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dylanobrienisbatman · 4 years ago

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The main problem with the whole mal vs the darkling thing in regards to being possessive (or really when it comes to any of their traits) is the fact that throughout, the darkling is clearly framed as the villain and his actions reflect that, whereas Mal as supposed to be the good guy and best romantic partner for Alina, and yet he has all these awful character traits and tendencies. So its less about how awful the Bad Guy is (since he's supposed to be), and more about how awful the person that we're supposed to believe is the best option for Alina is. I don't ship either, just my two cents.

Okay well... two things. First, your comment about "its less about how awful the bad guy is, since he's supposed to be", takes every comment I've made about Darkles out of context, which seems fitting since everything Darklina's spout about Mal is out of context. Him being the Bad Guy is fine, and if you like him AS A VILLAIN, and acknowledge all the bad shit he does, then my posts aren't for you. I think he's a very interesting villain, and a lot of the terrible shit he does that I have to keep making posts about make him a good villain, the problem is when the terrible shit the "Bad Guy" does is romanticized and viewed as the reasons why Alina SHOULD have picked him. So, don't assume everyone gets that "hes supposed to be awful". The point my post was making is that Darklina's love to call Mal possessive, but then turn around and act like Darkles literally enslaving her in somehow sexy and romantic. It's fucking not, and it's transparent as hell that y'all romanticize and sexualize the actually possessive character, and then project false character traits onto Mal. It's so transparent, it's almost funny.

But, more importantly, to your second, very wrong point, I wonder how much of the narrative about Mal having "awful character traits and tendencies" is actually a commentary on Mal as a character, or is it just Darklina's lying about things Mal has done and everyone accepting that misinterpretation as canon. Because, if were making a list...

Fuck boy - False! Mal was not a fuck boy! He was an attractive teenager who hooked up with consenting girls his age when he could, and he was not in a relationship during that time. Alina had never told him how she felt, so he is not beholden to her. (Also, nobody seems to have an issue with the fact that Darkles hooked up with Zoya in the show, that doesn't make HIM a fuckboy... interesting) (also also, nobody seems to discuss Darkles literally sexually assaulting Alina, and lying and manipulating her to get her to be physically intimate with him so he can use her... double interesting).

Slut Shames Alina - FALSE! The ever favourite callout line from Darklina's "He's all over you" isn't him slut shaming her. First, he has no idea what their relationship is like at that point, but more importantly, he is making an observation of her status in the little palace and how she has become his tool. He has dressed her up in his colors, made her put on a show for his benefit, and has created a situation where Alina appears to be his. Mal is noting that after months of searching for her, believing she was being hurt, tortured, or worse, when he arrives to save her, she looks like the Darkling's pet. (and, even if he WAS angry because he perceived them to be romantically involved, boy just spent months fighting for his life, lost multiple friends, and almost died to find her, all while coming to the realisation that he was in love with her, and then he shows up, after not hearing from her for months... I'd be pissed as hell too.) Important Note: He even acknowledges that what he said was wrong and tries to apologise, before Alina tells him that he was right. (Shadow and Bone, pg. 286). He also then apologizes, completely unprompted, for what he said. (Shadow and Bone, pg. 297).

Fat Shames Alina - False! This one is particularly laughable to me, because its one of the Darklina arguments that falls apart the second you actually read the scene. They are running for their lives in the forest, and Mal has to hunt and gather to feed them. He is noting that Alina's appetite has increased since he last saw her, and he makes a joke (ya know, how you do with friends) about how it would be easier to keep her fed if she still had her more meager appetite from before. He makes no comment on her weight, or her size, and he is not actually commenting on her appetite in a negative way, he is just acknowledging that it's a lot more work for him now that she eats more. Right before he says the line, the quote even proves that he isn't shaming her or thinking badly of her: "With a bemused expression, he watched as I gobbled down my portion and then sighed, still hungry". He is noting a change in her, and complaining that its made more work for him. If you think thats the same as fat shaming, well... thats a you problem.

Hates Alina's Powers - FALSE!!!! How to begin... do we talk about it was Mal's idea to hunt the stag in S&B, because he knew she needed it to be more powerful so she could stop the darkling? Do we talk about how he vowed to find the firebird for her, even though he was terrified of what all that power would do to her? Do we talk about how he literally died so she could achieve the power she needed to save the world? Or maybe we could talk about how he believed in her power more than anyone else, like when everyone was making bets about her abilities with the Cut and he knew she'd go further and better than anyone else expected her too, or when he tells her that he was never afraid of her powers, only what seeking all that power would do to her (which is literally the theme of the books, that power corrupts and seeking unmatched power can destroy you)? Mal being afraid of what is going to happen to Alina, being protective of her and worrying over her, is not the same as him hating her powers. He exists to help remind Alina of the themes of the story, and to guide her into maintaining her humanity.

Abusive - ... Do I even need to explain this one? Must I deign an explanation as to why this favourite Darklina lie is so fucking stupid, and also totally hypocrisy? No? Because we all know Darkles is actually the abusive one and they're trying to project their own shit onto Mal to further their abuse apologist agenda? Cool. Moving on.

Possessive of Alina - False! Throughout the entire series, Mal is quite literally the opposite of possessive, but yall just cant read. Not only does he quite literally step out of the way and allow Nikolai to court Alina without argument, which is the most direct example of him not being possessive, he also spends two full books believing, and repeatedly saying over and over and over, that they can't be together because he is not good enough for her. Mal believes, fully, that Alina deserves more than him, better than him, because he's just a tracker and a soldier, just a regular man with nothing to offer her but his love and his protection, and she is a Saint and should be a Queen. Possessiveness is the wish to own and control someone, it is literally the opposite of Mal believing that he's not good enough and doing everything he can to ensure that Alina achieves everything and gets everything he believes she is owed. A possessive character would not tell her to tell him to leave because he has nothing he can offer her, no title or land or country or crown. A possessive character would not promise to be the blade in her hand, because he believed he had nothing but the blood he could spill to offer her.

Angry - True! Yeah, omg, you caught us, Mal is ANGRY! Heaven forbid a teenager who is traumatized beyond belief and has to give up everything in his life, his position in the military (he deserted for her), his friends and the job he loved (Mikhail and Dubrov died for him, and he can't be a tracker in the army... because he deserted... for Alina), and, most importantly, he has to give up Alina (she should be Queen, he believes, and he has to give up the future he imagined with the girl he loves, who he was pretty sure loved him back, because she's a saint and queen and he's just a man), and more, is ANGRY. He has to be the one to find the amplifiers that he knows will end up hurting her, because thats what she needs to save the world. He has to sit by while Nikolai treats him like the dirt on his shoe and tries to woo Alina for his own personal gain (because Nikoalai did not love Alina. Maybe he came to care for her, but he proposed and spent all of S&S trying to get her to marry him when it was obvious they were not in love. He straight up says its so that the next King of Ravka can be married to the Sun Summoner. It's a power grab.) and he can't do anything about it. So yeah, Mal is angry. And yeah, sometimes he's even angry at Alina, just like sometimes she's angry at him. But they always find their way back, always apologize and try to be better for each other, and if you think anger is a toxic trait, and not simply a natural human emotion, might I suggest touching some fucking grass?

Idk why you thought I'd stand for Mal slander on my blog, cuz I will not. So, I'm gonna stop there, because I have shit to do today, but I really do wonder how much of Mal's 'toxic' or 'terrible' traits, that make him such a 'bad' love interest for Alina, really comes from Darklina's who refuse to actually read the text critically at all, and instead take everything he does and says out of context to further their agenda that Alina should have ended up as the Darkling's fucking slave forever, because thats the "girl power feminist" ending somehow. Mal supports her, loves her, sacrifices for her at every turn, and does everything he can do, to the point of literally dying for her, to ensure that she can defeat Darkles and save the world. He protects her, and when they end up happy and safe together on the orphange that they've rebuilt to help the children that were victims of Darkles war and genocide, he spends his days bringing her tea and cakes and flowers, kissing her silly under the stairs in the view of all the teachers, and calling her names like beauty, beloved, cherished, my heart for the rest of their ordinary life together, if love can ever be called that.

#Malina #anti darklina #malyen oretsev #mal oretsev #shadow and bone #if yall could just learn to fucking read... i am begging you

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sub-hoshi-enthusiast · 4 years ago

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So I had a small idea 👀 (bruh when I was trying to type somnopholia it tried to auto correct it to homophobia and I was just ????) I hope you all like it :)

Shownu

Monsta X Wearing a Skirt For You

I don't know how the hell you convinced him to do it but a round of applause to you. He refuses to look in your eyes the second he puts it on. Not to say he hates wearing it, he just gets hella embarrassed when he does. He gets all flustered when you start telling him how pretty he looks and he'll just look down at the floor while he plays with the edge of his skirt 🥺. Continuously compliment him and I don't think he'd be able to say anything. His face would just be beet red cause pretty much all the blood in his body has rushed up to his face, but it's fucking adorable so you'd compliment him every chance you get. He'll only ever wear one when you tell him to but it doesn't make him any less beautiful. The only exception is when you fuck him and leave marks all over his thighs, like bite marks, bruises from where you hit him, scratches from your nails, you name it he loves it. He'll wear a skirt at some point the next day so every time he passes by a mirror he can look at them and remember how good you ruined him, leaving his thighs mostly bare so everyone can see them. Well, so you can see them. The poor baby would die if he ever had to wear one in public. Please don't do that to him, you can keep that beautiful sight just between the two of you.

Wonho

Bitch was wearing skirts before he met you and was just waiting so he would know you wouldn't freak out and dump him. He just wore a skirt unprompted when you had returned home from work one day and you had a mini heart attack. He got all worried cause you just started coughing after choking on air. Everytime you see him in one after that though, you're still left breathless. Cause goddamn he looks gorgeous. He likes wearing them cause he feels pretty. One time when you were out you bought him a pretty pastel pink skirt and he wouldn't take it off for the rest of the day. Everytime he tries on a skirt he'll do a little spin then look up at you all like "Do I look pretty mommy? 🥺🥺" and y'know what who needs to live anymore? Your heart will die then and there, don't lie to me. Skirts aren't limited to the house either, he likes wearing them out in public. Honestly it makes you a little mad sometimes cause people's eyes will go straight to his thighs, though he doesn't seem to notice. You'll get over your anger as soon as he spins to you, pointing at something excitedly with a little smile on his face so it's all good. Bruh, I got bias wrecked so hard when writing this 😔

Minhyuk

This man practically lives on your lap when he has a skirt on. You're watching a movie and there's an entire couch available? Your lap is obviously the better option. Oh, you're working on something important from your home office that needs to be done immediately? You'll just have to rest your head on his shoulder cause he isn't moving. The main reason he does this is because when you zone out you'll unintentionally start running your fingers up and down his thighs which makes him h o r n y. Yeah, the second you see that skirt on him you know that nothing's getting done except for him. You'll just be sitting there for movie night and cuddles then next thing you know he's grinding helplessly against your leg cause you kept touching his thigh. "Well don't touch me there unless you wanna fuck my brains out." Another perk of him wearing a skirt is how simple it is for you to just bend him over whenever you want. He likes the thought of you taking him whenever you want cause you just completely own him so he has no say in it (did someone say somnophilia 👀). The little fucker likes to wear lingerie as well, just to give you more of a reason to bend him over and fuck him silly. He won't even try to hide it either, if he thinks you aren't paying enough attention to him he'll just bend over right in front of you and show off what he was wearing underneath. This boy is such a cutie in a skirt but he's a little hard to manage so good luck with that.

Kihyun

The only thing you'd hear from this man when you put a skirt on him is complaints. He loves to wear skirts, cause he looks so pretty and you never forget to tell him that, not that he'd ever admit it. The little brat likes to put up a fight against anything you do. He won't wear one on his own accord unless he knows you won't be home for a while. The rest of the time you have to tell him to put one on. Now, you would never ask your boyfriend to do something he's uncomfortable with, but you know that look in his eye. You know he loves it, but he just likes talking back to you so somebody's gotta put him in his place. That might mean "forcing" him to wear a skirt and just tying him up and teasing him until he finally tells you how much he loves it and how pretty he looks. The next morning he'll go right back to complaining about it so you shouldn't get your hopes up. You also notice how when you take him out shopping his eyes will start wandering over to the pretty fabrics he pretends to despise so much. Of course he'd take that little "secret" to his grave. Does that stop you from buying them when you go out alone and "forcing" him to try them on? Of course it doesn't.

Hyungwon

You first asked him to wear a skirt for you after their little family skit thing cause he looks too fucking cute as a girl and you found it a little unfair. Boy was hella confused. Honestly thought that you were just looking for a reason to make fun of him a little more. When he finally caved and wore a skirt, he was surprised by the way you looked at him. Which of course led to the bedroom. Wears them all the time after that. Mainly because when you fucked him while he was wearing it you wouldn't stop talking about how pretty he looked and sent his praise kink into overdrive. And of course this man looks amazing in a skirt cause he's got legs for days and you definitely spend your time doing actual work and not just staring and drooling over his legs. If you had never even tried to convince him to wear one when he has legs like that you have failed at life and I don't want you to talk to me. But he has definitely noticed the way you look at his legs all the time and oop- would you look at that now he has a pair of heels. For someone who has supposedly never walked in heels before he does surprisingly well though??

Jooheon

I think Jooheon would like wearing skirts. Not in public or around the rest of the boys (except maybe Changkyun cause they're best bros) but he likes to wear them. I think it'd be fucking adorable if him and Changkyun went shopping for skirts together. Since Jooheon is a little shy when it comes to wearing them, Changkyun gives him more confidence when they're out together cause he just doesn't give a fuck. His legs look so pretty in skirts though so even if he was wearing one just to wear one it won't be long before you have him bent over a table as you pound into him. Or if you have his hands cuffed behind his back while he rides you in a skirt; one of the best views honestly. Whenever he wears a skirt, his ass also looks amazing so you can't help but grab it or slap it everytime he walks by you. He's never complained before but 9 times out of 10 it'll lead to sex. One time he wore skirts for an entire week, which was a terrible mistake. The poor boy could barely walk the next week and even had to sit out for a few practises. Changkyun wouldn't stop laughing at him over the phone so you kept giving him whatever he wanted cause you felt so bad.

Changkyun

Honestly I feel like changkyun would like wearing a skirt for you the most. First of all, the members are always saying he walks around the dorms naked so I feel like he would appreciate the little extra freedom a skirt has as opposed to shorts or pants. Secondly, he would definitely start teasing you as soon as he sees how much you like it. You'd think this boy was the clumsiest man on the planet with how many times he drops things on the floor. Sometimes he'll even spill his drink on the floor just so he has to get on his hands and knees and clean it up. When you confront him on his behavior, however, he'll act like nothing was happening. "What? I wasn't doing anything provocative. Jeez (Y/N), I didn't realize you were such a pervert." He'll also wear thigh highs or garters to show off his legs and make sure you're looking at him. Gets pouty when you don't. "Daddy~ why won't you look at me? Do you think I got all dolled up for nothing?" (I am a firm believer that Changkyun has a daddy kink if you are male or female and you can fight me on that) If you think you can look at him wearing a skirt and not fuck his brains out you are delusional.

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alittleimagine · 4 years ago

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just a favor pt. 1

derek hale x reader

prologue

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

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

Now you just had to make Derek believe it.

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

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

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

“Pet names?”

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

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

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

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

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

He winced. “You’re right.”

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

Derek Hale, what you’re comfortable with.”

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

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

You snorted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because you’re a little crazy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We need to kiss.”

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

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

He ran a hand over his face.

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

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

“I know. I usually am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Derek groaned.

#derek hale x reader #derek hale imagine #derek hale #teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #derek hale x you

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tiredcowpoke · 4 years ago

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TITLE: Blank Spots [17] PAIRING: (Somewhat pre-established) Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader, could be seen as an OC. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: After waking up at the base of a steep incline and nearly freezing to death, you stumble upon a group of strangers who swear up and down that they know you. WARNINGS: Some creative license for amnesia, violence, angst. Micah. NOTE: Here is the next chapter to this! Thank you all for your patience, life has picked up again but I did want to get another part of this out. There’s some canon dialogue in here near the end, but I hope there’s enough original content around it that it’s not too boring. TAG LIST: @on-my-way-to-erebor / @otherthingstoreid @ireallyhonestlydontcare @elanisha @darlingsdevil @cirillamylove @bunnyreese12 @rollyjogerjones @callmemythicalminx @r4reland @itsnothingwithoutchaos

What the hell were you going to do now?

The question plagued you for a couple days since that terrible sleep, a part of you liking to doubt what you thought you knew about it by calling it a dream, yet there was also a part of you that felt like it was more than that. It was wholly indecisive, a war that went back in your head for the last couple days. Chores had become all the more monotonous and you wondered what you were doing with yourself very often.

You knew that you wanted to tell someone, yet you knew that doing so wasn’t as simple as it seemed. You knew you had fallen, suffered a terrible injury that took your strength and memories away. It nearly left you freezing to death, and you had a solid idea that Micah had been the one to put you in that situation.

However, how would you make them believe you?

You weren’t completely unobservant to the goings-on in camp, you knew Dutch liked Micah for some reason. It was hard to find something to like about the man, from what you had seen of him. Really, you had elected to avoid him where possible. Yet, you knew it would eventually grow hard to keep doing so. If you had to interact with that memory sitting in your head…

What if you were wrong? You knew you had a hard time trusting your own mind lately, yet...something about what you remembered happening didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t seem like something you had just made up. It had sat, lingering on the edge of remembrance and you didn’t want to acknowledge it.

You just didn’t want to be dismissed. You didn’t want to stay in a camp with the person who had tried to murder you.

“How’re you holdin’ up?”

The familiar voice startled you out of your thoughts, turning your head sharply with wide eyes. Arthur stood somewhat awkwardly, his brow tightening somewhat as he seemed to take in your expression from where you were sitting. You let out a small breath, turning your head to look back out toward the water.

“As well as I can be, I guess.”

“Mary-Beth’s concerned, said she noticed a change in you,” he commented, “asked me to check in. Guess I wanted to, too.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t thought you had been that obvious, yet...well, with everything sitting on your mind, you had found it very easily to slip into the mess that was there lately.

“I know I’m the last person you want to be talkin’ to right now, but we do gotta talk,” he said after a moment, your ears picking up on him approaching where you were sat near the shore by camp.

It was true, you hadn’t really been wanting to talk to him lately. Yet, on top of everything, you had almost let that settle into the back of your mind.

Still, you couldn’t find it in yourself at the moment to protest his presence, Arthur moving around to sit down on the same log as you. He let out a small sigh, letting a silence linger for a few moments as you waited for him to say what he needed to. Back when you had first lost your memories and learned that you had been romantically involved with him, you had thought things couldn’t get any more awkward and confusing as that.

Yet, sitting with him in the moment, you wanted nothing more than to cave into yourself from the stress of it all. As much as what you remembered about Micah on that mountain dominated your thoughts, the other parts of the memory hadn’t left you either. That genuine guilt over leaving someone you cared about behind, possibly to die. There had been that specific affection you held for him, the frustration at not being able to say what you truly felt about him.

That person and the person sitting on the log with him in the moment felt like two different people. Yet, you somehow had to try to merge those experiences into your current.

It felt like trying to shove your shoulder through a brick wall at points.

“I’m sorry…” Arthur started after a moment, his voice surprisingly quiet from how it had been a few moments ago, “For what I did to your family, for doin’ that while I knew you was tryin’ to pay their debt.”

