from the altar. Shots at young people left right and center as if the hell on earth wasn’t caused by the same older generation 90% of the congregation belongs to..
I miss being young in the choir and the youth groups and not struggling with it. It’s wild to look back at the younger version of me who was unshakeable in his faith and honestly just saddening.
I was texting my sister today about it and she said
“I 100% think ALL of us have a ton of religious trauma and everyone else in the family just doesn’t realize it cause they’re still drinking the kool-aid.”
I ran out of tag room and didn’t want to delete any 😭 seriously not lying I could write a book about all my thoughts and experiences
#I relate to all of this so much#and it’s so sad how many people truly have religious trauma#I still find myself lucky and privileged cause I know there are stories MUCH worse than mine#it’s really hard cause my parents still think I’m a Christian#honestly at this point I have no clue what i am#even if I end up still being a Christian that doesn’t help or heal all of the years of church trauma#but the hard part is still acting the part for my parents#growing up I always tried to fit into the good Christian girl mold#cause I know that’s what my parents wanted and I didn’t want to disappoint them#but once I started smoking weed and they found out? it went all downhill from there#their perfect angel fell from heaven#and I feel like ever since I haven’t been really their daughter…. I’ve just been living on the outside looking in to everything#it hurts looking back at all the years I spent brainwashed into believing that was the ONLY faith#it genuinely makes me sick to my stomach thinking about the fact that I went to a pro life rally#the thing I was talking to my sister about was how mental health was never talked about in the church#when I started dealing with it and went to my parents or the pastors or any adult really and told them what I was dealing with#wanna know what the first thing they would ALWAYS say? well have you prayed about it? the way they treated mental illness was that it was#YOUR fault cause God is punishing you for something…. that you need to pray or go to church so then God will eventually take it away#and the thing is I don’t necessarily blame my parents (which kinda sucks cause I want to blame someone)#but honestly it’s just the environment they grew up in too… like I’m 99% sure my dad has dealt with depression his entire life#but won’t get diagnosed or anything cause they always believe faith has something to do with it#which makes me incredibly sad cause I just think about how much my dad has suffered and how he didn’t need to#^^ I was typing this out when I was late to my family gathering hahaha but then I think my sister called or something so I had to stop#sorry this post is all over the place - I swear I could write a book about religious trauma#yesterday went ok surprisingly but today? TODAY is going to be so much worse#sure I’ll make a post about it later but I guessssss I should go to bed now? it’s 2am and I have to get up at 5:45 🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃#and I have a fuuuuull day of fun Christian festivities while I’m dealing with all of this bottled up and unresolved crap from my past#please don’t get me wrong I love my parents and like I said I don’t blame them - they did their best#it just really sucks wondering what my life would have been like if I didn’t grow up in the church or in a super religious family#I wonder if when I told my parents I was depressed if they would have instantly brought me in to get help
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man I REALLY see what everyone was talking about re: wyll's story in the latter game fucking sucks and is a big disappointment. the whole wyrmway bit had no emotional depth? his decision after killing ansur seems kind of random and sudden? the resolution with his father after I rescued him from the iron throne was pretty lackluster too, and also some of duke ravengard's dialogue was as if wyll had made the second deal with mizora, which he hadn't (I think the fact that he chose to be blade of avernus triggers the dialogue for that, but. he can choose to be blade of avernus after rejecting mizora's deal.)
like, especially in contrast to really emotionally rich and intense storylines like astarion's and karlach's, it's like. come on.
