AO3

Chapters: 1

Summary: The problem, Snufkin thinks, is not so much that he believes he is a selfish, wild creature. The problem is that Moomintroll is not, and never will be. And that is a problem, you see, because he deserves someone far better than him.
And yet, Moomintroll still chose him.

… … … … … … … … … … … … …

“I think this is alittle excessive, guys.”

“Daw, but you look so pretty!” Snorkmadien giggled, tying one among many bows to Sniff’s ear. Snufkin thinks there has to be at least a dozen, likely more.

“He looks like a mannequin in a bow store that ran out of spares.” Little My snorted, though she, too, was tying another bow onto the poor creature’s arm.

“It might be a little too many bows.” Moomintroll tried, though he had also not been spared, with dusty rose bows around his ankle and ear, and a light blue one around his neck, courtesy of matching with Snorkmaiden. Though her bow was tied at the back of her neck, not the side.

“Well, I have so many,” Snorkmaiden said, sitting back to admire the pink bow she’d adorned Sniff’s ear with. “I’m probably not even going to use them all.”

“But why am I the model?” Sniff bemoaned. “You only gave Snufkin one!”

Which was true, they had. Snufkin was saved by only having a single yellow bow tied around his hat. It actually matched quite well, and Snufkin had decided very early on he’d be keeping it until it fell off.

“Snufkin’s not a bow-type creature.” Snorkmaiden said simply.

“And he’d probably lead us all to a ditch if we tried to make him look as ridiculous as you.” Little My taunted.

“I wouldn’t.” Snufkin said, knowing very well that he probably would.

“Hush,” Little My waved him off. “Less talking, more harmonica. It’s what you’re good at.”

“Hey!” Moomintroll bristled, and Snufkin tried to hide his grin as he went back to gently playing All Small Beast Should Have Bows In Their Tails. He thinks Sniff is the only one who hasn’t realized the irony in it, yet. “Snufkin is good at plenty of other things!”

“Like breaking and entering?” Little My drawled.

“And disregarding laws.” Snorkmadien added, not immune to instigating arguments for fun. He respected it.

“Don’t listen to them.” Moomintroll told him. “You’re good at much nicer things.”

“Nicer, you say?” Snufkin took the harmonica just a little ways off of his mouth so he could speak. “I happen to quite like those two talents of mine. Do you think they are lesser-than?”

He resumed playing as Moomintroll stuttered, struggling to keep the tempo even as the troll attempted to hastily backtrack. Little My cackled at him, and Snorkmaiden, too, giggled at his plights. Sniff, the poor little creature, had only paid attention to maybe half of the conversation.

“Relax, you talking pillow.” Little My sniffed, batting at the trolls bowed-ankle. “There are few things I share with this lunatic, but we’ve got a small overlap in humor.”

“I didn’t think it was very funny.” Moomintroll muttered, thoroughly embarrassed.

“That’s because you have a hero complex. Now are you getting another bow, or not?”

Moomintroll was a stuttering mess all over again, and Snufkin was fully smiling into his playing, now. His tail, which was normally quite covered by his clothes, or simply unused, flicked to life to lightly bat at the moomin’s side, urging him through his shifting closer to the two for another bow.

Moomintroll gave him a slightly surprised look, but then Snorkmaiden was grabbing his paw to tie a green ribbon around his wrist, and Snufkin stopped paying much attention, instead focusing on his music.

He thinks he’s better now, after that talk on the beach. That Moomintroll knows he is a selfish beast, and simply does not care. Well, he cares, it is just something that he accepts, like how Snufkin accepts that Moomintroll has a hero complex.

Somehow, that hasn’t done much for the thoughts, even if they feel a little better. Suppose not even solid proof can dissuade the most stubborn of minds.

“He’s not gonna let you.” He heard, and his ear pricked, flicking up, the only indication that he was paying attention again.

“I can at leastask.” Moomintroll huffed, and before Snufkin could wonder what that meant, the troll was sitting back down at his side, a new ribbon around his wrist. “Snufkin?”

“Come to show off your newest decoration?” Snufkin teased, bringing the harmonica away. “I must say, Snorkmaiden, while you are quite deft at making pretty bows, I don’t happen to think this matches him.”

“We’re not trying to match, we’re trying to tie bows.” Snorkmaiden huffed, and he couldn’t argue with that, so he went back to his harmonica.

“Speaking of which,” Moomintroll said, and Snufkin could see now that he had one paw closed into a fist. “Could I have your tail for a moment?”

He exhaled a bit too harshly on a changing note, and winced a bit. It wasn’t glaringly obvious, but to someone who knew the song inside out, it still grated on him. He thinks the others might’ve noticed, too, for they’d heard it almost as much as him.

“Excuse me?” He stared, setting the harmonica down in his lap.

“Er, your tail?” Moomintroll looked far more unsure, now. “Is–you don’t have to, of-of course, I was only asking–”

“Whatever for?” Snufkin frowned.

“Well, I was thinking…” Moomintroll unfurled his paw, revealing a rather large cream-white bow within, almost blending into his fur. “I could tie this to your tail?”

“I tried to give him a much smaller one.” Little My informed. “But he insisted on a big one.”

“I did not,” Moomintroll glared at her, flushed. “I just thought this one looked better.”

“You just want to dress him in a pretty bow.”

“Oh you are such–”

“Alright,” He said, because if he waited anymore, he’s sure they’d all be expectantly turning to him for an answer, and he wanted to avoid that ensuing silence.

And, because he wanted to avoid another awkward silence, he moved his tail until the tufted end lay across Moomintroll’s leg.

“Oh! Uh, you’re sure?” Moomintroll said, evidently surprised.

“Would I have said as such if I wasn’t?” He replied.

“Fair enough,” Moomintroll shrugged, and picked up his tail with soft fingers.

“Unbelievable,” He heard Little My grumbling under her breath.

Moomintroll, he could tell, was anxious. Probably from how Snufkin had startled earlier, but really, can one blame him? He’s not exactly sure how other Mumrik’s are about their tails, and Snufkin wouldn’t say he was overly careful with his, but he most certainly wasn’t as expressive with it as most other creatures were. Why, the bow would probably be hidden with the rest of his tail if he went on as normal, so why bother?

He watched as Moomintroll took the ribbon and slowly wound it around his tail, mumbling a quiet “is this too tight?” and continuing on when Snufkin shook his head. It was actually a bit too loose, but he didn’t want to interrupt to point that out.

It wasn’t as neat as Snorkmaiden’s, nor as lopsided as Little My’s. It was made with care, but not perfection. One side was a little too big, and one string was clearly longer than the other. Moomintroll looked like he wanted to redo it, but Snufkin was raising his tail and looking over it before he could unravel it.

He’d put it right before the tuft in his tail, big and eye-catching. He has no doubt part of it would drag on the ground if he didn’t keep his tail upright, doomed to be snagged on twigs and rocks. He decided right then and there he wouldn’t let that happen.

“Do you like it?” Moomintroll asked, wary.

“Not that it matches.” Snorkmaiden added-in.

“It’s wonderful.” He breathed, and drew his tail closer so that he could tighten it. “Thank you, Moomintroll.”

Moomintroll broke into a bright smile, and he definitely heard Little My fake-gag. Snorkmaiden, for her part, simply rolled her eyes with a fond look and withdrew another blue bow from her bag.

“Does this mean we’re adding more bows to Snufkin instead?” Sniff asked hopefully.

“Absolutely not.” Snufkin said, still smiling as he curled his tail around his body, by his legs. “Two bows are enough for me. Besides, you look so lovely in all those colors.”

“You’re all terrible friends.”

And they only laughed, and the conversation went on. Though, Snufkin is sure that Moomintroll kept looking over when Snufkin’s tail would twitch and move, more so than it had in quite a while.

And if Snufkin spent the rest of the day with that bow, tail lazily waving behind him, then that could be something that was acknowledged in silence.

And while he wouldn’t admit it, everyone would know kept the white bow, even after it fell off. He tied it tight to a strap on his bag, and feigned naivety when it was pointed out.

After all, it could’ve been any old bow.

It was rather cathartic to ruin the Park Keeper’s night.

It was one thing when he ruined a few people’s days on his travels. When he passed by parks with clipped grass and perfectly square bushes. When he muddled it all up so that nature may reclaim what so rightfully belongs to it.

It’s a whole other thing when you get to ruin the same Hemulen’s park over and over again. He wouldn’t compare it to returning to Moominvalley every spring, but that was the closest thing he could compare it to. What else did he return to so frequently?

It also means that the Park Keeper got clever. So you have to be clever back. And on and on it goes in circles and loops and twists and turns. It’s honestly quite fun. Snufkin enjoys the challenge, even if he knows he will always win. Even if a battle is lost, the war on nature will always favor the side of nature. That’s just the way things are.

It still wasn’t much fun when he lost the battle. Even if it was still cathartic to cause problems.

This was how he wound up with some kind of snare-like trap wound around his arm.

He doesn’t think it was meant for him. Honestly, he thinks it was for deer, or some larger animals that kept wandering in. Or maybe it was supposed to go around trees to deter squirrels and accidentally got caught in a place it shouldn’t have been. That did not, however, stop the rivulets of blood down his arm.

Really, it wasn’t as bad as the blood would have you believe. His sleeve was just horribly stained and torn and made it a lot more graphic than it ever needed to be. But he should probably try to stop the bleeding anyway.

And so, here he was, climbing up to Moomintroll’s window. Why? Well, it’s simple, really; if he walked in through the front door, he might get blood on the floor, and he wouldn’t want to bother everyone with the stains. And someone else was bound to wake up if he was creeping around trying to find the bandages and scissors, so he figures he can just ask Moomintroll where it is and be out in a jiff.

He wasn’t all too keen on staying around the park to ask for help, anyway. Though he’s sure the Park Keeper would’ve helped, for as tremendous as their rivalry was, he does not think the hemulen was one to take pride in almost seriously injuring someone by accident, whether or not they were being mischievous. Also, Snufkin has friends who would gladly have a word or two with him. But some wilder part of his brain grew frantic at the thought of staying where he had been injured, waiting for some form of enemy to find him. So he’d scurried out as fast as he could, because he was no tamed creature.