“I know you are, Arthur,” you replied, “Yet, that doesn’t change what happened.”

“No, it don’t. I wasn’t hopin’ it would,” he replied around a sigh, “You can hate me all you want for that, I deserve it. Yet...I-I don’t feel like I got much power here.”

You lifted your gaze toward him at the tone in his voice, as much as you had been struggling to do so since he sat down. There was a certain frustration sitting there, a desperation, that you hadn’t heard from him before. Arthur didn’t meet your gaze, letting out a slow breath as he seemed to be collecting his words.

“I don’t wanna make this ‘bout myself, but I hate doin’ that type of work,” he continued, “When I first joined this gang, I had always been told we was not goin’ to rob folk who don’t need to be robbed. Rich folk, other gangs, but...these people? They’re just tryin’ to get by and I know that. Yet...I’m good at intimidatin’, I’m good at violence.”

“That’s not all you have to be,” you stated, “I...when I woke up...I had thought that I had stepped into a group of violent murderers, and I’m not so blind to think you’re not violent and people don’t die, but...it’s more complicated than that. You’ve shown me a kindness, an understanding. I guess...maybe I did forget about what goes on around here a little bit, but I had thought that…”

You had thought you were closer than what happened, that it would have had him standing up a bit for you. Or, at least, your motives.

“...You ever try to stop collecting debts if you hate it so much?” you asked after your pause, meeting his gaze for a few moments before he dropped it somewhat in thought.

“I...the way things is right now, I ain’t sure I can,” he replied, “If it was just Strauss forcin’ me, I would’ve stopped a while ago. Yet, Dutch has turned it into a reliable source of money. It goes against everything he stands for, even says that sometimes, but he ain’t cut it out.”

“Why doesn’t he?”

Arthur let out a soft scoff, “I dunno, might be somethin’ to ask him if he’ll hear it these days.”

That...didn’t sound good. Even Arthur’s facial expression tightened somewhat at the words that had just left his mouth, yet he didn’t say anything else for a few moments before he shook his head, glancing back toward you.

“I’m tryin’ to hold things together. Feels like I’m holdin’ most of the weight of that, sometimes, and...I dunno, guess I felt like I had no alternative in that situation. Dutch thinks we got somethin’ here between these two families, might get us out of this mess. Next list of debtors I get...I dunno, I’ll think ‘bout if we really need that type of money.”

“...Sure.” The word left your mouth somewhat resigned. You knew deep down that you couldn’t force him to do anything, and even if it did stop...well, the damage was done. Yet, you had to admit that this conversation felt a little more productive than the one you had with him right after the fact.

“Arthur…” you started after a moment, “I...I can’t say I forgive you for what you did to my aunt and uncle. I...I guess I understand why you felt like you needed to, but...I don’t know. I still need time with this. After...I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. I appreciate you approaching me about it again, but I need more time with it.”

“I understand,” he replied with a nod, “I ain’t expectin’ your forgiveness. I care ‘bout you--a lot--but I know it ain’t that simple.”

“It’s really not.” God, you wanted to tell him about the mountain. Out of everybody, you knew he was the most likely to believe you, yet you found it sitting behind your teeth instead.

You needed to be sure.

“Just…” Arthur started after a moment, raising from where he was seated, “if you need anythin’...”

You could appreciate the offer, yet you knew for the time being it would be torn between just wanting to go back to how things were before all of this and not wanting to ask him for anything. Yet, you knew that there was no changing anything about what happened. It was just a matter on how you wanted things to be moving forward. At the moment, you really weren’t too sure what to say to that.

Instead, you just gave him a nod, letting him walk off after as you let out a sigh through your nose. Despite everything sitting on your mind, at least talking about one of those things left you feeling like you weren’t as stuck.

You just had some decisions to make.

***

A couple days had passed since your conversation with Arthur. You could still feel the weight of everything you had talked about, everything said and unsaid, yet you tried to pick yourself back up a bit. There was the issue of Micah, of course, but you figured you would get a chance to sort that out with some more thought.

You tried to put some more work in around camp, making sure to give Mary-Beth a light pat on the back shortly after and to thank her for the concern. She had sheepishly admitted to asking Arthur to check on you, yet you couldn’t really bring yourself to blame her.

Though, you tried to let things settle in your mind a bit, yet it didn’t seem like much had settled in camp before it seemed like another big event was going to take place.

Really, you hadn’t meant to listen in on the conversation. Yet, with it happening in the middle of camp, it was hard to miss as you lingered somewhat near one of the tents as you heard Dutch greet Micah, Arthur, and Pearson as he approached. Pearson’s voice seemed to catch your ear.

“It’s peace, Dutch. With the O’Driscolls,” he stated as the gang’s leader stepped into the tent behind him, “I mean, I think there’s a way.”

“What on earth are you talkin’ about?” Dutch asked.

“Get the words out properly, fat man…” Micah prompted with a slight wave of his hand.

Pearson seemed to launch into a bit of a story about meeting some men in a saloon, mentioning something about tigers. You had wandered closer, not too sure what was happening but Micah seemed to be at the head of it and you couldn’t help but want to listen in. Still, you managed to remain far enough away to not cause them to catch you.

“They suggested a parlay,” Pearson concluded, “to end things like gentlemen.”

“Gentlemen?” Dutch returned, his tone disbelieving, “Colm O’Driscoll? Have you lost your minds?”

“You’re always tellin’ us, Dutch,” Micah started, “do what needs to be done, but don’t fight wars not worth fightin’.”

“They want a parley?” Hosea called out from where he was sitting at a camp table nearby, “It’s a trap.”

“Well, of course it’s...probably a trap,” Micah said, turning to address him somewhat before looking back toward Dutch, “but what have we got to lose?”

“Get shot,” Arthur commented.

“We ain’t gettin’ shot because you’ll be protectin’ us,” Micah returned, placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder that he shook off, “If it’s a trap, you kill the lot. If it’s not, that slim chance…”

“I don’t see the point in any of this…” Dutch replied, stepping past them to walk toward the table where Hosea was sitting. You shifted back somewhat, crossing your arms as you watched on curiously.

“It’s a chance we gotta take,” Micah asserted, following Dutch toward the table as the other man rested his hands on the top of it.

“I killed Colm’s brother…” Dutch started, “...a long time ago. Then he killed...a woman I loved dear…”

“As you say,” Micah returned after a short pause, “it’s a long time ago, Dutch.”

There was a bit of a pregnant pause as Dutch seemed to decide on the course of action. You couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your gut, especially with how hard Micah seemed to be pushing things. Admittedly, you only knew a handful of information about the O’Driscolls from what you heard around camp and what you had just heard from Dutch’s mouth. Yet...well, even you were uncertain.

“...Let’s go,” Dutch decided, “you, me, and Arthur protectin’ us. No one else.”

“What about me?” Pearson asked.

“This ain’t the time for tigers, my friend.”

You stepped forward as the group dispersed, watching as Dutch, Micah, and Arthur headed toward the horses. A part of you was really wanting to quickly run over to catch Arthur’s arm, ask if he’s really certain about this. Yet...well, with Micah and Dutch waiting on him, you could imagine the answer.

‘I don’t feel like I got much power here.’

“Shit,” you cursed, stopping your walk short as you saw them mount up and ride off into the wooded path leading out of camp.

“You ain’t sure about this, either?”

Hosea’s voice came from over your shoulder as he walked up to where you were standing, staring off after the spot your gaze was lingering on.

“No. What can we do about it, though?”

“We wait,” Hosea replied, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Hope nothin’ happens.”

You could hope all you want, but there was that sinking feeling in your gut that left you feeling all sorts of conflicted. It was hard to shake, and would be until they returned. You didn’t want to blame it on a pre-existing dislike of Micah, but with the memory of the purposeful gunshot he placed toward your horse that caused your fall…

Well, who could really blame you for being anxious about this?

#my writing.#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

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thetriggeredhappy · 5 years ago

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I love your writing so much! Can you do more engiespy?

welcome to sweet domestic dad hour featuring these sweet domestic dads

(warnings for offhanded mention of mercenary work but no actual violence)

Spy was being far too sweet, which was his first hint that something was wrong.

Coaxed always from work to get something to eat, his choice made a bit easier by the fact that Spy had gone to the liberty of making dinner for the two of them. Not anything as fancy and involved as he probably would’ve liked, there on a bench together in his workshop with fluorescent lights and not candles, but delicious and pleasantnonetheless.

Spy had finished eating first, and taken to being all kinds of distracting, one hand wandering over his back and the other on the table in front of him tapping a slow, pleasant rhythm as he talked about some of the details he could disclose from his most recent mission. Once that conversation came to a close, Spy instead took to being even more outright distracting, kissing at the Engineer’s jaw and along his face in a way that would probably make most people absolutely melt.

But he was a little more used to such displays, behind closed doors and in the security that privacy provided, so he merely smiled and leaned into it, appreciating the affection without trying too hard to push for more. Spy was like a cat, in some ways—he would dispense his attention and loving gestures whenever he saw fit, but might flee at a moment’s notice if he felt trapped at all in it.

It was just that all of this was a good bit more effort than Spy generally went to—already an unusually high amount—and in a different way that usual, not to mention entirely unprompted. So the Engineer was a little bit worried.

He didn’t push it until he was done eating, and cleared their plates away, and told Spy that he had a bit more work to do but it could wait a little while. And he returned to being fawned over for a short time before tucking a hand under Spy’s chin to tug him into a long, slow kiss, and when he pulled back, then and only then did he say anything.

“You feelin’ alright?” he asked gently, quietly, and Spy’s eyebrows rose.

“Do I not seem to be?” he asked, light and teasing.

“You seem a little too alright,” Engie shrugged, and kissed him again for a lengthy moment before he pulled back and continued. “And it’s nice and all, but I worry, you know.”

Spy hummed, looked over his face. Pulled him into a series of short, almost playful kisses before he pulled back a bit further to reply. “Well. I suppose I just have some things on my mind,” he said simply. “Not necessarily unpleasant things, merely large ones.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” the Engineer asked.

“They’re worth much more than that, mon cher,” Spy joked, and his expression fell back to a neutral sort of contentment a moment later. “I suppose it isn’t so much... regrets. Just what might have been, would things have been a little different.”

“More “would if”s, not “what if I hadn’t”, then?” he asked.

“A little of both,” Spy admitted. He considered his words for another few moments, and the Engineer did him the favor of relinquishing eye contact to instead return Spy’s earlier affections, kissing beneath his jaw and ear and ignoring, as he always did, how odd the fabric of a mask felt. “I was simply thinking about how, had I met you twenty years ago rather than five, I might have killed you rather than fallen in love with you,” he finally admitted, and the Engineer stopped.

“...Uh huh?” he asked, pulling back to look at him.

Spy nodded. “I just suppose it’s... interesting to think about.” A small smile. “I was a different man back then. Much more cocky, much less scarring.”

“Wonder whether those might be connected somehow,” he joked.

His smiled widened just a touch. “I wonder.” Spy then leaned in to kiss at him some more.

“Think we’d have ended up like this if we met now, not five years ago?” Engie asked, tilting his head obligingly to give Spy access to the space below his jaw. “If we hadn’t been hired on together until now?”

“Assuming I was still alive,” Spy demurred against his pulse point, “and still willing to be hired here, and still fit for mercenary work, then... I don’t see why not.”

“Another five years from now?” he asked next.

“Again, assuming I would still be alive,” Spy hummed.

“You don’t think you would be?”

“I’m almost certain I wouldn’t,” Spy snorted, pulling back to look at him. “Already it was a combination of exceptional skill and astronomical luck that I made it far enough to be hired here, mon cher. I should not like to push that further.”

“And you think if we’d met earlier, you’d’ve killed me?” he asked next.

“That was my primary reason for meeting interesting new people, yes, was that I was hired to kill them,” Spy agreed, laughing a little. He leaned in for another kiss, this one brief. “Or perhaps, upon being hired to kill you, I would have instead fallen for your sweet Southern charms and given up a life of espionage altogether, mon beau, who knows?”

“Think I could’ve made a farmhand outta you?” he laughed, disbelieving but not upset. “Gotten you to settle down and go domestic, while I kept at work on my machines?”

“Well,” Spy hesitated, eyes flickering away for a moment, posture shifting. “It would not be out of the question, I’m sure.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It is not out of the question now, either, which surely means something,” Spy said, a touch fast, a touch clipped, not quite entirely looking at him.

Silence, for the several seconds it took for the weight of that to sink in, then he kissed Spy again for a long moment to buy the time to think of a response for that. When he pulled back, Spy looked a little tense. “Think you’d be happy like that?” he asked quietly.

“I’m... not sure,” he admitted. “Perhaps... I would still enjoy traveling, and... I do enjoy keeping up with world politics. But I’ll admit that I’m getting a little tired of fighting and murder. It’s lost the thrill, somewhere along the line. And when this job is over, I’m not sure I could commit to it for much longer, and... already, in most ways, you’re...”

He waited for Spy to sort his words out, clearly having a difficult time with them, unable to look him in the eyes.

“Already in some ways you fill that sort of role. A... place to return to. An anchor, almost.”

“Lighthouse?” he suggested lightly.

“Lighthouse, tether, safe haven, there are plenty of words I could use, mon chou. But... by this point in my life, the idea of somewhere and someone to return to after traveling is extremely appealing.” Spy smiled a little. “I suppose I may be getting old.”

“Well, apparently much younger and you’d be stabbing me in the back,” the Engineer joked, and Spy’s shoulders shook lightly with a silent laugh. He paused. “I guess we’ll wait and see. I don’t think I’ll ever stop working for Mann Co. in any official capacity, legacy Engineer and all, but... my father and grandfather both got to settle down at about this age, don’t see why I wouldn’t be allowed to.”

Spy nodded at that, paused for a long moment. When he spoke, his tone was much more lighthearted. “I intended for this conversation to be much more romantic. And with slightly more fanfare than a Tuesday night with work in the morning,” he admitted, just a little bit self-deprecating.

“You made me dinner,” he pointed out.

“...I did,” Spy agreed.

“Might have a candle or two around here somewhere,” he joked.

Spy raised his eyebrows. “Why do I get the distinct impression that you are making fun of me, mon cher?” he asked.

“Now where would you’ve gotten an idea like that?” he chuckled, and planted a kiss on Spy’s cheek.

A little hum. “Well. We can talk about it more later. As it is, I’ve taken up far more of your time than I should—“

“Always welcome in here,” he reminded.

“But not for terribly long when you have work to do,” Spy returned, and moved to stand. “I will be seeing you.”

“Have a good night, Spy,” he said, knowing well what it looked like when Spy was a little uncomfortable with the amount of honesty he’d dispensed and needed time to collect himself.

“You as well, Tinkerer,” Spy said, and disappeared from sight with a wave, and within two minutes the smell of his cologne and cigarette smoke faded from the room, and the Engineer was left entirely alone. And he didn’t particularly worry about it. Spy made it clear that he’d always come back eventually.

#engiespy #napoleon complex #tf2 #team fortress 2 #my fanfiction #shut up me #everybody talks #aka 'spy opens up for three seconds and promptly needs to take a lap abt it'

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sunsetsover · 5 years ago

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oh oh oh could you please write ben & callum at some point in the future when callum is now comfortable with himself and they go to pride together as boyfriends. headcanons or fic your choice. also hope you feel better :)

ok well your first mistake was saying the word fic to me …. like u should know i can’t control myself….. also i could not stop thinking about this after i got it so thank u for sending me this….

anyway this isn’t quite what you asked for, but i hope you like it all the same 💖💖

new heart (ao3)

“Like a snake, my hearthas shed its skin.I hold it there in my hand,full of honey and wounds.”

– New Heart, Federico García Lorca

It’s Tina that convinces him to go.

Callum hadn’t been expecting the topic to come up, hadn’t been ready for it; they had just been talking over the bar in The Vic, him, Mick and Shirley, catching up after what felt like months of barely seeing each other. He doesn’t even notice Tina show up, but at some point she’s there, leaning next to him, joining the conversation. Not that he minds – he’d missed her. He’d missed them all.

The conversation had been constantly shifting from one thing to the next – Mick’s anxiety, how Ollie’s getting on at school, Shirley and Tina’s trip to Italy last year – so Callum knew it would circle around to him eventually. But he had been expecting simple questions about what he’s been up to, how work was, maybe how things are going with Ben. Not this.

“Pride next week, ain’t it?” Mick asks – completely unprompted – while pouring a pint. He’s trying to be nonchalant about the question, to not make a big deal out of it. It’s not working. “You doing anything?”

“Nah.” Callum tells him, wiping condensation off his glass. The question had thrown him off kilter, but he’s trying to be better about talking about this stuff, to not clam up so much. It’s still hard, but he’s trying. “Ben is though. Going to the Parade in the city, I think.”

Shirley stands up straighter at that, her face pinching. “What, and he’s not taking you with him?”

“No- no it’s not that, it’s- he wants me to go with him, but I just-” Callum’s words trail off, not really sure what to say, how to explain himself, “I dunno.”

It’s just a lot, is all. Callum doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle being at Pride. He thinks it might overwhelm him, especially after everything that’s happened over the past year. After what happened when he went to Pride last year. He just- he isn’t sure. Even with all Ben’s assurances and gentle encouragement, he still isn’t sure he really wants to go. And that’s reason enough for him to not go as far as he’s concerned. He doesn’t want to go, end up hating it, and risk ruining Ben’s day with all of his issues; Ben deserves to have fun and enjoy himself more than anyone. He shouldn’t have spend his day worrying about Callum.

Tina nudges him slightly, lowering her head so she can look him in the eyes almost like she can sense what’s going on in his head. She smiles at him, and when she speaks, it’s full of understanding. “You should go.”

All three of them are looking at Callum now, waiting for him to say something. He laughs nervously, shrugging. “I went last year.”

She nudges him again. “Yeah but it’s different when you’re out.”

“You sound like Ben.”

“Ben knows what he’s talking about.”

Shirley scoffs. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“What I mean is,” Tina continues, shooting Shirley a look, “it’s not the same as last year, is it? Things are different. You’re different. It’ll be like, a whole new experience y’know? You’re not on the outside looking in anymore. It’s like a whole new world.”

“Alright, Aladdin.” Shirley quips, but she’s smiling.

“It’s true! God, especially if you’re going to the Parade. The atmosphere is something else, I tell ya.” She makes a face, her mouth pulling down. “I wish I wasn’t working, I’d love to go.”

“Go, then.” Callum offers, desperate for a way out of this conversation. “I can cover you at The Albert, if you want.”

Tina looks scandalized by the idea. “What and have you missing your first Pride? No chance.”

“I’m not going anyway, so-”

“You should go.”

“There’s always next year.”

“Yeah but-”

“Leave it out, Teen,” Mick interrupts, coming back from serving someone at the other end of the bar, “if he says he don’t wanna go, he don’t wanna go.”

“Yeah,” she says, glaring at Mick, “but like… not going because you don’t feel ready, that’s one thing. But not going because you think you can’t go or you shouldn’t go or- because you’re worried you’re gonna burst into tears in the middle of Trafalgar Square, then that’s something else, ain’t it? That’s just normal Pride stuff, I promise you.” She’s squeezing his arm, looking right at him. “But then you get there and it’s like… I don’t know. I can’t describe it. But it’s good, y’know? It’s important.”

