#kuri i hope you like this

[kurixta]

There's no way Pokemon Masters isn't setting up Volo to be redeemed in Mysterious Stones, and I'm so excited for it. Also REI STILL WANTS TO BE HIS FRIEND MY POOR HEART....

[photo1030]

Leather and Lace - Chapter16:  Feelings Revealed

PART 2 - WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?

Summary: After Arthur’s rejection, tensions run high between the two of you and decisions need to be made.

*As always, special thank you to my best-y @rivetingrosie4​ for beta-reading and all the helpful notes & encouragement. 

*Full disclosure: The line about “the moon and stars” further in the story is based on a meme I read. And I have images from @red-dead-simp​ and @regwishesshehadmagic​ in here. 

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*This stunning image comes from @red-dead-simp​

Tag List:  @rivetingrosie4 @bimbo-dollz @pine4pple-b0i @redwritr @kuri-chans-blog @queer-sadie-adler @joelmillerswifey @gimmethosedaddymilkers @pcotarelo @delilah-grimes @maemortem @wistfulwisteriawitch @lilacxxdreams @mentallyillfrogs @absolutegeek @spurz @sophiaj650 @uniqueclodzinevoid @lookingformaurice @pawoui @randomidk-123 @yyiikes @eddiemetalheadmunson @twola @kmartkiddieisle @red-dead-simp​ @regwishesshehadmagic​

*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know.

The ride back to camp from the overlook is terribly awkward. Your mind is blank and foggy and your body numb as you sit slightly slumped in Blue's saddle. You are reeling from the preceding events. You keep your horse moving at a quicker pace to stay ahead of Arthur's as you head home. Any time that you hear him approaching closer to you, your muscles tense up and you spur your heels into Blue's side to encourage him to go just a bit faster to maintain the distance between you. You can't even bring yourself to look at Arthur for fear of shattering into inconsolable pieces out of humiliation.  

For Arthur, the entire ride back is riddled with regret and second-guessing. He casts his gloomy eyes on your backside the entire way home, without so much as a glance back or sound from you. It causes his heart to break in two. And oh, how he wants to give the other half of it to you. But as he looks down at his gnarled hands and the worn metal of the guns that hang so naturally on his hips, he knows this is the way it has it be. He is going to keep you safe, whether you like it or not. You may hate him for it, but at least you'll be alive to do it.

When you hit the treeline of the camp, you push Blue just a bit faster and lead him to the far end of the hitching posts, determined to stay as far away from Arthur as you can for the time being. You quickly dismount, with the hair on the back of your neck standing up as you feel his eyes watching you, while keeping your back to the man. Once you have Blue settled in for the day, you make haste to head to your tent, walking briskly and keeping your head down. Your eyes stay focused along the soft grass at your feet, desperate to avoid any attention from anyone else in camp. Somewhere in the distance, you can hear Karen calling your name, but you pretend not to hear her. You are not in the mood for visiting and carrying-on with your friends right now.

As soon as you reach your tent, your trembling fingers fumble to draw the sides down, a clear indication that you do not want to be disturbed. You can only hope that no one hears you sobbing quietly within the canvas. You are numb, totally and completely, as you fold your arms around yourself to keep from shaking. You cannot wrap your swimming mind around what has just happened. You poured your heart out to Arthur. You literally begged the man to be with you. And he rejected you. And worse yet, he basically severed himself from you in the process.

Arthur slowly climbs down from his own horse upon arrival, and silently watches you walk away and head to your tent. Regret coats his insides like water pouring over a river rock. But he doesn't have time to wallow too long. The man isn't even in camp for five minutes and Dutch is calling his name. He lets out a heavy groan, accompanied by a long sigh, at the sound of Dutch's voice carrying through the camp. Dutch is the last thing he wants to deal with right now.

Of course, Arthur's heavy footfalls and scowl are lost on Dutch as he approaches the older man's tent. Arthur is his guard dog; Dutch is used to seeing him angry and sullen. In fact, he almost prefers it. Dutch needs him this way. Arthur stands in front of Dutch's tent, his gaze unfocused and mind wandering as Dutch speaks to him. The man's deep voice sounds muffled in Arthur's ear as he half-halfheartedly pays attention to what is being said to him, his mind somewhere else entirely.

"Think you can handle that?" Dutch's words finally catch Arthur's attention, snapping him out of his listless thoughts.

Arthur lifts his eyes to meet Dutch's expectant gaze. "Whatever. Just make sure the tip is solid and I'll make it work."

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

Arthur takes advantage of the quick job Dutch sends him on the day that you have confessed your feelings for him. He smartly uses the opportunity to give you some breathing room and time to calm down a bit. After checking in with Dutch upon his return, he heads over to his tent to put away his things and takes a minute to breathe. Arthur stands with his thumbs hanging from his gun belt as he surveys the camp, checking the state of things. His body naturally falls into this stance whenever he stands still for a moment. And right now, he is more weary than he’s been in a long while.

His wandering eyes eventually find you working alone in your med-tent. Your hair is pulled back and out of your face so you can work, but a few tendrils of soft locks have escaped and dangle to frame your face. Your hands move slowly, practically dancing around the bowl that has enveloped your attention. Arthur takes in the heavenly sight of you, standing in a simple white blouse and green skirt set comfortably upon your hips, mulling over what he should do, as he nervously chews his plump bottom lip for a moment. Eventually, he decides to see how things feel between you two and tentatively makes his way over to your med-tent.

Arthur kneads his thumb into the palm of the opposite hand nervously while he waits for you to notice him standing there outside the tent.  He stands with an uneasy grin, fidgeting slightly. "Hey you.”

You briefly look up from the steaming bowl of herbs and boiling water that you are stirring, careful not to look him in the eye for too long. "What can I do for you, Arthur?" Your voice carries none of the usual excitement that he hears when you see him.

Arthur's face drops, disappointed with your short reply. He clears his throat to attempt to dislodge the knot there before trying to continue. "I was out earlier and found some of that yarrow and dandelion root you use all the time. Grabbed some for you." He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a bundle of the fragrant herbs. He carefully unwraps them from the white cotton rag he's kept them in and holds them out to you with his large hands. A hopeful look sits upon his brow as he cranes his neck a bit to see if this peace offering will get you to look at him.

"Thank you. You can set them down on the table there," you instruct softly, pointing to the end of the table with your wooden spoon. Usually you'd jump at the chance to take something from Arthur, seizing any opportunity to touch his hands and for your fingers to teasingly graze across each other’s. But not this time. And this deviation in your behavior isn’t lost on Arthur, either.

"I could take you out and show you where I found it, if you like? In case you need more?" He gingerly sets the bundle of plants down, watchful for your reaction.

“Actually, that bundle there will last me awhile. But thank you.” With a quick and awkward smile, you return your full attention to the steaming liquid in front of you.

“Sure” he murmurs, feeling crushed. Arthur stands there a moment longer, as there is usually some sort of chatter from you. You always try to utilize his attention as much as you can when you have it. But now, you venture nothing else for him. So he turns and walks away, his boots slow to move in the grass. He does not notice that you discreetly reach up to wipe a rogue tear that escapes and cascades down your cheek as he turns away.

And so it goes on this way for a few days. You speak to Arthur only when he speaks to you, and even then, it's simple exchanges. There's no more joking or banter between you. Gone are the stolen glances and discreet blushes when catching each other staring. You have no harshness towards him, of course. But you can't bring yourself to maintain the flirtatious nature of your relationship either. You are not mad at Arthur after your revelation at the overlook, nor are you mean to him. You simply treat him like anyone else. Which, as it turns out, is something that Arthur is not prepared for. He is used to your smiles and greetings just for him. He is used to being special to you. But now, Arthur is just like everyone else in the gang.

This change in the dynamic weighs heavily on Arthur. His feelings aside, he simply misses you. It's been a long time since Arthur has had someone he can talk to and confide in. For someone who is generally annoyed by other people, Arthur has found that he enjoys your specific company. Your conversations and activities together range from the profound and insightful to the delightfully mundane and ordinary. In fact, he has come to need your companionship to balance the negativity of his life. Your softness counteracts the harshness that he experiences every time he is away from you. He craves the blissful distraction that your honey-sweet voice offers him.

One afternoon, Arthur decides to make another attempt to talk about this precarious situation. He catches you by the laundry while you are hanging today's wash to dry. You notice him out of the corner of your eye making his way over to you and you can feel your stomach start to churn as you avert your eyes to the task at hand.

He stops just in front of you as his hand comes up to rub against his chin nervously. "Y/N? Can I talk to you a minute, please?"

With a blank stare, you say nothing in response. You slowly lower your hands from the clothes line, twirling the clothes pins in your hands in distraction.

"Look, I know you're not happy with me right now, and I understand that," he starts. "But I was hoping we could still be friendly and all." Arthur's sapphire eyes search yours, looking for some indication that you are willing to put this unpleasantness behind you both.

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you hesitate before you answer him. "Did you change your mind?"

"No," he shakes his head, glancing down at his boots. "No, I can't go about that. But I want things to just go back to how they were between us." Arthur is a simple man, and he is also a creature of habit. He is used to your presence in his life and, more importantly, the impact that you have on it.

“It doesn’t work like that, Arthur." You furrow your brows at him, finally speaking more than a few words at a time. "I understand your reasoning, I suppose. I don’t agree with it, but I accept it." You pause, looking down as your eyes begin to flutter at the emotional wave that you are trying to halt in your gut before you continue. "You’re allowed to feel what you do about it. I suppose I can’t be angry with you for that." Rolling the smooth wooden clothespins between your fingertips and inhaling deeply through your nose, you lift your chin to catch his gaze again. "But don’t expect me to act like nothing happened, Arthur.”

"I just can’t go down that road again, (Y/N)," he says, gesturing with his palm out, imploring you to understand. "Besides, I just want you to have a normal life."

With a slight shake of your head, you look up into his face. "Arthur, I have no interest in a 'normal life'. And besides, my life has been anything but normal already."

His only response is an eye roll before looking off to the side in frustration, trying not to start a fight with you again. The movement causes a pang of annoyance to strike in your chest as your hand plants onto your hip.

"I don't need your constant protection, Arthur." Your statement comes across a little more harshly than you intend to when you notice he is trying not to look you in the eye.

It is a comment that makes him slowly turn his face back to you with a sarcastic scowl. "Oh, I beg to differ on that one." God, the condescension is almost tangible.

You let out a deep and disappointed sigh as you study him a moment. "Nevermind. You just don’t get it." Shaking your head and dismissing this whole conversation, you bend over and harshly snatch up the laundry basket at your feet. You maneuver around him to head back to the tents and leave him standing there.

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

By this point, you have become quiet and melancholy around camp. Everyone notices that you're not your usual bubbly self, as you seem to float through camp now, rather than be a part of it. Always observant, Abigail has had enough and pins you down to ask what the hell is going on with you.

"Why are you and Arthur so odd lately? Did something happen? Did you have a fight or something?" She eyes you suspiciously, handing you a cup of coffee while you and the girls take a break from chores and sit at one of the tables. The weather is still fairly warm today and everyone is bustling about to prepare for the oncoming colder months ahead.

You look over at Abigail with a woeful look as you accept the hot cup. "I told Arthur how I feel about him."

The girls all gasp in excitement, eager to finally talk about this thrilling topic. But your somber expression immediately halts their celebratory giggles.

"I don't understand, (Y/N), why aren't you more excited about this?" asks Tilly, leaning in closer to you from across the table to know more, astonishment draped across her cherub face.

You stare listlessly at the cup in your hands. "He turned me down. He said no."  

“He said what?!” Abigail’s eyes shoot wide before quickly screwing down in confusion.

“No! Why would he say that?” breathes Mary-Beth in hushed wonder, bringing her hand up to her mouth in shock. She exchanges a confused glance with Tilly before looking back to you, anxious for details.

You shrug softly with a sorrowful smile. “He doesn’t think he’s good enough for me, I guess.”

“Well, duh, of course he isn’t!” Karen blurts out with a wave of her hand before it slams down onto the table with a loud clap next to you. “But let’s be honest, there probably isn’t a man alive who is.”

“He’s entitled to his decision,” you quietly repeat the worn excuse you had given to Arthur already. “Besides, he’s been hurt before. I suppose I can’t blame him.”

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard," argues Karen, her pouty red lips frowning. "Do you want me to go talk some sense into him, honey? I’ll put my foot in his ass and set him straight.” Her doll-like eyes burn with intensity as she crosses her arms over her chest in a huff.

“No, no." You can’t help but smile at your friend's defense of you as the image of Karen taking on Arthur makes you chuckle a bit. "I can’t force him to be with me and I wouldn’t want to anyway.”

“It just doesn’t make any sense, (Y/N),” Mary-Beth points out. “I mean, we’ve all seen the way he looks at you. And when you two are dancin’ by the fire… I wish I had that.” Mary-Beth is so sweet and always the hopeless romantic of your circle. And while all of the girls have been pulling for you and Arthur to be together, it is always Mary-Beth who is the biggest supporter of it. When you had your hang-over confession of your crush on Arthur after your drunken night out with Karen, Mary-Beth told you that you and Arthur are like a real-life story out of one of her romance novels. At the time, you dismissed the silly notion as nothing more than a foolish daydream. But, still, it was a comment that made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

With a dejected sigh, your chin lands into the palm of your hand. Your shoulders sink as you lean onto the table. "Well, doesn’t matter now, does it?"

There is an awkward stillness as this discussion settles amongst your little group. Frankly, the girls are speechless. But your quiet moment with the girls doesn't last too long before Ms. Grimshaw saunters over and disperses you all. As long as there is daylight, there is work to do, and she will make damn sure that it gets done. Dividing up the chores between you all, the matriarch ushers you and Abigail over to Pearson's wagon to start prepping vegetables for tonight's dinner. You grab yourself a cutting board and a bowl of potatoes and amble over to a small work table to start peeling.

Once she has Jack occupied, Abigail grabs a bowl of carrots for herself and sits down across the table from you. She watches you with a heartbroken and disappointed look as you set about your task. You and she have become quite close since you've come here to join the Van Der Linde gang. While she certainly cares for Arthur as her own family, she feels just awful for you. She knows how much you care for Arthur. It's so obvious in everything that you do. And she knows that you could make Arthur truly happy, too. 'Damn him,' Abigail thinks to herself. 'Why does he have to be so god-awful stubborn?'

"I’m sorry, (Y/N), really I am." Abigail's voice breaks the painful silence as the two of you work. You look up at her with the eyes of a puppy that's been kicked. "I don’t know what’s gotten into Arthur. I really thought he’d jump at the chance to call you his," she insists tenderly.

You nod in understanding, but honestly, the whole situation is becoming exhausting. You've tried so hard to come to terms with it, but it's becoming harder than you expected. “Maybe it was a mistake to come here," you admit softly, your voice slightly broken. "But back home in the east, I have nowhere to go, and I can’t go back to Rosewood." You reach into the bowl of potatoes again, your fingers working as you precariously drag the knife over the starchy vegetables. "But, I don’t want to be a problem here either, though. I’d leave here but I'm afraid to even do that." You cringe internally at how pathetic you sound, especially complaining to Abigail who has had her fair share of hardship in this world.

She observes you with a sympathetic click of her tongue being the only sound she is able to muster at the moment as you continue.

"You know," lifting your eyes back Abigail, "Arthur said I shouldn’t even be here. Suppose he’s right about that. As usual." You roll your eyes a bit. "I guess I just don’t belong anywhere."

Abigail reaches over the table and wraps her hand over top of yours. "Oh, (Y/N) please don’t say that. Of course you belong here." She affectionately squeezes your hand a bit more. "Don't listen to that fool. You're one of us now." Chuckling, she adds, "Whether you like it or not."

You finally stop peeling potatoes and give her a tired but appreciative smile. "It's times like this that I really miss my father, you know? At least we were misfits together.” Your face drops a bit at the memory of him. You and he came out west together to start a new life and, well, that is certainly what has happened. You have forged a new path for yourself with this gang of thieves and miscreants and found a new family within it.

But still, you miss your father terribly, as he was always your one true and unyielding ally in this world. There have been many moments where you have caught yourself in tears and heartache over his abrupt death. While the members of the Van Der Linde gang have been most gracious in welcoming you into their circle, that pang of sorrow still lingers like a fresh wound. And now in light of this situation with Arthur, it seems to have come back to the surface ten-fold as you're not sure what to do now. Your father was always such a kind and understanding man, very pragmatic. You’d give anything just to have his council again.

After the two of you are done helping Mr. Pearson with dinner, you head back to the privacy of your tent to nurse a throbbing headache, and Abigail wanders over to the fire with Jack in tow. While her boy plays with his wooden figurines at her feet, Abigail sits cross-legged on the ground with her chin in her hand, staring into the crackling flames with a contemplative scowl on her face. Soon enough, an all-too familiar raspy voice catches her attention.