And wire was not an easy thing to tear off. So, not wanting to make it worse by trying to kick it off, he figured it’d be better to cut it, once he had the clear mental state to think of such a thing. Thus, he went to Moominhouse. There were two safe places in Moominvalley, and that was the house, and his tent.

Luckily, nobody in the Moominhouse locked anything. So Snufkin had no trouble scaling up the wall, claws hooking into crevices and digging into the wood when there were none. He cradled his injured arm up to his chest, adjusting his weight distribution so he wouldn’t be making many errors and have to do the whole thing all over again. It’d look bad if there was blood dripping down the side of the house come morning.

He was, unfortunately, not quiet. Understandable, given the circumstances, but also quite unfortunate when the entire point was to be sneaky.

So, call Snufkin more than a bit spooked when, upon reaching Moomintroll’s window, it swung open before he could even figure out how he was supposed to do it himself with one good hand.

His tail stuck straight out, he’d forgotten to tuck it away these days, and jerked down so his head was just below the windowsill, not that it would do anything.

“Shoo!” Moomintroll demanded, wielding a bat. “Shoo, I say! This is no place to–Snufkin?”

Snufkin’s ears swiveled upright, blinking his best innocent eyes. Moomintroll stared at him for a moment, absolutely bewildered. Which was fair enough, it was a bewildering situation. He would prefer if they could get a move on, though. His arm still hurt.

“You look kind of creepy.” He said, lowering the bat. “Like a nightmare in the dark–what are you doing up here in the middle of the night?”

“Do you have anything that can cut wires?” Snufkin asked, finding he didn’t quite like being called a nightmare.

“You mean like pliers?” Moomintroll tilted his head as Snufkin leaned back up. “Sure, I think we have some down in the sheee–your arm!”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Snufkin shrugged it off, already descending. “Grab some bandages for me, perhaps? I can go get the pliers since I’m already out here–”

“You’rebleeding!” Moomintroll cried, and Snufkin would’ve hushed him for being too loud if the troll wasn’t leaning out the window and grabbing at him. “Goodness, get inside! What even happened–nope, you know what, doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter,” He muttered, heaving Snufkin by the coat.

“Really, it looks far more terrible than it truly is.” Snufkin insisted, though he helped Moomintroll out by kicking his paws against the wood to get himself inside. “It’s just a snare.”

“Asnare?”Moomintroll exclaimed, nearly toppling over backwards when he finally got Snufkin inside. “Whatever do you have a snare on you for?”

“Well, I assume it’s a snare of some sort.” Snufkin shrugged, looking down at the arm still cradled to his chest. “Truly, I’m not quite sure what its purpose was. It was an accident.”

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Moomintroll stepped forward.

“Tremendously,” Snufkin agreed. “But I already had my moments of writhing and cursing. Now it’s just plain bothersome.”

“You…” Moomintroll pressed his paws together in front of his face, and he was probably supposed to be exasperated, but he only looked more afraid. “You’re a horrid little creature, do you know that?”

“I make a habit of it.” Snufkin nodded. “Now, uh, the pliers…?”

“Right! Yes, yes,” Moomintroll hurriedly stepped back. “You wait right here, okay? Don’t go anywhere, uh, put pressure on the wound, I think that’s what you do–I’ll be right back with pliers and some bandages. And stitches, do you think you need stitches? I’ll get stitches.”

“The stitches really aren’t necessary–”

“Donot leave!” Moomintroll warned him, pointing a paw at him, opening the door behind him.

“I have nowhere else to go.” He said, but Moomintroll had already left.

And then he was alone in Moomintroll’s room. He considered sitting on the bed, but he didn’t want to get blood on the sheets. So he sat down underneath the window, legs folded underneath him and using his other arm to hold his injured one in place. He’d already accepted that his coat was ruined, it wouldn’t do anything to have a few more stains on it. It was awfully lucky he didn’t care much for material value.

He did find himself absently picking at the wire, though, despite how tight it was in his skin. A nightmare, he said. He doesn’t quite like that thought. Of being a creature that goes bump in the night, one that has others on their toes. He likes being a lusiance, yes, but not a nightmare.

He hoped he wasn’t too terrifying of a sight, covered in blood with a wild look in his eyes, still breathing heavily from the dying adrenaline rush and the climb. He isn’t soft like moomins or fillyjonk’s or the wide array of folks in the valley. He has rows of fangs made for tearing, curving claws for catching, a nimble frame for pouncing, slitted eyes made for the night. He is not a kind beast to find on a lonesome trail.

He wonders if a part of Moomintroll is afraid because of what he sees. If, for that split second, he saw a monster with jaws here to crush, claws to snatch up and rip away. He finds he hates that thought quite a bit, and his tail, the darn thing, tightly winds itself around his ankle.

He presses his thumb into the palm of his injured hand, just to the left of the wire curling around it. He feels his claws flex, and winces when the movement causes the wire to shift, digging in deeper. He hastily retracts them, cursing quietly to himself as he hunched over his bloody arm. Bad idea. A whole array of bad ideas.

He wonders if bleeding can be seen as proof in its own right. He’s seen cuts and scrapes on the moomins before, yes, but nothing as bad as a snare wound all up their arm. Dangerous beasts are the ones that are caught in traps, with sharp edges to be wary of. What soft creature had ever bled as much as he?

“I got the pliers!”

Moomintroll’s voice was a shouted whisper, but it still made Snufkin startle and look up at him from under the brim of his hat, anyway. Moomintroll faltered for a moment, and to Snufkin’s mind, that was evidence in of itself.

“Ah, good.” Snufkin said in a quiet, hoarse voice. “I do believe I’ve made it a bit worse.” He said with a nervous, painful smile.

“How on earth did you manage that?” Moomintroll rushed in, dropping to his knees and reaching out before stopping halfway. “Goodness, what did you do–?”

He started to reach forward with the pliers, and the flash of pointed metal made some instinct in Snufkin’s head flinch away, such a small and quick movement that anyone could’ve brushed it off as nothing. But Moomintroll wasn’t anyone.

“Snufkin?” He said, slowly drawing back.

“I’m fine,” Snufkin croaked, removing a paw from his arm and reaching out. “I apologize, my nerves are a bit frayed at the moment, I–” He paused, saw the blood dripping off his paw and onto the floor before hastily drawing it back. “Ah, you definitely don’t want that–”

“Snufkin,” Moomintroll said, and he glanced up at the troll’s face before looking down again. He didn’t feel up to seeing the growing panic in his eyes. “Hey, listen, I’m–well, normally I’d ask what’s wrong, but I’m afraid we need to get the wire off, first.” He said, setting the pliers down in his lap. “Do you want to do it?”

“No, it’s easier if you do it.” Snufkin shook his head, staring off at the wall as he offered his arm again. “I was just being jumpy, don’t worry.”

“You make it hard not to.” Moomintroll said, slowly reaching out a paw and gently taking his arm, and Snufkin fought every muscle demanding to wince away from the pain. “Oh my gosh–”

“Most of it’s just my sleeve.” Snufkin assured, still staring off. “I tried to get it off earlier, but it didn’t go so well. The tears are just from me.”

Moomintroll was silent for a moment, doing his best to avoid touching the open wounds and instead trying to find any place of give where he could wiggle the pliers up underneath. He wouldn’t, except maybe around his wrist, but Moomintroll might be too anxious to try by there for that, so he wasn’t going to make him.

Then he felt a shift on his head, and he looked back to Moomintroll just in time to see him lightly knocking his hat off his head with his other paw. He stared at the troll in confusion, ears twitching back. Moomintroll met his eyes after a moment, and something soft and fond flickered there for a moment with the tiniest of smiles.

“There you are.” He said sweetly, and then he was pulling at the wire.

Snufkin hissed, recoiling a bit this time, but Moomintroll held firm. He murmured his apologies, trying to both hold Snufkin’s arm still and lift up the wire so he could cut it. After a moment of psyching himself up, Snufkin reached out and pulled at the slightly loose part of the wire by his wrist.

“Try there?” He suggested, voice strained.

“Of course,” Moomintroll said, bringing the pliers closer. “I promise I’ll be verycareful.”

“Yeah, I know.” Snufkin’s voice shook, as did his paws, though he hoped Moomintroll thought it was from the pain. He never did understand how Moomintroll could be careless with his promises, at least in Snufkin’s eyes. Promises were not to be taken lightly.

It took four tries, but Moomintroll managed to wiggle the pliers underneath the wire, and Snufkin let it go with a low, drawn-out hiss at how tight the wire was everywhere else. He felt the metal digging into his arm, fresh blood trickling down.

“Sorry, sorry,” Moomintroll apologized under his breath, hooking the pliers into place and squeezing. It didn’t work at first, and he almost lost his grip in the wire before he got the pliers back into place again.

The second time, with a lot more catch and much more force, the thin wire snapped under it.

Almost immediately, the pressure lessened. Snufkin sighed, shoulders slumping as the coil unwound from the lower half of his arm. It got more tangled up before his elbow, but it wasn’t nearly as tight, so Moomintroll was easily able to slip the pliers underneath and cut those free, too.

“That’s better.” He murmured, letting his arm fall.

“Is there any other tight pain?” Moomintroll fretted, gently peeling the wire off and tossing it carelessly to the side.

“No, you got it.” Snufkin assured, sounding a little woozy as Moomintroll tried to roll up his sleeve. Snufkin decided to cut out the middle-man and undid the button on his coat before attempting to shake it off. It dragged painfully against his arm and he growled, Moomintroll helping him before he could apologize for such a beastly sound.

“Notthat bad, he says.” Moomintroll scoffed, taking his paw, the least injured part, and holding his arm out. “This still looks pretty bad, Snufkin.”

“But does it lookas bad?” Snufkin shot back, taking a look for the damage himself. Hard to tell, his arm was still coated in red.

“I suppose not.” Moomintroll tsked. “We should wash you up before we bandage it.”