Shirley makes an scoffing noise, then walks off to start serving now the pub is filling up a bit. Tina, though, completely ignores her, and takes Callum’s face between her hands, forcing him to look right at her as she speaks.

“Go to Pride, Callum. Wrap a rainbow flag around your shoulders and let a stranger cover you in glitter. Be overwhelmed. Cry in the middle of Trafalgar Square. Kiss your boyfriend in the street for everyone to see.” She taps his cheek. “Just don’t drink from any open containers and you’ll be alright.”

Her earnestness shines through, despite the joke she tacks on to the end. Callum feels himself falling into it, desperate for some kind of guidance, for someone to tell him how to do this, because he doesn’t know.

“I don’t want to ruin his day.” He confesses, quietly, so no one other than Tina can hear. As soon as the words leave his mouth she laughs, but it’s kind laughter.

“You won’t.” She tells him, just as kindly. “Ben will get it, Callum, he will. He’ll understand. Don’t forget he’s been where you are now.” Her smile widens. “And it’s not just his day, is it? It’s your day now too. A day for you to be proud and have a good time. Don’t forget that, either.”

It’s too much. Callum wishes he could look away, hide the way his eyes are starting to well up but Tina’s hold on him is solid. She just continues to smile at him. Like she gets it.

“Have a good time, yeah?” She tells him, letting him go only to lean over and press a quick kiss to his cheek. Then she disappears off somewhere behind him, leaving Callum standing there alone. He feels raw, now; vulnerable. Like everyone can see just what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling. But when he looks around the pub, no one is paying him any mind – not even Mick or Shirley, too distracted with the steady stream of customers at the bar. He’s glad. He’s really glad.

Callum swallows around the lump in his throat, takes a breath. Tries to get himself together.

Makes up his mind.

Ben gets surprisingly emotional when Callum tells him about his conversation with Tina; his eyes intent on Callum as he speaks, quietly listening to his every word. When Callum’s done, Ben pulls him into his arms, gentle but firm, and tells him that he’s sorry.

“What’ve you got to be sorry for?” Callum asks, wrapping his arms around Ben’s waist. It feels good, to hold Ben. To be able to hold Ben.

“For not realizing. I should’ve. I should’ve known you might be feeling like this.”

“How? You’re not psychic, Ben.”

“No but I still should’ve realized.” Ben sighs, one hand rhythmically rubbing up and down Callum’s back. “I’m just sorry, that’s all.” He pulls back just enough to look him in the eye. “And you know if you change your mind between then and now, it’s fine yeah? Or if we go and it gets too much and you need to leave or- take a break or come home we will, alright? No questions asked.”

“But-”

“No buts. Whatever you need, Callum.” Ben says, insistent. “Pride can be overwhelming, even for me. So you need to tell me if it gets too much for you, or… whatever else is going on in there.” He gestures to his head. “Because if you don’t tell me I can’t look after you, can I?”

Callum pulls back a little more, frowning. “I don’t need looking after.”

Ben pulls him back in, not letting him get too far. “I know you’re a big boy and you can look after yourself,” the smile on his face is teasing; Callum can feel himself start to flush, “but that don’t mean I can’t do it anyway, does it?”

Forget Pride – the way Ben’s looking at him now is making him feel overwhelmed; his fingers playing with the collar of his shirt, the two of them swaying together slightly. Callum lowers his eyes, lick his lips.

“I just don’t want to ruin your day.” Ben is quick to correct him.

“It’s not my day. It’s not the Ben Pride Parade, is it? Although that does have a nice ring to it.” Callum laughs even though it’s a terrible joke, and Ben just smiles at him, his fingers gently playing with one of his ears now. “It’s just as much your day now, Callum.” He tells him, voice quiet and just as earnest as Tina’s had been. “And I want you to enjoy it. Have a good time. I don’t want you stressing out and being uncomfortable but not saying anything because you don’t want to ruin Pride for me. Because I’ve been to loads of Prides, I’ve seen it all before – I’d much rather you be happy and comfortable than be worrying about me.” His hand slips to the back of Callum’s skull, cradling it. “I don’t want you to have bad memories of your first proper Pride, Callum. And if that means we just go and walk around for five minutes and then come home, then that’s what we’ll do, yeah?”

“But-”

“No buts, Callum.”

“But Pride’s important to you.” Callum continues, ignoring him. He feels stupid and childish, having to have everyone reassuring him all the time, to have Ben changing his plans for him. It’s not fair. “I know it is, and I wouldn’t want to take that away from you.”

Ben’s smile turns into a frown. Callum’s stomach drops.

“What exactly would you be taking away from me?” Ben asks, his voice serious now. “The Parade, all the parties – that’s a celebration of Pride. That’s not what Pride is. This,” and he reaches behind his back, pulling Callum’s hands away from him so he can hold them between his own hands, “this is Pride. You coming out to Stuart and your dad knowing full well what kind of blokes they are, that was Pride. Us being here, separately and together, despite everything – that’s what Pride is, Callum.” Ben stares up at him, bright eyes burning with something Callum’s never seen. “So how could you possibly take that away from me?”

At a loss for words, Callum can do nothing but pull Ben back towards him. Their arms immediately wrap back around each other, Ben hand going back to rubbing up and down Callum’s back. He hides his face in Ben’s shoulder, willing himself not to cry again.

“And anyway,” Ben says after a few minutes of their silent, gentle swaying, “whatever happens, it’s not like it could be any worse than last year, is it?”

Callum huffs, the sound of it wet. “Don’t jinx it.”

“Touch wood.” One of Ben’s hands comes up to gently tap against his own head. “But as long as we leave your brother at home, I think we’ll be alright.”

Callum never thought he’d be able to laugh about what happened last year, but here he is, stood in Ben’s arms.

Laughing.

It starts before they even get off the Tube – people get on the train with them, more and more at every station, all clearly out for the same reason they are. Some are completely kitted out with flags and make-up and t-shirts and face paint, while others are quieter about it – a pin, or a wristband, or just the way they’re looking around the carriage in fascinated delight.

Callum wonders if he looks the same.

There’s nothing to give him and Ben away, apart from maybe each other. But they’re not touching; Ben told him that he wouldn’t, not today, not unless Callum initiated it first, and he’s stuck to it ever since they left Walford. Still, he’s a solid, comforting presence next to Callum at all times – even when Ben gets up and moves to stand in front of Callum so he can let a little girl have his seat.

“I like your face paint.” He tells her once she’s sat down. She has two rainbows painted on her face, one on each cheek, and she smiles shyly at the compliment. “Did you do them yourself?”

“Mummy done them for me.” She looks up at a her mum who’s stood close by, watching them. She has matching rainbows.

“She did a very good job.”

“Thank you.” She says, still smiling. “We’re going to the Pride Parade!”

“Are you?” Ben asks, matching her level of enthusiasm. Callum finds himself smiling as he watches him. You’d never think it looking at him, but he’s so good with kids – all kids, too, not just Lexi. “That sounds like fun. Have you been before, or is this your first time?”

And Callum catches it, the fact that he doesn’t say that that’s where they’re going too. Ben could have so easily told this little girl – who clearly isn’t a threat in any way, shape or form – that they were going to the Parade too, but he didn’t. He didn’t out of respect for Callum.

Callum looks down at his lap.

“I’ve been before, but I can’t remember the last time I went because I was only little, so this time my mum has borrowed my granddad’s camera and promised we’ll take loads of pictures so I won’t forget this time!”

“Sorry, she’s very excited.” The girl’s mum says, approaching them with an apologetic smile. “She hasn’t stopped all morning. It’s a miracle she sat still long enough to let me paint those rainbows on her cheeks, honestly.” Ben laughs politely.

“No, it’s no problem; I have a daughter about her age.”

“Ah, you’re used to it then.”

“Yeah, she-”

“Is she going to the Pride Parade too?” The little girl interrupts, looking up at Ben and her mum with big, curious eyes.

“Millie! You can’t just-”

“Not this year, but maybe next year I’ll take her.” Ben he tells her with a smile, unfazed, then turns back to the mum. “I just worry about the crowds. I’d be scared of losing her or something.”

She offers him some advice about how she deals with kids among the crowds, all of which Ben listens to carefully, and they continue to chat, from there – Callum stays quiet, but every so often Ben’s gaze will flick back to him, making sure he’s alright. He is. Listening to the two of them talk about childcare has provided a welcomed distraction.

Millie and her mum get off the train a few stops before Ben and Callum’s stop, the little girl waving goodbye enthusiastically before disappearing from view through the doors. Ben sits back down in his seat, then turns towards Callum.

“Maybe I will bring Lexi next year.” He starts; he looks like he’s thinking, his eyes not really focused on Callum. “I’ve thought about bringing her before, y’know, but Lola thought she was too young- not because it’s Pride, but because she gets funny about crowds. I think it’s rubbing off on me though, ‘cause now I’ve started worrying she’ll end up squashed or hurt or something, with all them people.” His eyes zone in on Callum. He seems embarrassed, suddenly. “That sounds stupid, don’t it?”

“No it doesn’t.” Callum can’t quite keep the smile off his face. “You should bring her, next year. She’s a clever girl, it’s not like she’d wander off or anything. And I’m sure she’d love getting all dressed up and that; seeing everyone else all dressed up.”

“Maybe.” Ben looks up at the Tube map to see where they are. “How are you doing?”

He’s checking up on him. He’s trying to not make a big deal out of it, but he’s definitely checking up on him. Callum would laugh if he didn’t think it was so sweet. “I’m alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?” Callum gives him a look. “I’m just making sure.” A beat of silence. “You will tell me if-”

“Yes, Ben.”

“Alright, alright.” Ben holds his hands up, pacifying, but there’s a smile on his face.

There’s one on Callum’s too.

The two of them get off the train a few minutes later, as do most of the other passengers. Callum can feel Ben’s eyes on him as they navigate their way through the station, but other than that there’s nothing. He doesn’t touch him, doesn’t say a word.

They lose each other briefly among the crowds of people; Callum feels panic start to seize him when he realizes he can’t see Ben anywhere, that he’s all alone. But then Ben is back by his side, appearing out of nowhere with a tut and an eye roll. The relief is instant.

“Never mind Lexi; it’s you I should be worried about.” He says as they get onto the escalator, Ben two steps ahead of Callum. He points at him and makes his face comically stern as he says, “No more wandering off, you hear me? Or you’ll have to hold my hand.” Callum tries to laugh, but it doesn’t quite come out right. Ben notices, but he’s forced to look away as they approach the top of the escalator.

You can hear the noise from the street before you even reach street level, and as soon as the two of them reach the top of the escalator, Callum’s floored by how busy and bright the street looks through the open doorways. It’s packed out there. Callum’s body involuntarily starts to stiffen once he realizes he’s really here, that this is really happening. When Ben notices, he wordlessly guides him out of the way of the people behind them, but otherwise makes no other move. He waits for him.

“We can turn around and go back if you want.” He says after a few minutes of Callum just standing there frozen. His face is deathly serious – Callum must look like he’s seen a ghost, judging by the way Ben is looking at him.

“No.” The word is firm and immediate, despite how he feels – it’s not fear but it’s… something. Something Callum can’t quite make sense of. But he doesn’t wait for Ben to check up on him again, to double check then triple check; he just forces himself to move, determined now. He heads for the barriers, trusting Ben will follow, and manages to get through them without fumbling his Oyster Card. But his determination wanes just before he makes it out onto the street, and he stands frozen again, just shy of the threshold. Ben stands at his side, still not saying a word. He waits, yet again.

Callum takes a breath.

“Alright.” He says, turning to Ben, who already has his eyes on him. “Alright.”

Ben looks worried, but he smiles at him anyway – that soft smile that’s just for Callum. “Ready?”

Callum reaches out and slides his hand into Ben’s. He doesn’t know where the bravery comes from, but the need to touch Ben feels urgent and all-consuming; the need to feel his solid, grounding body under his hands. Ben doesn’t hesitate to link their fingers together and squeeze.

“Now I’m ready.”

Ben smiles at him again, easier this time. “Come on then.”

Outside, the street is alight with colours and bodies. A few teenagers run past them, laughing, one with a bisexual pride flag flowing behind them like a cape. There’s music coming from somewhere, cheering coming from somewhere else – from everywhere, all around them. Callum sees baby in a pram holding his own tiny flag, waving the stick sharply up and down; an old lady in a wheelchair, laughing so loud it cuts through the sound of everything else; a guy in heels, head and shoulders above everyone else on the street. And right in front of them are two men, holding hands, just waiting to cross the road. Holding hands, just like Ben and Callum are.

Callum can do nothing but stand there for a moment, watching it all.

“Parade’s that way,” Ben shouts, leaning closer just to be heard over the noise. Callum looks in the direction Ben’s pointing, then looks all around them, everywhere. No one, not one person is looking at him. No one is paying him any attention at all, “or we can go find a bar or something. Or we can- Callum?”

Something inside Callum has broken; burst right open like an overblown balloon. It’s something that had been building inside him for a while now. And the break feels like popping a joint, maybe, or stretching a muscle – for a moment it hurts, but then the relief comes. It feels better now.

Ben snaps into action quickly, huddling Callum closer to the wall and trying to shield him from the street with his own body, to block out whatever it is that upset him. His free hand moves restlessly in the air, like he wants to touch but doesn’t want to make it worse, while his other continues to hold tightly to Callum’s own. “Fuck, Callum, don’t cry.” He begs, his own voice tight. “We haven’t even made it to Trafalgar Square yet.” That startles a laugh out of Callum, his head tipping back. He holds it there, as if gravity will force his tears back into his eyes. The sky is bright blue above them, he realizes. “Do you want to go? We can go right now; we’ll be home in an hour, Cal, I promise-”

“No.” His voice is rough, so he clears his throat, tries again. “No, I don’t want to go.” Ben just stares at him, distressed. Callum tries to smile. “They’re happy tears, I think.”

“You think?”

Callum looks back at the street over Ben’s shoulder. The cheers have got louder, as has the music. The Parade must be going past somewhere nearby. “I’ve just- I’ve been missing out, haven’t I?”

Ben’s whole body softens and sways towards him at that, almost like it tried to get closer to Callum without him having any control over it. Like there’s gravity between them. Callum feels it too, the desire to just fall into Ben’s arms and stay there, but he’s glad Ben has stuck to his promise – if he had tried to hug him now, he really might just burst into tears. And right now it feels like if he started crying, he’d never stop.

“You’re here now,” Ben tells him gently, voice barely audible over the noise, “that’s all that matters.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Callum pulls his gaze away from Ben and takes a deep breath; nods to himself, swallows, then nods some more, surer this time. When he smiles, it doesn’t wobble.

“Right then- come on,” Callum says, walking out of the shadow of the building and into the sun, pulling Ben along with him, “lead the way; show me the sights. I’ve got some catching up to do, haven’t I?”

Ben can only stare at him for a moment, his expression undecipherable. He seems rooted to the spot like Callum was before. But then a smile blooms across his face, slowly; one full of disbelief. He almost looks like he could burst into tears of his own, and Callum can’t help but laugh. He feels almost giddy now. Weightless. Untouchable.

And then he suddenly comes to the realization that he doesn’t been Ben to show him the way, to walk him through this. He can do it himself. He doesn’t need to hold anybody’s hand.

He belongs here.

Callum turns and starts walking, one foot in front of the other, his hold on Ben’s hand firm as guides them both through the street.

Somewhere, people have begun cheering again. He walks towards the sound of it.

#ballum #eastenders #ben mitchell #callum highway #fic #I'M SHY please be kind to me 🥺🥺#anon #question

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cami-chats · 5 years ago

Text

Being In Love

Fandom: The Witcher (TV)

Pairing: Geralt/Renfri

Warnings: Brief mention of past non-con

Realizing she was in love with Geralt was less 'oh' and more 'ah shit'. That's literally what she thought when she realized it. Jaskier had been rehearsing his lines, and when he asked Geralt if he thought it was funny, he'd just hmm'd. Renfri had laughed at that, and that was when it hit her: she was in love with him. Ah shit. Plenty of people fell in love with Geralt, and he'd turned them all down. He hadn't given a reason, and as far as she knew, he wasn't aro. He just... hadn't been interested. She was his best friend, sure, but that was because she hadn't looked at him and fallen immediately in lust so he gave their possible friendship a try and here they were. With her in the exact position she didn't want to be in.

She was in the coffee shop where Yennefer worked now-- managed technically, though how she got that position after only working there for six months, Renfri had no idea-- with her laptop open as she kept a careful eye on the bid for a set of daggers. She didn't care about all of them, just that one stiletto dagger with the red jewel on the end. She'd probably turn around and resell the others if she won this-- which she was determined to do.

Geralt took the seat next to her, and she didn't think anything about it; they always sat next to each other. "Black Swan's out," he said as he reached into his bag his own computer.

"I saw." Damn, someone just raised the bid by fifty bucks. Was this person made of money? She glared at the screen as she entered a new amount. If her parents hadn't left all their money to her when they died, she'd be so screwed right now.

"Want to go tonight?"

"What time?" She had to get up early tomorrow to meet with her Women in Medieval History teacher, so she didn't want to be out too late. Dr. de Vries was a great professor, but she could be a little ruthless if she thought Renfri wasn’t paying complete attention to her.

"Seven."

"Sure."

Geralt plugged in his charger and opened it up, scowling at the world at large as he worked on his essay.

"Hello friends!" Jaskier proclaimed, throwing his bag on the table and sitting across from them, his elbow resting on the table so he could lean his head into his hand. "How are we this fine afternoon?"

"Busy," Geralt and Renfri said at the same time.

"Are you messaging each other?" he asked, peering over to try and see what was on their screens. Geralt flicked him in the nose. "Oh alright, keep your secrets." He rubbed at his nose and sat back down. "Any plans tonight?"

"We're going to see Black Swan," Renfri said, refreshing the page to make sure she hadn't been outbid again.

"Sounds like fun, can I come?"

"No," Geralt said immediately. Renfri glanced at him but didn't comment. As much as they joked about Jaskier talking too much, they'd all gone to the movies before.

"What? Why not?"

Geralt just glared at him.

"Fine. Fine, leave me alone on a Friday night like a pathetic loser with no friends."

"No," Yennefer said, appearing behind him and making him jump, "you're a pathetic loser with almost three friends. Why are they leaving you alone on a Friday night?"

"They're going to see Black Swan, and I'm not invited."

"Black Swan?" she repeated, perking up.

"You're not invited either," Geralt said, before she could say anything further.

She pouted, but he was unmoved. "Fine. I just need to finish up inventory in the storeroom and then I'll be done."

Renfri didn't think anything of it at the time-- too busy winning the auction! She paid through the nose for it, but by Lilit that dagger was worth it-- but once she was back in her apartment, she frowned. Geralt often acted like he didn't want any friends, but he never refused plans outright unless he had a reason. He must have a reason for this, but she didn't know what the hell that could be. So something about this must be different. Did he need to tell her something? Oh fuck he's dying. Wait, no. Geralt wouldn't tell anyone he was dying until he was already dead. Safe there, but did he still need to break some sort of news? But that didn't make sense either. People found things out about him, he didn't volunteer the information. Hell, Renfri hadn't known his parents were dead until she'd tried to invite them to Geralt's birthday party-- a party he'd protested but had fun at all the same, thank you very much.

She was overthinking this, nothing was going on. Yennefer and Jaskier could both be assholes to watch movies with, sometimes it was fine, other times it wasn't and clearly this was one of the latter.