#and like even just with the material already there they could've done so much more with it#like his whole choice about whether to accept or reject mizora's deal for his father's life is compelling#and I think they COULD have done something interesting with regards to whether he was going to follow in his father's footsteps#or embrace the life that he originally chose out of necessity after his father rejected him#like either choice ought to have a lot of complex emotional baggage because of his history with his father and the way his life has gone#and it's just....not touched on at all#and the kind of weight and scope of his father's actions is just never dealt with#there's a brief conversation and wyll's dad is like 'oh whoops my bad you're great after all son' and that's IT like are you kidding me#and wyll's just like 'cool. misunderstanding resolved my amazing dad likes me again' like?????#he kicked you out at 17 and you were on your own ever since!! come on!!#like the meaty emotional stuff is RIGHT there and they just left it lying on the table#scribblingface plays bg3
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i wear a lot of skirts and pink and whatnot as my style has developed with me & my personality but when one of those age regression girlies latch onto me....i do not like that
#like oh....you think im one of them...bestie no im freshly 23 and im happy i made it this far i dont wanna go back#sometimes i hate being 5'2 with a small frame you have to be very careful and kinda vet everyone you interact with#idk there's a complex discussion to be had. i am someone who has went through what they fetishize and i know a lot of girls in that#community have too. so i worry a lot if if my behaviors and preferences accidentally align with that community in ways i don't realize#bc trauma will always reveal itself. idfk. when i was 20 i got in a relationship with a man who was 30 because i misheard him and thought#he was 24. i thought he was okay until we were at this giftshop and he wanted to get me something but as giftshops are super expensive#i mentioned i could fit in childrens clothes and it saves me a lot of money ($60 shoes are $30 for kids) and tbh fit my frame better#so he was “prove it” so i did and mf said “THATS HOT” ??????????? BITCH#my style wasn't even feminine in the slightest at the time 😑 it feels like a curse to have this kind of trauma then never outgrow this body#believe me ik how trauma changes your brain but how#as a woman#can you ever be apart of that community? why do you allow this to continue and not persecute these men for existing?#you're inherently enabling it and saying its okay this happened to you and its okay that other adults can hurt other kids#when my rapist got put in prison i screamed i yelled i sang i danced my friends set off FIREWORKS for me#when he got out i cried more than i ever have. i moved STATES (not the sole rzn but nonetheless) not that i was in the one he was in prison#in anyways but i was so fucking petrified he'd find me again. its embarrassing but i started sleeping with a chastity belt again.#i made more phone calls i ever have in my life to people who have and will get their hands dirty#i understand the self hatred those girls have. i understand the girls who sleep with everyone to take some of their power back.#i even understand the girls who want to get raped if they got assaulted but it never felt like enough for the pain they're experiencing#but please stay the fuck away from me. as someone who has tried to heal and wants every man like that erased from earth.#do not give them an ounce of attention. ostracize them like they're meant to be. leave it to god for their karma they will be dealt with#reckon with your pain and make sure it never happens to anyone else. only the harmed can make the greatest teachers#tbh bro i am disgusted with myself at all that those are the kinda vibes i put out.#what are you supposed to do as a woman when feminity is equalized with infantilism? i think its tone deaf and misguided whem girls are like#i dress this way to contradict societies views!!! babes its a whole cultural issue that requires reviewing and reforming#you are not doing anything revolutionary by wearing frilly skirts and saying im not like them bc they see you and ur automatically boxed in#i dress how i want and say what i want but i know as a individual im not the beacon of a groundbreaking movement#singularily flipping society on its head. dress how you want but be aware of the connotations. you're living in this society here and now#there's consequences that may not be in your favor and youll be assumed to have values that dont align with you and it may break your heart
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there are things abt me that i dont talk about not because im being secretive i either just forget to mention it or think no one wants to hear about it but i think it gives like important context to whats wrong with me 💖