“Smart,” Snufkin agreed, cradling his arm back to his chest. “Where did you put the bandages, anyway–?”

“I believe he may have forgotten that part.”

Snufkin froze up as Moomintroll whirled his head around, thoroughly spooked. There, in the doorway, Moominmamma stood, holding a roll of gauze and antiseptic spray. As always, she was prepared for just about anything. On any other day, he would admire it. Right now, it was a little humiliating.

“Mamma!” Moomintroll drew his paws back to his chest, and Snufkin felt a sickening roll in his chest when he saw the pristine white fur was stained with blood. “When did you–I had no idea you were awake. At this hour? Goodness, aren’t you tired? You really should–”

“I heard you worrying for Snufkin.” Moominmamma said simply, calmly walking in. “And getting the pliers. And while I’m sure you two can handle yourselves, I do believe I could be of some assistance.”

“Much appreciated, Moominmamma.” Snufkin mumbled, head ducked as Moomintroll stood, moving out of the way with a nervous curl of his tail. “I apologize for waking you.”

“Yes, we’re sorry–”

“Oh, don’t be.” Moominmamma waved them off, crouching and taking a look at Snufkin’s arm with nothing more than a mildly surprised hum. “Do you think you could walk to the bathroom, Snufkin? Moomintroll was right, we should wash this first.”

“It was only my arm that was injured,” Snufkin said, bracing one paw behind him as he pushed himself to his feet. “Not my legs.”

“I was only checking. Shock is a nasty thing.” Moominmamma said kindly, one paw on his shoulder as she stood back up. “Moomintroll, would you be a dear and put the pliers away? And make sure you throw away the wires, we don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

“Can’t I be of any help, mamma?” Moomintroll fretted.

“You are. By putting everything away.” Moominmamma said simply, leading Snufkin out the door as he was trying to keep his arm from bleeding on the hardwood floors. “Snufkin will be perfectly fine, love.”

“I knew that.” Moomintroll muttered, quite unconvincingly.

Snufkin, at the very least, attempted to give a reassuring smile and small wave over his shoulder before Moominmamma led him off to the bathroom. He doesn’t think it worked much, because Moomintroll still looked worried as he left.

Moominmamma, for her part, did not say much as she washed his arm in the sink. Not about the blood that was on her floor, nor Snufkin’s unorthodox entrance, nor his aversion to seeking anyone’s assistance but Moomintroll’s. It would’ve been concerning if Snufkin didn’t know that Moominmamma was not silent out of some sort of punishment, to stew in one’s guilt. She was quiet when she wanted to be quiet.

So he didn’t say anything, either. He only winced a little when she held his arm under the running water, and made a pleased hum when it was revealed the damage, while not necessarily good, truly wasn’t terribly bad. Snufkin was just grateful he wore a short-sleeved shirt under his coat in the warmer months, or he’d have more clothes to toss onto a fire.

“May I ask where you got yourself into such a mess?” Moominmamma asked simply, sitting Snufkin down on the edge of the tub as she held his arm.

“I was tearing out the Park Keeper’s signs.” He said truthfully, biting back a hiss when the antiseptic spray hit his arm. He would not hiss in her presence, it was undignified enough as it was. “I’m not sure what its true purpose was. I know it was a mistake, which makes it quite a bit more annoying.”

“We’ve all had our fair share of nasty accidents.” Moominmamma said simply, spraying one last time before grabbing the gauzes. “We ought to have a talk with the Park Keeper, though. Even if it was an accident, he ought to be more careful with these things.”

“It wouldn’t have hurt anyone else.” Snufkin weakly protested, watching her judge his injury before pressing a handful of the bandages onto a still-bleeding part of his forearm. “I’m sure he would’ve noticed in the morning. Honestly, I don’t think anyone but a mischief-maker was at risk. Even then, it was a series of unfortunate choices that got me like this.”

“He should still be more careful.” Moominmamma said evenly, pulling the rolls back. She reached out a paw, pausing for a moment, and when he didn’t pull away, she gently tilted his chin up so he was looking up at her. She had a rather serious, albeit kind, expression. “I do not wish to scare you, nor scold you, and I would not tell most of Moomintroll’s friends this if I did not know you were used to hearing more morbid things. I worry, Snufkin, because we’re lucky it only caught your arm, and not your neck.”

A true snare. The thought had certainly crossed his mind when he was down in the park, writhing and growling with the pain as he tried to wretch himself free. His main condolence was that, well, at least it hadn’t been around his throat.

“I find that would’ve been very unlikely.” He said anyway.

“But not impossible.” Moominmamma said simply, and then she started to wrap up his arm, and Snufkin didn’t have much else to say to that.

For not the first time, Snufkin wondered if she truly worried for him like Moomintroll did. Not the same kind of worry she showed every creature, for she was willing to house anyone, willing to help anyone. She was generous like that, and Moomintroll got some of his best traits from her.

No, for her, he wondered if she worried for him when he was gone. If she hoped he hadn’t found himself in too much trouble and would be returning safely.

He hoped not. He’d be dreadfully sorry to worry her. Lord knows she doesn’t need another person to think about.

“Now, I know you probably don’t want to come by here for every fresh change of bandages,” Moominmamma said, stepping back and letting him see his purely white-encased arm. “So I’ll be giving a kit over to you so that you can change them when they get dirty. Do you know how to do that?”

“Yes,” Snufkin nodded. “You don’t have to, I can just take the gauzes–”

“Nonsense,” Moominmamma waved him off. “We still need to make sure it doesn’t get infected. I can always get another.”

“Alright,” Snufkin relented, experimentally stretching his arm before thinking better of it. “I’m sorry for the trouble, Moominmamma.”

“It’s quite alright.” She said, offering a paw to help him up, of which he took. “I know you are not the kind to ask for much help, but please, next time, I implore you to wake us if you need any. It doesn’t matter what time it is, or the weather, or what may be going on. I would be happy to help.”

“I know.” Snufkin said, who had known these things, but it was still nice to hear them, anyway. A confirmation. “Thank you, Moominmamma.”

“Of course.” She said with a kind smile, squeezing his paw, which he didn’t even realize was still being held. “Is there anything else you may need?”

“Need? No,” Snufkin shook his head. “However, I doubt that will stop you.”

“I was hoping I could at least give you some food before you left.” Moominmamma agreed.

“That would be nice.” He relented, and he let her lead him by the paw off towards the stairs.

But to his guilt, Moomintroll was waiting downstairs for them, holding his bloody coat and hat. He looked up when they descended, his tragically crestfallen face springing up into curious fear when he saw them.

“Oh, dear,” Moomintroll fretted, getting to his feet. “Are you alright now, Snufkin?”

“Certainly.” Snufkin said, taking his time down the steps. “I was never going to not be alright.”

“I couldn’t help but worry.” Moomintroll admitted, holding out the coat when Moominmamma approached him. “Do you think it can be mended?”

“Unlikely,” Snufkin answered for her. “But it’s alright, I know how to make another.”

“Nonsense, this isn’t that bad of a fix.” Moominmamma waved him off, turning the coat over in her paws. “It’s not the first garment that’s been stained. And the sleeve only needs a bit of sewing. I can have it fixed in about a day or two.”

“You don’t need to.” Snufkin said, feeling just a little exposed without his hat to hide behind. “You’ve done more than enough for me already.”

“And I will do as much as you need.” Moominmamma said, draping the coat over her arm. “Moomintroll, would you please find something for Snufkin to eat? I’ll go ahead and soak this coat to fix up tomorrow.”

“Of course!” Moomintroll nodded, one paw still holding the hat as he scurried off to the kitchen. Snufkin only sighed, giving Moominmamma a vaguely pained expression she only smiled at as she passed. He pushed his paws into the pockets of his pants and meandered off towards the kitchen, tail dragging lazily along the floor.

He stood in the entryway as Moomintroll ran back and forth through the kitchen, muttering to himself all the while. He opened a cabinet, decided against it, and then went to the fridge. He abandoned that, too, and opened a drawer before shaking his head. He’d left the hat on the counter.

“Do we still have those apples we picked last month?” Snufkin asked casually, and Moomintroll nearly jumped out of his skin, as though surprised he was there at all.

“Oh, yes! Yes, we do.” Moomintroll nodded, going back to the fridge and opening it up to rummage around in. “How does your arm feel?”

“Much better.” He said, holding it out and across his front to look over it. “Your mother is quite skilled.”

“That’s Mamma for you.” Moomintroll withdrew from the fridge, apple in paw as he approached. “She wasn’t too mad, was she? I couldn’t quite get a read on her.”

“Not mad.” Snufkin assured, reaching out his good arm to take the apple. “Just a bit concerned, is all…oh.”

Moomintroll had clearly washed his paws as best he could, but as Snufkin had much better eyes in low light, he could see that the stains hadn’t been completely washed away. There was still a thin veil of red around his paws. It was just a little too dark to be mistaken for jam or paint.

“What is it?” Moomintroll frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing.” Snufkin shook his head, taking the apple. “You might want to wash your paws with more than just soap, though. I don’t believe you got all of it.”

“Oh, I haven’t?” Moomintroll looked down at his paws. “They look alright to me.”

“Yes, well, you’re a bit blind in the dark.” Snufkin shrugged.

“For someone with good night vision, you’d think he’d run into less trouble during that time.” Moomintroll mumbled, still looking down.

Snufkin felt awfully droopy, then. His free hand impulsively flexed open and closed, claws sheathing and unsheathing with it. It was an old nervous habit he’d been trying to quell, unless he was completely on his own. He hoped Moomintroll wouldn’t notice.

“I’m sorry for worrying you.” He murmured, and Moomintroll looked up at last.

“It’s alright.” Moomintroll said. “You’ve done quite a bit of apologizing tonight, I think it’s more than I’ve ever heard from you in a year.”

“Well, this is something worth apologizing for.” Snufkin said, breezing by the troll and to the kitchen table. “I gave you quite the fright.”

“I wasn’t frightened.” Moomintroll huffed, watching him. “I’m not scared by a bit of blood.”