And that belief stayed with her until Geralt showed up at her apartment. Dressed up. He was wearing a button-up. And Jaskier hadn't bribed him. He'd combed his hair to resemble something neat, and he was even wearing jeans that were free of holes or grease stains from where he worked. Suddenly, her haphazard ponytail at the base of her neck and the hoodie seemed terribly inappropriate.

"I wasn't paying attention to the time," she lied. "Let me change real quick."

He nodded and took a seat on the couch, arms crossed over his chest for lack of anything else to do.

First thing, she took out the elastic and ran her fingers through her hair. She ducked into her room and pulled off her hoodie and t-shirt, throwing it carelessly on the ground. She had a date night shirt around here somewhere, she just needed to find it. She opened her closet, grabbed the first dressy shirt she saw and put it on. She finished buttoning it, then glanced in the mirror and grimaced. This was the shirt she wore when Yennefer dragged her to parties. Translucent white with big red rose designs and little ruffles to make up the capped sleeves. It might be a button up, but it was low cut by design. She thought about changing again, but she wasn't going to risk them being late; this would have to do.

She headed back into the living room, so busy messing with her hair to make sure it wasn't caught in the collar, that she missed the interested look Geralt gave her new outfit. God was this a date? She hadn't prepared herself for a date. At all. Much less one with Geralt. What did Geralt even do on dates? Hell, what did she do on dates? She'd been on one since starting college, and then she hadn't trusted anyone for a while. If this was in fact a date, it would be her first in over two years. Maybe she should ask, make sure.

Except then Geralt held the car door open for her, and that had to mean this was a date, right? He never did that normally. When they got to the theater, he paid for both their tickets even though they had a longstanding agreement to pay for their outings separately. And then they were in line, waiting for that screening to open, and he cleared his throat and said, "You look nice."

"Oh. Um, thanks." She had definitely chosen the wrong shirt for this. "You look nice too." That sounded insincere, so she added, "I didn't know you had pants that clean."

He snorted, and this was more normal footing. "I never wear them."

"They make your ass look pretty phenomenal."

"My goal in life," he said drily.

"I'm just saying. You're guaranteed to get laid if you go on a date wearing them." Damn. She used to be suave, can you believe that? If they were definitely here as friends though, that would've been a perfectly fine thing to say.

"Hm," he said, but it was noncommittal. God damn it, this was a date and she’d just said that.

Someone in line was eyeing her a little too much, and she shifted, putting an arm around Geralt's waist. He didn't pause, his arm going over her shoulders automatically. It was a common bit they did, since Geralt was intimidating enough that no one wanted to risk hitting on his girlfriend. Of course, now that they were (probably) on a date, it only served to make her heartbeat quicken instead of easing her mind.

They got into their seats without further incident, and she shivered. She knew that movie theaters were cold, and she hadn’t brought a jacket. Unprompted, Geralt put his arm back around her and pulled her close, his body a line of heat against hers. The music started playing, the lights dimmed, and the movie began.

The boss of the ballet showed up, and Renfri leaned in to whisper, "He's a predator."

"Yeah."

She didn't bother to move back into her own seat because Geralt was plenty comfortable to lean on. Hell, over the course of their friendship she'd learned that he didn't make a bad pillow, either. A couple minutes later, she was proven right about the character, not that it was a surprise. She snorted, tucking hair behind her ear from where it had fallen out when she moved.

They walked out of the theater, not knowing exactly what they had watched. "That was..."

"Weird," Geralt supplied, and she nodded.

"Good, but weird. And I could have done without the assault plot points."

"Unnecessary," he grunted. See, it's stuff like that they made them such great friends.

They got back to her apartment, and Geralt hovered awkwardly in the doorway like he wasn't sure if he needed an official invitation or not. "Get in here, Witcher," she said, rolling her eyes. "You've been here a hundred times." It was a bit different since they'd just gone on a date, but for the most part it was the same. He was still her best friend, and she was still perfectly comfortable around him.

"Hmm." He stepped in and closed the door, but he was staying near the entrance instead of making himself at home like he normally did.

Renfri sighed. "It's the shirt isn't it?"

Geralt said nothing, but it was enough.

"I didn't know it was a date until you showed up. I grabbed the first thing I saw," she said with a shrug.

"Hmm."

"Oh don't give me that, I was happy to go on a date with you, I just didn't know that's what it was. You want a beer?"

"Yeah." At the offer, he started acting normally, taking the bottle from her and sitting on the couch. "Weird movie."

"I was hoping for a little more dancing, but I should've known better. It's not like Portman's a dancer, she's an actress."

"A good one."

"A good one," Renfri agreed, "but not a ballerina. The whole rivalry plotline seemed... contrived."

He grunted in agreement, taking a sip. "Good effects."

"Damn good effects," she said.

Everything was normal. That leading to them fucking on her bed, well, that was less normal. But it was also a sight better than talking about a movie neither of them had loved.

"What the fuck," she spit as a loud, persistent noise woke her up.

It took Geralt a second to be awake enough to form words, but when he did, it was one word, more of a groan than a word, "Jaskier."

"He's calling you? This early?" Then, "Why the hell is that your ringtone for him?" She picked up the phone, slid it to answer and said, "Fuck off!" and hung up. She sighed in relief at the blessed silence that followed.

Only for twenty seconds, when the phone started going off again. Geralt answered it this time, leaning over her as she covered her ears and wondered how long it would take for her to go completely mad. "What," he growled.

He was close enough-- and the room was quiet enough-- that she could hear Jaskier's side of the conversation as well. "Was that a woman answering your phone? Two questions for you, Mister Geralt: since when do you do hook ups and who is she that you've stayed the night?"

"Jaskier," he said warningly.

"Oh alright, but I will get the answers out of you eventually."

"Get to the point."

"Can you pick me up? Well, me and Yennefer. We're too drunk to drive."

"Call a cab."

"I can't find my wallet and the she-witch claims she can't find hers. Personally, I think she's cheap."

Geralt groaned, head dropping to the pillow. Renfri pat him in commiseration.

"Great! We're at the Cintra sorority house."

He sighed. Of course that's where they were. Calanthe had banned him from going in. While he had no intention of going inside, she'd probably take it as him picking a fight if he showed up on her lawn. "Be outside."

"Thaaaank you Geralt, you're my hero!"

Geralt humphed and hung up.

Renfri rubbed at her face, trying to will wakefulness into being.

"Jaskier's an idiot," he grumbled. He pushed himself up. "See you tomorrow."

"I'll come with you," she said, talking around her yawn. She made to get up, and he gently pushed her back down.

"You have to get up early."

"I'm already up," she argued, but when he kissed her forehead and got to his feet, she didn't try to follow. It's not like Geralt needed help, and she was going to have to wake up again in four hours. "Call if you need a save."

Geralt snorted, imagining how that rescue would take place.

"And-" she had to stop to yawn widely "-I'll see you tomorrow."

#geralt/renfri #geralt of rivia #renfri #the witcher #fanfic #my writing

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sssuperbartola · 6 years ago

Text

There’s a fine line between condescension and encouragement from your parents but most of the time it’s hard to distinguish them because of the projections we’ve held upon them since we were young and naive. The more you grow, the more assertive these behaviors start to appear to you and you find yourself asking if this is what it has always been in your family: passive-aggressive eye contacts/remarks, sudden spurs of guilt-tripping feelings, the fear of speaking up for yourself, the mere, insignificant topic brought up at dinner table turned into a heated debate for no apparent reason but making it about he/she being wrong.

It starts slow and in small portions. The first attempt always draws more of it against you or your closest member, and then you can’t stop. You can't stop because you simply don’t know better or there’s no one else there to make you understand the mistakes you’re making. You find yourself in a position where you hold a powerful motive in your hand to dictate your rules, only you have it and only you can use it, but no one taught you how to. Because no matter how old, how prepared or how familiar you feel with it, parenting can’t be taught. There’s no correct way to be a parent and more often than ever, you have to figure out the best route for your life on your own.

From our part, you’re too little to understand your parents’ decisions, you’re too old to even care and decide to turn your eyes and ears away from it, thinking it’s the best solution. Simple comments like “At your age I wasn’t complaining about that” or “If I could’ve done it in your place, this would’ve never happened” just don’t account for a life-guiding help. We are led to think they’re too fossilized on their own perspective and that they will never understand ours, and both parts will each have their own conclusion: it’s the other’s fault.

I recently finished my summer exam session and up until my last exam, things went exceptionally well and I had a good feeling about my performance. I made sure to contact my parents for every exam done and for every result handed out because I felt it was the right way to do it. They were both interested in how I handled my academic career and were trying to encourage me throughout it. Then, the last exam came around. It went terrible. I managed to pass, but it felt like a kick in the gut for how long I’ve prepared for that occasion and for all my previous effort. To whom the blame might concern is not the priority, in this case, the outcome was unpredictable regardless how familiar I was with the subject and the professor, but the disappointment was there, I felt it heavily on me and the first thing that crossed my mind was “how am I supposed to tell this at home?”. Not anger for how poorly it went, not my grade average being affected by it, but only the reaction of my parents.

I wasn’t thinking about myself, I wasn’t trying to make the disappointment go away, I was mustering up the courage to call home and deliver the news. I felt bad, I felt suffocating, I didn’t want to do it but I had to. I had to do it because it was only a matter of time they asked me and me being the anxious ball of bones and meat I am, I couldn’t handle the pressure and I couldn’t lie.

I called my mom first. She is the most receptive and understanding of the duo, shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I called on the verge of tears, ready for whatever was waiting for me on the other line, but thankfully the call didn’t last long, we exchanged some “it’s fine” and “it’s ok, don’t worry about it” and then we said goodbye.

I didn’t call my dad. Maybe it was a mistake, but I already knew what was waiting for me this time. The fact it was a subject he was very familiar with and that he held on deeply made it worst to face his judging. Maybe it was a mistake to call him only for the good things, but that’s what made me avoid a scolding when coming back home. I hate his scolding, they’re mostly unprompted and they hurt where it shouldn’t hurt. Whenever he talks and gives his won opinion, it cuts through your whole chest, he doesn’t stop until you fully understand the failure you are or the mistake you did. You can’t escape it, it’s always your fault. No matter what.

I figured my mom would deliver the bad news with me being far away. I delayed the inevitable to help me get over my bad grade and relax with friends to clear my head. Summer was finally beginning for me after 2 whole months of non-stop studying, I was going to take full advantage of the time left. The departure day arrived. I got home, we have dinner and he’s there. But he doesn’t say anything. I figured he either had still no idea or he just had a very full day at work and wants to plug off for a moment. The very next day, it hit. I woke up very late because being finally on vacation means no alarm in the morning to study, no plans, no worries. I arrived at lunch still sleepy and not very hungry, but the policy at my house is that you have to stay around for lunch, no being a hermit and leave to go to your room, it’s family time at noon.

My dad notices my disheveled looks and makes a remark about it. I simply state “I’m finally over with exam, now I can take some mornings off to sleep”, and then he goes for the hit. “Maybe you should take your days off to retake studying to do better with your exams, shouldn’t you, “18”? [the grade 18 is the corresponding grade for Italy’s university grade system of a C/C-; the max is 30 (A/A+), he called me the grade I took at the exam] with the last word, he fully turns to me with such a cold, harsh look on his face. He’s unimpressed, he’s angry, he’s disappointed. He didn’t fail to make me notice it. I simply stared and stayed silent. I went over this conversation too many times now that I just can’t bring myself to try explaining myself or to make him understand what went wrong. He then proceeds with “I could’ve taken the exam myself at this time with the few things I remembered from class and I still would’ve taken more than you, you that had weeks to study that. Maybe even taking compliments from your teacher. Bah...unbelievable”. At that point, I lost my appetite, got up of my seat and left. I didn’t go too far (the rule of lunch gathering was still valid for me), I stayed in the living room, I had to stay away for a while.

He was already angry, as he always is when lunch comes, for his won personal reasons, we can easily tell by now. He doesn’t separate being angry at work from being angry for personal stuff, so if he’s angry, it’s our problem really.

That episode happened lots of times already, and it will keep happening. I know that for sure, because that’s the only reaction I can get from him at every mistake, at every downfall.

I’m not surprised anymore. I’m not disappointed anymore. I’m still sad, but, what can I do? It’s been my father figure for all this time, put some hopes in him and aspired for his approval like every little kid does, it’s gonna take a while for me to completely shut my emotions away, for now.

All this long post - I know - to say this: don’t let this toxic behavior affect you. It seems taken for granted, but for some people, it’s still a huge obstacle for their own happiness and achievements. Don’t let these words hurt you. Mistakes happen. You’re human, we’re all human. We need to come to terms with it because otherwise, we will never let ourselves take a break, we will always see the dark side of our actions, the unfulfilled task, the daunting, minimum error in a large scale of successes that will hold us down like a chained ball.

Whatever you accomplish today, it’s a huge step, no matter what. If you haven’t heard it already, i will say it for you: you did your best and you still made a difference, you did a good job. It’s gonna be ok. Keep it up, and remember

I’m proud of you

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riddlerosehearts · 5 years ago

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Do you think the Pocahontas movie is racist??

well, i… think this is a very controversial question that probably shouldn’t have been asked on anon unprompted like this if i’m being honest?? but it’s fine, i’ll still answer it lol because i feel like this is something i was probably gonna need to talk about at some point anyway. this is probably gonna get a little lengthy so here’s a tl;dr version: yes but i still like it.

and now for the long version: yes, i reblog a lot of pocahontas content, own pocahontas dolls, say that pocahontas is an amazing and inspiring character who’s important to me, and love the music, art, animation, and characters (minus john smith, i hate him lol) of disney’s pocahontas, so clearly i don’t feel that it’s inherently racist for people to enjoy the movie… but i do think it’s unquestionably racist on disney’s part for them to have treated powhatan culture and the story of a real woman this way. pocahontas was a real person and she did not have a fairytale romance with john smith, when they met she was a child and he was a full grown adult and they aged her up just to have a romance story with him (and even then i don’t think she’s old enough for that because they envisioned her as 18-19 and john as like, almost 30 as far as i know). the man who was powhatan chief at the time called the movie dishonest and self serving and claimed that it distorted history beyond recognition, and who am i to tell him he’s wrong?? and the saddest part is that he offered disney his help. he wanted to help disney make the film more culturally and historically sensitive and accurate but his help was refused. disney literally even actually did get a consultant, shirley “little dove” custalow-mcgowan, who’s a powhatan native and has taught about pocahontas in schools for decades… and then obviously didn’t listen to her because she is now unhappy to have worked on the movie and wishes disney would take pocahontas’s name off of it because they didn’t actually pursue historical accuracy like she thought they would. again, who am i to tell her that she’s wrong??

if disney wanted to make this movie then–in my opinion at least, because it’s not like i’m an expert here–they should have created a completely original protagonist and not sold the story as being based on the real pocahontas, because what they made is so loosely based on her that it’s essentially only in name. they should’ve created an englishman who’s just a regular guy, not a settler trying to steal her land, and is her own age and either do the romance that way or, preferably, just have them develop a close friendship and show that the love between two friends can change the world just as much as romantic love. and most importantly they should have accepted the help of the people who their damn story was supposed to be about because that’s why this entire problem exists, because they wanted to make a movie about native americans and specifically about the powhatan people without bothering to listen to them!

look, i’ve loved disney’s pocahontas since i was really little, she’s one of my favorite disney princesses and i used to just watch the movie over and over. i still do love it but since then i’ve learned the real story of pocahontas and how this movie was hated by many of the actual people it was trying to represent. and that’s what i think people need to do in the future–this movie isn’t going to just disappear from people’s minds, disney is much too big for that to ever happen, but if you’re going to show it to your kids someday then you need to also teach them that this movie does not truly represent the culture that it claims to, and teach them about the real pocahontas. teach them that even if disney’s version might be fun and inspiring to them, it’s nothing more than a fantasy tale. don’t let them go on thinking that it’s basically just a cartoon version of actual history and that there’s nothing wrong with it, because that only causes harm and i wish someone had told me the same as a kid.

so yes, i enjoy the movie for what it is and always will, i think parts of it are beautiful and that it had a lot of potential to actually be amazing if disney really cared, and yes i am also heavily critical of it and think that disney fucked up big time by acting like they could just do whatever the fuck they wanted instead of listening to actual powhatan people. and i do think it was racist of them to have released the movie the way it is and to market it as if it’s based on a true story or something. it’s terrible and disney absolutely should have done better.

#ALSO to be absolutely clear i'm not like. mad at you or anything anon #i was just kinda surprised to get this question but again i probably would've needed to clarify my opinion on this at some point anyway #as long as you're not here to yell at me and start discourse over it and i don't get the impression that you are #anonymous #asks #discourse #long post

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calleo-bricriu · 5 years ago

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I’m still on a break from that awful fiction book. Nearly done with it but still annoyed with it for being so terrible.

Instead, here’s the next chapter of “Facts for he Married”.

As an aside, you cannot read this man’s medical books without basically reading them as that insufferable Leigh character from his fiction book because Leigh is him with a different name.

Anyway.

I got through a good few paragraphs of the third "case study" in Facts for the Married before realising that interruption wasn't talking about in conversation.

Apparently, the third anecdote here is about a couple who is just bad at sex.

Which, of course, is entirely the wife's fault, according to the author because how could a man be wrong or not good at such a thing?

It goes a little off the rails pretty quickly with, "No nation can last whose social life is one of sensuality and sex perversion. History has shown this fact. But, however much we may look back upon the times of Nero or Caligula or try to imagine the Eleusinian orgies, we should try to remember that such things as were done and said were at least open and public matters and as such could have been regulated, had a high moral standard been in existence." He’s just saying shit like this to the two people in his office for their appointment unprompted.

I guess regulated public orgies would be moral though. I’m not sure--how--but there we go.

"And what is a prettier sight in the world than a plump mother with a plumper baby?" A lot of things, if I'm being honest. He's talking like he's trying to sell them off to a butcher.

He's finally moved on to the totally real and not something he just made up couple and we've got a pale, thin husband and an irritable, twitchy wife. She’s described in the sort of way where you just know the author wants to call her bitchy or worse but Swears Are Not Allowed, so she’s just “irritable and nervous” and occasionally ‘shrew like”.

The totally real husband starts trying to explain the relationship issues with his wife, like a normal person might, and the doctor cuts him off about five words in and essentially tells him to shut up with his complaining then tells him he needs to start living according to the laws of nature and, at 39, there's no excuse for him to have--loss of stamina, as well as the "fact" that all the drugs in the world won't fix his wife being a frigid, nervous bitch.

Little harsh.

"You fear impotence, and your fear is justified," is probably not a statement that is helpful here, especially since the guy just explained that that’s literally one of his problems. For some reason, I got the image of this doctor sort of looking down his nose in an inappropriately appraising way at the guy when he said that.

He goes on and tells this poor guy that he's also got a shite memory, doesn't know how to sleep correctly, has headaches, has no idea what he's doing or talking about because the guy never mentioned any of this, and at one point the guy tries to agree with him then explain more.

"Sometimes, I feel--"

"Yes, no need to waste your energy in telling me," and he goes off describing more 'problems' this guy has because he's good enough to read minds I guess. This man is a terrible doctor both for his wildly inaccurate advice and for the fact that he doesn’t listen to his patients.