#me when im a child of a messy divorce because my dad has crazy issues that he never got help for so he started self medicating#and dealt with addiction and got to the point of stealing money or trying to return items he never bought to walmart for a refund#and got arrested many times and eventually spent 5 years in prison which literally didnt help at all just gave him more trauma and#caused relationship issues between him and his family which left him without healthy connections and support and#then he got accused of a crime even my mom doesnt believe he did and she'd experienced horrible things from him while they were together#and so he disappeared to run from the police and hes been legally considered a missing person for many years now and it is unknown to#us or any of his family members if hes even still alive out there somewhere and ive had dreams that he comes back and#i wonder if theres something that could be done something that could help him maybe we could never truly be on good terms again but#maybe at least he could have a chance at a decent life even if its away from us#i used to sit on the couch with him and watch nascar and monster trucks when i was little#and i still have some of his nascar novelty items in my desk drawer and the pocket tool that used to be his.#the scars of his tantrums are still in our house the holes he punches in walls covered up with copy paper taped over the wall#and im sure i have the same anger issues or whatever disorders he never got properly diagnosed for because i seem to have inherited everyth#ng from him his eyes his face his hair his anger issues even his handwriting somehow#and he is why im scared of ever doing any drugs because i just know im probably genetically predisposed to addiction just like him#and i dont want that to happen to me#recently i cut my hair and i looked in the mirror and i looked just like him#when i visit my paternal grandparents and aunts and uncles i see the family photos with him hanging on the walls#and i see that large painting that used to be in our house#👍
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Not to send an essay in ur inbox but LITERALLY. I've seen ppl complain that genshin is too grindy and it's like. You people would NOT survive playing sky: children of the light. Genshin has a lot of grinding and farming but at least you get noticeable progress from it!! In sky you spend 2 hours farming for 15 candles and then if u don't have any friends to hang out with u just kind of. Log off. But you can't Not do those 2 hours of farming because then you won't be able to get the 16 new cosmetics tgc introduced at once that all cost 200 candles. At least 2 hours of playing genshin gets you well into the story, or artifacts or primogems or SOMETHING worthwhile. Probably should've just made this a post this is long sorry abdhdbfjxbd I just. Have a lot of feelings about the fact that gambling: the game is less horrid to be invested in than sky: children of the light which is supposed to be this fun cute lighthearted experience. Idk. We literally do not know each other sorry for this abdjdnjd
-forgetful-storyteller
gaymer. @forgetful-storyteller
look at my first post on this blog's fucking date. I've been playing since android release and stopped around Shattering getting into beta, this is my sky side-blog. I know Sky's draining on players. 2 years of sky fucked me up.
I grinded daily in sky. it fucking slaughtered me. I still have muscle memory of HF and VoT candle runs.
I don't play sky often anymore for a fucking reason; no one I'm close to plays, it's actually draining and stressing.
I was ftp other than maybe 2-3 seasonal passes on sky. I basically did crs daily for months when possible in 2020-2021, and got fucked over.
You may have a better experience in Sky than Genshin (if you played it), but Genshin is actually better for my mental health long term. I can drop it without worry, and I only play for fun with less worry of "I'm not going to be able to get something I want!" or "shit I'm low on candles". and don't even get me started on the winged lights that only got worse and worse.
I dislike gambling as well, but I don't spend money on Genshin, and quite honestly? I get more from Genshin than Sky ever did for me, which yeah, fucking sucks, but I hate grinding and I can bullshit my way through genshin without constantly gambling. Tbh bud, if TGC found a way to get people gambling, they would. They are not above that as a game company.
Why do you think all of the IAP are so fucking expensive for what it is, even when not collabs? Sky is not a moral game on ethics to it's making either. TGC have ignored the fact they need to pay artist and sweep so many things under the rug from players to try and keep people distracted they always will.
(Edit: I did misread it, look at reblogs)
#ymir sketches#I feel like this is really fucking aggressive on my part but fr. Sky gave me panic attacks if I didn't do dailies#Sky was more addicting to me than Genshin. I just really hate sky for that reason.#It was fine until the traveling spirits prices also grew too much. it hurts to play normally than throwing myself into eden or helping#people for the fucking fire trial (my beloved). I can not play sky often for the sake of my already fucked up mental health.#It's not relaxing to me. It never *was* ever since I got into it.#I hate gacha shit. but more or less. let me have Genshin > Sky:cotl. At least it actually doesn't drain me and gives something interesting#but uh yeah... uh asker I'm from old skyblr... I dealt with panphobes and so much drama as it is in skyblr as well#Anyways... uhh brain too depressed for sky. I actually played for friends over 'relaxing'... and I can not drop it as well as other things#just on the fly... I play genshin because it's just fun for me. I don't get drained because it's actually possible to pace yourself on it.#but uh I will say I stopped caring as much for sky since about dreams. it only finally killed me around shattering beta#tbh that's probably because I'm also a beta player but ya know. I love my ocs and shit which is why I help make The Idyll with my friends