“It’s alright to be afraid.” Snufkin said, gingerly sitting down and keeping one paw beneath the table, the other still holding the apple. “I’m sure I was a scary sight.”

“Well…” Moomintroll hesitated, and Snufkin took a bite of the apple so as to distract himself from dwelling. “I wouldn’t call it frightening, of course, because that implies someone was frightened, but…you didn’t look like much of a sight.”

“Sorry,” He said again, mouth mostly hidden behind the apple, head down.

“Stop apologizing.” Moomintroll huffed, taking a seat next to him and flicking the side of his head. “It’s not your fault you were all bloody and woozy. I was just worried you might pass out on the floor.”

“Now, I haven’t lost all that much blood.” Snufkin muttered, taking another bite.

“It sure looked like it.” Moomintroll said, paw inching closer across the table. “Has this happened before, Snufkin?”

“I think you’ve fretted more than enough for tonight.” Snufkin said, tail flicking.

“So you have!” Moomintroll straightened.

“It’s truly not that big of an issue.” Snufkin said, turning his head away. “It’s what happens when you’re a tramp.”

“It still worries me.” Moomintroll said, eyes dragging over him. “Are those really scars?”

Snufkin froze, mouth halfway open, in the middle of a bite. Slowly, he set the apple down on the table, and then tucked his other paw underneath the table, clasping it with the other. Occasionally, his paws would squeeze each other, and though it stung his arm, the claws still unsheathed. In and out, in and out.

He knew the ones Moomintroll had seen. On his other arm, a curling scratch up near his shoulder, poking free of the short sleeve, still a bit too pale, a little pink. He’d gotten it last winter. And a spot just above his wrist, normally barely hidden by his sleeve, a gnarled burn from a forest fire three seasons ago, far out of Moominvalley.

He was not ashamed of them. They were simply scars, two among others hidden beneath cloth. Sometimes he’d even be poetic and call them proof of all his travels. Proof that he was adventurous and a survivor. He wasn’t the only beast in Moominvalley with scars, after all, he knew that Moominpappa himself had a nasty curl around his ankle that was normally covered up by his fur. Perhaps he had more.

But he did have the most. That, he knew with certainty. When comparative, he didn’t have a lot, but he still had more. And so he wasn’t ashamed of them, but he was cautious. After all, such soft creatures didn’t need to be disturbed by the mars on his skin. He didn’t particularly want to answer all their questions about them.

It’s not even the first time he’s forgon the coat in Moomintroll’s presence. But those times, either Moomintroll had had no reason to think twice about it, or he’d made the choice to stay quiet. Tonight, he was not so lucky.

“They’re old.” He said, head down, and it was technically the truth. Months and months ago could still be considered old.

“They are.” Moomintroll said, and that fear was flashing in his eyes again. “Snufkin–”

“If it was a problem, I would have brought it up.” Snufkin said stiffly, ears pressing back, and oh how he wished he had his hat to hide them, hide his face.

“Would you?”

Snufkin raised his head at that. Moomintroll gazed at him sadly, almost pleading. And Snufkin was reminded of how he had flinched, and how Moomintroll had said they would talk about it. He thinks this is why he is here now, and he finds that talking to people feels very unwelcome right now.

“I know how to ask for help.” Snufkin said, knowing his ears were pinned back against his head.

“Do you know whento ask for help?” Moomintroll shot back.

“I came here, didn’t I?”

“And then you tried to leave again!” Moomintroll puffed. “As soon as I told you where the pliers were, you couldn’t have tried to leave fast enough!”

“It was a problem I could have fixed on my own.” He said simply, because it was simple, and it’s how it had always been. “Really, Moomintroll, it was nothing personal, I just thought I could handle it on my own.”

“You flinched.” Moomintroll said, and Snufkin stood.

“Not from you.” He said, and he walked off to the counter.

“I was the only one there!” Moomintroll stood as well.

“But you were not the only thing.” Snufkin said evenly, on the other side of the table, now. “Honestly, it’s not as bad as you’re making it sound.”

Moomintroll’s eyes flicked down, and he saw them widen, just a little bit. Snufkin looked down as well to see his paws still entangled with each other, the thumb of his injured paw pressed into the palm of the other. In the dim light of the moon in the window, for dawn wasn’t far away, now, his claws glinted. In and out.

Snufkin stared down at them, watching them methodically tense and untense. He could never quite remember where he picked up such a habit. He thinks it was a tick from when he was on his own in crueler lands, when flashing claws would give you an advantage. Or maybe it was something he did when hyping himself up to climb, and the motion was familiar. Or perhaps it was one of those things you just did, like picking eyelashes or biting nails.

There was white at the edge of his vision, and Snufkin held perfectly still as white paws enveloped his own, thumbs laying over his knuckles.

“I might scratch you.” He warned, head still down.

“You won’t.” Moomintroll said, giving them a gentle squeeze, and Snufkin watched as his claws slid out, laying against thick fur and not as thick skin. It would be easy, to give his fingers harsher twitches and watch as they nicked skin, digging in closer as they drew more blood.

“You don’t know that.” He said, wanting everything to withdraw his claws, but his hands started shaking with the effort, so he stopped. Moomintroll was squeezing just a little too tight.

“I do.” Moomintroll said, with the same trusting sincerity he’d always had. “And if you somehow do, which you won’t, then I forgive you.”

No, he still doesn’t think he deserves someone like Moomintroll. For even if it is alright that he is selfish, he is still a monstrous beast. He knows of harshness and carelessness and bears more invisible scars than not. His teeth are too sharp and crooked, his claws have seen blood and threatened more, his ears are torn at the edges, and his eyes are for hunts. He will worry Moomintroll no matter what he does, and he can’t apologize enough for it, for that is how he is. And he doesn’t think he’d ever change himself.

He is not a cruel beast, he knows that. He would not mean to hurt, and he does not always like his sharp edges and crooked parts. But that does not change what he is, and for that he’s glad he is not cruel.

Maybe it would be better if he had been. Then, it wouldn’t be a problem when Moomintroll got hurt, because he’d be expecting it. He’d know better than to show such soft concern for gnarled thorns.

“I don’t like sharp things.” He admitted, and he’s not sure if he means himself, or the object for which he flinched from. “Sometimes, I don’t mind them, even welcome them when they are needed. Other times, I remember when they have done harm.”

Moomintroll’s thumbs stroked over his paws, and the pressure lessened, but his claws did not sheath. His paws were still shaking slightly, though, and that confused him enough to frown and try to lift them. This only resulted in Moomintroll hurriedly holding onto them, fingers laced together, claws tapping against knuckles.

“That’s okay.” Moomintroll said. “I don’t care much for water. It’s fine enough on its own sometimes, but I’ve had more than enough floods and dangerous creatures within to wish to be around it.”

“But you love that old boat.” Snufkin finally looked up now.

“I do,” Moomintroll said, head turning, nothing but open and honest and it was so much like him. “But every now and again, I don’t like it much. If we’re honest, I quite hate it. What kind of adventurer dislikes floods?”

“I think adventurers are allowed to not like a few things.” Snufkin said.

“Then so are you.” Moomintroll said, and ah, that was the trap then, wasn’t it? “It’s alright to not like sharp things, Snufkin. I only wish that you would know we could help.”

“I do know that.” Snufkin insisted.

“Then I wish that you would seekhelp.” Moomintroll amended, tapping his fingers. “I know you like to be lonesome, but that doesn’t mean you always have to be.”

Oh, if those he’d met on his travels could see him now. Out there, he was the independent nomad, the Mumrik who could get out of any situation, who could survive anything on his own. Who had seen, done, and met half of everything all by himself. He was not unfriendly, but he was spikey, and for that, they were happy to leave him alone.

And here he was, in the kitchen of his best friend, (though that word didn’t quite feel like it fit as perfectly as it used to, and it only got worse by each year) being comforted about flinching when faced with sharp pliers, paws shaking and claws unsheathed, because he was so sure he’d never be what a creature like Moomintroll should have.

He thinks he knew, then, that a part of him would always be rooted here. Not in this valley, but in these people. That should they all up and vanish one day, and it was just him and the wilderness, he’d never be what he once was, never find reason to enjoy it ever again. No, he could never think it’d be easier to be cruel so Moomintroll wouldn’t worry. For he is still selfish, and that selfishness could not wish for such a thing if it meant he could never have this.

He thinks this is what it means to love. To have someone who will always hope for the best for you, but still leave enough room to give you a choice in the matter. To be able to live without them, but knowing it’d never be the same. To let them know things you had not admitted to even yourself, because you hoped you’d never have to think about it ever again.

He thinks he already knew that he loved.

“I’ll try.” He promised, because that was the best he could do.

Moomintroll smiled as though he’d given a definitive answer anyway. He ran his fingers along Snufkin’s paws before dropping one of them reaching for the counter.

He grabbed the brim of Snufkin’s hat, giving him a smile before unceremoniously plopping it on his head. It was lopsided and wonky, and Moomintroll was quick to try and straighten it out on his head.

“There we go.” Moomintroll nodded in satisfaction. “It’s a little odd seeing you without the hat.” He pushed the hat back a bit, and Snufkin, to his own surprise, let him. He let the hat be pushed upright, so it really didn’t do much for how open he felt, for his face was still exposed. “I actually think I quite like it.”

“Are you all set then, boys?”

They turned, Moomintroll fast and startled, Snufkin slow and distant. Moominmamma was in the entryway again, free of the coat. He thinks it shouldn’t have taken that long to soak a bloodied coat. He wonders if she took her time on purpose.

“Yeah, I think so.” Moomintroll nodded, releasing Snufkin’s other paw, and like the hug, he found he wouldn’t have minded if it lasted longer.

“Splendid,” Moominmamma said, walking in and taking the half-eaten apple off the table, making no comments about how little Snufkin ate, for which he was grateful. “Will you be staying the night, Snufkin, or going back to your tent?”