"Oh boy, who's on your shit-list now?" jokes John as he playfully tugs on the few wisps of hair that hang from her loose bun and dance along the nape of her neck. He slowly lowers himself to sit next to her, leaning out onto his knees with his elbows. "I'm hopin' it ain't me." He bumps into her shoulder with a smirk.

She snorts in his direction. "No, for once, it's not you. It's that idiot brother of yours."

John listens to Abigail vent her frustrations out to him as she goes on for a good twenty minutes. (Honestly, it feels good to him to not be the target of her ire for a change.) And after hearing of what is going on between you two, John decides to talk to Arthur about it. He actually agrees with his woman for once and wants to see if he can nudge Arthur in the right direction. You and John may have gotten off on the wrong foot when you first came to join the gang, but since then, he has come to be quite fond of you. He appreciates the friendship you have provided for Abigail, and you’ve helped him to create a better relationship with her. And, as much as he and Arthur bicker, John has to admit that you are good for Arthur. Plus, if he doesn't talk to Arthur, Abigail certainly will. And John will try to spare his brother her wrath that he knows all too well himself.

John finds Arthur over by the horses, getting them fed and watered for the night before everyone settles in by the fires. He saunters over to Arthur, no announcement, no greeting. He just blurts out “Are you crazy?!"

Arthur halts in his movements, looking over his shoulder and giving John a confused look. "What in the hell are you goin' on about now, Marston?"

"You have a woman like (Y/N) throwing herself at you and you say 'no'?! Jesus, I don’t ever want to hear you talk about how stupid I am!” John plants his hands on his narrow hips as he scolds the man in front of him. Arthur just gives him another confused look. "Abigail told me," replies John. "Apparently (Y/N) is all upset and was talking to Abigail about it."

Arthur rolls his eyes to the sky. "Shit..."  

"And before you get all mad at (Y/N) for blabbin', Abigail had to drag it out of her," John says quickly. "She was wonderin' why (Y/N)'s been actin' funny the last few days. "

"Oh..." Arthur sighs. He tosses the horse brush that is in his hand into the bucket at his feet and shoves his fingertips into his eye sockets in frustration. Great. Now the whole damn camp is going to know his business. "It ain’t that easy, Marston." He offers John his feeble excuse with a dismissive wave of his arm towards his brother.

John rolls his eyes in exasperation. "Well, what’s so damn hard about it, Arthur? She likes you, you like her - and don't tell me that you don't!" he quickly points his finger at Arthur before the man can even deny it. "It don’t get much easier than that!"

"What if..." Arthur's hand waves haplessly in the air, his eyes scattering across the camp, as he tries to find the words. "What if I get her killed? Huh?" A long, depressed sigh escapes his chest as he turns to lean his burly arms out over top of Buck's backside as he thinks. "Or, what if she decides that she really doesn't like me after all?" His chin turns back over his shoulder to meet John's questioning gaze again. "What then?"

"Well, that's a real possibility. I mean, I've known you for years and I still don't like you," John snickers.

"Don't be an ass," Arthur snaps back.

John proudly places his hand over his chest. "I can honestly say that for once, between the two of us, Arthur, I am not the ass in this situation here."

“She deserves better than the likes of me,” Arthur continues, flipping his hand about wildly again to indicate himself and the camp. And as he hears his own words hanging in the air, Arthur knows he's trying to convince himself more than John right now. Deep down, he's desperately trying to justify the huge mistake he knows that he is making.

“Well, that goes without saying." John walks a few steps closer to Arthur, casually patting Buck's hind quarters as he speaks. "But I say, if you really want (Y/N) to be happy, then just give her what she wants. And for whatever reason, that’s you, jack-ass." He looks his brother in the eye, an impish grin on his thin lips. "(Y/N) is not dumb, Arthur. Did you ever stop to think that if someone like her fancies you, then you can’t be all that bad?”

Arthur thinks on this for a moment, stunned by this idea. He's never considered it from that perspective. His vividly colored eyes dart around as the notion rolls about in his head. "You know, Marston, you may not be all that dense, after all."

John simply snorts in response. "Well, ain't that hard, considering the company that I keep."

"I can't believe I'm taking relationship advice from you of all people," Arthur mutters, as he draws his hand over his face in disbelief.

"I know, right?" John chuckles a bit as he slaps Arthur on the shoulder.

To Arthur's surprise, his talk with John actually makes him feel better. He decides to try to make things up to you, or to at least make the focused effort to go back to how things were before. But to his dismay, you resist his advances. You are trying to keep your distance from him at this point, avoiding him whenever you can, as you find that it's just too painful to be around him. You eat your meals in your tent, and you keep to yourself when you work. You are not unkind or rude to Arthur, using only simple one word answers when you have to talk to him. But there is no fondness or attachment with him as usual. The familiarity between the two of you has dwindled like a dying candle flame about to be swallowed in a bed of used wax.

You strategically place yourself the furthest away from Arthur whenever he is in camp, volunteering for any task that Ms. Grimshaw has available to keep yourself preoccupied. Grimshaw hates it when you girls are interrupted from whatever work she has dictated you to do. So you will use her iron-will to your advantage to shield yourself from Arthur if you can.

Aside from washing laundry all day, you run errands with Mr. Pearson, run scouts with Javier, and try to get out of camp altogether whenever you have the opportunity. You jump at the chance to go hunting with Charles any time he offers. In fact, you have come to rely on Charles quite a bit lately. Charles naturally has a calming presence about him and he has become a great comfort to you. He himself is also a bit of a loner and outsider in this group, and you have found a kindred spirit in him.

At one point you are in your tent cleaning up and turn to head out to find Charles. You are not paying attention, looking down as you shake out the jacket in your hands and you run right into Arthur, almost bouncing off of his chest. He has come to try to talk to you yet again, and corners you by your tent. He is standing in front of you with his thumbs tucked into his gun belt, as he usually does, but this time he has a slight scowl set upon his face, his eyes dark. If you didn't know him better, you'd be intimidated by his demeanor standing there.

You gasp, jumping slightly and placing a hand over your chest in surprise. "Jesus, Arthur! You scared the hell out of me!"  

“Figured I had to sneak up on you lest you run away from me again," he retorts, his voice carrying a tinge of annoyance to it. "What, are you trying to make me jealous by hangin' 'round with other men, now?”

You halt at his accusation, your face twisting up. "Excuse me?"

“You’ve been hangin' 'round with Charles quite a bit lately." His eyes level at you with a cold and mirthless stare.

"Have I?" Your reply is sarcastically innocent. You do not care for his insinuation in the slightest, and now it is you who is getting annoyed.

"Yeah, you have," Arthur pushes. "You won’t go out hunting with me, but you’ll go out with him.” He juts his thumb over his shoulder back at the camp behind him.

“I like Charles," you counter harshly. "He doesn’t talk much. I don’t have to worry about stupid shit coming out of his mouth.”

"Is that a fact?" His slow drawl is clearly an indication that he is not amused at your statement.

"Yes, it is. Is that a problem, Arthur?" You are not about to back down from him, no matter how much he towers over you as he steps even closer to you now while you glare up at him bitterly.

He waves his hand at you in irritation. "No. No, you do whatever you damn well want.” You can tell he is getting riled up now, as his eyes are flashing, and you can see his jaw clenching, even under his beard.

“Good, because I plan to," you snap at him again. "Besides, what am I supposed to do?" You toss the jacket that you are still holding onto your cot behind you before crossing your arms defensively over your chest. "And where’s this coming from, anyway, Arthur? I thought you wanted no part of that?"

He just stares at you, not really sure what to say to that. The argument is right there on the tip of his tongue, ready to strike its ugly head. He wants nothing more than to grab you and hold you tight, never letting you go; needing you to just stop lashing out at him for a damn second. But he can’t. He just…can’t. So instead, he stands there like a mountain; silent and not moving.

Anger begins to build in your chest, causing the brows above your beautiful eyes to crease. You can feel your heart beating painfully faster as the adrenaline courses through your body. And you can sense that your mouth is about to pour forth words that will be an unstoppable waterfall.

"First there’s the glances, the lingering touches, taking me out places, talking to me all the time," you start rambling, your composure quickly crumbling now that you are speaking to him again. "Then all of a sudden acting like I'm nothing to you-“

"Hey! I never said you were nothing to me!” he interrupts with a shout as he takes another step closer to you.

"- only to be jealous, now?!" Your voice squeaks as it hits the louder decibel.

“I ain’t jealous and I never promised you anything! You’re the one who made it complicated!” He points his large finger in your face, mere inches from your nose.

"Right, my error. My miserable error for giving a damn about you!" Your arms shoot straight at your sides as your voice continues to rise in anger, your eyes dangerously brimmed with tears that threaten to spill forth and betray your hard front.

You lower your head to your hands, driving your fingertips into your temples, desperately trying to keep your brain from exploding. "What are you doing, Arthur?"

"What?" he snaps defensively.

"What are you doing to me?!," you holler at him, lifting your face back to his. "You want me here, but you don’t want me here. You don’t want me, but you don’t want me with anyone else, either. You can’t keep stringing me like that! What is it that you want, Arthur?!"

"I don’t know what the hell I want!” His voice roars into your face, standing nose to nose with you now, so close that you can feel his hot breath across your cheeks.

"Well that’s obvious," you say flatly.

And as you fearlessly hold his stony gaze, it occurs to you that you're going to have to let this fantasy of yours die. You've tried so hard to make him see what’s in himself, and to see you; to get him to see that your heart is here for his taking and, more importantly, that he deserves to be loved in return.

But he’s a broken outlaw. And you're going to have to come to terms with that and let him go. The reality of this idea painfully nets over your heart as your gaze flutters before it drops from his angry eyes to his heaving chest and finally falls to the ground to his dusty boots.

Defeated, your shoulders drop. You shake your head as you turn away from him, not able to look upon his face anymore. "Just…get the hell out of my tent, Arthur." Your tone is quiet and broken now after all of the yelling. He's done it. He's won the argument and finally gotten what he's been pushing you for. You're done with your childish fantasy of making this fearsome outlaw a partner to you.

Arthur stands there staring at your back for a moment, the corner of his eyes stinging slightly. Rage electrifies and radiates throughout his whole body as his hands flex in and out of a fist at his sides. Finally, he turns and storms away from your tent. "God damn it!" he mutters harshly to himself. Why is it that everything he touches turns to shit?

From where he's been watching this whole exchange, Hosea quickly stands up from his chair, alarmed, as he watches Arthur stalk angrily away from your tent.

“Arthur!” Hosea calls out, his face clearly laced with concern. For an "angry Arthur" is a "dangerous Arthur" for sure.

"Not now, Hosea!" Arthur snaps, waving the older man off without so much as a glance in his direction as he stomps off.

Arthur is so infuriated right now, he's not really sure what to do. He's irrationally upset with you. He keeps replaying that day at the overlook when you revealed your affection for him. Why in the hell did you have to do that? It ruined everything. The two of you could have remained friends, and if he longed for you, he could just do it secretly as he's been doing since he's met you. But no, you had to push the idea and now the two of you are either hollering at each other or not speaking altogether. Why did you have to come here and be so nice to him? Why did you have to make him fall for you?

But he soon realizes how foolish he is being, chastising himself. It's not your fault, but his. He never should have let it get this far. He should have kept his distance from you from the start. He should have known he’d be weak-willed and defenseless against someone as good and pure as you.

Arthur stalks back to his tent and as he does, he looks up and sees Charles sitting outside of his own tent. He's sitting upon a log as a makeshift chair, his attention acutely fixated on the materials in his hands. Looks like he is making more arrows. 'Probably so he can take (Y/N) out hunting again,' Arthur sourly thinks to himself.

Arthur walks over to Charles, knowing he probably shouldn't right now. All of his reasoning argues that he should just stop and try to calm down. But unfortunately, Arthur is not thinking rationally at the moment. Charles casually lifts his head as he sees Arthur approach out of the corner of his eye.

"Arthur." Charles greets him with an air of caution, as he can see the tension on his friend's face. He could hear you and Arthur arguing just a few minutes ago. From where his tent is situated in camp, it is farther from yours, so Charles couldn't hear exactly what was said, only the volume and tone with which it was.

"Charles," Arthur coolly greets in return. "What you workin' on there? Hmm? More arrows to go huntin' with?" He cocks his head to the side as he coldly stares down at the items in Charles' hands.

"Yeah. I promised (Y/N) the next time we go out that we'd work on her bow skills. Been working with her on tracking lately. But she really wants to get a grasp on working with a bow."

Arthur looks on with disdain as Charles’ large fingertips delicately wrap the end of the arrow shaft with feathers.

"Oh, I'm sure she wants to get a grasp on somethin', alright," Arthur retorts bitterly.

Arthur's tone makes Charles hesitate. He looks back to Arthur and measures his words carefully. "You got a problem with me taking (Y/N) out hunting, Arthur?"

"Maybe I do."

Charles is not a violent man by nature, but he will stand his ground if need be. He has no designs to "steal" you from Arthur, if that is what the other man thinks he's doing. He has no intention of fighting over you, either. But Charles will fight for you if he has to. He puts the shafts and string in his lap down on the ground next to his feet. Arthur doesn’t move a muscle of his large frame as Charles slowly stands to square off and meets him at eye level.

“If you got a problem with (Y/N), Arthur, that’s between you two. She and I are only hunting together. That's all." Charles's voice is low and even. He doesn't want to provoke his good friend, but he also resents his tone. "Apparently, she's looking to get out of camp a lot lately, looking for some peace and quiet. And, she's a good shot, damn good shot, in fact. So she is welcome to hunt with me whenever she wants." Charles pauses, standing a little straighter, pushing his chest out a bit. "Besides, she’s my friend, too.”

Arthur cocks a knowing eyebrow at Charles. “Yeah, and we all know how friendships can go.”

“Mind yourself, Arthur,” warns Charles, pointing his finger at his chest and giving his friend a look that is more of disappointment than anger, before he sits back down and calmly resumes his work. He understands Arthur's frustration, and understands that he is not the target of the outlaw's anger. He also knows Arthur is better than this pettiness, too. But more importantly, Charles won't stand for anyone speaking badly about you, regardless of who it is.

Arthur says nothing else, realizing that he is not getting anywhere with Charles. So to avoid ruining yet another relationship that he has come to rely on, Arthur smartly buttons his lips and walks off to sulk in the solitude of his tent.

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

This stunning image comes from @regwishesshehadmagic​

The morning following your fight, Arthur is awake before the sun. He watches with bleary eyes as the crisp morning sun begins to fracture into his tent between the opening in the canvas. Not being able to sleep all night, he drags himself to sit up on his cot with a groan, rubbing his hands through his disheveled hair.  Despite his overwhelming fatigue, he is so restless, he can’t stand it. Feeling as if he is on the edge of going crazy, Arthur quickly gets himself together and rides out of camp before anyone is aware. He doesn't know where he is going or what he is going to do, only that he has to get out of this godforsaken camp and clear his head.

He spends the next two days out in the woods, thinking about what to do and what he really wants. He is being torn apart by this rift between you and him, torn between what he wants and what he feels is right. Arthur sits among the trees, silent as a statue, while the forest life goes on about its merry way around him, and rolls his doubts and misgivings over and over again in his mind, along with what Micah had said. Torturing himself with angry and hurtful words, the man blames himself for allowing himself to be in this situation to begin with.

As the long day draws out into the night, Arthur still sits, legs stretched out before him as the small campfire illuminates the now-encroaching darkness. And of course, Arthur also thinks of you. He takes his journal out and reads over the entries. Refreshing his memory with thoughts of you, he relives the moments you've spent together. Each passage brings forth a plethora of emotions, each stronger than the last. Your image is scattered throughout the worn pages in various forms, from the details of your eyes and lips, to the graceful curve of your neck, visible when your hair is pulled up, to a full-body likeness of you standing with Jack on your hip. His rough fingers trace over the lines of your face as he sits in deep thought, a small smile involuntarily blooming across his features.

But most importantly, he thinks about what you said at the overlook. His eyes relax and stare unfocused into the dancing flames of his fire, and Arthur's chest tightens as he vividly remembers the look on your face when he declined your affections and sat there and did nothing as he watched your eyes rim with tears. Your voice still booms in his ears:  “What is it that you want, Arthur?!”

Arthur’s fingers move as if combing through mud as he pulls a cigarette out of his satchel and lights it. Pulling a long drag off of the end, he lets out an extended and tired sigh. What does he want?

He knows he’s lonely. He hates to admit it, but he is. Cold nights and empty beds; no warm arms waiting to welcome him home. But the fear of exposing himself to love again, only for it to end horribly, is terrifying, even to a fearsome, hard outlaw. Losing Eliza and Issac shattered his heart. And Mary’s rejection has left him bitter and angry. Over the years, Arthur has channeled his hurt and pain into an armor until he has become someone else altogether; a shell of what he once was, and he wasn’t all that great to begin with. He’s no good, like a rotten apple that’s fallen from the tree that no one wants to take. Arthur doesn’t think he has it in him to do it all over again. And now, he is in a position to be stuck between living his life and running from it.