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also interesting to think about what would've happened if vitali and mikhail hadn't lost contact with each other for six years. they would've hated each other by now i know that much
#personal#vitali was trapped with his family and as soon as he got a taste of freedom he went entirely off the rails#losing mikhail made him worse but he had already gone off the rails by then and mikhail would not have dealt with it well#one thing about mikhail is that he will try to love every version of you. but that version of vitali was just too much#mikhail is very easily influenced by other people and also how other people are feeling so vitali would've been like#a very VERY bad influence on him. and mikhail would've suffered immensely from it#but he wouldn't have had the heart to leave vitali alone which would've just made both of them worse#because vitali would've known that Something was wrong but not What Exactly. and that's what would've killed their friendship#probably would've led to some explosive fight or two. or three. or more. and eventually they would've just stopped talking#vitali would've felt abandoned. mikhail would've felt betrayed. they could never trust each other ever again and that would've been it#vitali would've died at a very young age also. i'll leave the circumstances of that up to own interpretation but it would've been bad#mikhail would've become a doctor. there's more layers to that but i'm not gonna get into that because it'll kill me#anyway hi sorry i'm talkative this morning i need to yell about blorbos or i'll spiral from stress
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I hate that you can't see a tweet thread anymore if you're not logged into Twitter (as a gesture of disrespect I refuse to call it by its rebranded name). Here is a copypasta of a thread from Dan Olson, a Canadian documentary filmmaker, expanding upon camera quality, the guilt trips Somerton used to goose his Patreon subscriptions, and how the best tools will never make up for lack of dedication or patience. I have added clarifications in [[double brackets]] where I feel it is necessary.
START OF THREAD
Okay, so, back in April I snapped at James in reply to a tweet that was linking to this video (which James has since delisted but not deleted) and I want to talk about the full context of that but I don't want to make a video, put your beatdown memes away. [[The video has since been deleted. I can see the title of the video is "Maybe the end (not an April Fool's Day thing".]]
The first bit of context is that I initially got keyed into James to fact-check his claims about indie filmmaking in Canada. As a filmmaker the entire Telos venture was immediately obvious as a juvenile fantasy dreamed up by someone with no idea how to make a movie.
Just wild claims about their plans that weren't worth debunking because they bordered Not Even Wrong. But in watching one of these pitch videos I noticed that he had a $4000 current-gen camera in the background as a prop, and that seemed both pretentious and weird.
You don't use your best camera as a prop, you use your second best camera as a prop. So being an obsessive weirdo I needed to know, and I watched his BTS stuff until I spotted his main rig, a $6000 camera with about $1000 in accessories.
Now, these in isolation are unremarkable because his Patreon at the time was bringing in ~$8000 per month, his channel was a full on Business business, and so investing in some professional equipment of that level is maybe a bit indulgent but justifiable.
What was weird is that he doesn't shoot multi-cam, doesn't shoot outdoors, doesn't shoot on location, and in a studio the two cameras kinda really step on each others' toes. Basically if you already have one and don't need a B cam there's no reason to get the other.
Again, on its own, this says nothing, it's just indicative of poor financial decisions, maybe impulsive purchasing, Gear Acquisition Syndrome. Biblical sins, but not crimes.
Paired with the constantly inflating fantasy scope of the Telos films it was clearly an expression of a very, very common bad filmmaker habit of "if I just get the right gear then my movie will basically make itself" Buying stuff because it feels like progress.
At the end of February he tweets "I want to start shooting anamorphic" and then three weeks later in March he posts the worst, out of focus, under-exposed "I just got a new lens!" video I've ever seen, showing off his trash-covered bedroom.
Based on what's available for his cameras and the lead time, that's enough time to get a Laowa Nanomorph or Sirui Saturn from B&H but not enough time to get a Great Joy from the UK or a Vazen from China. And with the flaring blah blah blah, $1300 lens.
Again, [gear acquisition syndrome] is not a crime and these lenses are budget options. Bit of a pointless impulse purchase since he only used it for the Showgirls video. But this is what he was doing just a few weeks before that above video came out: effortlessly impulse purchasing lenses.
James has (had?) a habit of regularly, aggressively driving viewers to Patreon by claiming that videos were getting demonetized. While tacky, it is something a lot of queer YouTubers have dealt with, so there's precedent there. But people were noticing he did it a lot.