Perhaps if he’d been with any other creatures, he’d vanish back to his tent. He was feeling awfully cracked open and exposed at the moment, as though anything on the far side of harshness would scar him. He still kind of wanted to. Wanted to slip off into the night and hole up in his tent, and then be on his own for a while, reorient himself.

He was odd to most people in Moominvalley, for he needed to be alone to keep himself tethered, while everyone else needed to be doing things, perhaps even being around people, to come back to themselves. Snufkin was of the opinion that if he was too distracted, his very self would float away until it recognized the shell it had left behind, standing on its own and listening to nothing at all.

Be as it may, these weren’t any other creatures. These were the Moomins.

“It’s going to be dawn soon, anyway.” Snufkin shrugged, and though his paws were grasping each other again, they weren’t flexing. “I can stay for a few hours and leave at first light.”

“We can sleep in my room!” Moomintroll perked up, snagging his wrists back and giving them gentle tugs. “We’re not quite as small as we used to be, but my bed should still fit us fine–”

“I’m afraid that may not be the smartest idea.” Moominmamma said apologetically. “There’s still a bit of a mess.”

“Ah,” Snufkin’s ears drooped. “So–”

“If you say ‘sorry’ again, I’m getting Little My to tie your tail around your ankles.” Moomintroll huffed. “I’ll do it. And you know she’ll agree.”

“Well, who am I to argue with that?” Snufkin said, pulling his hat down.

“Will the couch and chair work? We have plenty of pillows and spare blankets.” Moominmamma offered.

“You forget I sleep on the ground.” Snufkin chuckled, already being dragged off by his very best friend (for he had no other word to call this, so it would have to do for now). “I assure you, this is more than comfortable enough.”

And it was. For even if they were practically laying on top of each other on the couch, Moomintroll was still as soft as ever, and pillows never once crossed Snufkin’s mind. He thinks he could’ve hibernated himself if he stayed right there and never left.

But he made do on promises. He always did. So when first light filtered in through the windows, Snufkin quietly peeled himself off of the couch and searched for his boots. He’s grateful for Moommintroll’s obliviousness in subtle situations, or else he might question why a few turned over items in his room qualified as ‘too much of a mess’ to sleep in. He’s grateful for Moominmamma’s quick, understanding thinking, too. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep in a room that still smelled of his own blood.

And so Snufkin pulled on his boots, took his hat off the coffee table, and slipped out through the front door. It’d be terribly rude to go out any other way, after such a bad entrance he made last time.

The light was really only barely grazing the ground, but it was enough for Snufkin. He’s sure Moomintroll would understand if he was but a silhouette on the horizon for the next few days. All this talk took a lot of energy out of him.

Well, except for returning to grab his coat. He’d drop by tomorrow morning, thank Moominmamma, and be off again before anyone else could realize he was there at all. Yes, that was a smart plan. Beasts this soft didn’t need to see one so feral.

He paused by the river, standing atop the bridge. It was still fairly dark, so he peered into the water, paws grasping the railing. The reflection that stared back at him was only a confirmation.

His face was shadowed in darkness, a haunting sight one would find in the deepest night from the most haunted of dwellings. His eyes glowed, slitted and calculating and made for predators. Deadly wishes stared back at him, horrible just-might’s.

Snufkin pulled his hat down to cover his eyes, shoved his paws into his pockets, and whisked off into the woods.

AO3

Chapters: 2

Summary:The problem, Snufkin thinks, is not so much that he believes he is a selfish, wild creature. The problem is that Moomintroll is not, and never will be. And that is a problem, you see, because he deserves someone far better than him.
And yet, Moomintroll still chose him.

… … … . … . . … . … … … … … … . .

There was always a part of Snufkin that worried.

Not a lot, of course, and most certainly not often enough that it wormed its way into the depths of his mind. Unlike most beasts, Snufkin didn’t have many things in his life that he thought were worth worrying about. He was always consciously aware of things on his travels; such as needing food, water, shelter, deciding the best paths to take, those kinds of things. But none could be called worries unless they were dwindling and he had no alternative, which wasn’t frequent.

So, he usually didn’t worry. He’s not even sure if this can be called worrying. He thinks a better word for it would be…nagging. Persistent negativity. Outlandish thoughts he knows to be untrue.

And they don’t really bother him much. Truly, they don’t. He commonly only has them about once a year or so, sometimes not even then. And never more than three times a year. Why, three times had been excessive for him, one could say. But he thinks he was allowed to have those thoughts that year. After all, it was the year the Moomins left for their island without so much as a goodbye note. Any reasonable creature would have nagging thoughts.

They’re annoying all the same. Especially since they aren’t even the same thoughts. They’re the same feeling, at the base core, but it’s like his head can’t seem to pick and choose what to hound him about. Which is just a pain. It’d be a lot easier to get through things if he had one thing to focus on.

The nagging thoughts were never-ending little buggers, and they went like this; Snufkin was a selfish, wild creature that would never belong to any land or anyone, and that was both a blessing to him, and an ache to everyone who cared about him.

That was the basis of them, at least.

And it wasn’t necessarily a lie. In fact, it was quite true. Snufkin was, inherently, a selfish individual, who preferred his own company than that of others, and would not give it up for even the sea itself. No creature could ever seem to give a straight answer on if selflessness was the act of giving up one’s happiness to help others, or if it was simply by giving what they could afford to give. He thinks it’s some middle ground, and that it depends on the person. If that is the case, he still thinks he could be called selfish.

He’s alright with that. He doesn’t mind it. He never understood why people think being selfish is a bad trait from start to finish. In moderation, like many things, it can just be.

Snufkin quite enjoyed being aimless, a vagrant. It was a life he’d had for years and years, a life his kind strived to have, and one he knew he was never going to stop. Some folks liked to travel until they were satisfied before settling down, deciding they’d seen enough of the world and would like to create their own, smaller stories.

Snufkin was not one of those folks. Somewhere, deep in his bones, he knew he’d never tire of this, even when his knees wobbled and his breaths grew wheezy. He was more than happy with that.

And yet, still, the thoughts jeered him like jays with nothing better to do. Because while this life suited him just fine, more than fine, really, it wasn’t so kind to those that called him a friend.

And, once again, he wouldn’t have cared much. Years ago, anyone Snufkin called a friend would’ve been the occasional traveler on the road, or a stranger that gave him food and shelter on harsh nights. Friends, to him, were kind people he’d meet once or twice. Someone who he could pass by again and know he would be welcomed with, at the very least, a smile.

Then he met Moomintroll. And suddenly his definition of friend was inverted and spun around.

It wasn’t a bad thing, he thinks. He quite likes this new definition of friend. He likes the thought of coming back to people who were happy to see him, happy to share stories and adventures. Ones who would make sure he was never bored, but were content to let him have his own time to himself, to sit with him by the river as he fished with nothing but idle conversation. He liked being on his own, but he found he didn’t mind being alone with someone as much as he used to.

Moomintroll is, much to his chagrin, the best, and worst part of this conundrum he’s made for himself. Because the troll is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to him–no, was definitely the best thing to ever happen to him. He knows he would’ve been content if he’d never met Moomintroll, would be happy enough to continue to wander the globe and see things beyond his imagination.

But he also never would’ve known someone who’d light up when he arrived like the stars were before them, who wanted to involve him in their life, no matter what he did. Whether it be a crazy adventure, a long-winded story, the weaving of flowers, or sitting in silence as they listened to life pass them by. Never, in all his life, would he have thought someone could care so much about a vagabond like him.

Perhaps it was a poison in its own right. As soon as he befriended Moomintroll, he thinks a part of him knew he would never go back to normal. He could try, but it wouldn’t be the same, knowing there was someone like him out there. Vowing to return to Moominvalley each spring didn’t seem like a burden, or a promise to appease him. In fact, it felt like a promise made with no strings attached. A choice. And one he would make again and again.

But Moomintroll is also the worst thing to happen to him. Because he’s the entire reason Snufkin gets that nasty feeling in his chest when the nagging thoughts rear their ugly heads.

“You’re leaving?” Moomintroll’s ears drooped, his tail, previously curled at his back, flopping pathetically onto the wooden bridge. “But–we still have a few more days, don’t we?”

“There’s a storm brewing.” Snufkin said, tilting his head off towards the east. “It’ll be here by tomorrow. And with how the weathers changing, it’ll probably turn to ice. It’s safer if I leave before it arrives.”

“Ah, yeah, that–good idea.” Moomintroll nodded, tail swishing around his ankle as he looked down, picking at his paws. “I just–I was hoping we could go to the old well Snorkmadien found.” He said, eyes still downcast. “See how far down it goes.”

“It’ll still be there when I come back.” Snufkin assured, and this was why he preferred to leave when backs were turned. Because then his gut twisted up in such painful ways, and he couldn’t stand to be the cause of such disappointment. “Probably not a good idea to go exploring, anyway. I have a feeling it’ll be wet at the bottom, and we don’t want you getting icicles in your fur.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” Moomintroll nodded, eyes flicking up, offering a small smile that was forced. “We’ll just have to save the adventures for later.”

“Well, let’s not stop on my account.” Snufkin said, head tilting. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty more stories to tell me when I return, won’t you?”

“I guess.” Moomintroll mumbled, foot scuffing on the ground.

And Snufkin never knew how to say goodbyes. It was one of the many flaws his thoughts would berate him for, that he’d been friends with Moomintroll for so long, and he still didn’t know how to properly say goodbye, so he tried to skip over it entirely. It was a lose-lose situation either way, because either he heard from everyone else how confused and hurt Moomintroll had been next spring when he’d left without a single word, or he had to witness the sadness for himself. It wasn’t fair, and he wondered why anyone would willingly subject themselves to the ordeal of friendships.

“You’ll do fine.” He said instead, tilting the brim of his hat with a nod. “Have a nice hibernation, Moomintroll.”

“Oh, uh, right.” Moomintroll nodded, straightening up as Snufkin turned around at last. “Safe travels, Snufkin.”

And there was a longing there. Some kind of regret, or pleading. He knew Moomintroll wouldn’t ask him to stay, not seriously, and hadn’t asked once after those first two years. But he knew he wanted to. And that, you see, is where the problem lay.