But you are different. You are not as young and naive as Eliza was. Nor are you as self-serving as Mary. Though he cared for and loved both women, Arthur knew, even then, that he was doomed, for these women did not fit with his family and lifestyle. But with you, that burden is removed. Not only do you accept the gang, but you have embraced it. And you are someone who cares for him, not for what he does, but for who he is.

You are delightfully chaotic; quite the beautiful mess, in fact. Arthur finds you to be wonderfully out of place in his life, but maybe that is as it should be. Kind of like when you see the moon during the daytime. You’ve turned your broken into beautiful and made your strength look invincible. You have never asked Arthur for the moon and the stars, but only to lay in the damp grass at night with you to watch them. And to Arthur, this means more than anything. The way your nose wrinkles when you smile. The way your eyes light up when you see him. The way you snort sometimes when you laugh. The way you get impassioned when you speak of something that touches you. Even the way you walk away from the fire at night to head back to your tent. Arthur wants it all.

And it is then that Arthur is hit with a profound realization. His eyes open wide and the air is sucked out of his chest as if he's been thrown from his horse. Arthur loves you. He loves you. And, more importantly, he wants the two of you to be together. More than anything. But can he do that?

He knows it's not the safe path, and probably not what is best for you. But John is right: if this is what you both really want, why not do it? He finally comprehends that he’s spent so much time being strong for everyone else that he’s never allowed himself to be happy. Maybe that needs to change now.

With resolve in his veins, Arthur quickly packs up his makeshift camp, literally tripping over himself in his haste, and heads back home.

As Arthur comes down the path back to camp, his eyes immediately notice that your horse is gone. Disappointed, but not discouraged, Arthur thinks about his next move and decides to ask Abigail and Mary-Beth what to do. If he is going to fix this great divide between you and him, he is going to need help to do it, as so far, he clearly doesn't know what he's doing on his own. He needs to bring "the big guns," as they say. And fortunately, Arthur finds the very two people he needs sitting together at a table.

“Can I talk to you ladies a minute?" Arthur calls over as he walks with purpose in their direction with a very determined look upon his face. The two women halt their conversation upon hearing him, curious about what he could want.

Mary-Beth smiles up at him as Arthur gets close to their table. "Sure, Arthur. What do you need?" He sits down next to Mary-Beth, pausing to organize his thoughts before he just comes right out with it.

"(Y/N) told me how she feels about me. You know, that she likes me an’ all. And like a fool, I pushed her away.” His eyes dart back and forth from both of their faces before shamefully down at his own hands that fidget on the table. "I guess I underestimated how I’d feel about that."

Abigail sits up straighter as a huge smile begins to cross her lips. “Are you saying that you want to be with her then, Arthur?”

"The question was never if I wanted to," he says to Abigail. "But she won’t even speak to me now." He holds his hands up in defeat before letting them fall haplessly onto the table, and looks to the women with a pathetic face, pleading for help. "Every time I try, we end up yellin’, and I make it worse."

Abigail gives him a scolding look. "Well, Arthur, you wounded her pride and broke her heart. What do you expect?" 

“Maybe you need a grand gesture?” suggests Mary-Beth, gesturing with her arms in emphasis. Her eyes go wide with excitement, eager to help usher this new relationship into existence. "(Y/N) can be stubborn, for sure. So if she won't talk to you, Arthur, then make her listen. Maybe you need to show her how you feel?"

“If you’re going to do something, you may need to do it soon, Arthur," warns Abigail, tapping her finger on the table. She goes on to tell him that you feel as if you don’t belong and have been distancing yourself from the whole camp.

 "She's up and out before anyone else, and when she is in camp, she rarely leaves her tent now." This worries Arthur because what if you decide to leave? Then what? He’s scared to lose you even though you're not his to lose.

Arthur sits quietly, taking in all of this information. He tries to think of what he could possibly do while Abigail and Mary-Beth both stare at him, waiting for the answer. "Thank you, girls. I appreciate your help," he finally says. "Do me a favor though, and don't mention this to (Y/N), please? I don't know what I'm doin' just yet, and I don't want to disappoint her even more than I already have."

"Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say," Mary-Beth answers with a hopeful grin. “Good Luck!”

He then looks to Abigail, who just stares back obstinately.

"Abigail?"

"Ugh, OK fine! I won't say anything. But you had better do something, Arthur Morgan!" as she points her finger at him. "Or so help me-"

"OK, OK!" he holds up his hands in surrender as he stands up. "I don't need two women in camp after me. I'll take care of it." And he smiles to himself as he heads to his tent to plan.

After mulling over his options, Arthur decides to ride back to Rosewood where you came from to see if he can find anything of your father's there. If you are missing your family, as Abigail told him, Arthur is hoping to bring back some sort of remembrance of him for you. After a quick check-in with Dutch, Arthur immediately heads out of camp and on his way to Rosewood. It's a few days' ride, so he needs to get going so he can hurry and get back.

Meanwhile, back at camp, you notice Arthur has been gone intermittently since your revelation, and now he’s been gone for several days after your fight. Things seem to be going from bad to worse. Figuring he’s outright avoiding the camp itself because of you, you don’t know what to do. This is his family, his people. And if you're the one making things difficult, then you will need to be the one to leave. So, you start coming to terms with the idea that you will need to find a new place of your own.

This evening, as the sun starts to crawl back behind the mountains, you find yourself sitting outside of camp by yourself. You stare out into the watercolor-painted sky, thinking over where you'll go and what you'll do. The idea of leaving is terrifying. You'll have to start over yet again. You'll miss everyone in this camp who you have come to love so dearly. You’ll surely miss Abigail and Jack. And of course Hosea. You'll miss Arthur. 

You draw your knees up closer to your chin and wrap your arms around them as an overwhelming fatigue cascades over you. You are so lost in your own thoughts that you do not hear footsteps behind you.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing out here?” You hear Charles' soft voice cut through your thoughts. When he didn't see you at dinner yet again tonight, he decided to come to check on you.

You hastily wipe away a few tears from your cheeks and try to smile for him. “Hi, Charles. What can I do for you?”

He cautiously approaches you as one does a wounded animal. His brows knit in concern when, even in the setting sunlight, he can see the red-rim of your wet eyes. "Arthur ain’t gonna be too happy if he finds out we’ve let you wander off by your lonesome.”

You scoff at that. "Oh, I highly doubt that," giving Charles a sad smile. "Although Arthur is the expert on what I shouldn’t be doing, it seems." You turn your attention back to the horizon, watching the last flecks of golden sunlight begin to fade for the day. "Besides, he won't have to worry about it much longer."

Charles freezes before nervously shifting his weight from hip to hip. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh…nothing. Forget I said anything." You wave off the comment as if it is nothing more than a rambling thought, but you still avoid his dark eyes.  

"(Y/N)…you OK?"

"Yeah…sure. I’ll be fine"

Charles steps closer to you, studying your face and countenance, not believing you for a second. "Listen (Y/N), I know you and Arthur are in a weird place right now-“

"Oh, Charles, I really don’t want to talk about Arthur. Really, I don’t,” you insist, shaking your head vehemently. Your eyes have a glassy sheen that causes Charles to cringe in pity for you.

“OK,” He’s silent for a moment. "Can I do anything for you?" His hand tentatively reaches out to you, not really sure what, if anything, he can do.

"No, sweet man, I’m OK. Thank you." You try to give him another smile for reassurance. "Go ahead back to everyone. I won't be out here much longer. I promise."

Charles hesitates a bit longer, before turning to head back to camp. "All right, if you're sure you're OK, then."

When you see him disappear amongst the tents again, you turn back to the horizon. The sun is gone now. The light has been snuffed out, leaving a cold and lonely atmosphere in its wake. The first few pin-pricks of starlight begin to emerge in the purple sky. You sigh deeply as your shoulders drop even more and your eyelids fall like stones. 

"I'm not sure of anything anymore," you whisper to yourself.  

A/N: *Oh my goodness, half-way there! More drama to come, but I promise, we’re getting there, and it’s definitely worth it (I hope anyway)

[kuritoigca]

Hello!! This is my second post of my Undertale AU called "Grindtale"! Here is some concept art I made, this time, Snowdin has been transformed into a sandy mess! After "The Monster" caused the CORE to malfunction, it entered an overheating state, which caused Snowdin to melt and turn into a desert town now called Sanddin! The previous residents of Snowdin decided to move out into The Ruins, a much fresher place further from the CORE until The Royal Scientist fixes Its issues, but some agreed that they would NOT move no matter what! (Grillby had to adapt to the climatic changes) Here is some music I made, Snowdin Town theme but now you can feel how the sand enters your shoes! *Snowdin's looking a lot more like Sanddin right now...*

I hope you enjoy this and the future content that comes with the AU!

(Art and music by me)

[animalsalvationassociation]

Has anything serious happened to Director Scratch? Like her getting kidnapped, hurt, falling ill, attempted life, etc.

(This is a back up one just incase my other one got deleted.... it tends to happen a lot.)

[ DO NOT REPOST, ALL ART & CONCEPTS WERE MADE BY ME ]

Illustration Time: 8hrs 49min

BEAVENS TO HETSY—YA’LL HOW THE FUDGE DO I HAVE A 100+ FOLLOWERS ALREADY????? I AM SO EMOTIONAL RN IT’S NOT EVEN FUNNY. IMMA GO CRY NOW GEEZ!!! (Go check out the 100 Goal poll before it ends. I’ve decided to wait the 3-4 days that it has left on there before I make anything, just to make sure everyone got a chance vote)

Thank you for you patience @kuri-kushmi ! I know you were really excited for this one, I hope I did our lovely Peggy justice!

Notes:

Yo is that young Inkling???? Whaaaaa????

Had a mutual threatened me when I sent a pic of Peggy crying. They were about to throw down, but its okay Peggy has tissues now. Her trauma is forever healed because of good vibes . . . yep thats how that works :)

I also wanted to preface this just in case I had any other asks that may be similar. Just because it hasn’t happened before doesn’t mean it won’t happen in the future. The story has yet to be completely written so there is plenty of room for extra stuff to be added. I literally don’t even have a chapter written out . . . we’re working on it . . . maybe . . . I’m trying but my brain doesn’t want to brain! (stupid ADHD) I’ve been doing this for almost 12 years why can’t I writeeeeeee???

I should not have adult money . . . no I will not explain ur welcome

[ This is a Octonauts AU, in no way is this canon to the OG storyline. ]

[coochiekrab]

felt compelled to send an ask just bc another one of your comics crossed my dash the other day and i ended up backscrolling through your blog bc something about your art and the way u write your ocs gave me such a nostalgia burst like i felt the exact same way i did when i was a little kid just getting in to furry art and wanting to make all sorts of stuff with my own ocs (never got around to making any of it but hey)

its honestly pretty inspiring!! kuri and dylan and their weird little family are so cool,

hope you have a great day!

YAYE

[base0h]

maybe romantic drabble 2 (giving you their jacket) with katakuri and/or mihawks? (separate)

i think it would be cute to see it reversed (bc they both have exposed clothing) and to just see you try and pile on all your winter clothes onto them; trying to wrap them up in your much smaller clothes bc you’re worried they’ll catch a cold. (and sitting very proudly afterwards in your tshirt while they drown in the excess fabric you dolled them up in)

you totally don’t have to follow that if you don’t want to though! do whatever your genius writer brain desires! hope your winter is well and you’re staying warm <3 love your work

a/n - no wait this is adorable 😭 imagine katakuri just proudly sitting with the tiniest jacket on 🥺🥺 tysm for requesting!!

drabbles prompt 2

Warnings ⚠️ - absolute fluff, g/n reader, smaller reader

—-//-—

It was snowing, softly, but you could still feel the little twinkle of cold on the tip of your nose when a snowflake fell onto it. It was a silent and peaceful bliss, you, and Katakuri, sitting together near a dimly lit lamppost. You couldn’t help but wonder if your lover was cold… He always wore such open clothes, even in the winter. The last thing you wanted was for him to get sick. You didn’t say a word, you simply took one of your puffy jackets and stood up, starting to put it around his shoulders. He was surprised, maybe shocked, just how much kinder could you get? You wrapped his scarf around his neck, making sure he was now a bit warmer. Sadly you were quite a bit smaller than him, so your coat didn’t fit him right. Katakuri didn’t seem to mind it, in fact, he carried himself differently. Wearing your coat was like a badge of honor to him, something that reminds him of how much you care about him. Just thinking about it made his cheeks turn pink. You saw his face turning pink, you knew it, he must’ve caught a cold from not wearing a jacket! “Kuri- you ok? Are you cold? Here I’ll give you another jacket-“ You started to say, already in the middle of taking off yours. Katakuri shook his head, making you put your jacket back on, “No, I’m not cold y/n.. Thank you for your jacket.” He said softly, wrapping his arm around you, letting you lean close to him. Even in this cold weather, his body was warm, comforting in the snow. You wrapped your arms around his torso, leaning on his chest which was now barely covered with your jacket. Yes, it did look kind of silly, but Katakuri would most likely kill someone if they said that. “You’re too kind to me y/n- I love you.”

—-//-—

Mihawk was one to like peaceful outdoor time with you. Of all seasons, winter was the one he most enjoyed spending with you. Seeing the trees painted white, the ground covered with fluffy snow, snowflakes floating in the air, landing in the middle of his palm, seconds before they melt. You both were sitting in front of your home, drinking hot tea to make sure you didn’t get too cold. The mug warmed your hands, a comforting warmth that you always loved. Mihawk was reading a book just beside you, wearing his usual open white dresshirt, it seemed as though even if the seasons change, his clothes do not. He coughed once which was extremely odd, was he catching a cold from this weather? You took off your scarf and started wrapping it around him, slightly spooking him. You put your jacket over his shoulders and sat back down, “I don’t want you to catch a cold.” You said with a smile. Your face brightened his days without fail, warming his heart from the inside out. Your thoughtfulness touched him in a way only you could. Your jacket was too small for him obviously, but mihawk didn’t care. The tiny jacket you gave him worked better than any other jacket in the world. He’s never felt so warm in his life until now. He had a soft smile on his face, your soft scarf wrapping around his neck comfortingly. He leaned down and kissed the top of your head, fixing the mittens on your hands so they weren’t cold. He gave you the cup of hot tea as well. All of his actions held so much love and care, nothing but compassion. “Thank you, love. I’ve never been warmer.”

a/n - im going to cry. this is so cute 😭

[kankuroplease]

are you going to make a Hc for all of Wolfgang's children???👀👁️👄👁️ I love it, ma'am, thank you very much! to make Hcs 😭 sniff* can you make a Hc for the little pirate Arashi, he's the baby of the family like his mother 😆 '' I like his little pirate mustache and Captain Hook look.🏴‍☠️

Who knows lol but Arashi is how he looks

His parents were seasoned vets by the time he popped out

So he was relatively easy to handle even though he was a bit hyper compared to the others

He spent most of his childhood trying to keep up with his older siblings and matured rather quickly because if it

He even thought he’d hit a growth spurt like Asahi did, but that never happened

He’s the shortest of the boys in his family and roughly about the same height as his mother

No one really missed with him because everyone knew his older siblings were very protective of him and they (and their ninken) didn’t necessarily believe in fair fights

So it was smooth sailing for him

He told his dad most of his secrets

And he told his mother all of his secrets (she knew about his first boyfriend before anyone else)

Asahi was always dark and mysterious, so Arashi didn’t even noticed when he moved out

He didn’t get much time with Kuri as she got married and moved out while he was still young

Frederick always let him get away with everything because he refused to act as a parental figure when he wasn’t

Leonie let him play with her paints as long as he didn’t touch the works she was working on or had completed

Mika taught him how to swim

Sena taught him how to successfully hide things in places others wouldn’t think of

He got bored of the mundane things that filled his day while Asahi, Frederick, and Sena would be out exploring the world

So he hoped onto the first ship he could to do the same

But as luck would have it, that ship got ship wrecked and he was stranded on an island for a fortnight before getting rescued and taken to a port that was a pirate’s paradise

That’s where he joined a crew and fell in love the dangers and highs of being a pirate

No rules (well some rules) and the open salty sea was great

He learned to appreciate how his life was and even met his soulmate

A beautiful man from an island he never heard of

Rudest man he had ever met but also one of the kindest pirates around

Who also just so happened to be the captains son

He would risk being captured freeing other pirates whenever the opportunity arised

There was never a dull moment

They sailed for years, but eventually, Arashi got a bit homesick

He was also fairly certain his then husband was over the whole sea shanty deal

But they couldn’t go to his husbands home town because his father would almost certainly drag him back on the ship if he found them

So settling down in Arashi’s hometown was a good idea

He was a bit nervous to introduce his family to his husband as he never discussed his sexuality

It was a relief when all his siblings and parents welcomed them both with open arms even after all these years

And even more of a relief that his husband loved this village

They set to building a home while camping out under the stars (they passed on stay with Wolfgang and Ringo)

And worked as farmers during the day

He really wouldn’t change anything (accept for having to yank his husband’s wanted pictures off of walls lol s when they do manage to travel)

[dapandapod]

oh my god, I need this in my life ;____; Pairing is dealer's choice.