Mid-March he humble brags about needing to work so hard to make 6 videos in April because he has over-booked sponsorships.
Then March 29th James posts this whole incel screed on Twitter about how sex work should be "subsidized as a mental health service."
[two image descriptions.
1. "For the majority of people sex (and human contact) can be imperative to a healthy state of mind. A kind and talented sex worker can make someone feel wanted for the first time in their life. I know sex workers who have pulled people back from suicide just by being there for them."
2. "Not only should (sex work) be legal, but it should be subsidized as a mental health service."]
He spends several days getting absolutely *roasted* for this, just dragged across the pavement and read for filth, and doubles down in the replies the whole way.
So this is the context immediately surrounding James waking up on Friday, and posts the above video and the below tweet.
[image description: "We just got the lowest Patreon payout we've gotten in well over a year. Like, a "maybe we need to rethink things" kind of amount... NOT an April Fools Day thing btw. But I don't know if we'll be making videos much longer."]
Now, this unfolds in kinda two directions. The first is that I'm convinced he was just lying about this income shock in the first place.
There's a million theoretical edge cases about what maybe happened and if maybe he just misunderstood the data or saw a glitch and panicked, maybe one of those happened, I don't believe it, I think he just lied because he was salty about getting dragged and felt owed a win.
A big tell to me is that he doesn't blame Patreon. He says he doesn't know what happened, but let's be real, Patreon screws up all the time, they're the first people anyone blames if anything confusing happens, just as a reflex action, even if it's completely not their fault.
The only reason to not blame Patreon is if you already know that it's not their fault and that any investigation on their part might reveal embarrassing details.
Instead he indirectly blames his viewers for not watching enough, not sharing enough, and not turning on auto-renew.
So regardless of the unknowable truth, this segues into the second, far more offensive direction of the messaging itself. "I don't know if we'll be making videos much longer." "Maybe the end" He explicitly framed this as an immediate existential threat to his channel.
In the video he is vague about everything, leaves a ton of hazy room for plausible deniability on how long the channel can keep going, but the messaging is "I need more patrons right this minute or my YouTube channel is over."
He repeatedly evokes all the "fun stuff" they had planned that would never see the light of day if this didn't turn around right away.
And his audience received this message loud and clear. Tons of people making far, far, far less than him left very heartfelt messages about digging a little deeper to subscribe or up their pledge or unsubscribe from other channels to move their pledge to his.
1200 new patrons in one day.
Since I simply don't believe the income shock was real in the first place that would put his post-"Maybe the end" Patreon income at around $10,000 per month. US. Add YouTube income, he's spent the last seven months making around $18,000 per month.
I have seen creators scale back their capabilities to the bone purely to keep making videos for the love of just, like, making stuff even as their funding evaporated and they needed to go back to a desk job to cover their bills.
You'd have to be so outstandingly reckless with your finances as a channel that a one month spook leads immediately to "channel over, sorry about all the fun stuff we won't get to do with you, our patrons, specifically because you, our patrons, aren't giving us enough money"
And not a spook where you then spend a couple weeks crunching numbers. Oh no. A shock so violent where less than two hours later you're weeping on camera about the channel being over.
Three weeks later he brought a brand new Sony FX6v for $8000 CAD to add to his pile of cinema cameras despite the fact that he was, but scant moments earlier, in such a precarious position that a single bad month would kill his channel.
He stole your money, and for that I'm profoundly sad and angry. That's why I snapped at him in April. I'm sorry I couldn't give you the full context then, and I'm sorry if that anger upset you.