Moomintroll, he knew, didn’t understand him. Didn’t get why he felt the need to always be on the move, or get the suffocating air he felt when around too many people. Didn’t get what he saw in the silence, what called him to take the roads less traveled. To Moomintroll, an adventure was only truly an adventure when you had someone to share it with, or someone to tell it to.

But he respected Snufkin’s choices. He didn’t protest when Snufkin wandered off from the valley from time to time, didn’t berate him for vanishing from events when they became too much for him, didn’t try to interrupt his moments of peace. He didn’t understand why Snufkin was the way he was, but he understood how. He understood enough to know when Snufkin needed to be alone, or needed for there to be quiet. And that, truly, was more than anyone else had ever given him.

He deserves better, they hissed. Better than a selfish beast like you.

Neither of them were tame. Despite their wildly different upbringings and personalities, they were fierce and free, just in different ways. Moomintroll did not, as some would think, belong to the valley, or to his family. Nobody belonged to a place, or a person. They simply loved, and were loved in turn. And that is what tied them down to certain places, made them stay and form their own life around that love.

Snufkin was not immune to this need, the care that drove people to do crazy things. He’d done it, after all. He’d shaped his entire travel pattern around so that he’d pop right back in Moominvalley every spring, without fail. He once walked back on a sprained foot, because if he waited for it to heal, summer would be upon them, and he couldn’t bear to make Moomintroll wait that long. He’d been scolded for it and given more bedrest than was entirely necessary, but it was absolutely worth it.

Is that selflessness, he wonders? To make a promise to return to the same place over and over again, if it’s of benefit to both you and another? Is selflessness doing things you dislike, just to make others happy?

He doesn’t think he returns just to make Moomintroll happy. He returns because he wants to be happy, too. He wants to see all of his friends again. He wants to tear up the signs in the Hemulen’s gardens and be a thorn in Mrs. Fillyjonk’s side. He wants to sit with Moomintroll on the porch and watch the fireflies dance. He wants to be around a campfire with people he knows he could never live without, not after meeting them, and think I missed this.

The first time he had that thought, he hit a particularly sour note on his harmonica. So sour, in fact, that even Sniff noticed it.

“Oooh, that was a nasty one.” Sniff had cringed, and Snufkin hastily shook himself out, hoping the shock of his revelation didn’t show on his face.

“Ah, yes, it was.” He’d hummed. “Apologies, I suppose I wasn’t paying much attention. I’ll start again.”

“Something on your mind?” Moomintroll had asked, distracted from poking at the fire with a stick.

“I think it’d be worrying if there wasn’t.” He said simply, head tilted down, the brim of his hat shadowing his face.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Snorkmadien asked, evidently also distracted from whatever it was she’d been talking about.

“Come now, we’re selling my thoughts a little short now, aren’t we?” Snufkin teased, bringing the harmonica back up to his lips. “Don’t fret, it’s nothing new. Now, then, do we have any requests?”

And despite all the songs he played that night, and the joy that was had, he knew his friends noticed he was a little out of it, a little more distant than normal. Because, well, when had Snufkin ever missed anything? Not once had he ever even longed for something. Craved, maybe, but he thinks the only thing he’s ever missed was the comfort of solitude when he was stuck somewhere particularly non-solitary. He never thought he’d miss, well, the opposite of that.

But, no, that wasn’t right, either. He didn’t miss the crowds or the clamor of being among people. He missed being among friends. Friends and people had very distinct differences, you see. Because in the new definition of friends, they were also those who he liked to be around. Not all the time, of course, but to the point that he could have days where he missed not being around them. It was ludicrous.

He missed being carefree with those similar to him. He missed playing his harmonica for an audience that was just happy to have him there at all. He missed having friends who weren’t stressed about adding him in on their conversations, because they knew he’d speak when he felt like speaking.

He missed having a friend who would sit next to him on a fallen tree, late into the night, when everyone was tired and ready to head up to the Moominhouse, for their own homes were too far away to trek all the way back to.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Moomintroll had asked, a genuine curiosity, and something Snufkin knew he didn’t have to answer if he didn’t feel like it.

“Quite,” Snufkin had said, which was both a lie and the truth. “Just stuck in my own head, I’m afraid. But it’s nothing bad, I assure you.”

“Ah, that’s good.” Moomintroll nodded. “I’d happily fight those bad things for you, you know, but it is dreadfully late.”

“I don’t believe one can fight thoughts.” Snufkin said, pulling his hat further down his eyes to try and hide his smile. “But thank you.”

“I can most certainly try.” Moomintroll puffed, though he left it at that. “But you’re sure you don’t need anything?”

“When have I ever needed anything?” Snufkin asked, not unkindly.

“Well, you need your tent.” Moomintroll said.

“Not really,” Snufkin corrected. “I could always sleep on the ground. It wouldn’t be fun, but I’ve done it before.”

“Er, then, your fishing pole.” Moomintroll amended.

“I know how to pick berries.” Snufkin said simply, flexing the paw not holding his harmonica. “And I’ve caught fish with my bare paws before. Not that I liked doing it.”

“It was very impressive.” Moomintroll insisted. “But then surely you need your harmonica?” He said, glancing down at the instrument.

“Music is not a necessity.” Snufkin shrugged. “A great preference, yes, but I’ve lived without it in the past. Why, I’ve even played a guitar before.”

“Well, everyone needs something.” Moomintroll huffed. “If it’s none of those things, then what do you need?”

“I’m not much for material value, I’m afraid.” Snufkin shrugged. “Though, I’m sure I’m taking this much more literally than you.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be the other way around?” Moomintroll frowned.

“I think it’s good to switch things up every once in a while.” Snufkin said, pocketing his harmonica and standing. “Surprise is a welcome thing, even if it doesn’t always feel like it at the moment.”

“Suppose you’re right.” Moomintroll said, standing up. “You’ve still got that cloudy look in your eyes, though.”

“Oh, do I?” Snufkin hummed, who had still been quite distracted. “Apologies. I’ll try to remember our words when I’m less cloudy.”

“I don’t mind.” Moomintroll had said, and offered a paw. “You’re welcome to join us at the house, if you’d like. Mamma’s good at bringing people into the present. And I think she’s serving waffles come morning.”

Snufkin knew, as did Moomintroll, that he’d have those waffles no matter if he joined them or not. He could slip off to his tent, stare up at the cloth ceiling all night, and crawl out whenever he wanted in the morning and still find some waffles waiting for him. If he went to the house, someone was sure to be up before him. And he’d probably be woken up by them, and then everyone else would wake, and they’d all be just a little tired for the day.

“I think a distraction would do me good.” He said anyway, taking the troll’s paw, long-since used to how soft it felt.

He did not say yes for anyone’s benefit but himself, because he was a selfish beast who strived for his own happiness, whatever kind he’d find in that house. But he still felt lighter than the wind when Moomintroll gave his paw a reassuring squeeze and tugged him along, as though there had not been nights beforehand where he’d slept over. He treated it all as though it were new, and Snufkin found it quite sweet.

The persistent negativity was not, exactly, mad because he sought his own selfish forms of joy. But rather, mad because his selfish fulfillments were at pleasure of himself, while they caused harm to those around him.

For Moomintroll was not selfish like him. He had selfish tendencies, as any beast does, but at the end of the day, he was someone who did what he thought was best for everyone. He was not purely selfless, but he tried to be a whole lot more than Snufkin did, for any selflessness he did was either by sheer accident or because he was dragged along into it. Moomintroll was a cheerful creature that was as stubborn as he was fuzzy in all forms of kindness and being what he deemed was the ‘best’ in that particular year.

And for some reason, he had chosen Snufkin.

For some reason, he called Snufkin not only his friend, but his best. Snufkin had not had a best friend before, and he didn’t think he’d have another. He did not mind that thought, for why would he ever want another?

He did not think he was selfish in remaining Moomintroll’s best friend, because it had been Moomintroll’s idea from the start. Was it selfish to not give a proper warning? That Snufkin was not an easy creature, that he was aloof and careless with not only his feet, but himself and to others? He wants to think that Moomintroll surely would have known, or at least assumed, but either he didn’t, or he had thought it would be different, because he was still saddened when Snufkin did the same things he always did year after year.

He does not deserve Moomintroll, the thoughts say, because Moomintroll simply deserves someone who can be selfless. Not someone who will do whatever he says, but someone who will want to stay with him through everything, who will have sense to know when to cut their losses, but never to abandon, and never to turn him into a sad lump of a critter come every winter.

He’d call it punishment if he had even the faintest idea what he was being punished for.

,

“But you don’t regret leaving.” Little My pointed out, because while he had not said all of these words to her, he’d told her something similar, because she was bound to find out anyway. Little My could never leave secrets to themselves.

“Of course not.” He said, watching the waters, though he doubted there’d be many fish today. “I’d be miserable if I stayed. But I do regret making others sad.”

“Quite the circle you’re in.” Little My tsked. “Looks like no one’s going to be happy.”

“But I am happy.” He said with a frown. “Most of the time, at least.”

“Then why worry?” Little My huffed. “You’re worried about such a small detail, it’s ridiculous. Why fret over a small moment of sadness when it’s overshadowed by all the other disgustingly fun things you do?”

“Because it’s always the same.” Snufkin said, drawing one leg closer. “It’s not just a random moment of unhappiness. It’s a recurring theme. And I wonder if they ever tire of it.”

He hadn’t meant to say that last part, but if he showed his regret, Little My would set upon him with twice the ferocity. She was odd like that. Loudly bemoaning her trifles with life, and growing annoyed when anyone was upset with something that wasn’t caused by her. He wonders if someone would call that pride, to be offended when nobody is paying attention to your brand of mischief. Or maybe that was her own Little My way of being kind.

“Tire of it?” Little My huffed. “If they were ever to tire of it, they would’ve done so many winters ago.”

“They’re patient creatures.” Snufkin said, though he wasn’t sure why he was arguing. He didn’t want it to be true any more than her. “But everyone’s patience runs out eventually.”