36. unconsciously searching out each other’s hand while sleeping

Look. I kinda missed the mark here, in a sense, as did I miss the timely window to write/reply.... xD anyway here it is? some Geraskier, a healthy dose of pining, and a lot of semi-platonic cuddling! Thank you Ebs my love for beta-reading! And I hope you like it, Kuri-darlin! Please enjoy <3 On Ao3 here!

It starts, as it often does between the two of them, with a deep bottle of spirit and a great idea. Usually, it’s one of Jaskier’s, but this time neither of them will claim the responsibility.

Skinnydipping is a much better plan in summer temperatures, rather than in late spring. Cold water from the icy mountains is still trickling down in rivers and finding itself in the lake they are now rushing out of, bare as the day they were born.

Jaskier isn’t shrieking, he never is, he is just flexing his vocal chords. Geralt is telling him that he is indeed shrieking, and that he should stop before it gets shrill enough to call the local dogs over.

Punching Geralt’s chest is very different when he is not wearing any clothes, skin cool and slippery, and Jaskier loses himself for a moment.

This is where it all begins, in a sense.

They are both rather lost, directionless in the free way of the traveling pair they are, but still trying to make out what path is theirs, and if what they will find at the end of the road will please them.

Geralt grasps Jaskier’s hand, and holds it to his chest. If asked, he will say he is clearly making sure Jaskier won’t be able to punch him again, but if you ask Jaskier, the only thing he will remember is firm fingers around his wrist, chest hair rough against his knuckles.

When Jaskier does not immediately protest, just stares at their hands with wide eyes, Geralt declares the bard too drunk, and he pulls Jaskier with him towards land by the hand.

Getting dressed one handed is… even more complicated while drunk, but the witcher does not let go of the bard, and leads him all the way to their rooms. They technically have their own rooms, but somehow they both end up in Jaskier’s room, only half way into the bed.

Later, Geralt remembers waking up with Jaskier’s fingers laced through his, and turns to look at his face lax in sleep, pressed against the mattress.

It happens again, of course it does. This time they are between inns, with winter and his bad timing stealing one last cold night before spring broke through properly.

They have found alright shelter, compromising the comfort of the open forest floor for keeping warm, snuck in the crack of a rock formation.

The fire is doing wonders, and despite the smoke stinging their eyes, Jaskier is looking decidedly snuggly with the fire behind him outlining his figure.

Their bedrolls are side by side, and Jaskier has grabbed onto Geralt’s hand, marveling over… well, marveling in general actually.

This time there is no alcohol between them, just a sense of peace and amusement, and Geralt watches Jaskier trace each digit, using both hands to look this way and that.

His knuckles are getting a great deal of attention, as is his thumb and palm. While he does it, Jaskier tells a story about his mother and a fortune teller that probably was a sham, but there once was this palm reader he met in Novigrad, and did you know that the placing or lack of calluses really tells a lot about you as a person?

Geralt listens with a smile, and snarks at the obvious holes in the storytelling when Jaskier is making too much up again, and, between one heartbeat and the next, Jaskier’s eyes droop shut.

He is still holding onto Geralt’s hand, one cradling the side of his hand and his pinky, the other holding onto his thumb. Even as specks of snow trickle down from above, and the wind howls, the fire crackles merrily, and Jaskier is holding his hand in his sleep.

Geralt doesn’t take his hand back, and in the morning they have inched closer, and Jaskier is holding Geralt’s hand against himself like you would a teddy bear.

Not long after the summer solstice, they make a close acquaintance with death. Her foul breath brushes the bard’s cheek as a Necker’s claw dug into his flesh.

Lucky for all of them, Jaskier is wearing a leather coat, and instead of being fatal, it just ends up being very fucking painful.

Blood is not a good look on bards, at least not their own, Geralt decides when Jaskier sits eerily quiet after being patched and bundled up in a barn that they’ve got to borrow for the night, with the promise not to bleed on the hay.

That night, Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s hand, holding it as he presses himself up against the bard’s back, listening to his even breaths and rapid heartbeat, infinitely grateful he made it in time to save him.

As with anything, spend enough time doing something and a habit is formed.

It isn’t every time, nor is it a conscious thought, but if there is but an arm's length between them, they will either end up half way out of their bedrolls and meet in the middle, fingers lacing together, or when they’re sitting idly next to each other for whatever reason, their fingers will seek each other out, sometimes barely touching, and other times overlapping.

It stops being a conscious choice, it is something just done. Jaskier eagerly grabbing his hand as he tells exciting news and then forgets to let go, or Geralt wanting to keep track of him, or to support him, or when in a crowd.

It’s natural, an anchor when they are in danger of getting lost.

They part, and they reunite later that summer, and that fall Geralt grabs Jaskier’s hands to rub them warm, to breathe on them to help him regain temperature.

He knows you shouldn’t breathe on them, knows how a breath actually can make them colder, but Geralt may or may not be accidentally brushing his lips to Jaskier’s knuckles, and Jaskier is pretending not to notice, pretending he doesn’t have fine rabbit gloves tucked in his backpack, gifted by the very witcher right in front of him.

Things change, and also they don’t.

Dragons and witches and a child of the elder blood marks each change in their own way. Jaskier finds himself waking up, holding his own hand in his cold room in Kaer Morhen, and Geralt’s hand reaches across the empty bed for the bard’s even before he registers not to.

Another bottle of spirits, this time a stolen Nilfgaardian booze smelling absolutely terrible with the aftertaste of dirt, and another bright idea later, and Jaskier and Geralt once again find themselves sprawled halfway across Jaskier’s bed.

Geralt had to pull him up the stairs by the hand to keep their balance, or so they told themselves. The White gull Geralt ended up downing tastes terrible on the second day he notes, shifting and pulling the warmth by his side closer.

Jaskier grunts in his ear and knees his thigh, but only when he tightens his hold around hot, sweaty fingers does Geralt realize what he’d been missing. Jaskier is tangled against him, arm trapped under himself in an angle that will promise complaints the moment he wakes up. It is warm, and it is comfortable, and Geralt is slowly coming to terms with what pleases him.

Relearning how to share a bed is much easier when you have an anchor, a focal point, or it would have been if Geralt wasn’t startled awake by Jaskier almost falling out of bed. They resettle, Jaskier now firmly between the witcher and the wall, and the back of Geralt’s hand pressed against his lips as sleep reclaims him.

It doesn’t matter if they are awake or not, they reach for each other like a weed craves the sun, like roots seeking dirt, like vines growing where they find purchase.

The day Geralt wakes up and finally finds courage, he kisses Jaskier’s palm, and Jaskier kisses his lips.

[lazulirus]

Supernatural

• Ayato was making you feel as if you were a yokai or other supernatural being - always charmed by your act, yet you were the one that always went back to him. 

• Pairing: Kamisato Ayato x reader (female) • Genre: fluff, suggestive  • Word Count: 4.8k • Warnings: Power imbalance (waitress and client; commoner and nobility) mentions of drinking, suggestive parts but nothing explicit • Note: based on song Supernatural by Barns Courtney

One last time, let you back into my head

“Good evening, Commissioner. The usual?” The teahouse was Yashiro’s Commissioner’s new favourite spot. It was one of the oldest ones, known for hosting only the highest-ranking clients, both from Inazuma and the mainland before and after the times of closed borders. Commissioner's taste changed suddenly; for the owners it was a blessing, for sellers of Milk Tea Medley it was a curse, for you… you weren’t sure, something in the middle. You liked him as a client. He wasn’t hard to deal with and didn’t require a lot of going back and forth with constantly ordering more snacks and teas, but on the other hand…

“Yes, I hope you’ll keep me company once more?” Usually, the company of teahouse workers was limited to standing by the door, on the corridor, waiting for an order from the clients. The Commissioner had… different ideas on what ‘company’ meant.

“Ah, poor little… Sucrose, was it?” He turns your card face to the table, hiding the adorable green-haired girl whose HP fell to zero. In Kamisato’s mind, keeping company meant playing card games with him over tea and snacks. It shouldn’t be a thing worth raising eyebrows for - it would be hard for a man of his status to make a friend, let alone one with similar interests. Seeking out company from a waitress was the safest option for him, and you didn’t mind, as the hours went by quicker that way, and your employers were happy to pay you more. They would do anything to keep the Commissioner coming back with his money and bringing renown to the establishment. The thing was… “Well then, which snacks do you want to try first?”

By Commissioner’s rule, the loser had to be fed with a random snack of the winner's choosing, to his great amusement, despite how many times you did that, your roles of loser and winner never changed. He also wanted only you as his waitress, to the point the room assigned to you was always vacant on Fridays and Sundays, in a chance Commissioner would come - if you weren’t available, he would go somewhere else.

He could go anywhere he wanted, and yet, somehow, he always ended up in your mind.

His chopsticks right by your mouth, yokan leaving a sweet taste on your lips. “If you guess if it’s Neri or Mizu, I might consider another game of cards.” No matter how many times he did this trick, it always made warmth spread onto your face. There were many things you couldn’t talk about outside your job - the topics your clients spoke about, who and when made a reservation and that the Lord Kamisato found a new hobby of feeding you sweets with your eyes closed and seeing your reactions.

You knew that the easiest way out of the Commissioner's grasp was to not play his games at all. To press your lips in a thin line and suggest, once again like during the first times he came to the teahouse, that you were a mere waitress.

The sweet taste of red bean melts on your tongue way slower than you expected, and the texture was rather firm - Neri… - something crunches in your mouth. “Kuri yokan, isn’t it?”

But you could never get the Commissioner's sly smile out of your head.

High off everything you said

At some point, you started to suspect yourself of being part yokai. Maybe not an oni, but for sure something supernatural - what else could explain the way Lord Kamisato acted around you?

“The new hairstyle… your hairdresser certainly knows how to bring out the best.”

“You have a good eye for kimonos, maybe you would like to accompany my sister on shopping someday?”

“Are you ready to go?”

You glance at the Commissioner as you put on your hanten; the evenings got way colder recently. That day, he came later than usual, and despite his stay not being long, he left with the closing of the teahouse. His attire was elegant, the refined white not matching the browns of your clothes, even his umbrella was holding more elegance than you. Despite that, he was eager to walk with you.

“Sir Commissioner…” You mumbled, not even being able to look anywhere else; Ayato’s bright colours attracted your gaze from the darkness of the late evening. “I’m honoured but… there is no need.” Not even one droplet of rain managed to stain your clothes before the umbrella of the Commissioner became yours as well.

“And I’m not going out of my way.” He assured you with a smile. The tiniest shake of its corner suggested that he was excited; the umbrella forced you to stand so close. “I’ll go through Hanamizaka anyway, walking you back home is just a pleasant addition.”

You wanted to protest, your lips already open, but you catch yourself wordless… The evening was dark, and the Commissioner could protect you both from the possible danger of the city and the rain. As you close your lips in silent defeat, Lord Kamisato simply smiles. Your walk was rather slow. First time in forever, you were able to take your time and awe at the dark Inazuma City; the lanterns giving such a warm ambient, at the electro petals sparkling in the distance. While you wondered how such petals would feel against your skin, the Commissioner wondered how soft it would be against his touch. 

“Your hanten is rather pretty.” You raise your eyebrows, not expecting a Lord to admire such a simple jacket. You weren’t surprised at his sudden comment though, you knew that the Commissioner disliked silence between you two. “Although it does lack a mon,” But why would your hanten have a family crest…? “How do you fancy camellia flowers?” That man will be the death of you and your feeble heart.

Well, it's not so bad, I can't be mad at white, white lies

“I wanted to ask you for a long time, Commissioner.” You asked one day as you poured green tea into his cup. The cards were put onto the floor right next to the table; the freeze team containing cards of Commissioner himself and Lady Kamisato was proudly waiting for today’s battle. Your deck of adorable girls and their deadly summons was waiting right next to it, awaiting the chance to question Kamisato’s authority. “Why do you only want me as your waitress?”

Ayato looks up from the novel you brought him: After I got killed by a hydro slime, I was reincarnated into the Yashiro Commissioner - what do you mean I lost my hydro vision?! was truly an… fascinating read. Although he couldn’t understand where the idea of him and Lady Yae came from. He also couldn’t understand why you would ask such a thing. In his mind, the answer was so obvious he didn’t expect you to ask.

“Thoma recommended you.”

“I would prefer a more honest answer.” You say bluntly, knowing that his housekeeper only met you on a few occasions, you doubted that Thoma knew a thing about you. For sure he never visited the teahouse, at least not for himself - Thoma’s only visits were hours before the Commissioners’ to make sure you were available. Ayato chuckles as his fingers skip through the pages.

“Gaining intelligence was way harder than I expected,” His voice, one that you loved so much to listen to, perfectly added all the emotions to the text, yet you found it very annoying this time. “Standing right in front of Liyue’s secret intelligence agent, her fingers mere millimetres away from her bow, I knew that I couldn’t allow myself to make even one mistake. Her golden eyes were beautiful, like a sun that could burn me into nothingness. How could I predict if she lied? Lies, truth, half-truths, it all seemed so easily identifiable as a normal man, but the deeper I fell into the spider web of politics, the more I realised I couldn’t even trust what was right or left. Right then and there, I realised that if I wanted to survive as the Commissioner, I had to make her want to tell me the truth; to bargain  - not only for information but also my life.” He ends the reading by bookmarking the page and closing the book. To his surprise, you had a scowl on your face, and Ayato couldn’t help but comment with airy laughter:

“What’s wrong? Wasn’t reading today your idea?” Ayato was giddy, you got used to noticing the smallest changes in him - the way his eyes got more focused on your face when he expected a reaction, not only on eyes or mouth but jumping from one part to another, wanting to catch the second you process his banter. The best way to win the Commissioner’s games was to not play at all or change the rules.

“Oh, it was.” You say as you sit down on the opposite side of the table, your hand taking the book; he doesn’t protest. “But I hoped you would read a more interesting fragment. I heard that a lot of girls were swooning over this part.” You take a sip of the tea, in your emotions; the adrenaline from challenging Ayato’s game, you don’t notice you took his cup. He smiles and proceeds to take a sip just after you. “He was an adorable little man, so full of himself, but his schemes were always predictable. When he took a step, I already took four and had time to make one back, just to see how he was doing. He was cute with his sly smiles and smooth words, but I liked him the most when he was panting like dogs he adored so much. When the muscles of his toned stomach were bending, going tense and loosening under my fingertips as he pleaded so sweetly for… for release. When… um… well… Anyway, uh… people liked Lady “Yae’s” point of view… ” Your voice dies slowly and pathetically as you look at the table, too ashamed to look at Ayato after what you just read. Instead of embarrassing him, you embarrassed yourself.

“...Did you like that part as well?” You lost the game, the fight and even the whole war when you couldn’t hide your blush. You had no bravery to look up and claim your victory; Ayato for that quick moment was also red in the face, maybe even more flustered than you. The book and its content weren’t a problem - you were. Hearing such words and opinions about, well, technically himself, falling so bravely from your lips, only to get meek and shy the dirtier it got… Thanks Archon, he had more self-control than foolish desire.

You mumble something about bringing the wagashi he ordered, and before you could slide the door behind you, Ayato catches your attention:

“Since you… amused me so greatly, it made me want to tell you a bit of the truth.” You turn around to see an already composed Commissioner, not a thing that could give out what your eyes missed.

“But isn’t that obvious?” He tilts his head so adorably that it makes your heart skip a beat. “Only tea served by your hands tastes so good.” Ayato truly loved half-truths.

Got your hands all over my body, but you're actin' like you don't want me

You didn’t know how you two ended up like this, tangled in each other's limbs, sharing the flavours of different sake between your mouths. Hands grabbing and groping every surface of each other's bodies, pulling and tugging till Ayato was without at least a few layers of his outfit, while your kimono was slightly undone.

“You’re… unbearable…” You mumble as quietly as possible, not wanting even a mouse outside of Komore Teahouse to hear you. Worry and guilt get lost in lust, as Ayato works on your kimono, pulling lower and lower till he has more canvas to work on with his mouth. Poor, starved man waited for so many dates, so many outings to make a mess of your skin, to finally feel its softness; explore deeper than a peck on the lips or warmth of your cheek.

“I really… shouldn’t… fall for your pleas…” Ayato’s words were cut every time he couldn’t stop himself and laid another kiss on your heated skin. So confident and words so sharp, yet not as sharp as his teeth that littered your skin with the timidest bitemarks. The kind that would fade away after a few minutes, as he didn’t dare to mark your skin, let alone break it.  

“But since you asked so nicely~” Liar. Awful, silver-tongued liar. He was the one that lost composure first, who just couldn’t stop his hands from wandering to your knee, then your thigh; shyly, like a boy’s first experience, but his eyes told a different story. Those beautiful violet eyes, now as dark as far far away Seirai Island’s storm. And just like a storm with its raging lightning and roaring thunder, Ayato wanted to consume you whole. To not let even an inch of you dry, to make you feel like a thunderbolt was going through your body.