At this point, we find out the absolutely real wife is sitting RIGHT THERE (she had only been mentioned as having existed previously and the writing was such that it read like just the Doctor and the poor guy trying to explain his problems) and interrupts (the conversational type this time) the doctor that another doctor told them that her husband had spinal issues, and THIS doctor just sort of went with, "Whatever, he was a quack. I'm a real doctor."

"But did you tell him and the others you have been to that you lived unnaturally?"

Okay first of all, what?

Second, she tells him no and gets berated for not knowing she was "living wrongly" and I assume sarcastically asks if her husband even objected to her trying to tell other doctors they were normal people.

He tries to answer, gets interrupted by the doctor again who somehow knows that, before this couple got married, she told him she didn't want kids and he was cool with it.

...and that's why they're bad at sex, because they don’t want children. That's the long conclusion. I have to admit, I’ve never wanted children and I don’t think I’m necessarily bad at the sex thing. Then again, I haven’t tried to drag up the ghost of Dr. Howard to ask his opinion and I kind of want to because I’m definitely the sort of unnartually wrong living sort that would probably kill him a second time just by being in the same room with me.

The doctor sits there for seven pages berating her for not wanting to have kids, that her husband needs to start demanding babies be made and if she refuses and cuts him off it's entirely her fault if he cheats on her.

Since the husband appears to be a reasonable person, despite the author's attempts to write him as completely useless, he tries to explain that he doesn't really want to do that, that it's beyond inappropriate to demand his wife have children if she doesn't want them, he was perfectly okay with this while they were dating and when they got married and that it’s her choice (you know, a reasonable, normal response--just not for 19--when the hell was this one published? 1912.) and, of course, gets cut off by the doctor again so he can berate him for being useless and spineless in one breath and stopping just short of calling his wife a frigid bitch for refusing to get pregnant.

We're introduced to a third sex: Neutered. While I know that sounds amusing, all it means is that you’re not conforming to prevailing gender role expectations of the time so you’re no longer a man or a woman you’re a ‘neuter’. He also briefly mentioned it applies if some sort of surgery is required that leaves one sterile or if they end up with a disease that makes them sterile.

I don't--think that's how it works but, okay, sure, why not?

So, they both stop trying to explain to the doctor that he's being an idiot (which he is) and he orders them to go home and start being less terrible at sex--no advice as to how, it was pretty much just, “Go home and have, like, at LEAST two kids then you’ll be fine,” at which point he'll stop being--how was the husband described? Pale and thin; he'll stop being pale and thin and presumably also stop being a spineless wreck and she'll be much less of a frigid bitch once she has babies plural.

I'm a bit concerned at this point he's going to make good on the threat of giving "explicit advice and instructions" but will also be kind of disappointed if he doesn’t.

Wife is used as a verb a few times, in reference to older men ditching their first wives and grabbing a "young girl" as a new one and THOSE men deserve "nothing but contempt from their young wives". Don’t use wife as a verb, though, unless you’d like whichever person you do that to to give you a well deserved punch in the teeth for it.

The reason for that is--that hypothetical older guy she’ll jump to once she gets tired of Mr. Spineless here, will either make her a nervous wreck by being even more terrible at sex (because if he were any good at it he could have kept his first wife and she wouldn’t have walked the second the kids were grown, of course) and it's his fault because he's repeatedly insulted her and "starved her to desperation" by being terrible at sex. I don’t know why he’s talking about this, at no point did this couple express the desire to get divorced or get a sugar daddy involved.

I'm not sure how this is applicable to the 100% real couple in the room with this doctor.

He finally starts rambling on about old men and young women and tells him to not jump back into it because he can't risk any strain on his vitality, "what little you have left" (quit murdering the guy, Doctor, damn...), and needs to take a 3-6 month holiday by himself so he can get his life back together. If his job gives him hell about wanting to take SIX MONTHS off, he's supposed to tell them that they don't have that option and fuck off on holiday anyway.

I don't think reality works like that. I have a hell of a lot of accrued time off and I'm still pretty sure if I told @directoryandle that I was going to fuck off on a six month holiday I'd be sacked (unless I could make a convincing case for it being a working holiday).

So, husband has to take a 3-6 month holiday by himself, now it's the wife's turn for getting advice. These people don’t have names, as an aside, because it’s “real case studies” so he’ll sometimes go with “Mr. S----” or “Mrs. S----” but that’s it. Usually he just calls them “the husband” and “the wife”.

Her orders are to let her husband take that 3-6 month holiday without her and told what amounts to, "At least you're not a murderer, so there's that," and reminded to (once he's back from his holiday, of course) get to work on that having multiple children thing. Presumably a woman who doesn’t want kids is only one run up from an actual murderer.

They’re both somehow pleased with this awful advice and then we get to the “Fourth Case Study”.

The couple in the fourth absolutely real case is the opposite, they're too good at the sex thing and she's noticed he's losing weight and energy and the husband is just, "I don't see the problem here, I’m fine."

SHE tells the doctor she'll cut her husband off if it'll fix his health because she’s concerned that he “wants to love her too much”--like, honey, you can just tell him no, you don’t have to say yes to his 30th request for the day or however excessive this is, he’s got working hands and is a grown adult let him deal with it himself now and again--which doesn't seem to be terrible in any regard, and gets praised for that while he gets sarcastically lectured for the rest of the chapter about how he's being excessive and needs to calm down.

And how often is this happening that the husband is actively losing weight? I mean, you could just try feeding him more to make up for the calorie deficit I guess.

Honestly, despite how much like the Perfect Wife he was trying to portray her it really did come off as he subtly asking him to tell her husband to fucking cool it because they already have five kids and she hardly has any time to get anything done without him pestering her about it 4+ times per day--but it can’t be phrased that way or then he’d have two write about how she’s a terrible person who doesn’t appreciate the good things her husband has given her.

There's just no winning with Dr. Howard.

#this is appropriate for sinday #and I didn't actually stop cleaning to write it #it's been sitting in my drafts for a few days #facts for the married #antique books #TOTALLY REAL CASES Y'ALL NOT AT ALL MADE UP

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ericxanders · 6 years ago

Text

Necessary Revelations || Caric

Tagging: Eric Anderson and Caleb Duval ( @calebswitching )

When: Saturday 15th June

Notes: After an intense scene the night before, Eric and Caleb have an important conversation and make a dent in learning to communicate better.

[[MORE]]

The next morning dawned to find Caleb curled up on Eric’s bed with his head pillowed on the Dominant’s chest, and Eric’s arm wrapped loosely around him, and Maverick on the other side of the bed. It was a lovely way to wake up, but he quickly found himself feeling lethargic and sort of strange. He wasn’t hungry and barely ate any breakfast. He wouldn’t have eaten anything at all except Eric seemed to want him to. Part of Caleb wanted to go back to his suite and be alone, but only because he wanted to not have to talk at all. A much bigger part of him didn’t want to be alone, though, so he stayed. He ended up setting himself up on the end of the couch with the intention and pretext of doing homework, though he got hardly anything done. Mostly he just stayed quiet and didn’t look up at Eric or speak to him beyond quiet, short answers to direct questions. He couldn’t stop feeling confused and scared and he hated it. He knew he had no reason to be scared. But every time he thought about what had happened last night, he remembered the way he’d called Eric ‘master’ without ever being told he was allowed to do so, and the way he’d thrown a fit over having a plug taken out, like a spoiled brat. Eric seemed happy with him, still, but Caleb didn’t understand how he could be.

It had been bothering him all day. It bothered him more that he hadn’t really noticed at first. When he’d woken up, he’d been surrounded by his boys, still riding the high he’d got from the intensity of his scene with Caleb. It had been a great mood to wake up in. Things with Mav were normal; he was his usual rather bouncy self. He was so comfortable in Eric’s suite and it was evident in the way he interacted with the space. Caleb, to contrast, seemed to only become more withdrawn as the day went on. He thought perhaps it was just a little dip after being so deep but when it became clear this wasn’t something that was going to be shaken off, he had to say something. He sat on the coffee table, opposite his submissive’s space on the couch and reached out to tap his knee. ‘What’s going on with you sweet boy? You don’t seem — Well, you seem uneasy. Or upset.’

Caleb looked up when Eric tapped him, then saw Eric's worried expression and looked back down. He shrank back into the couch, trying to be small and inconsequential. "Nothing is going on, Sir," he said softly. He'd learned long ago how to make his voice soft and gentle and keep his tone even, devoid of any kind of emotions, and yet natural enough that it didn't sound robotic. It was a voice of complete neutrality, one that never drew any sort of attention to the speaker. He used it a lot when speaking to a Dominant, but most especially when something was wrong or the Dominant was upset. It was the placating tone he used when he was trying to minimize damage. "I'm sorry if I worried you. I'm not upset, Sir." And he wasn't, he told himself firmly. He had nothing to be upset about. It was ridiculous to feel like this after such a wonderful scene last night.

‘But there is something bothering you.’ He said. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. He knew something was bothering him and he wanted to know what. He wanted to know so he could reassure him, comfort him, fix it, whatever action was necessary. ‘Last night was pretty intense huh?’ He contributed, keeping his hand on Caleb’s knee. ‘I’m a bit worried that you might be dropping, sweet boy.’ He explained. ‘Tell me what’s going on in your head.’ He instructed, voice taking on that same firm Dominant tone he’d relished in the night before.

... Dropping? Caleb didn't think he was dropping. He'd dropped before, and it had been a lot more intense than this. But he knew his emotions were being screwy, so maybe Eric had a point. Anyway, he couldn't just avoid the topic when Eric gave him an order like that. He shifted on the couch, still avoiding Eric's gaze. "I'm alright," he said in that same quiet, neutral tone. "I just, um. I just feel kind of weird. And, um, I'm embarrassed about some of the things I said last night… I wasn't really in control of myself for a lot of it."

He was embarrassed. Did that mean he was ashamed? Did he regret any of it? He couldn’t ask those questions now, nor could he dwell on the flutter of panic starting in his gut. ‘You weren’t in control, but I was. Wasn’t that the point, beautiful? To allow you to escape to a deeper subspace?’ He asked, wishing that for even a minute Caleb would look up at him. ‘I don’t think you did or said anything to be remotely embarrassed about. But if that’s how you feel — Why don’t you tell me specifically what makes you feel that way? If that’s how you feel after a scene, that’s something we need to have a conversation about. We need to get to the bottom of that and resolve it.’ He said firmly.

Caleb felt his stomach clench as he listened. Eric was right, of course, Caleb shouldn't be embarrassed, he should have said something already, and he should be trusting Eric more. He really was a terrible submissive, and this was proof, but he knew Eric would deny it if Caleb pointed it out. He swallowed and tried to focus on Eric's specific questions instead of his own failings. "I just, um… I was greedy, yesterday. Taking without asking. The way I was touching you without permission. And…" Caleb pulled his legs up on the couch to wrap his arms around them and put his chin on his knee, wishing he could hide. "I called you master," he said so softly it was barely audible. "It was so presumptuous. I'm so sorry, Sir. I know I didn't have permission to use it."

It hurt hearing Caleb talk like that. It felt like a punch in the gut because all the things he was embarrassed about were the very things that had made Eric feel so incredible. He was brought down from his remaining high with a hard crash. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, opting instead to run his fingers through his hair. He let out a sigh. ‘That’s — Well, honestly? That’s hard to hear. Those were some of my favourite things about last night. I — I was so fucking happy to hear you talking so much, by the way you were responding to me. I love it when you touch me. When you or Mav touch me unprompted, just affectionately or because you want some sort of physical connection — you have no idea what that does to me.’ He tried to explain. ‘Calling me Master felt sort of perfect. It was exactly the way it was with Mav; completely natural, in the moment and indicative of some sense of devotion that I’m not entirely sure I deserve. You don’t need my permission for that. That’s something I want to come from you. I want you to use it if and when it feels right to do so.’ He fished for his phone in his pocket and opened it to the few messages he’d sent Mav the night before. ‘I’m not trying to placate you, or just cheer you up.’ He held the phone out to him. ‘I talk about you to Mav last night.’

Caleb felt like he could cry. He shouldn't have said anything. He knew he was supposed to trust Eric and be honest, but he also would rather never have said anything than say something that hurt Eric. He ducked his head to hide his face in his knees so he didn't have to see Eric, and so Eric couldn't see the pain on his face either. "But- I was presumptuous and demanding, and i- I threw a fit just because you took out my plug, I was a brat, and I-" He moved so he could cover his face with his hands. "I don't know why you're not angry, Sir." It didn't make sense. Even if Eric loved when Caleb touched him or liked being called Master, that didn't mean Caleb should behave like a brat or assume something was allowed without asking. He never should have asked for that scene. He should have known he'd lose control when he went that deep and wouldn't behave. He knew he couldn't trust himself to behave, that's why he was always so careful not to get emotional in front of a dominant. He needed to monitor himself, always. When Eric mentioned Mav, Caleb looked up fractionally, and saw the phone. He hesitated and glanced at Eric's face, then took it and read the messages.

‘So you get that none of what I say is to placate you right? I was saying similar things to someone else about you in a way you never would have seen if I hadn’t shown you. I need you to believe that I wouldn’t lie to you.’ He moved off the coffee table to crouch in front of the couch and did his best to take Caleb’s face in his hands. ‘Please don’t hide your face from me.’ He requested softly. ‘Do you think a little bratty behaviour bothers me? You were a little bratty, Mav can be a little bratty. It doesn’t bother me. I talked you down didn’t I? We worked through it and you came out the other side. You were further down than I’ve ever seen you and it was beautiful. Selfishly, it felt incredible to be able to bring you there but more than that, you were so blissful. So peaceful and open.’ He ducked his head to kiss him. He’d have kissed wherever he could reach. ‘I’m not angry because it was a perfect scene. Not because I’m perfect or because you’re perfect but because we were in sync and honest with one another. I trusted you and you trusted me; and we pushed each other. I’m not angry because I fully expect you to be demanding sometimes. I get a kick out of you being so needy that you’re demanding. Because you’re so soft with it. It’s more about needing me than anything else and you have no idea what that does to me.’

Reading through the texts was almost surreal. Caleb had convinced himself that Eric had only been so kind because he didn’t want to hurt a submissive during a scene, and that he would be angry now that Caleb was out of subspace. In his mind, it had been the only possible explanation. But this was undeniable evidence that Eric hadn’t been secretly upset with him. He wouldn’t have gushed to Maverick about it while Caleb was still floating through subspace if he had been at all unhappy. Caleb looked up at Eric with wide eyes when the Dominant touched him. As Eric spoke, he felt his throat start to get tight and his eyes started to sting with tears. He shook his head, not because he was saying no, but because he honestly couldn’t believe what Eric was saying. It was too much. It was too sweet, too gentle, too… loving. It was terrifying, and Caleb didn’t know why it scared him, but he wanted to run away. “You- you’re too sweet to me,” he breathed, fear heavy in his voice. “I can’t… I just can’t. I- I know Mav can handle it, and I should be able to, but I- I can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry.”

‘I’m not angry at you. You’re never going to make me angry at you for being honest.’ He promised. He hated how hard this was for Caleb; not because he didn’t want to put in the effort but because he believed in his heart that Caleb deserved to have it easy. He was sweet and clever and kind; and evidently so trusting which is what had resulted in such a negative relationship. ‘I understand you feel that way beautiful, but I don’t think I am too sweet to you. I’m no sweeter than I am with Mav.’ He pointed out gently. He knew so much of this had to do with Mark and he was recognising that there was only so much he could do. ‘Can I tell you something?’ It was a rhetorical question. He continued immediately. ‘This scares me too. You. Maverick. Working towards a claim. That scares me. Because the two of you are — unbelievably important to me and the idea that I could fuck up and hurt one of you is completely unthinkable. It’s okay to be scared. Can I tell you something else?’ He continued again. ‘I wonder how much of the way you think — I wonder how much of that has to do with Mark, and the way he treated you.’

Caleb looked down again, unable to keep looking at Eric’s face while he was saying such kind things, because he knew he didn’t deserve it. When he looked down and blinked, tears rolled down his cheeks, unbidden. He didn’t know what to do, to say, to think. This was terrifying, and all he could think was that he wanted to run away. He should just let Eric and Maverick be together, remove himself from the equation. Even hearing that Eric was scared too just made Caleb want to leave. It would make things better, because then Eric wouldn’t be afraid of hurting him. If he could just lock everything behind that wall again, he couldn’t be hurt. It was only when Eric brought up Mark that Caleb looked up at him. How much had Caleb ever even told him about Mark? He never talked about him, almost ever. Nick knew a lot, by now, but Caleb didn’t think anyone knew much more than the fact that he’d been with Mark for a long time, and left him because he was kind of an asshole sometimes. “S-sir?” His voice was quiet, confused. “I don’t… You’re nothing like Mark, Sir. It’s not about that.”

‘I think you try to be perfect.’ He said softly. ‘And I think you worry so much about it that it becomes a constant anxious thought playing in the back of your mind. I worry about the way you respond before and after punishments. I worry that you don’t ever really forgive yourself. I worry that you don’t think you deserve my kindness or my being sweet to you. And I don’t know a lot about Mark. You’ve only told me bits and pieces about how he treated you, and I know I’m not assuming things when I say he treated you wrongly and unfairly. That kind of relationship can have a lingering effect on someone. I think — maybe whatever he did, whatever he said has stuck with you and made you believe somehow that you don’t deserve happiness or love or care or support or kindness.’ He was guessing; putting puzzle pieces together that he’d amassed over months. It could be an entirely wrong assumption but he really didn’t think it was.

Caleb looked down again when Eric expounded on his comments. Why did Eric have to be so perceptive? And why couldn’t he just ...not be so nice to Caleb? He rubbed his cheeks harshly to scrub away the tears that had fallen. “A sub owes his Dominant his best,” he mumbled. “I… I don’t understand, Sir. I’m sorry.” It felt like a failure, but he was so confused, on top of the fear he was already mired in. “Mark had high standards,” he said with a shrug. “But it was because he wanted to help me be the best submissive I could. Even though I- I wasn’t an actual sub. And he wasn’t like you- you’re so sweet, Sir, all the time, after scenes, during them… you’re always so gentle. And Mark wasn’t, but that’s not- it’s okay, I don’t need to be treated like that. I’m not fragile. Not- not that I don’t appreciate it, Sir. I do. I know you put a lot of effort into being kind to me.”

‘You owe me your best; your best isn’t perfection.’ He informed him gently. ‘I don’t treat you that way because I think your fragile. I think the bruises I leave and how hard I push you sometimes suggests quite the opposite of fragility. I treat you that way because you’re important and you’re precious, and because I want you to enjoy our scenes and understand everything I do comes from a place of caring about you.’ He leaned forward slightly, leaning into Caleb’s personal space. ‘It doesn’t take effort to be kind to you Caleb.’ He countered. ‘You really believe you don’t deserve it don’t you? Or those things I said before?’

Caleb wanted to pull away, but there was nowhere for him to go. He just shook his head. He wasn't important or precious, and the fact that Eric thought he was just proved that Eric still didn't know the real him. At Eric's questions, Caleb just shook his head again. "I- I haven't done anything to deserve them," he said in a quiet, timid voice. "They way you treat me… it's like you're rewarding me for something, but all the time. Constantly. And I didn't do anything worth rewarding, and I never have a way to pay back your kindness at all, because all I can do is be obedient and respectful and it's not enough, I'm not enough to be worth all of that- all of what you give me." He was crying openly now, tears streaming down his face, and he ducked his head to hide his face in his knees. "Please, please don't say I am worth all- all of that. Please. I'm not. I- I'm just not capable of being good enough of a submissive to deserve the way you spoil me."