“You mean everyone except Moominmamma.” Little My said, abandoning her rock by the river to sit next to him, something she never really did unless he ought to be paying attention.

“Yes, except for her.” Snufkin agreed. “But I was never worried about her.”

“Then why worry about the others?” Little My sniffed. “Believe me, for all their complaining, those weirdos still like having you around, when you want to be around. I don’t think Moomintroll could tire of your oddness if you were the last beast on this planet. He’d still wait in lonely winters until you came back.”

“But I don’t want to leave him lonely.” Snufkin said, feeling just a little helpless, a sensation he often tried to quell with mischief, but Little My might not let him. She had her annoyed, serious face on. Which was only a little different from her normal face.

“Well, then it’s a good thing you don’t.” Little My said simply. “He whines and moans every time you go, but it’s not like you’re the only person in the world he cares about. A funny concept, I know, considering it sure feels like it sometimes.”

Snufkin tilted his hat down, over his eyes and nearly completely over his face, ducking his head so that he wouldn’t be sitting there weirdly with a hat on his face instead of his head. It’s a foreign concept to him, to be cared about. He knows this is not the first time someone has told him that others care about him, but it’s still quite a new concept.

He knows he has been cared for before. The Mymble, he knows, loves him, as she loves all her children. It’s impossible to have favorites with so many kids coming and going, so the concept of such was never one that crossed his mind. He’s spent less time with her than most of her kids, as she knew that, as a Mumrik, he’d prefer solitude, so she gave him that from a young age. Her methods might have been a little unorthodox, boxes on a river were not always what one would call smart ideas, but it turned out alright, and he knows it was only out of slightly misguided love.

But he knows he was, and still is, loved by her. Love is not finite, and the Mymble is no exception. She shows her love in groups. She tells her children she loves them when they are all together, and rarely is one singled out. So he has heard he is loved by her, just when he was around his other siblings. That was simply how she was. That, he believes, is a different kind of caring than this.

Little My, he thinks, would prefer to be told individually. She never much cared for being one in a crowd.

“Do you miss me?” He ends up asking, hat still over his eyes, only able to see the ends of his feet. “When I leave, I mean.”

“Why would I ever miss you?” Little My huffed, and he could feel her giving him a judgmental look. “You always come back, don’t you?”

“So you never think of me when I am gone?” He asks, an amused curl to his mouth.

“I’m kind of forced to.” Little My huffs. “I live with an idiot who never shuts up about you.”

“Terribly sorry to hear that.” Snufkin chuckled. “But I’m glad to hear you don’t miss me. It’d be a fine mistake to upset you.”

“It still wouldn’t stop you from leaving if I did.” She pointed out.

“It wouldn’t.” He agreed.

“And if it somehow did,” She continued, and he felt a weight on his leg and hip, and suddenly his hat was being pushed up and back over his head, Little My standing on him with one of her nastier glares. “I’d throw you out the front door myself. Lock you out in the middle of a blizzard for all I care. I’ve dealt with miserable moomins more than enough, I’m not dealing with a miserable Snufkin.”

Little My, he thinks, is not so bad of a sister to have. He doesn’t particularly have much to compare her to, he never spoke all that much with his other siblings, most finding him too aloof to play with, something he was perfectly fine with. He thinks she might have been around when he was much, much smaller, but she’d left the Mymble far sooner than him. As far as he is concerned, he only met her in this very valley.

And though he would never say it to her face, for who knows what she’d do if he dared try, he thinks there is a small point of overlap in their own forms of selfishness. Their so-called acts of kindness are a disguise, just in reverse. Snufkin, if given the opportunity, will pretend his selfish acts are that of kindness, for while they are, they are also at his benefit, so he knows he is not truly selfless (but he never tells anyone that, despite them all knowing). Little My pretends all her kind acts are through being rude and selfish, which they are, but she, and everyone else, refuse to think it might also be a bit selfless to try at all.

“I would trust no one else to keep my head on straight.” Snufkin said with a smile.

“Your head’s never been on straight.” Little My huffed, pushing his hat the rest of the way off his head, letting it fall to the grass.

“No,” He said, watching her hop off him and go back to her rock, evidently ending whatever conversation she wished to have. “I suppose it hasn’t been.”

,

“Did you meet anyone on your travels this time?”

It’s a question Moomintroll often asks, enough times that Snufkin can pinpoint the week it’ll happen. Always in early spring, never after the apples start to bloom. It’s among many questions he always asks, and Snufkin knows when he will ask those, too.

“A few.” He said, picking up a shell from the beach and turning it over. It was very broken, and not all that pretty. He pocketed it. “Some Niblings, a Hemulen or two, and even a lonesome Toffle.”

“Did you speak with them?” Moomintroll asked, watching him rather than the waves, or even the sand. He didn’t quite get it, so he watched everything else for the both of them.

“Only a little.” He said. “The Niblings were just passing by, and I didn’t get along much with the Hemulens, as I’m sure you figured. Spent some time with the Toffleass, though.”

“Were they traveling like you?” Moomintroll wondered.

“No, they lived in an old hole in the ground under the roots of a dead tree.” Snufkin said, trying to recall. “They lived all by themself, though, and weren’t very talkative. I suppose that’s probably why I took them up on their offer to stay for a few nights. It was dreadfully cold, and the company wasn’t unbearable.”

“Oh,” Moomintroll said, finally looking out to the sands, so Snufkin thought it’d be alright to be looking at him now. “Well, I hope they were nice.”

“They were lovely,” Snufkin assured, stopping when Moomintroll bent down to pick up a round shell. “If awfully lacking in the confidence department. That’s a hermit crab.”

Moomintroll blinked, looking from Snufkin to the shell in his paw. Snufkin reached out and turned it over, setting it down on his palm rather than between his fingers. Sure enough, two beady little eyes poked out of the shell.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry.” Moomintroll told the hermit crab, leaning back down. “I thought you were empty. You have a wonderful shell.”

The hermit crab, thankfully, did not seem offended by being disturbed. It waddled on its little legs for a moment when Moomintroll set it back down on the sand, readjusting to its sudden change. It looked back up at them for a moment before waving a claw and scuttling off further inland. It wouldn’t want to be caught in the tide.

“It seems to be a little too big for its shell.” Snufkin hummed. “I doubt there are many good shells to find on this beach, everyone had probably picked off the best ones.”

“Should we return them?” Moomintroll asked.

“We’d have to ask nearly everyone in the valley if they’d been to the beach.” Snufkin shook his head. “Hermit crabs will take any home they can fit in. Does Snorkmadien still have her arts and craft kits?”

“You suggest we make the hermit crabs new homes?” Moomintroll’s ears pricked.

“It’d be something to do.” Snufkin shrugged, resuming walking. “And a good deed. That way, we won’t have to go searching for every good shell we’ve picked, and the hermit crabs won’t be cramped in their homes.”

For Snufkin was kind in only the most selfish of ways. Which is both a blessing, and a curse. For his selfishness is at least doing something for others, but that also means he really has nothing to complain about, and thus nothing to feel sorry for. He still feels sorry, anyway.

“Wonderful idea!” Moomintroll praised anyway, lighter in his steps. “We could probably get Little My’s advice, she’s good at fitting into small spaces. We wouldn’t want to make their homes too big.”

“I don’t quite think it can be.” Snufkin said. “I hear that hermit crabs can grow all throughout their lives. It’s why many creatures try to eat them when they’re small, otherwise they’ll have something bigger to worry about in a few years.”

“Do you think there’s a monstrous crab somewhere in the ocean?” Moomintroll wondered, looking off towards the sea.

“Probably,” Snufkin said. “Perhaps one of us will meet it someday.”

Moomintroll looked a little less thrilled all of the sudden, and Snufkin looked out to the sea, wondering if perhaps he’d seen something different. But neither of their eyes were better than the other when in the daytime, so he knew that wasn’t the case when he didn’t see a thing.

“You’ll probably find it before me.” Moomintroll said, longingly watching the water.

“I don’t do many sea expeditions, I stay on the shore.” Snufkin reminded. “Besides, you live right next to it.”

“But you go everywhere,” Moomintroll sighed, slowly beginning to trudge along the sand. “And you see all kinds of things. Who’s to say you won’t find a giant crab by another part of the sea?”

“I doubt it.” Snufkin said, following. “I tend to only pass by the sea. Perhaps we could make an adventure out of it, searching your parts of the ocean for the long-lived hermit crab.”

“But that’s not–” Moomintroll made a grumbling little sound, the kind he made when he wasn’t being listened to. Snufkin, sometimes, would purposefully misinterpret what he was saying just to see him get annoyed for that split second, only to realize it was all a ploy and bat at Snufkin like a funny little pest. It was great fun.

This time, Snufkin hadn’t meant to. So he stayed quiet, and let the troll’s thoughts gather.

“Don’t you ever see places more interesting than this?” Moomintroll eventually asked, kicking a foot in the sand and sending it ahead of them.

“Well, I wouldn’t know.” Snufkin said evenly. “I don’t particularly judge places based on how ‘interesting’ they might seem. It’s all subjective, and what a town may have one day could be gone the next. What would you call more ‘interesting’ than Moominvalley?”

“I don’t know–buildings in trees.” Moomintroll waved a paw. “A hidden town by a cliffside. Tunnels that never end. Mountains that stretch beyond the clouds, those kinds of things.”

“Well, I have seen those things.” Snufkin agreed. “But I still wouldn’t call them more interesting than Moominvalley. They’re all just, well, interesting.”

“But what about the people?” Moomintroll persisted. “You meet all kinds of folks on your travels. Surely there are some far better than us?”

“I don’t tend to judge people on being ‘better’ than others.” Snufkin frowned. “There are people I agree with, and people I don’t. There are people I relate with, and people I don’t. Disagreement or a lack of understanding does not make one better than the other. It only makes them different.”

“You’re not getting it.” Moomintroll sighed.

“I’m being honest.” Snufkin shrugged, plucking up what likely used to be a shark egg, turning it over in his hand. “I think that you are worrying about things that have never happened. You’re allowed to be worried, of course, but I’m telling you that you do not have to.”