His dignity was only in his words, as his actions spoke of a desperate man.

“Ayato…” He never expected that his own name could hold such power over him as long as it was falling from your lips. The Commissioner, Lord Kamisato, none sounded as beautiful as simple, breathless Ayato. With that one word, he was under your command, to be as generous as to fulfil your desires. Even if his hands wandered first, you were already looking at him shyly. Even if he was first to lean in for a kiss, you were the one pressing your thighs together. Those arguments were thrown between his giggles and your huffs, till you shut him up with a kiss so full of teeth and anger it left him panting.

“I’ll be so kind as to indulge you.”

Oh, what a shame, your spirit never left. You couldn’t get Ayato out of your mind. He made it his home, coloured every thought with his purples and whites, and changed every opinion and desire - when you looked at cherry blossoms, you thought they weren’t as pretty as camellias, fruit tea left you longing for the kind bitterness of green tea.

You were in control and yet you felt like something else was guiding your feet. A stroll to gather herbs, yet you end up in your and Ayato’s secret spot. A quick walk in Tenryou ends by the shops Ayato mentioned to like or those from where your presents came from. Kimonos, hair decorations, even sweets… Not once or twice did the shopkeepers give you a confused look as you stood by the displays, staring at things you obviously couldn’t afford. During some nights you couldn’t help but wonder, as you lay in your bed, how would it feel to have Ayato by your side. To have his hand wrapped around your stomach, his chest pressing into your back. Even after sunset, he refused to leave you alone, to let you fall asleep instead of feeling his fingers on your arms, his lips on your neck - memories and desires creating a ghost. Teasing and giggling, till you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Where are you going?” Your mother asked as you packed a few clothes in the morning.

“...Lady Kamisato wanted me to stay a few days at their estate, we got closer recently.” A ghost that imitated his touch and edged you to lie just like him.

Possessed me like a demon made to worship at your bed.

All the decorations, all the elegant ornaments all over the room merge into splashes of colours and shapes. All in dark purples and shy blues, golden lines disappearing in the shaded corners of the room. They were nothing more than an unwanted distraction, although a beautiful one, from the thing you came for. 

Ayato's bluish hair was standing out, like a candle that despite being scorching hot, you keep reaching out, wanting to get burnt if it meant being by him. 

You get blind on anything else, anything that wasn't Ayato being only black dots in your vision. Beautiful man, but so cruel to blind you on anything else in your life. Unable to focus on anything but how his chest raised with his every uneven breath; excited, lips twitching, trying to keep only the tiniest smile. It was so hard to keep composure when he loved the view you have been giving him. Kneeling at the edge of his bed, not daring to even touch the soft sheets, instead resting your cheek on his bare thigh.

"Don't be shy, go on."

I must be out my mind. You thought as you walked through the festival, the sweetness of the mochi unable to calm your nerves. What were you thinking? Ayato… The Commissioner was not a man in your reach. The only person standing higher than him was Raiden Shogun and maybe Guuji Yae, it was laughable to imagine that such a man had greater plans for a teahouse worker than a fleeting adventure. Despite that, you couldn’t stop yourself, like a butterfly being led into a flytrap. No, something even less, like an already picked flower thrown on the stove, to be burned in flames of Ayato’s desire - you don't feel in control, being led by a hand that also guides you to your doom in flames.

Your eyes cross with the violets of his, the murmur of the crowd slowing in favour of your accelerating heartbeats. In Ayato’s eyes, you radiated the most when in the blaze.

Any cost to watch you cross just one last line

"Ah— Ayato!" Your nails dug into his kimono, one seemingly so thin and light, but protecting him from your attacks as strong as a kitten's claws. The man only hums, not wanting to part from your neck that was already blooming in an array of red and purples; the lower, the more. His whole body itching to claim more, to bite just a bit higher, suck just a tad harder.

"We—" Muffled words between lips, the sweetness of mochi mixing with the bitterness of whatever Ayato was eating before finding you. Bittersweet, nothing could explain your relationship better, although, for Ayato, you were the bitterness - messing with his mind, making him act like a boy who tasted alcohol for the first time. Addicted, craving, knowing that he shouldn't, but after the taste fades, longing for the bitterness to once again hurt in the sweetest way. To wake up again and again with his head pounding and cursing his bad decisions.

His gloved hands were crumpling up the material of your clothes; the blue flowers being distorted by the wrinkles. How Ayato craved to get rid of that annoying kimono, despite being beautiful, exactly what he ordered, now he couldn't stand it. The beauty of it was hiding the true gem underneath. Not allowing him to feel the warm skin of your waist, leave prints on your hips or, if you asked kindly enough, skim his fingertips across your beasts.

"We… Really shouldn't, if someone sees you…"

Despite saying it, your hands are like chains around his neck. Nails now scraping his neck, biting into the delicate skin of his head; his deep moan resonates with your trembling heart. Fireworks take away the attention from an innocent alleyway and hide the gasps of lovers. “Making me act like a fool…” Ayato finally mumbles, his lips clumsily trying to catch yours, and you almost didn’t hear him with the loudness of the festival. Oh, how he adored and hated that about you, your innocent charm, you pulling him in like some supernatural being.

Yeah, if you want me let me know. You're terrifyin' beautiful.

Recently, your relationship with Ayato went stale, in his opinion, both of you were to blame, for you; only him. All his sweet words and soft touches couldn’t stop your doubt - you can ignore a wound so long as it doesn't make you bleed out dry. You wanted to think that your love for one another made you unstoppable, but with Ayato’s secretary of your late meetings and sweet kisses becoming stronger than weaker, you started to doubt it.

Maybe it was time to move on.

“I’m so glad you came with me!” Hizashi smiles by your side. A cute man, his personality more of an energetic dog than a sly cat, from a well-known martial art clan - no wonder such a man wanted to take part in Warrior's Spirit. How could you say no to that smile when he offered you a ticket to visit the spectacle and, possibly, his victory. “I heard that Lady Kamisato will take part in this year’s competition! It would be an honour to fight beside her.”

“Ah, I certainly have heard that Kamisato’s clan blade technique is amazing.” Ayato was more than happy to show you some of the sequences; you still remembered how his gloved hands felt against yours as he helped you handle a sword. “I can’t imagine myself getting into that, though.”

“That’s understandable! Martial art is not for everyone, but I’ll gladly do that hard work if it means… well… you’ll see my matches today.” His smile was childish and wide, even a bit of blush decorating his cheeks, you smile back; it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Oh?” A regular rhythm of elegant shoes hitting the pavement; the air gets more dry. “I see I found one of the competitors.” Ayato slides into the conversation elegant as ever, composed and calm but his vision was blinking angrily. As his gaze moves from the man's sword to the hand on your shoulder, he wondered what exact competition Hizashi was taking part in. Both of you bow to him.

“Good evening, Commissioner.” Ayato wanted to scoff and shut your mouth for daring to call him like that after everything you two went through. After all, you put him through - taking days off only on days he had time to visit the teahouse, not answering letters, sending Thoma away. Your only saving grace was not daring to turn down Ayaka on your regular outings, though even she didn’t bring him back any useful information. Ayato answers with a nod before turning his attention to you.

“I would like to talk to you, in private.”

“What would the Commissioner need from me?” You say innocently, and Ayato curses himself on how his character rubbed off on you. How you knowingly try to put him in a situation where he had to bend to your demands, voice his more honest thoughts in front of others or lose. Or so you thought.

“I would like to discuss something regarding Ayaka,” you were sly, but nothing more than a kitten trying out its claws, “since you’re her dear friend, I’m sure you would be able to help me with—”

“I’m sure it can wait after the competition.” You had more pettiness than judgement, for once straightly refusing to play Commissioner’s games. “As you can see, I’m rather busy at the moment.” The tiniest raise of your head, a challenge.

“If it’s not a problem, my Lord,” Hizashi chimes in with enough respect to not break social standards but not bowing his head nor appearing meek, “I wanted to show her a bit of my swordsmanship before the competition starts. If your request could be—”

“I’ll gladly help,” Ayato says so suddenly it shocked all three of you. He wants to take those words back. A hundred excuses were already swarming in his head as to what he meant; he could back off any second. But his hand already rests on the hilt of his sword, as he had to muster all his composure to not drill holes with his stare into the defiling hand resting on your lower back. For a moment, Ayato forgets about appearance and what he ‘supposed’ and ‘not supposed’ to do, all he cared about was what he ‘wanted’ to do. “You also wish to gain the reward of fighting alongside my sister, no? An opportunity to test your skills against me and to show your swordsmanship, isn’t that killing two birds with one stone?”

And as metal clashes against metal, Hizashi’s concentrated face breaks and shatters revealing consternation or even fear - Ayato’s attacks don't stop. After countering one, there were another three incoming, and not even one of his strikes could even reach a hair on Ayato’s head. Ruthless, although elegant in his movements, his slashes were brutal, driven by something more primal rather than the need for respectful sparring.

The young man was laying on the ground, not even a droplet of sweat was able to sneak between his neck and the tip of Ayato’s sword. Irrational fear blooms in his mind as he can’t see any sympathy in Commissioner’s eyes, something more akin to disgust swirling in the violet - was he going to die here? A deep breath in. An even deeper exhale. Ayato’s sword disappears in golden dust and specks of light.

“I wish you the best of luck.” A kind comment said in a neutral manner, but it was better than the animosity that was brooding within him. Ayato walks back to you and his hand lingers way longer on yours as you give him back the hydro vision you guarded for the sake of a fair fight. Seeing the satisfaction twinkling in his eyes as he glances back on shocked Hizashi, you doubted it was a fair fight with or without gods’ blessing. Somehow, you never noticed that under all the plotting and scheming was a man of truly terrifying strength. One that instead of pulling away, twists his hand to intertwine his fingers with yours; the vision, the core of his being and ambitions, and desires stuck between.

“I need to talk to you.”

One with a shaky voice, almost crossing on begging, and those beautiful violet eyes pleading for mercy; to either stop your charm or let him fix whatever was broken. All those unsaid words hidden in gestures that pull you right back in.

I do believe (I do believe) “Dear-!” Your mother scolds her husband, only one word holding a hundred sentences you were yet to decrypt. Your father, red in the face from irritation, scoffs but listens; his anger mixing with the worry of your mother.

“Oh my, what a bold accusation.” Ayato was none; not worried about their opinions nor angry at their accusation. To say that the Yashiro Commissioner was fooling around with their precious daughter… Truly, your father was an amusing man - so creative with his choice of words! - and you could see how entertained Ayato was from how his lips bent - the one specific way, seemingly polite, but not reaching his eyes which held a childish shine.

“I… apologise, my Lord.” Your father admits. “But this is no official visit, like many others, so I want to ask you as a young man visiting my daughter, not as Lord Kamisato.” His forehead was covered with sweat, knowing that he was on thin ice; it was too late to return, the ice behind him already melting. “What are your plans for my daughter?” You twitch when you feel his hand sneaking to yours, his fingers coiling against your hand like a snake. So shamelessly, so boldly, in full view of your parents; Ayato’s favourite game of seeing how far he could go. One squeeze, two; do you trust me?

Mercy on me (Mercy on me)

“I wouldn’t call it fooling around,” Ayato loves the way the two squirms, looking uncomfortably at each other as he repeats the unfortunate words, “although she did make me act like a fool on several occasions.” Your mother chuckles awkwardly, as you can only plead Ayato with your eyes to end his games. To show some mercy, if not to you then towards your parents.

“I actually came here today to ask you for your blessing for our marriage. Isn’t that right, my dear?” Ayato looks at you, living for the shock in your eyes and your mouth just slightly open; enough to amuse him, but not enough to show your parents you were completely blindsided. The topic of marriage never appeared between you, even his mentions of the proposal ended in nothing more than your flustered self as him kissing your ring finger.

Now, he waited for your answer with the angelic smile of a lovesick man, his excitement barely able to be contained; eyes zooming from your eyes to your lips to any other part of your beautiful face, fingers impatiently tapping on his thigh. You could swear, Ayato never got as much adrenaline, not even on the rare occasions you saw him handling a blade, as when he had a chance to push you against the wall - literally or metaphorically. Did you really want to give your future to such a man?

I'll never leave (I'm going deep)

“Yes.”

[chrispykreme16]

🖤Welcome! 🖤

Alright, I'm not too good with introductions, so I'll get right into it x) Welcome to my art blog!

I'm Chris, I'm 21 on my way to 22 years old, I use she/they pronouns I've been drawing since 2017, and I consider myself an average artist. I'm not drawing for likes, attention and fame, I do it for my own pleasure and fun!

...some people may have known me as "Kuri-pomme" or "Kuri-ringo", so yes in case you wonder if it is the same person, yes it is me <x)

🖤What to expect from me?🖤

Well, as I've mentionned it earlier, this is an art blog, so I will simply post my own drawings and doodles here ^^

I'm mostly drawing Kirby Gijinkas (both my own and friends' ones), or my original characters, but if motivation strikes me hard I can sometimes leave my comfort zone and draw characters I rarely draw but as I said: rarely x)

I like Kirby (mostly gonna post drawings related to the Kirby universe), Hi-Fi Rush, Sailor Moon, Pizza Tower, VOCALOID, so this gives you an idea of the things I like :"D I also draw OCxCanon (...it's actually what I draw MOST of the time x))

🖤Rules of my blog🖤

Aaaaaalllllright, now for the rules.....

-You can ask anything but nothing too weird or too sexual. I may be an adult, but if you're being a weirdo or a pervert, I'll block you.

-If ANY of my lore or headcanons upsets you, just block me. Don't waste your time sending your hurtful opinions to me, I'll just ignore you and block you.

-I have comfort ships, yes. So if my comfort ship has Character A and Character B together but you prefer Character A with Character C, that's fine, but do NOT shove it down my face, it will make me uncomfortable.

-Any questions about me, my characters, Kirby Gijinkas, and etc are welcome, as long as you respect all the rules above!

...Alright that's enough for this intro x) I'll probably edit more as time passes but for now I'll leave it this way. Once again, welcome and I hope you enjoy my content!

[kurikive]

i didnt even realize u haven't updated in a few days.. you definitely should take ur time and update whenever you feel like it kuri we #love u 🩵

thank u sm 💙🫂 i promise its obviously not something i want. i really like to be punctual and on time w my updates especially bc it builds expectancy and people know when to come to my page, but i fear that's gonna be hard rn.

im also NOT cancelling this smau AT ALL not in a million years so do not fret. this is now probably gonna update similar to please! (if any of u were around back then) in the sense that i updated a few days apart but i was really happy with every single chapter and i took my time to make something i liked instead of rushing

im planning a lottttt of things for Minecraft and i obviously would like to integrate them all, and its gonna take time. even though i dont want to make this a long smau i do want to explore other characters (especially jiwoo and hyewon) but i cant promise much rn. just know that its in the back of my mind

i hope u guys understand where im coming from, im rlly busy and its out of my hands to be unbusy 😭, and i hope ur not too dissapointed (and if u are i kinda don't care bc its my page and im the mayor so :P)

[kuri-ejinn]

A light pink envelope addressed to Holly The Rover showed up in his office mail. The flowing script was a dead giveaway for who the sender was if the envelope didn’t already. Inside was a short letter, written in the same hand, along with two photos.

Dear Holly,

I decided to write letters! My cousin and I used to write to each other and it always made me so excited whenever I got a new one. Do you like letters? The trip here wasn’t that bad, but it was very long; I don’t think my tribe could make the swim. They call it ‘Crossing the Salt’. I guess I can understand why it’s such a big deal to the people here. The city here is right on the water; the views and the weather remind me of your island. The food is delicious as well! I think you’d like it. Have you ever seen an alpaca? It looks like someone bred a horse with a sheep. I think people in the Steepe would love them - plus they’re cute. I want one.

I’m staying at a place called The For’ard Cabins. I love them! You get your own little room on a boardwalk right on the water. The view is really nice. I think I’ll stay here for a while. They mentioned storms damaged a lot of the roads, so it’s probably best to wait anyway. Is there anything you’d like to know about over here? Hope you’re doing well. Say hi to S’keseh for me!

~Kuri

@fantasy-so-far

[photo1030]

Leather and Lace - Chapter 17:  Feelings Revealed

PART 3 - THE GRAND GESTURE

Summary: Arthur leaves camp in search of something to repair your relationship. But meanwhile, you are getting closer to leaving altogether.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter 

*I’ve seen this image in a few different places, but not sure who owns it. I downloaded it from wallpaperflare.com. If anyone knows who specifically owns it, let me know so I can give photo credit.