He moved to the couch, and immediately tried to draw Caleb onto his lap. ‘Oh sweet boy.’ He murmured, wrapping his arms around him and gathering him close to his chest. ‘You — Being kind to you isn’t a reward. Taking care of you isn’t a reward. This isn’t something you owe me for.’ He kissed his hair. ‘You’re exactly what I want in a submissive; you’re kind and you’re clever. You make me laugh. You push me to be a better Dominant and you challenge the way I think. You take away any fear I have when we’re trying new things. You give me so much confidence —‘ he stopped, realising that as true as it all was, it would be hard for Caleb to hear. ‘I want to help you realise that you do deserve goodness and kindness in your life Caleb. But I don’t think I can do it by myself. I think maybe you should see a professional. Someone impartial who you feel comfortable with. Someone who can help you understand why you’re thinking this way.’ He suggested.

Caleb let himself be pulled into Eric's lap, and he ducked his head down onto Eric's chest. He didn't deserve the comfort, but he ached for it and couldn't bring himself to resist it. He just didn't understand how Eric could see all those things in him. How could he possibly be what Eric wanted in a submissive? Especially when he already had Maverick, who could actually handle all of this sweetness and affection without freaking out. It was difficult for Caleb just to listen to this. How could he give Eric what he wanted if he couldn't do such a simple thing? And why didn't Eric see that Caleb didn't deserve to be treated with such softness? He needed to be controlled and kept in line so that he didn't do something wrong. He just wasn't capable of being good all the time on his own, and if his Dominant was so soft and gentle with him, he would end up being thoughtless or disrespectful or disobedient and inevitably prove that he couldn't be trusted. But he didn't know how to express all of this to Eric. He'd tried, but Eric didn't seem to believe him. When Eric mentioned a therapist, Caleb scrubbed the tears off his cheeks and looked up. "Do… do you think it would help?" He wanted to be better, for Eric. He really did. He wanted to be good, and to be able to be what Eric wanted, and be able to trust himself not to screw everything up the second he wasn't on guard, like he had last night. Even though Eric wasn't upset about Caleb's behavior during their scene, Caleb knew it was only a matter of time before he did something to offend the Dominant unless he was carefully watching himself, but he wanted to be able to relax the way Eric wanted him to. He wanted to be the submissive that Eric wanted. "Nick… um, Nick has been trying to get me to see his therapist…" He looked down again, leaning his head on Eric's shoulder. "I'm not trying to be difficult, Sir," he murmured, miserable. "I want to be good, the way you want me to be. I just… I'm not a good sub, like Mav is, I can't trust myself. But- but I'm not trying to be difficult, Sir. I'm sorry that I'm causing you so much trouble. I'm supposed to be making things easier for you, supporting you… this is all wrong."

‘You’re not any trouble as far as I’m concerned. You’re someone I care about and I will do this, hold you, talk you through this every day if that turns out to be what you need from me.’ He said firmly. ‘I want you to understand I’m not suggesting this to make you into the submissive I imagine in my head. I’m suggesting to this because I genuinely believe with the right therapist, you could make a lot of progress. You could see your worth and maybe understand a fraction of how lucky I feel to have you in my life.’

Caleb shook his head, but didn’t pull away from Eric. “I don’t deserve all of this, Sir,” he insisted. “You… you should claim Mav, and some other sub who won’t freak out when you’re nice to them. And I… I just need someone who will keep me in line. That- that’s all.” His voice broke as he said it, and he ducked his head down to bury his face in Eric’s chest. “No, no, god, please don’t get rid of me, I didn’t- I shouldn’t have said that, please. I just- I don’t deserve someone like you. I don’t. The- the way you talk about me, I don’t… but please don’t send me away, please, please. I’m sorry I said it.”

With firm control, Eric guided Caleb’s face upwards and kissed him hard. He could hear the panic and the worry creeping back into Caleb’s tone in an increasing amount and all he wanted to do was distract him, give him something else to focus on for a minute. He held his face between his hands and refused to let him look away. ‘I promise I can be the Dominant you need Caleb, and I promise I’m going to do everything to help you figure out exactly what that is. Because you deserve more than just someone to keep you in line.’ He insisted. ‘I’m not going to send you away. I want you here. I want to keep you sweet boy.’

Caleb didn’t resist, and returned the kiss. He was awash in emotions so much that he didn't know which way was up. He desperately wanted the very things that terrified him the most. How was he supposed to deal with that? Getting too close was not something he could deal with, and yet the idea of running away was almost physically painful. He stared at Eric with wide, scared eyes as the Dominant spoke. What could he even do but agree with him? He clearly couldn't handle the idea of cutting ties, so the only other option was to do as Eric said. "O- okay," he managed. He swallowed thickly, still staring at Eric. His mind returned to a few minutes ago, reading what Eric had said to Maverick about the scene last night, about Caleb calling him Master. Caleb couldn't help but feel like the title was appropriate right now, given the way Eric was looking at him and speaking to him. "Can… can I call you Master? When I'm not in subspace? If- if I haven't earned it yet, I understand, I'm not trying to take what isn't mine, Sir."

‘It’s funny. I don’t see calling me Master as me giving you anything but rather you giving me a rather remarkable gift.’ He kissed him again. Because he could and because he desperately wanted to do so. ‘I’d feel quite honoured if you were to call me Master sweet boy. And I think Mav has made his thoughts on that quite clear too.’ Holding Caleb against his chest like this, being able to feel his body move with every breath that left his lungs felt — right. It just felt like they fit, and this conversation left him feeling hopeful about their future.

Caleb made a face, one of desperation, because Eric still wasn’t answering. Calling him Master was something Caleb needed permission for, why didn’t Eric see that? He couldn’t just assume that kind of relationship with someone. He returned the kiss, though, always hungry for Eric’s touch, and then let out a breath and sagged against him. That was close enough, that counted as permission. He nodded against Eric’s shoulder. “Thank you, Master.” It was so strange to say that, outside of subspace, when he was really choosing to do it. Strange, but good. Calling Eric ‘Master’ made Caleb realize just how deeply he longed for that relationship with him. He wanted Eric to be his Master. He wanted to belong to Eric. He didn’t think he was worthy of it, and he was scared to death that Eric would realize that he would never be a good submissive and discard him, or that he wouldn’t be able to handle the tender way Eric always treated him. But he ached deep in his heart to be held like this. He wanted Eric to be his master so badly it hurt. He nestled into Eric, tucking his face into the crook of the Dom’s neck. “I want to be your boy,” he said quietly, feeling horribly vulnerable, but wanting to verbalize it nonetheless. “I want you to be my master, but I need help. I need you to help me be good. I can’t unless you tell me how. Please, Master? I- I need you to be my master. Please.”

His thoughts were running a mile a minute and listening to Caleb, he thought he couldn’t possibly be the Dominant he needed. He couldn’t play the role as intensely as he had the night before full-time. That just wasn’t how he saw his future. But when he looked down at Caleb, took note of the way he tucked himself closer and how comfortable, how right it felt to be holding him like this, he knew he’d do anything he could to be the Dominant he wanted, needed. They’d find their own balance of how to make things work along the way. He kissed him again; softer this time. ‘This is all new for me sweet boy. I’m still learning. But I want to be your Master. I want to be a Dominant you deserve, so if you can be patient with me sometimes, I promise I’ll do everything I can to be what you need me to be. I promised you I’d be in control when you felt out of it, and I meant it.’ He thought back to what Caleb had said previously. ‘And part of being your Master probably means giving you permission to use that title, huh? I want you to use that title with me, beautiful. You have my permission.’

Caleb didn't like the idea of having to be patient with Eric, not because he would ever be impatient with him, but because he felt like he was the one who needed Eric's patience, not the other way around. But if Eric felt it was important enough to ask for, Caleb would of course reassure him. "I can do that," he insisted immediately. "I can do anything you need, Sir. As- as long as you'll correct me if I get it wrong." That was what he worried about most, that he'd do something wrong and not even know it. It was still difficult to trust that Eric would guide him when the Dominant had so rarely corrected him or punished him. There had been moments, though, more common lately, when Eric took the time to remind Caleb of his place and let him feel properly submissive, which gave him hope that Eric was really in control. When the Dom gave Caleb proper, formal permission to call him Master, Caleb lifted his head up so he could look at Eric. His eyes were red from crying, but that didn't hide the happiness in them. It was just such a relief that Eric understood. Caleb had been trying to explain, without being demanding, but it was so difficult to articulate what he needed. But the fact that Eric realized he'd feel better if Eric actually verbalized it and gave Caleb clear permission made Caleb hope that he'd actually managed to communicate. "Thank you, Master," he said softly, sending him a small smile that was at once timid and hopeful. "I'm not trying to be more difficult. It's just… I was always taught that a submissive shouldn't assume or take without asking or use a privilege that hasn't been given to them. It's why I hesitate to touch you without permission, even though I know you've said it's okay. It feels presumptuous. I'd rather wait for you to invite me so I know it's welcome, Master."

‘I get that now.’ He murmured. He was half speaking to himself as things started to fall into place, started to make a little more sense. ‘I promise I can be in control. I promise I’ll be more mindful of what you need.’ He gave him a smile; warm, real and that seems to fill his entire face. ‘It’s better when I remind you of your place isn’t it?’ It had been something he’d noticed since the punishment; that Caleb thrived on that and so he’d tried to do it more and more. ‘Have you ever been caged submissive?’ He asked suddenly, a thought springing to his mind as he considered what he might be able to do to help adopt his role more completely. ‘Because I rather like the idea of two boys being caged and needy for me.’ He grinned.

"Yes, Master," Caleb said, nodding easily. "It's better, I feel safer. Because when you put me down where I belong I know you… have me. You're taking care of me and watching me and I'm safe." He was surprised by the sudden mention of the cage, but he nodded hesitantly. "Yes, Master. A few times. But never for long." He sent him a little smile in response to Eric's grin. "Anything you want. Please. I only want to please you, and if it would please you to know I can't touch myself or anything when I'm not with you, then yes, please, please give me a cage like Mav has."

‘I just need to know you understand that when I do that, when I remind you of your place, that I’m your superior — It never means that I don’t value you for the wonderful, clever and beautiful person that you are. You do know that right?’ He asked. It was something that had played in the back of his mind; and something he wanted clarified so he could feel more comfortable pushing the boundaries. ‘Maverick’s cage is coming off next Saturday. I’ll start a shorter time for you; see if you like it, if we both like it — Thursday. I’ll cage you Thursday morning and you’ll be locked up until Saturday. You’ll have your own key and you’re to contact me, and unlock yourself if it’s painful or too much. You have a key because I don’t want to force this submission; it’s something you’re giving to me. I’m not taking control; you’re giving it to me. Does that make sense submissive?’

Caleb nodded quickly, looking so relieved to hear Eric talk about him in those terms, calling himself Caleb's superior. "I know that, Master, I swear. When you do that for me, it doesn't make me feel less, it makes me feel like I'm valuable enough for you to keep me and guide me, and it makes me feel like I'm a good submissive and I'm safe and protected." He could tell that Eric was a little nervous, and he understood. Eric was so sweet, he wouldn't ever say anything to make Caleb feel worthless, and if Caleb needed to reassure him that this made him feel important, he was happy to do it. He usually found it so difficult to talk about his emotions, but suddenly, when it was to reassure Eric, it was much easier. "Yes, Master," he answered when Eric explained his plan. "I understand. I'm giving you control, willingly. Thank you for asking it of me. I want to give it to you. I want to go to classes feeling like you're controlling me even from far away."

‘What you’ve done today — Talking to me like this, opening up to me, being so honest. You have no idea how proud that makes me. I am so incredibly proud of the progress you’ve made. You have no idea, my beautiful, sweet boy.’ He praised. He couldn’t praise him enough. He couldn’t express how in awe he felt of him in that moment. ‘I think — No, I know we’re going to work this out. Me, you and our Maverick. The three of us.’ He insisted firmly, kissing his hair.

Eric’s praise sank into Caleb the way the warmth of a hot shower sinks into sore muscles. He beamed, and ducked his head to look down, always embarrassed by compliments, but it was obvious that Eric’s approval meant everything to him. He shifted so he could lay his head on Eric’s shoulder comfortably. “It’s hard,” he said softly, which he gathered Eric already knew. He wouldn’t praise Caleb so freely if he didn’t know how difficult it was for Caleb to talk about these things. He sighed softly and cuddled into Eric. “But if you want me, then I’ll try as hard as I have to in order to be good. I’m really, really grateful that you want me to be yours, Master. Me and you and our Mav.” He smiled at that, the way Eric had said Mav was theirs, not just Eric’s. “I’m sorry for getting so upset,” he murmured, closing his eyes and snuggling into Eric’s strong shoulder. “I’m just scared. I still am, but not as much as five minutes ago. Thank you for talking to me and helping, Sir. Master.” He smiled to himself, enjoying the feeling of saying that word. It was still frightening to try to let Eric be so close, so sweet, it still scared Caleb, but at the same time it felt like Eric was the only safe place for him to rest.

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grimmseye · 7 years ago

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The Only One — Part 4

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou, Kirishima Eijirou&Ashido Mina

Characters: Bakuou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou, Ashido Mina

Other Tags: Kirishima’s Family, Shaming Kirishima’s Wardrobe, Mentions of Homophobia

(Chapter One) (Previous Chapter) (Read on Ao3)

— — — —

He doesn’t entirely appreciate the look on Bakugou’s face. A dubious, judgemental sort of expression, regarding the two candles in Kirishima’s hands as he sets them on his nightstand.

“Cinnamon bliss,” Bakugou reads. The smirk is audible in his voice. Kirishima isn’t amused, giving him a flat look as he tried — and failed — to light a match. He sighed, discarding it and taking a new one to try again.

“Don’t laugh,” Kirishima grumbles. “Those things are expensive . It shouldn’t cost that much money to melt wax.”

“Then don’t buy them, dumbass.” Bakugou rolls his eyes, grabbing the matchbox from Kirishima’s hands and lighting his on the first try. He holds the tiny flame to each wick until they catch, shaking the match out to drop it in the trash can.

In Kirishima’s opinion, the candles are actually a nice addition. They’re a deep red, matching the rest of his room, and the glow of the twin flames is warm. Passionate, manly. He thinks he might have to look into getting more in the future. “I got them for you,” he points out.

Bakugou looks up, brows furrowed into a grimace. “I never told you to go out and get some shitty candles. I said your room smells like sweat.”

“Well, yeah,” Kirishima admits. That had been more than a little embarrassing. It wasn’t just Bakugou, either — when he’d wrangled Sero and Kaminari into the argument, they both had reluctantly agreed. Apparently working out in his room gives it that nice workout smell, and that was why Bakugou has always been so adamant they study in his room. “But, apparently your room is off limits, and you already got us banned from the school library, so what else am I supposed to do?”

It doesn’t deign a response from Bakugou. He just snorts and shakes his head, apparently done with this conversation. It’s what he’d been doing for a week now, clamming up the moment Kirishima mentioned his sudden ban. And Kirishima doesn’t press it. It’s not like he doesn’t already have a decent idea of why . Their beds are pressed against the same wall, he can hear Bakugou cry out at night. Can smell the smoke when he passes by his closed door in the morning. But if Bakugou doesn’t want to talk, it’s his business.

Though, maybe it’s a little bit hurtful, knowing that Bakugou doesn’t trust him enough to share his troubles.

They settle in. Today it’s math, which means Bakugou drilling him with formulas until he’ll be dreaming of them, solving each problem step by step, sweating as Bakugou goes back over his work with a red pen, repeating this again and again until his marks come back perfect.

The ones that are just numbers are fine, now. He knows what to do. If he can slow down and keep his head, Kirishima thinks he can pass the exam just fine.

Then he gets to the word problems. Reads them, blinks, reads them again. Brow furrows. It doesn’t make sense.

“Um,” he looks to Bakugou for help. Red eyes glare back at him, and Kirishima drops his gaze, teeth worrying his lower lip. He needs to solve for the distance. How is he supposed to…?

Kirishima can feel Bakugou’s gaze on him, and it just makes his heart wrack up in his chest. Bakugou was number three in their class — Kirishima must seem like an idiot in comparison. His teeth prick into his skin, heat flushing over his cheeks. It’s humiliating. He can’t process the words on a paper to figure out what to do. Can’t even think of step one.

“Kirishima.” He glances up, shoulders hunching. He expects a scowl, but Bakugou’s face is calm, his eyes containing a dim light. “Calm the fuck down. If you freak out, you’re not going to be able to think.” He jabs Kirishima’s forehead. “What are you solving for?”

Kirishima takes a breath. He checks the problem, just to be sure, before he answers. “The distance between A and B.”

“Right. And what do they give you?”

A diagram. There are numbers written on it. “The distance between B and C,” he says. “And an angle…”

“And what can you do with that? Come on, we went over this just two days ago.”

He wracks his brain. Kirishima tries to shut out his anxieties, just focusing on what he has. It’s fine, Bakugou’s not looking down on him, he’s waiting patiently for Kirishima to follow his guide. He just needs to breathe, and think.

And then it clicks. Kirishima dives down, excitement spiking in his chest as he scrawls out his work, snagging his calculator and plugging in the numbers twice before he presents his solution to Bakugou.

The moment Bakugou’s lips tic up, Kirishima feels relief sweep over him. “See?” Bakugou says, smug, like this is somehow his victory. “You’ve actually got some brains between all that hair.”

And, god, Kirishima could hug him. He nearly does, a heartbeat away from flinging his arms around Bakugou and gushing his appreciation. He restrains himself, though, only bouncing in his seat and giving Bakugou a delighted smile. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you,” he breathes, running his fingers through his hair. It’s combed back beneath a headband, keeping his hair out of his face and concealing his roots — he needs to re-dye it soon.

Bakugou snorts. “You’d do just fine, as long as you can calm down for two goddamn seconds.”

“I don’t think so.” Kirishima looks over the paper, his smile faded but still present. “The way you explain things always makes so much more sense.”

Bakugou’s response is dubious: “Then how the fuck did you get into UA?” Kirishima looks up, meeting Bakugou’s raised brow. “That test isn’t easy. Even dunces like Sparky and Blackeyes have to be above the rest to pass.”

Kirishima rubs the back of his neck, shrugging. “That was different,” he explains. “I had months to study. And practice exams, and all sorts of interviews from previous students. And I still only barely passed the written. I’m pretty sure it was the physical evaluation that saved me.”

And god, that had been a giddy high he’d ridden for miles. Scoring second in the trial to enter the hero course, right behind Bakugou himself. Thinking, at the time, that maybe he had been ahead of the curve. It was a fantasy that had been swiftly crushed by the end of term, only to surface again during his internships, to be beaten back down by Rappa’s fists — maybe next time, he would check himself before he got a big head. Couldn’t fall so far if he never got too high in the first place.

“How did Crimson Riot debut?”

The question is unprompted. Kirishima tilts his head, answering, “In the fight against Staker. He was at a disadvantage because of his quirk, but he still won… Why?”

“That.” Bakugou cups his chin, his eyes on the textbook in front of him. “I didn’t know that. You did. Does that mean you’re smarter than me? No.”

Kirishima grimaces at him, muttering, “Wow, thanks.”