“You’re not just saying it?” Moomintroll asked, looking at him with uncertainty.

“Now, when have I ever been the kind of person to say untruthful things just to make others feel better?” Snufkin asked, pulling some seaweed off the egg and showing it. “Would you like a shark egg?”

“Why would I want that?” Moomintroll tilted his head, though he was definitely curious.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Snufkin replied, and Moomintroll couldn’t argue with that, so he took it.

“I think I’m worried that you’ll find a better friend than me.” Moomintroll admitted, turning the egg over in his paws. “Someone who’s easier to deal with.”

“Deal with?” Snufkin reeled back, appalled. “Since when have I ever ‘dealt with’ you? I come here because I want to be here. I speak with you because I want to. I am never ‘dealing with’ you, it’s of nothing but my own benefit to be here.”

And Moomintroll stared at him for a moment, possibly shocked, possibly mulling the words over, possibly both. Snufkin just picked another stray leaf of seaweed off the egg in his paws before going back to walking. He does not easily like to admit to his selfishness, but it was the truth.

It took a moment or two, but Moomintroll started following him again, going into step at his side. Unlike Snufkin, he never really needed long stretches of time to think about his words. He said what he thought first, or what he thought sounded the best right then and there.

“Sorry,” He said, which was not what Snufkin was expecting. “You’re right, I was being silly.”

“Of course you weren’t.” Snufkin huffed. “You were worrying. It’s not silly to worry, it’s silly to let it consume you. I much rather prefer you tell me you were worrying than deciding to take measures into your own paws.”

For not the first time, he wished he could take his own advice.

“Yeah, I’m trying to be better about that.” Moomintroll agreed. “Talking about things before trying to fix them so they don’t become a problem.”

“You’re doing very well.” Snufkin praised. “But I still wouldn’t worry.” He assured, placing a paw on his shoulder. “While I agree that no person is better than another, I do believe in how close creatures can be with each other.” He said with a teasing grin. “And you’re at the top. I don’t think there’s a thing in the world that could change that.” He said, giving his shoulder a pat before continuing on.

Not even a few seconds later, there was a weight colliding with his back, and arms around his sides. He stumbled a bit with the force of it, blinking with surprise. He looked down to see fuzzy white arms around him, and his ribs were feeling a little too encasing from how tightly they were being squeezed against him. One of the fists were closed, still holding the gift within.

“You’re at the top of mine, too.” Moomintroll said, snout pushed in-between his shoulder blades. “And that’s not going to change for me, either. Okay?”

And Snufkin smiled, leaning his head back until it lay over Moomintroll’s forehead, staring up at the sky as he squeezed his arms. It’s remarkable, really, how nice it can feel to hear something you already know to be true.

“I know.” He said fondly. “I never doubted it.”

“I just wanted you to know.”

“I appreciate it.”

Moomintroll’s arms slowly unwound from him, and Snufkin wouldn’t say he missed it, he had to keep walking eventually, after all, but he found he wouldn’t mind if it were to happen again.

“Sorry for being all mopey on you.” Moomintroll said, bringing the egg back up to fiddle with.

“Don’t apologize.” Snufkin said. “Like I said, better to say things than to fix them by yourself. In emotional cases, at least.” He said with a fanged grin, one he normally tried to be sparse with.

“I think most others can be solved with it, too. But whatever you say.” Moomintroll shrugged. “Do you want to go back to the house? We can start on those new homes for the hermit crabs.”

A part of Snufkin still wanted to stay on the sand. To watch the sunset descend into the water and to stare out at it even long after that, to see the stars reflected over the ocean. To set the old eggshell adrift and see if anything came back for it. To stand in the shallows and wait for whatever creatures lived around to grow curious and careless.

But then he’d be late for Moominmamma’s dinner. And while he knew she’d save a dish for him, they were still much better warm than cold.

Besides, he doesn’t think Moomintroll would linger all night like him. He was, tragically, a daytime critter.

“Sounds good to me.” He said, lightly bumping Moomintroll’s shoulder as he passed. “I’m sure Little My has more than enough things to use in our efforts.”

“I doubt she’ll let us have them.” Moomintroll said, tailing after.

“Well, better to ask for forgiveness than permission, no?” Snufkin’s eyes glinted mischievously as he peeked over his shoulder.

“You never ask for forgiveness.” Moomintroll huffed, though he was smiling, too.

“Sometimes,” Snufkin hummed. “But no, not often. I find that forgiveness is a little overrated.”

He thinks that, perhaps, Moomintroll believed he didn’t deserve Snufkin, either. But how he’d ever come to that conclusion, he’d probably never comprehend.

!!!COMMISSIONS SALE!!!

HALF OFF character commissions!

Line art: $15

Flat color: $25

Full color: $35

+$15 per additional character

Email me at [email protected] with “Flash Sale” in your subject line!

So, I have finally joined the Succession fandom, and I regret to inform you all that I am a Roman girl. Though that should come as no surprise, as Gerri/Roman was what drew me in to watch the show…

Anyways. During my short time in the fandom I have come across some discussion about whether Roman is acting out of character in the million dollar check scene in the first episode of season one. Now, that first episode is, frankly, pretty weird. The tone is not quite right, the character dynamics are a little off. And it’s not just the vibes, but certain more concrete elements are off too. Marcia is called “Marcy” by a lot of characters who never call her that again in later episodes. Roman wears a wedding band. Stuff like that. (I’ve decided to justify all that by imagining that Logan’s personal gravity is so strong that his pre-stroke confusion pulled even the show’s perceptions off kilter, heh.)

Some people feel like Roman’s behaviour in the check scene is part of that Early Installment Weirdness. And I have to admit that upon rewatch, the check scene did feel off to me too. A post I saw recently wrote that reaction off as Roman girls not wanting to admit that Roman is an asshole. Now, I might be working on a post about how Roman isn’t really an asshole deep down yadda yadda, but let’s ignore that for now lol. Because honestly, I don’t think that’s it.

A short recap of the scene in question: As part of Logan’s birthday celebration, the family flies out to a random field to play baseball. When it’s Kendalls turn to (*googles baseball terminology*) bat, he gets a perfect hit, but before he can start running, his phone rings. Kendall leaves, and Roman tells a random kid (who’s presumably there because his parents work for the Roys in some capacity) to take Kendall’s place. Roman offers the kid a million dollars if he hits a home run, and when the kid fails, Roman rips up the million dollar check and gives him a piece of it with the words “Take this back to your… life. It’s a quarter million”.

I think the reason that the scene feels off is that it plays like it’s meant to be an establishing character moment that establishes Roman as an asshole, but the writing team hadn’t yet nailed whatkind of asshole he is. Because as the series goes on, we learn that Roman Roy is a fundamentally reactive character. He’s rarely an asshole out of the blue, he’s an asshole who punches down when someone else has made him feel small. A very clear example of this is in the bachelor party episode (season 1 episode 8, “Prague”), where Logan berates Roman, and Roman immediately goes to punch Greg hard on the arm. But in the million dollar check scene, Roman seems to be assholing unprovoked.

Seems to, that is. After giving it some thought, I think Roman actually is reacting in the check scene. Because what happened right before? The whole reason that Roman calls on the kid to come play is because Kendall leaves. And Kendall leaves because he gets a business phone call. Throughout the episode Roman has repeatedly failed to hide how sore he feels about being on the outside of the family business. So by walking out on the baseball game, Kendall is rubbing it in Roman’s face that he’s the important son.

And he’s doing it in a way that echoes their father’s behaviour. Kendall and Logan’s whole conflict in that first episode is about how Kendall should have put business before family, right? It’s easy to imagine Logan up and leaving any number of important family moments as the kids grew up. And now Kendall is doing the same (and not just to Roman, but to his own kids as well, and we all know how irked Roman is by Kendall’s absentee father ways).

So Roman feels abandoned and unimportant, and he takes it out on an innocent working class boy, because that’sthe kind of asshole he is.

✨It’s a but messy, but then again- so is life✨

( Follow me on insta @ littlewheatart )

Influencias pasadas de tu personaje.

doodling ocs

meet my oc ❤️

not much to say here.. just a fun light study featuring thistle in between other work. i always enjoy taking a step back from things and practicing my skills every now and again!

though, i don’t think thistle is appreciative of getting zombie blood on his cape.. :P

jonzij:

Random character design of two sisters (kind of witches) Sibilla and Tyche (Τύχη)  with sardinian folk dresses.

I fell in love with these patterns and it was very hard to choose only 2 of them, because of the variety of sardinian folk clothes

Some of them:

One day I woke up and my brain said “let’s do a story about Holy inquisition/sorcery settled in South of Italy in the early 1600!1!!1” So I’m trying to do character design.

He’s called Giano (because of the ancient roman God “Iānus” the God of duality, and the circle of the life, he also represents good/evil; present/past; life/death and so on)

The character was inspired by a Folk songs from an area of South Italy. I leave you a fragment of the song

study motivation

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

All Exits Look The Same

byAhlai

T, 15k, lan sizhui & lan wangji, lan wangji & lan xichen, lan wangji & madam lan, wangxian

Summary:Banished from the Lan Sect after Wei Wuxian’s death, an unexpected revelation sets Lan Wangji on a new path.

My comments: Lovely peek into what an exiled lan wangji would do (it’s still waaaay better than the 33 lashes!). He takes a-yuan and wanders for a while, but has a tip that his mother might still be alive, so heads towards the general area she might be found. Meanwhile, he strengthens his bond with his new son and learns a new way to be in the world. Mom, when he finds her, is pretty great.

lan wangji is banished, lan wangji nopes out of the lan sect, 13 years, cut hair, shorn hair, grief/mourning, parent-child relationship, healing, feels, character study, rogue cultivator lan wangji, madam lan, lan wangji’s mother, rogue cultivator madam lan, family feels, exiled lan wangji, POV lan wangji, canon divergence, madam lan lives, happy ending, @ahlaishepherd​

(You may wish to REBLOG as a signal boost for this author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)