Tag List:  @rivetingrosie4​ @bimbo-dollz​ @pine4pple-b0i​ @redwritr​ @kuri-chans-blog​ @queer-sadie-adler​ @joelmillerswifey​ @gimmethosedaddymilkers​ @pcotarelo​ @delilah-grimes​ @maemortem​ @wistfulwisteriawitch​ @lilacxxdreams​ @mentallyillfrogs​ @absolutegeek​ @spurz​ @sophiaj650​ @uniqueclodzinevoid​ @lookingformaurice​ @pawoui​ @randomidk-123​ @yyiikes​ @eddiemetalheadmunson​ @twola​ @kmartkiddieisle​ @red-dead-simp @regwishesshehadmagic​  @rhehr241​  @earwen-x​ @akariver75​ @djennty​ @nervousmumbling​ @xliliths​ @unbotheredbeeeee​ @onnetonprinsessa​ @kittiowolf210​ @ezrynn​ @suhsis @arthurmargon​​ @codnerd1999 @queer-sadie-adler​​ @alice-vanderlinde​​ @sweetandstoned21​​ @j4llyf7sh @spooky631​​ @m0r4xr @ilovrxats​​ @i-69-urmom​​ @ddbluesie @ivuravix​​

*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know. There are a few that would not let me link, so I apologize if this doesn’t ping some people. 

Arthur fidgets slightly in the worn saddle as Buck’s hooves clop in the mud below. The sloppy, wet sound creates a white-noise in the back of Arthur’s mind as he nears the town of Rosewood. He can see the edge of the town with its filthy white-washed buildings quickly approaching on the horizon line. The sun’s rays cause the image of the structures in the distance to waver and blur in the heat waves, causing the town to look even more depressing than it is. He’s never been to Rosewood and all he knows of it is what he’s heard from you. And based on that, Arthur already hates it. An irritable sigh involuntarily escapes his ribcage. He has half a mind to burn it all to the ground out of spite, just for you.

He spurs his horse on as he swallows the hateful bile in his throat and heads into the town. It is a makeshift traveling town for the railroad; a greasy little industrial thing. It’s dirty and smells of iron, oil and other disagreeable things. There seems to be nothing happy or pleasant about this place as he watches the people shuffling about. The people seem to move both with purpose and without motivation at the same time, like shadows that are tethered to a person and pulled against their will. Upon quick examination, it seems to be made up of a lot of cheap labor, probable criminals, and those who just simply want to disappear.

Arthur has a hard time picturing you here in a town like this. You must have been like a flower trying to grow out of the dry and barren earth, desperate for sunlight and refreshing rains to grow and flourish. It’s no wonder you fit in so well with his gang now. It makes Arthur angry to know you had to work in these conditions. His hands clench in and out of fists as his mind goes back to when he found you. The bastards that chased and beat you were from this damn town. They killed your father and were in the middle of assaulting you when Arthur put a bullet into each and every one of them.

His lips curl in disgust at the memory of it. His mind’s eye sees you curled up on the ground, face beaten and terrified, yet still trying to defend yourself like a wounded animal. The thought of it makes his stomach turn now just as much as it did then. It seems like a lifetime ago now. So much has changed since that day, and he hopes for the better for your sake. He’s still not 100% sure what he’s looking for here, but he hopes to find it quickly and get the hell out of here.

Now that he’s here, Arthur figures the best place to start is the hospital where you worked. Since that’s where you and your father spent the majority of your time while here, there’s a good chance he’ll find someone there who knows you. But first, he looks around, surveying the area from where he sits high on his massive horse to get an idea of what’s going on here. He always needs to know his “mark” and his “exit”. It's instinct to know your surroundings.

“This ain’t no damn job, you idiot.” He shakes his head at himself and his ever-paranoid ways. “Although, I suppose it kinda is,” he murmurs, looking about.

Arthur takes a calming breath as he thinks over his plan again. He’s hoping that he can find someone still here that knows you or your father and can offer something to bring home to you. Any token, any object, anything at all that may be a tie to your past or family. He’s broken your heart already, so maybe this would be the thing to mend it, as the memory of your father is your most treasured possession. Arthur is filled with both excitement and trepidation, causing his heart to sputter a bit in a reaction to both. If this works, you and Arthur will be on good terms again, maybe even more. He can’t screw this up.

With determination on his side, Arthur begins to walk Buck down the dirt street that runs the middle of the town. He tries his best to ignore the suspicious stares he’s getting from the townspeople. Like a reflex, his fingers reach up to pull his worn leather gambler's hat down over his tired eyes. His hand drops to his muscular thigh, inches from the revolver on his hip. Just in case.

Getting impatient from wandering aimlessly through the town, Arthur pulls Buck to a stop in front of a woman who is sweeping the front porch of, what appears to be, a feed store. Her hair is pulled back away from the harsh features of her face into a tight bun that makes her appear to be older than she really is. This is in no way helped by the unflattering gray frock that she wears. He nods in her direction, leaning over slightly in his saddle. “Excuse me-”

“Employment office is down the street, third building on the right.” The woman barks the statement at him, only giving him the slightest of glances before returning to her sweeping, her arms moving aggressively to remove the stubborn dirt on the worn floorboards.

“Uh, no. I’m looking for the hospital here.” Arthur’s eyebrow furrow, his frowning lips pressed together slightly at the rebuke.

“End of the corridor, turn left.” The woman’s response is just as quick and dismissive as the first.

“Thank you,” Arthur grumbles with an eyeroll and is quick to nudge Buck on further with no desire to overstay his welcome. But, now that he has a direction to follow, his spirits begin to pick up a bit.

As Arthur gets to the end of the mud-caked street, a largish building comes into view. It’s haphazard at best. It’s more of a barn than anything. It was probably a quick assembly job to get the building erected with the town growing so fast and the traveling citizens constantly pouring in and out. It’s bare wood, no paint anywhere. The windows sorely need to be cleaned, in fact one is broken out and boarded-over.

But, amid all of this depressing atmosphere, Arthur notices a small barrel by the main door. Turned over, it has been made into a planter with some deep violet wildflowers growing in it along with some bright green ivy-like vines cascading down the side. The vibrant pop of color catches his eye in this otherwise dreary place. Arthur smiles a bit at the sight of it, wondering if it was you who put it there. Seems like something you’d do.

After tying Buck to the hitching post out front, Arthur walks through the doors of the hospital. It is one large open room lined with beds, many already filled with patients; a sort of “post-op”, general-care common area. There is a large desk that is cluttered with papers in the immediate corner to his left, flanked by bookshelves, and towards the far back wall, he can see a hallway that probably leads to more private rooms for seeing patients. The room is fairly well lit with sunlight, considering the grime that coats the windows. The air smells of a nauseating mixture of bitter iodine and sweet chloroform, as well as soap and chlorine solutions. Arthur has to resist the need to cover his nose with his hand.  

His eyes scan the room and among the patients, Arthur sees a young woman about the same age as you, maybe younger, flitting about. With multiple things in hand, she tends to every person she passes. A nurse of some sorts, she works diligently as she hands a pillow to an older man in one bed, and checks foreheads and fixes blankets as she passes multiple others. She even pulls a small toy out of her apron pocket and gives it to a poor child who is laid up with a broken arm.

She multi-tasks around the occupants with purpose and determination; a seasoned veteran at this hard job. The woman reminds Arthur of a young Susan Grimshaw in that way. She has dark auburn hair, with long curls that are semi-contained with a ribbon behind her neck and vivid jade eyes that dart around, taking in every detail of her patients around her. The young nurse moves about the hospital ward as if she owns it. Intrigued, Arthur feels someone as important-looking as this must know something of you.

“Excuse me!” Arthur’s voice carries across the humming noise of chatter of the room full of patients as he lifts his hand in a slight wave to try to get her attention.

The nurse gives Arthur a quick glance, annoyed at being interrupted. “If you’re not bleeding, wait over there.” She gives a dismissive wave where chairs line the far wall behind him. “If you are bleeding, tell me how bad and then I’ll tell you where to go. Although it can’t be that bad if you’re upright.”

Arthur shuffles his feet slightly. “No, I ain’t hurt or nuthin’-”

“Then what do you want? I’m kinda busy here.” She motions to the beds surrounding her as she makes her way over to him, blowing a strand of hair out of her eye before her hands land impatiently on her round hips.

Seeing the nurse standing still for more than a minute, an older woman in one of the beds off to the side calls over with a faint and brittle voice. “Miss Darcy? Can I get a drink of water, please?”

The nurse turns at the brief distraction and gives the poor woman a kind and sympathetic smile. “Yes, Florence, of course. Just a minute, hon.” She then turns back to Arthur, flipping back to that same air of impatience again. “See? Things to do and people to take care of, probably more in need than you. Now out with it.” She waves her hand to encourage him to speak quickly.

Even though she is quick, Arthur can tell that this woman means no real harm or insult, but rather takes her job very seriously and doesn’t put up with any bullshit - something he can relate to.

“Did you know Dr. (Y/L/N)? Maybe his daughter (Y/N)?” Arthur asks carefully.

Arthur notices how Darcy instantly stiffens to his question, eyes going hard and giving him a distrustful side-eye glance as she sizes him up. “Who wants to know?” She bites back suddenly, almost protectively. “Who the hell are you and what do you want with them?”

“I’m…uh…a friend of (Y/N)’s,” he stammers, taking off his hat, running his fingers through his disheveled hair before fiddling with the brim and replacing it upon his head..

“Yeah, I bet,” Darcy says, scanning him up and down cautiously. “(Y/N)’s not here, don’t know where she is so you best move on.” She turns to walk away, quick to go back about her business.

“No, no, I’m not here for her,” Arthur adds quickly, reaching his gloved fingers to her arm before he loses her to the crowd of sick and infirmed. “I mean, I am here for her, but not to see her.” He’s flustered, panicking that he may lose his one opportunity to make this work. “What I mean is, I already know where (Y/N) is and-”

Darcy stops dead in her tracks, spinning back on him. “What the hell are you babbling on about?” she interrupts, holding her hand up to cut him off. Her expression quickly changes from one of annoyance to concern. “What do you mean you know where (Y/N) is? Where is she?!”

Arthur hesitates at Darcy’s intense scrutiny, not sure how to answer that. His face goes hard as stone, not sure how much he should tell this woman.

Darcy takes a few steps towards Arthur, her jaw clenching slightly and her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red with her impatience. “Look, mister,” her voice is serious and threatening. “She's my friend. Her father was killed by a bunch of assholes and then those same assholes were found dead. I need to know if she’s OK.”

“She’s fine. She’s with friends,” Arthur replies evasively.

“Friends, huh?” Darcy looks him up and down with a skeptic eye again. He’s been riding for two days and sleeping in the woods. He must look like quite the sight. It's no wonder Darcy doesn’t trust him.

“Yeah, friends.” Arthur regains some of his composure, remembering his purpose and locking eyes with the woman. God, she really must be a friend of yours, as she’s just as fiery and obstinate as you.

Darcy crosses her arms over her chest in defiance. “How do I know you even know her? You could be making this whole thing up.” She waves her hand at him.  “If (Y/N) is alive and well, how do you know her, then?”

Arthur gives a long-winded sigh bordering on a groan, thinking for a moment.

"She's got a way about her, can't quite describe it,” he begins, his eyebrows crease as he tries to find the words to explain himself. “It's like…she's a mix of both hard and soft; both hellfire and holy water at the same time. Eyes are beautiful, like you can see right into her soul, ya know? And she's got a mouth on her that won't quit, too," he chuckles softly with a shake of his head. “She don’t care who thinks what. And yet, she's still real gentle-like and caring.”

He pauses as he reflects deeper on you, his gaze relaxing and focusing on nothing as he retreats further into his own reverie.

“(Y/N) takes good care of our people, the whole lot of us. She keeps us patched up and looked after. Oh, and she's got the voice of an angel, too,” he adds, pointing his finger at Darcy as he just remembered yet another thing he loves about you. “She��s always singing and humming some tune or another.” Arthur continues to gush on and on like a love-sick teenager as this is really the first time he’s allowed himself to talk fondly about you out loud to anyone.

“We got a kid with us, a young boy. (Y/N) likes to play with him like she’s a little kid herself, don’t care how foolish she looks..." Arthur's voice trails off as images of you continue to jump and scatter about in his mind, flashing so fast that it’s hard for him to focus on one thing at a time.

He misses you so damn much right now. Not just physically being apart from you, but it’s the emotional distance between the two of you lately that’s taking its toll. He hates being at odds with you. This fight, this tension between you, is just too much. And he didn't realize just how bad until now. Arthur has come to rely on you for his very sanity, to help him start to make sense of the tumultuous world around him. Just walking beside you makes him a better man.

Arthur can’t wait to finish this quest of his, as he wants nothing more than to rush back home to talk to you immediately. It's odd how you can meet someone today that makes you forget all about yesterday and also have hope for tomorrow. It’s been a long time since he’s experienced that. His hand slowly comes up to rub along the back of his neck as he gets lost in his own head.

Eventually, he remembers where he is and refocuses, looking over at Darcy. Darcy watches Arthur as he goes on and on, reassessing the gruff-looking man standing in front of her, trying to figure out if she should trust him or not.

"Yeah, that sounds like her alright," she finally concedes as she softens and lets her guard down just a bit.

A blush dusts slightly across Arthur’s cheeks, as he clears his throat, and quickly changes the subject. "Look, you gonna help me or not?" he huffs out.

"Depends.” Darcy crosses her arms.  “What are you doing here?"

"I don’t really know," Arthur admits looking about, like he'll find the answer sitting in one of these beds. “I was hoping to find something of (Y/N)’s or even her father's, maybe? Something I could bring back for her." His voice drops to a soft yet hopeful sound, one that Darcy reluctantly finds endearing.

“Bring back to her where, exactly?” Darcy asks, raising an eyebrow at him. “What happened after she left here?”

“That’s another story for another day, I’m afraid,” Arthur sighs rather sheepishly, hoping to God she doesn’t get frustrated and just walk away from him altogether.

Darcy thinks for a moment. "Yeah, I think I have just the thing for you. I have to finish what I’m doing here, though. Meet me at the square in about an hour.”

Arthur can’t believe his luck!

“Alright, then.” He gives her a quick nod of thanks, a huge grin sparkling upon his face, before turning to head back out the door to leave her to her work.

Arthur walks out the hospital doors, and takes a moment as he stands next to his horse, looking about the town. An hour? What the hell is he going to do in this shithole for an hour? An hour seems like an eternity right now. A slow exhale pushes out of his nose as his lips draw inward impatiently. He tries not to be too disappointed, though, as he is one step closer to his goal.

Arthur decides to clean himself up a bit and grabs a bite to eat to kill time, trying not to think about the delay. And eventually, he makes his way to the main square to wait for your friend. Looking about, he figures she’s smart, meeting a stranger in a public place like this. Honestly, he’s surprised that she’s even agreed to help him. But truth be told, Darcy is more interested in helping you than Arthur. He just happens to be in the middle.

Eventually Arthur scans the crowds and sees Darcy walking down the street with something tucked under her arm.

“Still here, eh Mister?” She calls to him as she approaches, giving him a wry smile. Arthur only spreads his arms out wide in an exaggerated gesture.

“I never did catch your name, by the way,” Darcy mentions casually. “Suppose you could at least tell me that much?”

“Arthur”, he replies simply with a raised eyebrow.

“Arthur,” she parrots back with a grin and a nod of acceptance. “Well, nice to meet you, Arthur.”

After a brief moment, Darcy proceeds to pull the item from under her arm to hold it in front of her. It is a wooden box, sanded and varnished, and about the size of a shoe box. She looks down at it, placing one of her hands upon the top, one last hesitation as to whether she should trust this large, intimidating man whom she doesn’t know.  

“Here,” says Darcy with another grin as she hands the box over to Arthur. “I think this is what you are looking for.”

Arthur carefully accepts the item from her dry and cracked hands that are weathered from her work. He gingerly holds it, tilting it slightly as he looks it over. There are initials carved into the top, which appear to be your father’s. Arthur looks back to Darcy with a quizzical look.

“If you know (Y/N), and you’re here of all places, then I’m assuming you know what happened here in Rosewood.” Darcy gazes at the box as memories flood back to her. “I knew Dr. (Y/L/N). He was a good man.” She nods with conviction towards the box.

“When all that shit went down, it was chaos around here. The town’s people ransacked their little house, tore through the hospital here…” she shakes her head in disgust at the memory of it.

“Anyway,” she sighs, “I ran to his office and grabbed this from his desk. Kept it safe just in case they ever came back.” Darcy lifts her chin, gesturing towards the box. “Open it.”

Arthur lifts the lid with care and a small huff of a laugh pushes out of his nose, stunned at the contents. He finds several items carefully nestled inside the keepsake box, including a small silver locket on a thin elegant chain, your father's pocket watch, a family photograph, and your father's personal medical journal.

Arthur carefully picks up the locket charm, tiny in his massive fingers, and pops it open. Apparently this had belonged to your mother as an image of her and your father are secreted within.

Arthur replaces the locket in the box and takes the photo out next, gently holding it in his hand as if he is holding the very souls of the people in the image. He recognizes Dr. (Y/L/N) of course, as he helped you bury him after you fled Rosewood. But seeing him alive and young in the photograph makes Arthur wish he had known him.