“Shut up, I’m not done.” Bakugou glowers. “You know things I don’t. That doesn’t make you smart, or make me an idiot. Same for this shit. Just cause you’re not great at putting numbers together doesn’t mean you’re more or less intelligent than everybody else. You know what your strengths are, and you try to improve your weaknesses.” He fans his fingers out towards Kirishima’s work, finally lifting his eyes.

Kirishima’s heart squeezes deep in his chest. He drops his gaze, now, smiling. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

A scoff. “The fuck did I do?”

Kirishima only hums, reaching for his paper again to get started on the next problem.

Kirishima exchanges seventeen hugs before he leaves at the end of term, one for each of his classmates, plus Tetsutetsu, with three exceptions:

Mineta, whom he doesn’t particularly want to touch.

Ashdio, whose hug is postponed due to the fact that they’re taking the same train.

Bakugou, who wouldn’t want that kind of contact.

It’s two days before Christmas. Spirits are high — he already hears Midoriya inviting Todoroki out with Iida and Uraraka, Kaminari sidling up to Jirou to “casually” ask what she’s doing for the holiday. He laughs when she informs him that she’ll be spending the day with Momo, alone, giving him a sympathetic pat on the back when he droopily returns to their group.

“Why don’t we all hang out,” Kirishima suggests. “We can go to a temple, or maybe sledding!” That one gets him excited.

Agreement comes quickly, and he turns to Bakugou, his breath puffing out in a cheerful fog. “How about it? Come with us!”

His offer makes Kaminari tense, but Kirishima ignores it. Whatever spat there is between him and Bakugou will have to be pushed aside. They’re still friends, difficulty aside.

“No,” Bakugou responds. His eyes are flat, uninterested. “You fuckers want to dick around in the cold, be my guest. I’ll pass.”

“Come on,” Sero tries, cajoling. “You’re not afraid of a little snow, are you?” His grin is wide.

Bakugou’s head whips around, glaring. “I said no,” he growls out. He turns again, already stalking away. Unlike the rest of them, he actually lives in Musutafu, has no trains to take on his way home.

“Bakugou!” Kirishima calls out, his heart leaping into his throat. Bakugou pauses, cranes his face over his shoulder, and Kirishima smiles and waves, “Have a good break!”

He gets only a roll of Bakugou’s head as he continues on his way, but he lifts his arm in a lazy arc, a farewell.

“What a dick,” Kaminari snorts.

“I dunno,” Ashido hums, “seems like he was actually being friendly.” She grins down at her phone, a moment before her eyes go wide. “Oh, shit! Kirishima, we gotta go!”

It’s not really a terrible thing to miss a train, but he’d rather not wait for the next. Besides, jogging their way to the station gets his blood pumping. The two of them are flushed in the face and laughing as they hop on board, the last to arrive before the train departs for home.

Pulling away, Kirishima is filled with an odd sensation. Can one feel nostalgia for something they still have? He already misses his class, thinking wistfully of what it might have been like to spend the holiday with them all.

Eventually, he pulls his eyes away from the window to face Ashido. “So, my moms invited you over for dinner,” Kirishima says, offhand. He waves his phone as proof, a text from his Ma asking exactly that.

He expects the light that brightens in Ashido’s eyes. “Really?” She gushes. “ Aaaaah , that’s so sweet. I love your moms, Kiri.” She gives a relieved little laugh, one hand settling against her chest. “And I thought I’d be having dinner alone tonight. My parents are out of town again, you know. It’s so quiet at home.”

Kirishima hopes his sadness doesn’t peek through when he gives her a smile. “Yeah,” he agrees, “you told me before. But hey, bright side! If your parents aren’t home, they won’t know that you’re hanging out with me.”

Their amusement stems more from resignation than anything. Ashido gives a sigh, going, “Yeah, I’ll just tell them I’m hanging out with another friend, so they don’t call the house and freak out.” Her face shifts into a grimace.

Kirishima loves coming home. He feels a pang that Ashido can't say the same.

His house is modest, a one-story with a broad window in the front. He kind of wants to break into a run, abruptly realizing just how much he's missed home. His pace kicks up, something that isn't missed by Ashido judging by her quiet laugh. He only grins, jogging the rest of the way to the porch to knock on the door.

There's a shout of, “Ei’s home!”

His heart swells until it feels like it will burst from his chest. The lock turns, the door opens, and his Ma gives him an enormous grin before she crushes him into a hug.

At first glance, most would guess that Keiko is his biological mother. She's built like him, as tall as the average man with wide set shoulders and a toned physique. It's makes their embrace into a game of who can hug the other hardest, Kirishima tapping out when the breath squeezes out of his lungs. He laughs as he steps back, getting a good look at his Ma.

“Your hair!” He gasps, delighted.

It's been dyed a darker red than his own, cropped shorter, too. She puts her hands on her hips, grinning. “What can I say? I'm a huge Red Riot fan.”

He snorts, covering half of his face and grateful when she refocuses with an exclaim of, “Mina!” His Ma’s exuberance can be overwhelming to some, but he's never been embarrassed of her.

Ashido greets his Ma with a hug of her own, significantly lighter than Kirishima’s. “It's so good to see you!” Keiko says, when they part. Only a moment later she’s ushering them through the door. “Alright, everyone inside. Your mom is cooking dinner right now, Ei.”

They venture into the kitchen. Despite his ma saying cooking, his mom doesn't actually appear too occupied with such a task. A large pan is simmering on the stove, the rice cooker on the counter, and his mom is kneeling down as she wipes his little sister’s face.

“Guess who?” His ma announces, catching their attention. His mom straightens up, a smile breaking across her face. Before he can say a word, there's a cry: “Eicchan!”

Kirishima feels seconds from getting teary-eyed as he stoops down to hug his little sister. He straightens up with her arms around his neck, laughing at how she excitedly screams and kicks at his chest. “Hey there, Michiko,” he says, warmth brimming in his voice. “You didn't forget me?”

Her tiny hands brace on his cheeks. He holds her out, letting her pap her fingers over his face, holding back more laughter. He has to close his eyes to avoid getting poked as she jabs at his scar, like she needs to confirm he is, in fact, exactly who he appears to be.

Michiko takes greatly after their mom, the same way Kirishima did. Black hair and red eyes — he has yet to find out if her permanent teeth will grow in sharp as well.

He holds her against his chest, Michiko content to stay wrapped around him like a monkey as Kirishima greets his mom with a one-armed hug — light so as to avoid crushing the child between them.

They enter his home, and Michiko eventually kicks him until he puts her down so she can fawn over Ashido (“She’s changed her favorite color to pink,” his mom tells him. It had been green when he last talked to her) and Kirishima can get dishes out for his ma to serve rice and curry. They talk, and laugh, and when they insist on helping clean up his moms just usher him upstairs because it’s his first day home for break and he’s with a friend, regardless.

In his room, he and Ashido compete for his DS — he left it at home the last time he was here — a battle which he loses when Ashido somehow gets him in a stranglehold with her leg and she cackles as she feeds all his beloved pokemon for him.

“You named your Typhlosion Katsuki ,” she notes, eyebrows raising.

And Kirishima kicks her, says, “I have one for all of you guys.” Ashido’s is a pink Gastrodon and Sero’s a Carnivine (“they don’t have any tape pokemon!”) and Kaminari’s is, of course, a Pikachu.

And even as she sits on his chest and challenges strangers online and uses up all his hyper potions, Kirishima is laughing. Eventually she pulls out her phone, Kirishima playing dead while she snaps a photo of herself victorious over him and sends it to everyone in their class. His own phone buzzes, Kaminari and Sero complaining about not being invited, Kirishima reminding them they’re meant to get together for Christmas regardless.

He tells himself it doesn’t particularly matter that Bakugou is silent, even though Ashido tells him he got their pictures.

The end of the year comes and goes. Ashido comes with his family to visit a temple, the five of them listening to the loud tolls of the bell. He looks down at his phone, the group chat that is alight with celebration. Kirishima opens up Bakugou’s chat to wish him a happy new year. It’s the first message he’s sent him since the break began.

On the drive back home, Ashido is quiet. Kirishima nudges her with an arm, says, “You told your parents you’re with Chisa, right? Ask if you can sleep over.” Because it’s kind of a miserable thing, to drop Ashido off half past midnight a block away from her home — all so that her parents don’t realize she was actually with the gay redhead in her class and his moms.

He’s not the only one she spends time with. Ashido’s still a popular girl, even if she doesn’t go to school with all her old friends. But, of all the many people she knows, she seems to stay with him the most. A lot has changed since middle school.

It’s a relief for him as well. He loves his family, and he’s missed them terribly, but being at home he suddenly realizes how quiet things are. His moms have work and his little sister is so often at a friend’s house, and that leaves Kirishima to his own devices.

He trains in his room. He goes on runs. He takes his sister to the park. He texts his friends. He catches up on shows he’s stopped watching. He does anything and everything to keep his mind occupied.

Break is only two weeks, but it feels like ages. He can’t wait to get back to the dorms. He can’t wait to have all of his friends just a door’s knock away.

Kirishima sends out a group text: Ashido, Sero, Kaminari, Bakugou. They should hang out. They could see a movie. They could stay the night at his house.

Sero can’t come. Kaminari can.

Bakugou is silent.

Hurt is beginning to mutate into worry. It crawls around in his chest cavity, squirming and sharp, the needle legs of many insects on the inside of his ribs.

‘Hey’ he types. It’s right below the ‘ HAPPY NEW YEAR!! :D’ from days before.

A beat. Then he tries again.

K: I thought we could hang out. U know, everyone

K: Or even just us two if u dont want a whole group

K: Or not at all thats fine

K: U just havent responded to me all break

K: Im kind of worried man

K: Did something happen?

K: Did i do something?

B: No.

K: !!

K: Hey!!

K: Was that a no to hanging out or no to being mad

B: Both.

K: Oh good

K: I mean the being mad part

K: U sure u dont want to hang out?

B: Yeah.

K: Ur chatty today

K: Thats fine tho

K: I just

He stops. Kirishima’s thumbs hover over his phone screen.

B: Just what?

K: Miss you

K: Sorry.

K: Im being clingy arent i haha

K: So. Yeah.

He sighs, turning his phone over and covering his face. He shouldn’t have said anything.

A minute later, his phone buzzes again. He swallows the apprehension in his throat, turning the phone over the same way someone would a rock when they expect a scorpion to be underneath it.

B: What day are you fuckers meeting?

Kirishima feels his chest tighten. He breathes out, a rasp of a laugh. In his excitement, he immediately switches to their group chat, happily sharing that Bakugou is coming, asking the others when they want to get together.

Kaminari cancels.

Kirishima and Ashido meet Bakugou at the train station. He’s bundled up to outrageous extremes, the two of them bursting into laughter at the state of him: a poofy coat and boots and a scarf wound up over his mouth, red nose poking out from above the black material. He imagines this is what a mummy would look like, if mummies lived in the snow.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, but the muffled quality to his voice only makes them laugh harder.

“So,” Ashido says, after the dangerous glint in Bakugou’s eyes gets them to hush up, “I can’t stay all day, cause my friend’s got a birthday party. It’s not until evening, though, so you boys are in luck.”

The audible grinding of Bakugou’s teeth makes Kirishima wince.

They end up dragging him off to the mall, for lack of anything else to do. No movies out, too cold to hang around outside. This way they can walk and talk, and pretend like they’re actually doing something.

Only, Ashido apparently came here with a plan. She drags them into a store, turning to Bakugou and pointing decisively at Kirishima. “We,” she announces, “are going to show him how to dress himself.”

Kirishima gapes. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

Two sets of eyes run over him: a bright red Crimson Riot shirt, an orange coat over his blue jeans. Vibrant colors, passionate and manly. He looks great .

Bakugou’s lips thin. “Right,” he says, nodding slowly.

Betrayed, Kirishima sulks in the corner of the store while they apparently shop around for him. His pouting doesn’t last, brightening the moment Mina runs for him brandishing a leather jacket that is admittedly pretty badass.

He doesn’t actually buy much of what they pick out for him, doesn’t have the money to do that. Kirishima is wearing Mina’s chosen jacket and purchased a beanie that Bakugou had thrown in his face. The rest of his money goes to buying himself lunch — alongside one other item.

Ashido walks out with a new pair of boots. Bakugou has nothing. They part ways there, Ashido giving Kirishima a hug and Bakugou the finger as she leaves, all in good fun even as Bakugou cusses after her.

“Lousy bitch,” he rumbles, arms crossing as he sits at the bus stop. The moment they stepped outside, his nose had begun to redden. He’s good competition for Rudolph, now.

“Man,” Kirishima muses, reaching over to tweak the shell of one ear, “you really aren't good in the cold, huh?”

“It's bullshit,” he says. He pulls his scarf back up over his mouth, his next words coming out muffled. “Can't warm up fast enough when I use my quirk.”

His quirk. Kirishima blinked, a small, “ Ooooh,” leaving him. “That's right, you need to sweat to use it.” He feels sympathetic, but can't help his smile. Kirishima pulls his bag into his lap, pulling his other purchase out for Bakugou. “Well, I think you'll appreciate this, then.”

Bakugou stares at it. It's a knit hat, black. There's a little pompom ball on top, a burnt shade of orange. “It made me think of your hero costume,” he explains, somewhat embarrassed. “But at least you can keep your ears warm. As long as you want it, I mean.”

Bakugou blinks at him, wide-eyed. It lasts only a second before his default glower returns, and he snatches the hat from Kirishima to jam it on his head. His bangs fluff out over his forehead, the material pulled snug over the tops of his ears. It’s probably the cutest thing in his entire wardrobe, now.

Bakugou looks ahead at the road, his expression betraying no joy nor dissatisfaction. The fact he's wearing the hat in the first place warms Kirishima. Bakugou is not the type to do what he doesn't want.

His posture is tense, though. His hands are stuffed into his armpits, hunched in against the cold. Kirishima pauses for a long moment, and then takes the plunge.

He tugs one of Bakugou’s hands free, ignores the wild look it gets him as he holds it between his own. “It’ll keep your hand warm,” he explains. It’s already warming him up, color blooming over his cheeks.

All in all, this is completely unnecessary. Bakugou can keep his own hands protected, and yet he doesn’t pull away. Just scoffs and turns his head, the two of them going quiet as they wait for the bus.

Steadily, the scoot closer together. Just a little bit at a time, until their legs touch and their sides are flush. To share warmth, Kirishima tells himself.

He doesn’t believe it.

Bakugou’s already met his moms, and his sister. The little girl smiles the moment she spots him, exclaiming, “ Bam!”

( “This is Bakugou,” Kirishima had said, when he first introduced him. “He can make explosions. You know…” He brings his hands together in a loud clap, miming an explosion. “Bam!”)

“No,” Bakugou tells her, voice flat. “Bakugou. Ba-ku-gou.”

“Bam!”

He growls. There’s not even an ounce of anger behind it.

“She wants you to pick her up,” Kirishima tells him, noticing how his sister is reaching her arms up. When Bakugou’s face turns into one of wariness, Kirishima does it himself, lifting the girl up and holding her out the way one might a teddy bear. She’s essentially weightless to Kirishima. “Go on,” he urges.

As gingerly as one might take a delicate treasure, Bakugou goes to hold his baby sister. Michiko does most of the work, clinging to him like a koala bear. All he has to do is support her weight. When he gets comfortable, and the tension slides from his shoulders, he begins to look almost… does Kirishima dare think affectionate?

It’s a mistake on Kirishima’s part, cause seeing Bakugou holding his baby sister is doing awful things to his heart.

Luckily, it’s evening. Michiko doesn’t take long to fall asleep, her head resting on Bakugou’s shoulder. He’s careful with her, expression something both cautious and soft as he lays her in her bed, gentle so as not to wake her.

Kirishima is the one to pull the blankets up around her, switching on her night light before he steps outside, leaving her bedroom door open. His own is right next to Michiko’s.

“You’re okay with sharing the bed, right?” He checks.

Bakugou pauses. Then nods.

And Kirishima grins, says, “I thought so. I mean, it’s not like it’s the first time. Though, circumstances were a little different.” When he gets no response, a twist of nerves hits his guts. “So, um. It’s a decently sized bed. If I get, y’know, clingy in my sleep, you can just push me off, or —”

“— It’s fine,” Bakugou interrupts.

He blinks. “Huh?”

And Bakugou only stares at the floor. His jaw flexes. “I said it’s fine. If you get clingy.”

“But…” Kirishima’s head tips. “You said you don’t like to be touched?”

There’s no response for that. Bakugou just sighs, sinking down on the bed and pulling out his phone. Kirishima always wonders what he’s doing on there. He’s not one to make accounts for social media, after all, but maybe he still browses. Is he looking at their friends? Did he see Kirishima’s, the pictures he’d been posting all week? Seeing them, and never saying a word.

“Hey, Bakugou.”

There’s a grunt.

“Why weren’t you talking to me?”

He waits. Counts his heartbeats.

“Bakugou?"

Kirishima turns his head. His friend has put his phone down, eyes fixed on the wall. His breath comes in swells of his chest, deep, controlled.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” Kirishima sighs. “I just. I’m worried, you know, that you were angry. Or that you just didn’t want to talk to me.”

Bakugou gives a quiet groan. He falls back, the mattress bouncing. “Everything’s about you, huh?”

That stings a little. But Bakugou continues carelessly on, “I just didn’t have shit to say. You send me a fuckton of photos and — what? What were you expecting me to tell you?”

When it’s put like that, Kirishima doesn’t know. “I mean, nothing, I guess,” he mumbles. “I just wanted to show you. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Show me what a grand fucking time you’re having while I’m at home.”

Kirishima’s fingers curl inwards. His teeth clench. “That’s not fair.” Bakugou pushes himself up, a questioning note in his voice, and Kirishima turns to face him. “You can’t just — I’m not trying to rub it in. We asked if you wanted to come! I just wanted you to see…”

“What I’m missing out on?” Bakugou sneers.

And Kirishima growls, “ No. Just, that we’re having fun. You’re our friend, right, so I thought maybe it would make you happy to see us? You might care whether or not we’re having fun over break?” It’s a thought which he is quickly abandoning. He knows he and Bakugou aren’t the same. They function in near opposites. Bakugou likes to be alone, and Kirishima needs company. That’s fine. He can work with that.

He just can’t really figure out the bit where Bakugou doesn’t seem to care at all. It’s the closest thing to cold he’ll ever get, shut off and apathetic the moment a friend just wants some quality time with him.

So, maybe that’s the problem. Maybe Kirishima shouldn’t be thinking of them in terms of friends .

“Bakugou, what am I to you?” The words come out quiet. “Because, I’m trying to figure it out. I really am. Sometimes I think you care, but then the way you act…” He swallows with difficulty. “ And, I don’t need you to change for me, I just need to understand, because what I think and what you do just aren’t matching up.”

Bakugou splays a hand over his face. His eyes are closed beneath his fingers. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Kirishima.”

And Kirishima leans over him, because he needs to be seen. He pushes Bakugou’s hand away, waits for red eyes to open and lock with his own.

“Do you care?” He asks. “About me?”

He doesn’t know what he wants to hear. It doesn’t matter, because the words don’t come. Bakugou stays silent. Not a yes, not a no. Nothing.

There’s a weight on Kirishima’s chest. He swallows hard, looks away.

Then warmth covers his hand. Kirishima looks to it, finds Bakugou’s fingers squeezing his own. The grip is tight, almost painfully so. Clinging.