END OF THREAD
#james somerton#dan olson#hbomberguy#jesus christ tumblr#it won't let me format things the way i want#because this website is sometimes a piece of shit
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the sheer audacity of s.v 128 is going to haunt me for the next year or two so i'm just going to blurt out my feelings when it comes to adam/kur.o/inner!sl.oth like the fan i am because this has me so😭 every single time i read it,
first off, adam ... i am so sorry, adam. the young boy who died 500+ years ago has never had the opportunity to be properly buried, has been nothing but a ghost clung onto by those who wish to shine through him all these years later. the count, a man he never knew (as far as we are aware) created a system to chain his entire life to him, simply because he had never been able to fully process the grief over such a unpredictable death. adam was never mourned by the village who let him take blame as their sacrifice, never mourned by the one who claimed to wish to stay by his side forever by disrespecting his wishes to him, but was never mourned by himself, either. for hundreds of years ku.ro clung onto the idea that he could somehow change things and become adam again, from his first stinging question to gear in the woods all those years ago: "do i no longer look human?", because there had always been that hope. ku.ro's feigned ignorance to who he was meant adam, the boy who had already accepted his passing, could never rest so peacefully. just like the count could never claim a form to his grief, adam could never claim the form of who he was. not until ku.ro understood the reality of the situation at hand. mah.iru was right, a person who died could never come back ---- not the same, anyway. his time to rest was long ago, but someone like him could never have complained over it. to have been sent off by two prayers straight from the heart, one being the respect of his own... adam may have gone, but there will always be a part of him in ku.ro. even in his memories, that is.
inn.er!sloth really was just ... asking to help ku.ro for all these years. he's been the bad guy throughout a lot of ku.ro's early memories, and even in this chapter plays the role of an antagonistic character rather well ... in the end he had never wanted the counts world disrupted, but he had looked out for ku.ro and wished to make him stronger above all else. for years, he has simply danced with himself while the one most precious to him had considered him naught but a memory, so much so that once kur.o had finally offered a hand out, there had truly been that moment of shock. misunderstood might be the best word for him, the bad guy who wasn't fully bad in the first place. the mention of how a demons rage seems to come from rejection is something painful for a lonely soul, too.
ku.ro ... how much he's grown, in this chapter. with ku.ro, we've gone through the whole 5 stages of grief in this manga, and the sight of the acceptance stage really signals how much that's come to the end. despite his hatred of the serv.amp dynamic, everything vampirelike and inhumane in the slightest, his own interpersonal relationships rely so heavily on the same promise the count had, that with distance and time and separation, then a bond would simply cease to exist. ku.ro has always held a good relationship with humans, but that doesn't mean he considered them long lasting. even gea.r, whom he spent hundreds of years with, was considered someone who would simply stop because ku.ro chose to separate and instead, like a contract, doubted he would ever want to see him again after all they did. the count had ku.ro under similar ideals to his own, and the parallels between the two this chapter is something striking. ku.ro has finally broken free of those kinds of chains, and accepted the first friend he's made in years into his life. he chooses to look forward to the future, despite the past he has clung onto and lamented on his entire life. to accept his demon ... was a move he didn't even think he would take four days ago, but to go to the levels of understanding him ... that's important too.
ashes to ashes as a concept in christian.ity defined simply as: remember that god always has a plan. though you’re to return to dust, you’re also to be resurrected by christ himself when the time comes. it's used in a literal sense, in this case, but also a reminder that life can be lived to the fullest. adam had borrowed time, but ku.ro and inner!slo.th have what may feel like forever. mah.iru has borrowed time, and ku.ro knows he wants to spend his life doing more than just worrying about the time he'll forget him.
this is a turning point, and i am so ready to see where it leads. sorry you caught the eye and created the entire blood contract system by catching the eye of an obsessive demon in the 13th century adam but hey, there has been some beautiful things come from it too.
#❛ ♡ › jupiter : 𝐨𝐨𝐜.#rlly thought this was a meta but its just me being so upset#adam getting his send off and the recognition of who ku.ro is now despite that is so devastating but so profound.#as someone who has dealt with personal grief a lot about what mah.iru talked about rlly hitting home. that no one is ever completely gone#but how in turn people like the coun.t tsuru.gi lawl.ess tou.ma. mah.iru sometime long ago ... they hadnt ever learnt to process their#grief so personally. it raises your questions of what is grief supposed to be?#but mah.iru is right when he says it's formless. it'll effect everyone differently. but something you'll have to remember is that existence#will never be gone. it'll be in your memories. because you'll never forget them#that is what you have to hold onto sometimes. that is what can help you through.#ive saved all my fave quotes of this chapter onto a doc so maybe ill pick up more bits here and there but this was such a good chapter#ill say it once again read serv.amp u wont regret it#long post /#even though i cut it just an fyi
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