Your mother is beautiful. Soft curls and large beautiful eyes that sparkle and draw you in, even through a photograph. There’s a delicateness to her that reminds him so much of you today. He doesn't know how, but Arthur can tell that you take after her. A warm feeling spreads across his cheeks, as if he is being introduced to the parents of the girl he's courting.

And of course, there is you in the photograph, very young, about 7 or 8 years old. You look like a sprite or fairy. Bright eyes, mischievous smile, and small for your age.

This is exactly what Arthur had hoped to find. And he is elated that this plan of his is going so well.

“Thank you, Miss Darcy, thank you kindly,” Arthur’s voice pregnant with overwhelming gratitude, as the crow’s feet around his eyes crinkle with his growing smile. “(Y/N) will be right pleased to see these.”

Darcy looks at him with a knowing smirk on her face. "You’re sweet on her, aren’t you?” Arthur’s eyes shoot up from the box to meet her suspecting gaze. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Arthur opens his mouth to speak but Darcy holds her hand up to shush him. “Of course you are," she declares before he can even deny it. "(Y/N) has that effect on people." She folds her arms over her chest in approval.

Arthur says nothing, only draws his lips inward and nods, as if being caught red-handed.

“Well, I hope she’s OK. And, I hope she’s happy, wherever she is. Lord knows this place wasn’t going to do it.” She waves her hand at the town around them. “I hope that you can make her happy, Arthur,” Darcy emphasizes.

“I will do my damnedest. I promise you that.” Arthur gives her an adamant nod.

“You better. Or I will hunt you down,” Darcy teases as she gives his shoulder a playful punch. “Tell (Y/N) I miss her.”

“I will.”

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

“(Y/N), I need to speak with you for a moment.”

You lift your head to see Hosea striding towards you with purpose in his step to where you are working in your med-tent.  You give him a small, tired smile as he approaches, brushing a stray lock of hair out of your face. “I have the medical supplies almost completely restocked-”

“Yeah, fine, fine, but I don’t want to talk about that,” he waves at you impatiently as he finally comes to a stop, his hands leaning onto the workbench. “I want to talk to you about Arthur.”

The mention of his name makes you freeze. Your jaw clenches to the point that your teeth ache. Your fingers drop the bundle of dried herbs that you are cutting and they slowly curl into the palm of your hand, causing your nails to cut into the skin there.

“No.”

Your firm response causes Hosea to halt dead in his tracks, not expecting you to flat-out refuse his request. His silver eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Excuse me? No?”

Your eyes suddenly turn dark as the corners of your mouth drop into a hard frown. You pull a long, deep inhale through your nose in an effort to remain calm. 

“I don’t want to talk about Arthur, Hosea. Not with the girls, not with Charles, and not with you.”

“Good,” he retorts sharply. “Then I’ll do the talkin’ and you just be quiet and listen.” Hosea’s voice carries that stern fatherly tone that instantly puts you back into your place. Like a child, you pout slightly as you turn your face away to avoid his disapproving gaze.

“Look, I know he’s as hard as a rock and stubborn as a mule, but Arthur cares for you, (Y/N).”

“You think I don’t know that?” you snap, your face turning again to meet Hosea’s.

“Then why in the hell you givin’ him such a hard time?” he shoots back.

Your palm slams onto your table as your patience breaks. “Because he can’t have it both ways, Hosea! I am not a some-time lover. Arthur can’t act like I’m his ‘special sweetheart’ and then go on to ignore me for days on end. He can’t repeatedly act like there’s hope for us to be together and then keep telling me it's never going to happen.”

Your eyes burn intensely, causing Hosea to back-peddle to a gentler countenance now, realizing that he’s just sparked a volatile powder-keg.

“You just need to be patient and give him a chance, (Y/N),” Hosea implores you, holding up his hands in surrender as if trying to calm a spooked horse.

Your chest tightens as if a vice grip is strangling it and you can feel the anger radiating off of your ruby-flushed cheeks. “I’ve given him many, many chances, Hosea, and he’s done nothing. Besides, don’t you think you should’ve had this conversation with someone else awhile ago?”

“Now look, girl, you know what we do here and why this isn’t easy for him,” Hosea points his finger accusingly at you in warning. “How can you be so harsh?”

“Harsh?!” The word huffs out of your mouth as if you’ve just eaten a bitter piece of fruit. The mere suggestion of such a thing is so ludicrous to you. “Ha!” Your eyes roll so hard to the sky, it’s amazing that they don’t fly right out of your head.

You give Hosea a sarcastic smirk. “You know, I’ve been with you all for awhile now, Hosea, and I’ve done my part around here as best I could. So I’m a little offended that you think so little of me. I know what you all are and I know what you all do. But I also know who you are.”

You stand taller now and pull your shoulders back, lifting your chin a bit in defiance, as your arms fold defensively over your chest in agitation.

“Are you and Dutch some evil masterminds or just two men trying to live wild and free in the world? Hmm?” Your eyes flash in challenge at him and Hosea tries to get a word in, but you just ramble right over him and he quickly hushes in submission.

“Is John some feral man, or some sad soul trying to overcome the hand he’s been dealt in his life? And Arthur…” You choke for a brief moment as his name crosses your trembling lips, your eyes wide and flashing. “He’s not the monster everyone makes him to be.”

You shake your head, taking a deep breath to draw the cooler air into your lungs to try to recollect yourself. You pause in your rant and Hosea mercifully does not say a word, waiting for you to finish.

“But it doesn't matter now.”

Hosea shakes his head incredulously. “Do you know where Arthur is right now, (Y/N)? Do you have any idea what he’s doing for y-?”

“I don’t care, Hosea!” you snap sharply again, holding your hand up to keep him from saying another word, as you are dangerously close to the edge of your sanity. “I don’t care where he is, or what he’s doing. Because I’m done with it! You hear me?” Your eyes sting, but at this point you have cried yourself out and have no more tears left to shed over this. “I’m done, Hosea. So just stop. Please.” Your voice becomes dejected and hopeless as your shoulders droop in defeat with that last syllable.

“Now if you excuse me, I have work to do.” Your hand involuntarily comes to cover your mouth as you push past him.

“(Y/N), C’mon now…” Hosea calls after you, disappointment clearly written all over his features.

As you hurry off, Hosea rolls his eyes to the pristine-white clouds floating innocently in the sky above and shakes his head, planting his old, weathered hands on his hips before lowering his gaze back to watch you walk over to Ms. Grimshaw. “Whatever the hell you’re doin’, my boy, your ass had better hurry up.”

You hate being cross with Hosea. You’d rather cut out your own tongue than to speak harshly to him like that. But you just can’t take this anymore. It’s hard enough trying to navigate around Arthur, but now you have to deal with everyone else as well. You had hoped that the old man would be your buffer to this fiasco. But of course, he’s going to take Arthur’s side. And by rights, he should, you suppose. He’s Arthur’s “father”, not yours.

With your face flush and hands flexing at your sides, you stalk over to Ms. Grimshaw, desperately seeking yet another distraction. That is one habit that you have definitely picked up from Arthur while you’ve been here:  when frustrated, you relentlessly throw yourself into work.

The matriarch is standing outside of her tent, looking over a recent newspaper in her hands when you call out to her.

“Ms. Grimshaw, do you have anything that you need me to do around here?”

The woman looks up at the sound of her name being called and gives you a scowl of impatience. “Oh, for the love of…Come here, girl. Sit down,” she orders, pointing at the chair outside of her tent.

Surprised by her annoyance, you meekly sit as you’re told to do, looking at her expectantly.

“Now, I appreciate your help as much as anyone,” Ms. Grimshaw says, trying her best to remain calm, briefly bringing her fingers to clasp the bridge of her nose in frustration. “But you’ve been in my face and up my ass for weeks now. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”

“What do you mean?” Scoffing, you blink back at her.

“Don’t play innocent with me, Miss (Y/L/N).” With a reproachable glare, she pokes herself in the chest with her thumb. “I invented that game.”

After a moment, Ms. Grimshaw finally caves and gives you a resigned sigh. “Women get a raw deal in this day and age. I get it. You’re supposed to sit pretty and smile, and yet spread your legs and still be an angel.”

Her bluntness makes you blush a bit and avert your gaze. You’ve never had such a personal conversation with the woman.

She pauses before she continues, trying to be more tactful as she stands towering over you. “I know what you went through in Rosewood, what they did to you.”

The mention of your assault makes your cheeks burn red and you avert your gaze down again.

“Well, I suppose I had to toughen up pretty quick after that,” you respond matter-of-factly, not wanting to talk about that subject. Yet your voice carries just a hint of a quiver that is not lost on the woman. “A camp of wanted outlaws is no place for wallowing in self pity.”

“Yes, well, strong women like us don’t do well as the victim, can’t afford that luxury,” she agrees. “We stand up straight and deal with this world, and all its shit, don’t we?”

Her statement takes you aback a bit. ‘Like us?’ Is she actually looking at you as her equal? You had always thought this woman didn’t like you. At best, you always figured she simply tolerated your existence.

“Now, you listen to me.” Grimshaw pulls another chair up to sit directly in front of you, lowering her voice as she continues. “Don’t hang all of your hopes and dreams on a man, my dear. Look at Abigail. Hangin’ on any scrap of attention that John is willing to give her. And she’ll be hard pressed to find a husband elsewhere at this point when she’s already saddled with a child. Not that Jack is bad, mind you. (Grimshaw is quick to stress that point.) That boy is the best thing to come out of that relationship, if you ask me.”

Ms. Grimshaw leans back in her chair and folds her arms over her chest, taking a deep breath before she continues her motherly lecture. “Arthur is a good man and all, and we’d all be lost without him, for sure. But he’s still a man. And a dense one at that when it comes to women.”

Your face twists in painful recognition as you look down at your hands sitting limply in your lap. You wish it were different between you and Arthur, but that’s what is so hard about this whole thing. Neither of you can deny the connection that is so rare to find in another soul, yet still knowing you won’t ever be together. You can’t force that spark with someone where it doesn't exist, just like you can’t deny it when it does.

You love Arthur to the depth of which you’ve never known possible, even though you probably shouldn’t, and for reasons that you can’t quite explain. You understand that Arthur thinks that he doesn’t deserve your affection, either. But that isn’t going to stop it from overtaking your heart, now is it? You can’t change how you feel just like you can’t stop the rain from pouring down, or the sun from shining afterwards.

Ms. Grimshaw takes a moment to look you over, watching as your eyes dart around in spastic thought. She notes how your chest rises and falls raggedly as you quietly try to keep yourself from crying all over again. God, you are so exhausted from crying. And you are at the point now of being sick and tired of being ‘sick and tired’ of everything. Her heart goes out to you as she knows what you’re going through. Because she’s been there herself.

“You know,” Ms. Grimshaw says softly, hesitating slightly before continuing. “I used to have a thing with Dutch.”

Your red-rimmed eyes shoot back up to Ms Grimshaw’s face and widen a bit at her revelation.  “Really? I didn’t know that.”

“MmmHmm. Cast me aside for the young and pretty, he did.” She turns a glance towards Dutch’s tent where he sits reading, a cigar sitting confidently between his teeth, while Molly perches upon their cot, fixing her hair in the mirror.

Turning her attention back to you, Ms. Grimshaw quickly refocuses on the purpose of her lecture. “If you want to stay here with us, (Y/N), no one will be happier than me to have you.” This admission rather stuns you as her voice takes on a softer, more nurturing sound. “But don’t you let this gang take you down.” She points her finger sternly at you. “You do what’s right by you. ‘Cause you’re the only one who has to live with your decisions.”

Ms. Grimshaw holds your gaze a moment to make sure you understand what she’s telling you. When you finally give her an appreciative smile and a nod, she places her hand overtop of yours, patting it in reassurance.

From somewhere over in the distance of the camp, there is a ruckus and you both look over at the interruption to see Rev. Swanson drunk and stumbling over people before falling down altogether. Ms. Grimshaw huffs sharply in annoyance, hands on her knees, as she pushes herself up from her chair. “I swear, it’s always something around here.”

And just like that, the camp mother is off to settle yet another issue in her camp. You watch her as she marches over to the man, shooing away the others who have gathered around. She gives Rev. Swanson a few words before bending down to heave him up by the arm. For whatever reason, the woman has a soft spot for the disgraced man of the cloth. And now, apparently, for you as well.

A slight breeze picks up and the cooling air settles your nerves a bit as it dances across your cheeks, lifting the fine wisps of hair along your face. You sit in contemplation, thinking about what Ms. Grimshaw has said to you. She has a point. She may come across as a hardened shrew, but she definitely knows what she’s talking about, as she speaks from personal experience. You’ve been debating about leaving the Van Der Linde gang for awhile, and now, maybe you have the voice of reason to actually do it. Absentmindedly chewing on the back of your thumbnail while in thought, you try to figure out what your next move is going to be.

It's taken you awhile to come to terms with what happened in Rosewood. You had hoped to draw strength from your new family and finally find a place of belonging. You haven't even thought of a future with a man since what happened, finding the closest thing in Arthur’s simple and unassuming company.

Losing your father in such a cruel and abrupt way was devastating. But with the parental guidance of Hosea, and unknowingly of Ms. Grimshaw, you have begun to make your peace with it, despite the frequent melancholy that only comes with the death of family.

But you can’t handle this drama anymore. You had told Karen awhile ago that you couldn’t bear it if Arthur ever hated you. And seeing as every interaction between the two of you seems to be getting more toxic with each encounter, that seems to be the very path your relationship is heading. You really don’t think that you could ever be happy here if you didn’t have Arthur. The thought of it is a boulder dropping in your stomach.

Maybe you’ll go back to Silverton. The doctor there had offered you a job several months ago, and a place to stay at the boarding house, too. But how will you even get there? It’s not safe for a woman to travel on her own in these parts.

The time has come for you to decide:  Should you stay with the Van Der Linde gang? Or should you go?

Wrestling with which path you need to take, your thoughts are interrupted when you see Mr. Pearson prepping one of the wagons. His chubby face huffs and turns red as he mills about pulling straps and checking over the wagon.

You nibble your bottom lip as you watch him, anxiously wringing your hands together. “Mr. Pearson? Are you heading into town?” you suddenly blurt out with seemingly no self control.

He looks over his shoulder to give you a quick glance. “That’s right, Miss (Y/L/N).”

You swallow hard before you speak again. “Need some company?”

And before you realize what you are doing, you offer to go along. Your intent is to see who in town may be heading back south towards Silverton and maybe catch a ride. That doctor there seemed quite persistent in getting you to work with him. Maybe the job offer is still good. If not, at least you’ll be out of the Van Der Linde camp and can start to put this whole mess behind you once and for all.

—--------------------------------

It is late afternoon at this point and the copper sky has just begun to unfurl its bewitching colors for all to see. Arthur heads down the back-country path that will bring him back to camp. The familiar white wildflowers still bloom and line the path, offering him a welcoming sight as he gets closer to home. His hand rests protectively on the saddlebag to his left side where your father’s wooden box sits carefully tucked away.

As he gets closer to home, Arthur begins to rethink his plan a bit. Is it too selfish to expect you to just fall into his open arms because he gave you a few remembrances? He isn’t turning his back on his decision, nor the idea that he wants you. But he feels that maybe it isn’t fair to just expect it of you. That may be a little too presumptuous.

Out of respect for you, he resigns himself to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. But at the very least, Arthur wants to just stop fighting and to simply be able to speak civilly with you once more.

When Arthur arrives back at camp, he doesn’t see you anywhere, even though Blue is tethered at the hitching posts. He slips your horse some peppermints upon arrival, which he contently munches. 

“Where’s our girl, mister? Hmm?” he wonders out loud to Blue, reaching up to give the horse a good scratch behind his ears while he surveys the open area.

Arthur eagerly scans the camp and immediately seeks out Hosea to find out where you are. He’s already waited several days to get this task done and he’s eager to finish it.

“She went to town with Pearson,” Hosea informs him. “Shouldn’t be too much longer, I reckon.”

Arthur purses his lips and nods, thinking to himself as his gaze, of course, goes to the path heading into the camp, half expecting to find you there.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Hosea asks, eyebrows peaked with interest as he raises his cigarette to his mouth, eyes squinting in anticipation.

A grin slowly crawls across Arthur’s face. His eyes twinkle a bit in mischief when he turns back to Hosea. “Oh yeah. I found it.”

Hosea lets out a quick chuckle as he pats Arthur on the shoulder. “Good. I knew you would.”

Hosea decides not to say anything to Arthur about the conversation he had with you earlier today, fearing that your outburst may deter Arthur from going ahead with his intentions. It’s taken so long and so much to push Arthur to get to this point. Hosea doesn’t want his son to get discouraged now, not when he’s so close to a chance at being happy.