It’s a familiar sensation. He’s awash with the memory of weight trying to drag him down, of air whipping past him, of sweat slick palms, of heat in his face, of terror and triumph and how he’d never felt lighter in his life.

Kirishima squeezes his hand in return.

#Kirishima Eijirou #Bakugou Katsuki #Bakushima #Kiribaku #bnha #my writing

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tiredcowpoke · 5 years ago

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TITLE: Blank Spots [9] PAIRING: (Somewhat pre-established) Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader, could be seen as an OC. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: After waking up at the base of a steep incline and nearly freezing to death, you stumble upon a group of strangers who swear up and down that they know you. WARNINGS: Some creative license for amnesia. Angst. NOTE: Here we are! I really struggled with the ending of this chapter but hopefully it’s alright. Thank you all for the patience and support on this work! TAG LIST: @on-my-way-to-erebor / @otherthingstoreid@ireallyhonestlydontcare @elanisha @darlingsdevil@cirillamylove@bunnyreese12 @rollyjogerjones @callmemythicalminx

You were starting to realize how much you hadn’t been thinking about how to handle this.

Even more so, you knew there was no way this would go over well. Really, you felt like you had just met the Downes and now you were going to turn up as the debt collector for some poor family. There was no nice way to spin it, it would probably hurt more to hear it from family, but you knew you were willing to take that over standing by while someone like Arthur did so. There was still that damn touch of guilt you felt when you thought about him, the way he looked when you talked to him back at camp before you left.

Yet...well, you couldn’t exactly deny how he usually handled these debts. Arthur hadn’t told you outright the details, but you had been able to gather enough to understand what was involved. Strauss was smart, slimy (as Arthur had spat one evening), and could wave money in front of people who had no hopes of paying off his loans, and when he (inevitably) didn’t get the money owed, it was Arthur who went in his place as Strauss’ force and muscle. It seemed like that had been how it was for quite some time, given how familiar Arthur was, and how Dutch kept talking him into it for the sake of funds.

This time, though?

Well, you looked rough, and Edith and Thomas knew you were injured and had issues with your memory. You weren’t some intimidating stranger, and perhaps the leverage you had as family would…

You could feel your stomach twist somewhat as you thought about it in that way. You were an outlaw, running with a group of outlaws, yet in the moment you felt like you were far from it. The anger that had boiled up in your gut over the situation had simmered down into heavy dread and guilt for something you were about to do.

It was a shame that the ride from camp to the Downes Ranch was such a short one.

Steering your horse up the steep incline, you managed to get up onto the cliff side and rode down toward the trail leading out toward the ranch. Really, you felt like turning back, demanding to find some other way to settle this, but you knew where Strauss stood. What you had agreed to do, had told Dutch you would do so to his face. So, you let out a slow breath as you steered your horse down the path at the top of the cliff before turning off toward the ranch. It was upon seeing the familiar figure of your uncle working in their meager garden that you had no idea how you were to approach this.

Should you lie? You knew you would have to spin a really good one to explain how you knew about the loan he took. They had only known you for a couple days.

Still, you knew you were approaching the point of no return when your uncle lifted his head, leaning against the handle of his rake as you rode up.

“I didn’t know you were comin’ by today,” he commented after you had dismounted, approaching the gate with your heart in your throat.

“Yeah...it’s good I caught you, I have something real important to talk about.”

You rested your hands against the gate in front of you, watching as Thomas set aside his tool and wandered over, your fingers tightening against the wood under your hands. This was all becoming so much, but you knew it would be best that you dealt with this issue instead of...whatever outcome it would have gotten with Arthur.

“Are you alright?”

“Sure, I…” you started, letting out a sigh as you dropped your hands back against your side. “I don’t know how to start saying this, so I just will. I know that you took out a loan, that the pay’s come due…”

“How…?”

“I don’t really know how to explain it fully, but...I know. I just...I need you to give me some sort of payment or--”

“Well...you think I would be in debt still if I had the means to pay it off?” Thomas asked, causing you to clench your jaw somewhat.

It wasn’t over frustration aimed at him, or what he had been trying to do. You had no idea what he was doing with that money, but judging from his state and the state of his family, you figured it wasn’t just for extra. Still, you weren’t sure how badly things would go if you left there empty handed, especially after what happened at camp that got you on their property. It was just a question on what they could give in the meantime and getting them to see your logic, yet…

Well, it wasn’t going to go over well in the long run.

“I know, but--”

“What’s happening out here?”

Edith’s voice broke you from the thought leaving your mouth, your eyebrows raising somewhat as she came walking up toward the two of you. Lifting your gaze a moment, you could see Archie back at the house. Guess this was going to be a family affair. Despite the moment, Edith didn’t seem too upset, more curious about your arrival, though her expression seemed to fall somewhat as she took in the moment as Thomas coughed lightly into his arm.

It was a retched sound, wet and alarming, which put a terrible twist to your gut.

“I…” you let out a small exhale as you turned toward her, “I know about the loan Thomas took, and I’m...well, I’m hoping to help.”

“I don’t know how you even know about that, or how you’re going to help with that,” Edith said, pausing a few steps from you as she crossed her arms, casting her husband a somewhat concerned look. “We don’t have the means to pay that back. We’d been hoping that we would with how we invested the loan, but…”

“I know the person you got the money from, the people he works for,” you stated, deciding to just approach it as directly as you could. You could already feel the conversation circling. “I just...I need something from you for that loan and I will take on the rest myself.”

“You know them?” she asked, her tone tight, “You’re...you’re here to collect? Did you even try to get them to let it go?”

“I did,” you insisted, “Believe me, I tried, but that situation is complicated too.”

“More complicated than ours?” she challenged, causing you to fight back the retort that wasn’t being helped with the pre-existing stress of the day.

“If I come back empty handed, I don’t know how this will play out. Though, if you just give me something, I will pay off the rest of it myself and there won’t be anybody turning up here that you don’t know.”

“You promise that?” Thomas asked, the question putting a weight in your gut. You had no idea if you could, nor did you think you had enough influence to make that a certainty.

“I can’t,” you replied, biting at the inside of your lip somewhat, “That’s my hope and I’ll do what I can to make it happen, but…”

“I can’t believe this…” Edith muttered, shaking her head.

There was a pause as you awaited an answer, your throat tight as you clenched your jaw somewhat. You still weren’t too sure why you weren’t allowed to take on the full debt. Perhaps there was the idea that they did have the money for it and were holding out on repaying it for one reason or another, but standing before them you knew that likely wasn’t the case. There was a good pit of anger that sat in your gut--though, you weren’t too sure who it was aimed at. Arthur? Strauss? Dutch? Who knew, but in the moment you just wanted to resolve the moment so badly so you could leave.

Perhaps that was selfish, but...well, you were telling the truth about leaving empty handed. If they had nothing, then they had nothing, but you had no idea where to take that. How that news would be handled back in camp.

“...We have some money,” Thomas stated, meeting Edith’s gaze.

“It’s barely anything,” she replied, you could almost feel the anger that she was barely holding back, “Not enough to really make sure we can survive here.”

“I don’t need all of it,” you stated, meeting her gaze. Believe me, I wouldn’t be taking any of it if I had my way.

“When you had turned up here…” Edith said, lowering her gaze as she dug around in her apron for a moment, “I had been thinking you had managed to get away from what your father had been setting you up for, but I should have known…”

You stood there a moment, mouth parted somewhat as you tried to gather words. However, most of them died on your tongue. Really, you had no idea if you really had strayed from that life, though the company you kept seemed to say that you hadn’t. You watched as Edith pulled out a couple bills, tossing them onto the dirt between you.

“Make true on what you’re saying and don’t come back here,” she stated, breaking you from your thoughts before you bent down to gather the money.

You didn’t need to be told twice, not able to cast either of them a parting look before you mounted back up on your horse and rode out of there. You could feel some of the shaking in your hands as you tried to steer the horse off toward camp, your heart beating hard in your chest.

There really was only one place you had left, now.

***

You didn’t make it back to camp.

Going back was inevitable, you knew that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to head back there just yet. You knew it was foolish, considering the Pinkertons so close by, but your mind was moving a mile a minute. It felt like you were going over the events of that evening again and again, wondering if you had said the right thing, yet there was no way you could have done so unless it was to tell them they didn’t have to worry about it. Yet, returning back to camp with the pocket change you had been given, despite telling them they had nothing, it wasn’t something you wanted to deal with.

So, you found yourself stopping to sit against a rock, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes. It produced a small, familiar, ache for a few moments, but it subsided once you lowered them again. You felt something slip down the side of your face, your hand moving up to grip the fabric of the bandage that had come loose. With a huff, you ripped it off and tossed it off to the side.

Damn injury was mostly healed anyway.

Didn’t do a damn thing for your memories, however. Really, you had no idea who you were supposed to be. An outlaw, a lover, a daughter, a niece. You had no damn clue anymore. Though, you might as well scratch off niece and the idea of having familiar faces should you decide this life wasn’t for you. Though, considering everything, maybe it was. It’s all you had, anyway. The gang knew you, too, but...well, if you had your memories, would this whole thing have gone differently? Dutch wanted your loyalty to his gang, much as he didn’t outright state it. You knew that was the case, but…

“Damn it…” you muttered, pressing a hand to your mouth in thought as you watched the trees and the trail ahead of you.

The sound of approaching hoof beats and the sound of another horse had you lifting your head, turning to glance behind yourself to see the rider approach. It took only a moment for you to see who it was, making you shut your eyes and let out a slow breath as you turned to face forward again. You knew you could feel some of the anger ebbing out as you tried to look ahead to what you were supposed to do, now, but it wasn’t completely gone.

“You following me?” you asked, failing to keep some of the tension from your tone.

“Hosea saw you ride off after everythin’, said I should follow after,” Arthur replied as you heard him get off his horse and approach where you were sitting. “Considerin’ what you was off to do, figured I should.”

“I don’t think I’m going to get much comfort from that,” you replied, pressing your hands against your mouth a moment.

Much as you knew there was some anger there, you couldn’t find a solid reason to pin it completely on Arthur that wasn’t rebutteled in your mind. He had tried to get Strauss and Dutch to drop the debt, much as he didn’t bend over backwards for it. He’d tried to talk to you before he went ahead and collected on it. Yet...well, there wouldn’t be that whole mess if there had been an attempt to step up against the business as a whole.

For all Dutch preached, what you had been told about his morals for the gang…

Maybe that wasn’t wholly Arthur’s fault, but he still took part.

He had also told you about it, and you had stood aside until it directly affected you.

Damn it.

“Take it you did what you took off to do,” he said after a few moments, coming to stand beside you but you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him just yet.

“Yeah, I have a little to give to prove I did so,” you replied, letting out a sigh, “Though Strauss' little business has removed all options for a good relationship with what remains of my family.”

“I...I’m sorry. Wish I could’ve...I don’t know. Never liked the debtin’, it’s opposite to what Dutch’s got us standin’ for, but it’s good money for camp.”

“What you all lost in Blackwater, is this really worth it?” you asked, glancing up to meet Arthur’s gaze. His expression was tight, though it was hard not to notice the concern there.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, glancing away, “Feel like...we’ve been tryin’ to find the money to get out of this whole thing. Dutch thought it was some land out west, but that didn’t turn out right. With that ferry job goin’ sideways, we’re out here with little money, so things like that...well, I’m not surprised Dutch’s still leanin’ on Strauss’ lendin’.”

“You’re all really trying to get out?” you asked, furrowing your brow.

“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted after a moment, “With how big we are right now? It’ll be hard without bein’ sittin’ ducks for whoever’s got ideas ‘bout the price on our heads.”

“I’m starting to see that,” you muttered, thinking back to those agents at the river. “I don’t know who I should be angry at about all of this.”

“Might as well be me,” Arthur said around a small sigh, moving around to sit himself down beside you, “We’re all close in camp, we take care of our own, but I can’t lie and say I’m a good man. If Dutch wants somethin’ done, I’m usually the one to do it.”

“I...I guess I can see that,” you said, “I barely see you as it is.”

Arthur let out a small sound in agreement, your gaze dropping to take in the detail of the toe of one of his boots next to your own. You weren’t too sure how to feel about everything. There was a part of you that still had to process everything he had told you about Mary, something you had barely turned over in your head since he had told you about that. Now, there was all of this. Yet, you couldn’t link things together with any sort of experience you had previously with him. There was the kiss, how he interacted with people in camp, with Jack when he had invited you along for fishing.

There was also the outlaw. You couldn’t remember a time you had ran with him before, if you had seen that in action. If you had formed some opinion there, but…

Well, would that even matter in the moment?

“I don’t know who I am, Arthur,” you admitted, your voice almost sounding unfamiliar in your ears.

There had been a weight pressing down since you had woken up in those mountains, and an endless amount of questions. What happened to you on the mountain specifically, what happened to the family you remembered, what you were supposed to do about the relationships you had with Arthur and the gang. It mixed terribly with the guilt in your gut, the anger toward your situation and this new outcome.

“You’re...you’re still you,” he replied, pulling you from your spiral for a moment. “You’re different, too, but guess what happened in camp reminded me of how I know you.”

“Wish I knew who that was,” you said, shaking your head, “I’m so damn confused all the time, but...well, I guess that’s a little comforting to hear.”

“I-I really am sorry for everythin’ that’s happened,” Arthur said after he seemed to let your words hang in the air for a few moments, ��I know what happened today might not be forgivable, but I am.”

“...I appreciate you telling me about all of that,” you replied after a moment, “I don’t know how to feel about everything, but...I appreciate that.”

“Sure…”

You could feel that tightness in your gut, your chest. The emotion sitting there, painful and frustrating. Yet, you weren’t too sure why, but you found yourself leaning sideways to slip an arm around his torso, resting your head against the leather of his jacket against his chest. The way Arthur seemed to tense up at you doing so wasn’t hard to miss, almost making you pull back but the action was stopped as you felt him slip an arm behind your shoulders, pressing you to him lightly.

Much as a part of you knew you were angry, confused, but there was a comfort there that lingered from somewhere deep. In the moment, with everything happening, you couldn’t help but want to seek that comfort, as small as it was. It pushed a light stinging behind your nose and eyes forward, but the tears didn’t come as you sat in his embrace.

It wasn’t a long one, but it was enough to slow your mind for a moment. You knew everything felt off, strange, but a part of you had been seeking that out with the things you had been recalling. Still, you parted from him easily enough when you felt his arms loosen around you, Arthur gathering himself to a stand.

“C’mon, we need to get back to camp. Ain’t safe to be sittin’ around here.”

#my writing.#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

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cloakedsparrow · 8 years ago

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DC Headcanon/Ficlet: The Timmy Text Flowchart (AKA Tim is naturally suspicious and terrible at flirting).

As Tim started taking on more and more duties at Wayne Enterprise, it became somewhat common for a coworker to ask him to join them for lunch to talk business. Tim was usually fine with this; he got food and got work done so he considered it a two-birds-one-stone scenario. However, sometimes his co-workers behaved oddly during these work lunches. They wouldn’t seem that interested in talking about the work they were supposed to be discussing, instead opting to ask Tim personal questions or volunteer personal information unprompted.

Tim was immediately suspicious on these occasions (He was a Robin after all). Was this person a corporate spy? Did they hold a grudge against Bruce for some reason? Were they trying to get close to one of his siblings? Did they suspect that Bruce was Batman?

He would always react calmly, continuing to steer the discussion towards business, and casually send a text to one of his siblings, offering a polite apology for the interruption.

The text would be to ask for a background check on the individual. Wayne Enterprises conducted thorough background checks of their employees, but the Batcomputer could always find more information.

Less than half of the time, the person actually was a corporate spy, or someone with a grudge against Bruce, Dick or Jason who thought they could subtly mine the youngest Wayne for information. A few times, the person was just very friendly and genuinely concerned that Tim was too young and worked too hard. They thought eating a good meal and sitting still for an hour without worrying about work would be good for him (Alfred pointed out that he was inclined to agree with these people).

There was one occasion where the person was trying to find out what had become of an artifact Tim’s biological father had in his possessed before his death. The man had been with his father on when he procured it, where it was believed worthless, but the artifact was actually incredibly valuable.

Once the person seemed to be stalker targeting the Wayne family, once the person was dating a reporter and trying to get inside information for her, and once a man appeared to be a sugar daddy in search of a sugar baby (why he thought Tim would fit that position, they never figured out).

Dick realized that six out of ten times this happened, the person was just flirting with Tim (usually with increasing obviousness) and, for all his genius and detective skills, Tim just saw it as suspicious behavior. In reaction to this, he made up an honest to goodness flowchart for him, Jason and Cassandra to follow when they received these texts. They called it ‘The Timmy Text Chart’.

It stared with the usual questions. Age and gender of the person who asked him to lunch. How did they present the lunch suggestion? Was the person known to be in a committed relationship? How close was the person sitting to Tim? What position were they sitting in? Do they keep touching him? If so, where, how and how often? Are they smiling a lot? What type of smile? Are the personal questions geared toward the Wayne family, the Drake family or Tim specifically?

In the event that the person is likely flirting, there is a second flowchart with follow up questions. Depending on the answers, responses can be to remind Tim that he is a kind, intelligent, successful and good looking young man and that some people are just going to be attracted to him without ulterior motives. This can end with advice to let the person down firmly but gently or that no action is needed because either the person will realize he’s not interested and move on, or they’ll grow frustrated with his obliviousness and ask him out directly. Tim can handle it from there.

There are also code phrases for if the person is showing an unhealthy interest in Tim (Jason says hello), the person is likely interested in him for an inappropriate reason (Jason wants you to call him), the person is too old to be flirting with Tim (Don’t forget to call Aunt Harriet -oddly, Jason insisted this one be added) or when something just seems wrong in the scenario (Alfred wants you to pick up pizza for tonight). Once the information is received, Tim can handle it from there.

There have been a few occasions where whichever sibling Tim got a hold of felt the need to intervene, either by removing Tim from the ‘work lunch’ by calling with an excuse or physically showing up to ‘bump into’ their brother. The latter has led to some funny scenarios.

Cassandra joining Tim and his co-worker and glaring at the older WE employee the whole time (they never spoke to Tim outside of work again). Dick practically giving the shovel talk at the table (the WE employee quit the next day). Cassandra simply grabbing Tim’s arm as she walked by and pulling him along with her, pointing to the WE employee and saying ‘no’ as if they were a dog when they attempted to react. Dick picking Tim up for a ‘forgotten’ family event and making sure to use the term ‘baby brother’ thrice in front of the WE employee addition to calling Tim ‘Timmy’ and hugging him in a way that emphasized his petite frame. Dick was once too far away and actually sent Kon-El to join Tim and the WE employee; rumors about “Tim’s scary boyfriend” persisted among the WE employees despite Tim’s attempts to correct them (he eventually gave up).

One time Jason suddenly showed up in full Red Hood gear -in the middle of the day at a public restaurant- and pointed to Tim while telling the man sitting across from him to ‘stay the fuck away from the minor or I’ll shoot you in the knee’ before grabbing Tim by the collar and hauling him off. Tim had to hack several databases to prevent it from being treated as a kidnapping and called Lucius the next day to ask him to fire the man for violation of contract. No arrest was made either way and no one knows what to make of the entire situation. It still bothers Bruce that he has no idea what that was about, but he doesn’t let it show (much). Dick, Cassandra and Alfred are just glad for the show of brotherhood from Jason and Tim. They trust the two of them to handle whatever it was.

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