Since you are not here, Arthur decides to leave the box in your tent for you. He’s afraid that if he approaches you directly with it, you’ll end up in an argument before he can even give you the damn thing. He desperately needs for this to go well. He walks over and stands outside of your tent, hesitating before he goes in. But with a nod of reassurance to himself, he enters your personal space.

Arthur looks about for a moment, taking in the surroundings. Everywhere he looks in the modest space, there’s evidence of you. The faint scent of the lavender oil you use in your hair permeates the area. Arthur’s eyes roll back into his head as he deeply inhales the intoxicating flowery aroma. 

Along the side, your cot is neatly made up with a knit afghan laid across it. The spread is a beautiful green color, but the pattern and knot work are not quite so perfect. The knots are clumpy and lopsided and unevenly distributed. He chuckles as he remembers when you made it, trying your hand at the domestic task. ‘It’s not perfect, but at least I’ll be warmer at night,’ you said when you proudly showed him the efforts of your work.

There are a few books stacked on an overturned crate-turned-end table by your pillow, a few of which have multiple bookmarks and pieces of paper haphazardly sticking out, indicating that you are in the middle of reading multiple at a time. The small table in the corner has a bowl with women’s baubles such as combs and other simple jewelry, every one of which Arthur has seen on your person, the smallest details of your style committed to his memory.

And pinned to the wooden pole in the center of the tent is the flower crown that Jack had made for you, now delicately dried and preserved. Hanging in the center of the brittle greenery, Arthur notices a small piece of paper. He takes a few steps over to take a closer look at it and realizes it's the sketch he did for you. 

It’s a simple drawing of flowers in a meadow, with the sun shining down. He had drawn it while out on one of his jobs and gave it to you. ‘So you'll always have somethin’ pretty to look at, even when things are shit ‘round here’, he had told you. Arthur can’t believe you’ve kept it all this time. The idea that something so trivial and insignificant that he had done was so special to you makes his heart swell to the point of bursting. He lifts his hand, his dust-coated fingers affectionately catching the edge of the paper. He then looks down to the box in his hands.

“God, I hope this works,” he whispers. He steps over to your cot, bending down to gently set the box upon your blanket. He slowly stands and stares at it, taking a last moment to contemplate his decision. “Alright, then.” 

And with his habitual saying being muttered into the comfortable silence in finality, Arthur takes his leave of your tent and heads over to his own.

Meanwhile, you have headed over to the small town of Middleton with Mr. Pearson. The cook had needed to head in to the post office to mail a letter, and to see if he had received any in return. You casually excuse yourself from his company as the wagon rolls to a stop, explaining that you need a few things in the local general store. Pearson pays you no mind, but what you really need is to see if the local shopkeep knows of anyone traveling towards Silverton. Since this place of business has the most traffic of varied clientele, you figure if anyone knows the dealings of the town, this is where you’ll find out.

As fortune would have it, after chatting with the store owner, you find out that the local lumberyard is making a delivery to Howardsville in the next few days. It’s about 4 miles east of Silverton. You could walk that if you need to. (At this point, you’re not sure if you’ll be taking Blue with you. The horse was a gift to you from Arthur, so technically he does belong to you. But a horse is a highly-valued possession. It would be rather presumptuous to think that you could just take him with you if you left the gang. And the thought of leaving the beautiful animal behind, your beloved Blue, is yet another twist to the phantom knife in your heart. But you have to prepare yourself for any scenario.)

You quickly make your way over to the lumber office after that, and proceed to convince the owner to let you catch a ride with the next delivery heading out. You have a little money saved up and offer to pay your way, which is the only reason the man is allowing it. He is leaving at sunrise in two day’s time. You’ll have to be there at the office door by then, money in-hand, or he is leaving without you.

And so, you put things into place to make your exit from the Van Der Linde gang.

When you arrive back at the camp, Arthur is sitting by the fire and doesn’t say anything, but carefully watches you out of the corner of his eye as you help Mr. Pearson put away the wagon and secure the horse. Arthur notices that you are mindful to keep your head down and eyes averted from everyone. There is a touch of anxiousness to you that catches his attention, but he figures it's just the tension that has been growing around you for weeks now.

He takes a deep breath and pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it, striking the match on the bottom of his boot, and keeping the brim of his hat discreetly pulled down over his face.

Here it is, this is it. Arthur is not sure how you are going to react to his “grand gesture” as Mary-Beth called it, but he's hoping that this will at least open the door and allow him to speak to you again.

When you’re done securing the wagon, you head straight to your tent, avoiding everyone just as you have been doing of late. You draw back the corners of the canvas and push through the opening, quickly pulling it shut behind you. You still can’t believe that you’re leaving. And you really don’t want to risk talking to anyone about it right now, either, until you can fully wrap your head around the concept. God willing, you just need to avoid Arthur until then, for fear of losing your nerve and any strength you have left to go through with your plan.

You tiredly pull the strap of your small tan satchel off of your shoulder and set it on your little table. A long, exhausted sigh rattles your bones and your eyelids feel like stones as you run your hands over your hair before they link behind your neck, cradling the tense muscles there.

“Well, I guess this is it,” you mutter to yourself.  You’ve made your decision and set things into motion. You turn about and survey your belongings, noting that you’ll have to discreetly start to pack to avoid causing a scene. Fortunately, you don’t have much to begin with.

You don’t notice it at first. But then, you catch it out of the corner of your eye. Something sitting on your cot. You do a double-take as you instantly recognize the wooden box. Suddenly, it’s like seeing a ghost and having the wind knocked out of you. Your eyes go wide before arching in confusion. You gingerly walk towards your cot and slowly lower yourself to sit, eyes glued to the item as if afraid to touch it, lest it not be real at all. Eventually, your trembling hands reach out and set the box on your lap, hesitating before you open it. Your fingers hover over the woodgrain, gently tracing along the smooth surface. Slowly lifting the lid, you let out a small gasp, your hand springing up to cover your mouth, as tears begin to gather in the corners of your (y/e/c) eyes.

Fingers that continue to slightly shake trace over the contents inside the box, items that you remember with such fondness. It’s as if a hundred butterflies are swarming inside you right now, their gossamer wings fluttering against your sides to escape. 

The pads of your fingertips slowly rub over the polished surface of the pocket watch before you collect it into your fingertips. The silver is cool and comforting to the touch. A vision of your father’s hands with his long, slender fingers holding it instantly pops into your mind, as he used to absentmindedly fidget with it whenever his hands sat idle.

Setting the watch back down, you then move to pick up your mother’s locket and affectionately rub the silver charm between your thumb and fingers. The etching has worn over the years, as she never took the piece off, but the tiny emerald chip that is inset on the front still gleams like a new spring leaf.

But it’s the photo of your parents that puts you over the edge. You smile to yourself as you stifle a slight sob as you look upon the faces of your family, faces that you never thought you’d look upon again. Your heart is overwhelmed with both sadness and joy at the same time.

You simply sit and stare at the print in your hands, soaking in their images as if searing it into your brain once more. You pour over every detail of your parents’ faces, gazing at their features, silently saying hello to long-lost loved ones. You close your eyes as you gently cradle the image to your chest over your heart as a single tear breaks free from your lashes and gently rolls down your freckled cheek.

Suddenly, your eyes fly open as you realize that you have no idea how the box got here. Well, you have a suspicion. Damn him! This is the very shit that drives you insane. What in the hell are you supposed to make of this, now?

Sniffling back your emotions, you quickly put the contents back into the box, carefully setting it back down onto your pillow. With a fire in your stomach, you rush out of the tent and briskly walk to the center of camp where everyone is sitting.

“Where did that box in my tent come from?” Your eyes dart around the circle of gang members, waiting for someone to confess. Your slight frame just vibrates with energy right now, wound up like a hornet.

“What are you talking about, (Y/N)?” asks Abigail, looking up at you from her seat at the fire.

“The wooden box in my tent,” you clarify, tossing a finger back behind you towards your personal area. “Who brought it here?” Your eyes flash like fire as you scan the small crowd gathered around, demanding an answer. “Who?”

“I did,” admits Arthur quietly from where he’s sitting on one of the crates. He finishes his cigarette, tossing the butt to the ground as he stands. “I know you’ve been unhappy, missing your family and all. So I thought I’d see if I could find something of theirs for you.”

You stand silently, your eyes locked onto Arthur, not really sure what to say. What in the actual hell is happening right now?! Damn him. Yet another example of mixed signals and confusing cues. Your head spins and feels like it will explode from trying to figure this out, taking your heart along with it.

“That’s where you’ve been all this time?” asks Mary-Beth, looking at Arthur. “You rode all the way back to Rosewood?”

Arthur nods in confirmation, but when he takes note of your hard and intense gaze on him, he’s not sure what to make of it. Uncomfortable under your stare, he tilts his head down with the brim of his hat covering his face and eyes again.

“I can’t believe you did that,” says Abigail, shocked.

You have been quietly watching Arthur during this exchange, but he won’t look at you now. He can’t get a read on your reaction. You almost seem…angry? But truth be told, you kind of are. You have already made up your mind to go. It was an agonizing decision to make, but you have finally made it and already started the difficult mental process to sever your ties here. You have already put your plans in motion to leave the gang. And now this.

And then suddenly, your whole body relaxes in defeat. Your face twists into something almost akin to exhausted disappointment as you simply give in under a wave of emotion. Like you had said to Hosea earlier, you are done with the fighting.

A measured sigh escapes your lips. You slowly, but deliberately, begin to walk over towards Arthur. You don’t break stride, but silently walk right up to him. He looks up at you, flinching slightly as you get closer, as if he expects you to slap him. (You've been so angry at him lately, it wouldn’t surprise him if you did.)

Without hesitation, you firmly cup Arthur’s face with both of your hands, squeezing just a bit so that he can’t run away from you. And you pull him down to you and kiss him deeply in front of everyone in the camp.

You kiss him without warning or permission, and without premeditation, simply because you can’t fathom doing anything else at this very moment.

Time stops the moment your lips touch his. Everything goes silent and dark like the vast universe filled with its blanket of stars. The only thing that registers to you is the feeling of Arthur in your hands.

In the background, there are hoots and hollers, clapping and cheering. John leans into Uncle exclaiming “Told you!” and elbows the older man in the ribs, who reluctantly hands John $5 out of his pocket.

After several moments of your heated lips pressed against his, you release Arthur’s cheeks and tightly wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders, pulling him to you in a strong embrace, unwilling to let go of him just yet.

Arthur’s hands land softly at your waist as he hides his face into your neck. A tidal wave of relief washes over him, crashing down all in one fell swoop. You are not mad at him anymore. You are not leaving. And he has you in his arms where you belong. Finally.

Arthur slowly pulls back from you, searching for any misgivings. But to his relief, he is only met with the sunshine of your face. There are a million things that he wants to tell you, as the words he hasn’t said all this time are the very ones you need to hear. But it’s not the type of thing he wants an audience for, as he’s suddenly very aware of where the two of you are right now.

His hand lifts from your hip to wrap around your bicep, his thumb drawing over the muscle as he leans in closer to you. His gaze briefly sweeps over the small group of onlookers before coming back to you and whispers “Wanna get out of here and go someplace more private to talk?” His gravelly voice is soft and quiet for only you to hear as the lines around his eyes wrinkle delightfully with a smile.

“More than anything.” Your large doe-eyes shine up at him along with a smile that beams back brightly. Arthur grins, his hand now moving to caress your cheek, reassuring both you and himself that this is really happening.

“C’mon,” he encourages you with a slight head tilt. And with his hand at the small of your back, he gently nudges you away from everyone else.

You both abruptly turn away from the group of gawking eyes and giggling whispers to head towards the horses, walking shoulder to shoulder. You catch each other’s gaze shyly, a few giggles of your own erupting from your lips. When your hands casually brush against each other’s, you reach over and take Arthur’s large hand into yours, wrapping your delicate fingers around his. Arthur looks down at the sight of your hands entwined. He lifts your hands up to his lips and places an ever-so soft kiss along the backs of your fingers, making you catch your breath for just a moment over such a simple, yet affectionate gesture.

Buck is already saddled, and Arthur is too impatient to wait to saddle Blue, so he carefully lifts you up onto the back of his horse before he swings himself up as well. And the two of you head out of camp together.

As Buck quickly sets himself into a brisk canter, you wrap your arms around Arthur’s waist, pressing your torso against the warmth of his back. The bulk of him is just so comforting to you. Sure, you’ve ridden together like this before, but now there is a profound difference in the way your arms settle around him. Your face sets upon his back between his shoulder blades as you close your eyes and smile blissfully. Arthur hums contently in response, laying his own strong hand along yours as they link across his ribs in front of him.

Arthur decides to take you to your favorite hunting spot that the two of you like to use. It is nestled deep in a thicket of dense forest, about twenty minutes outside the camp, and there’s an old trapper-style, lean-to shelter there.

It’s quiet out as the sun starts to set, and the only sounds in the woods are the chattering of the squirrels and squawking of the birds as you reach your destination. Arthur pulls Buck to a halt at the edge of the trees, his watchful eyes quickly scanning the camp to make sure it’s safe before letting you down. He’s waited this long for this moment, he just wants everything to be perfect.

“Stay here a minute while I take a quick look around. Let’s make sure no one else is holed up here,” he says over his shoulder. Arthur dismounts, pulling his revolver from his holster as he walks about the small make-shift camp. You happily watch him move about, your cheeks dusting with color at how protective he is of you. Your bottom lip folds up between your teeth in quiet excitement, hardly able to contain yourself in anticipation of finally being alone together with all that previous nonsense now removed.

After he walks the perimeter and deems it safe for you, he waves you over. You flick your heels to nudge Buck forward a few paces until you are now in the middle of the camp. Arthur walks over, reaching his hands up to you to help you down from the back of the horse. His hands tenderly find your hips and your own hands find his broad shoulders as he lowers you down. Your eyes never leave his face, causing him to blush under your longing gaze.

He gives you an awkward grin and a brief chuckle as he walks Buck over to the side of the small clearing, tying him to a tree for the time being. You stand perfectly still in anticipation, watching his every move, until he walks back to you, rubbing his hands together nervously.

“So…” Arthur stands in front of you, taking off his hat and playing with the brim nervously, not really sure what to say or do now.

“So...” you grin at him with a little shrug. “Here we are. Finally.” You step closer to him, smiling coyly.

You stand there, staring into each other's eyes, knowing that this is the turning point. Whatever happens after this moment, move forward or walk away, it changes the relationship forever. There is no going back to what you were before. That’s not even an option anymore. One way or another, it's going to change for the two of you.

Arthur replaces his hat back upon his head, freeing his fingers which fidget nervously as they find their way to your hips again and slowly pull you in closer to him. Your palms come to rest softly on his chest as you look up adoringly into his crystal-blue eyes.

”Kiss me, Arthur.” Your angelic voice is a yearning whisper that dances in his ears, making his heart skip a beat.

He cups your face with his right hand, drawing his thumb along your check bone. The skin there is oh so smooth, like porcelain. His other hand wraps around your bicep as your own hands still sit upon his chest, resting right over his heart. Your fingers play gracefully with the fabric of his worn shirt, causing goosebumps to ripple across his skin underneath. He slowly dips his head down, his lips hovering close to yours before he presses them together.

The kiss is soft at first. And his lips are just as you imagined. Although slightly chapped, the skin is soft as flower petals, the muscles strong underneath, as his mouth encompasses your own.

The kiss isn't too long, just enough to indicate the romantic intent behind it. He pulls back from you and notices that your eyes are still shut, savoring the moment. Your lids are slow to flutter open and peer up into his vivid eyes, which are staring expectantly back at you and waiting for some sign of doubt or regret. But to his relief, he finds none.

When Arthur sees your smile rise up like a sunrise over the horizon, shining its light and warmth upon everything in its path, he rapidly pulls you in for another kiss. He’s desperate not to hurt or offend you, but when your mouth opens slightly, working over his own, and your tongue pushes across in search of his, sweeping across his plump bottom lip, he reciprocates, suddenly hungry and needy. His hand moves from your cheek to cradle the back of your head while his other arm snakes around your waist to pull you tighter against him.

He should feel ashamed at how he holds your hips to his own, but Arthur is feeling selfish right now, giving in to his own desires for once. Your own hands fist around the soft cotton of his shirt, greedily pulling him down to you. You push your hips into his, desperate to be as close to the man as you can get. The symphony of heaving breaths and the wet sound of lips rolling over each other fills the air. A soft whimper, a barely audible moan, delightfully escapes your chest like a bird freed from its cage.

Your heart leaps at how there is such a fine line created between love and madness with just a simple thing as a kiss. You are a bit of a hungry, hot mess inside, aching impatiently for him, waiting for his hands and lips to begin to roam your skin and curves. But yet, you also adore how focused those same hands and needing lips slowly knead and nip at your tender, soft flesh right now.

Arthur’s fingers clench slightly with restraint at the nape of your neck. When you both reluctantly pull away from each other to fill your lungs with air again, he leans his forehead to yours, eyes closed to regain composure. He exhales slowly, shuddering just slightly with measured breaths.

“I want you.” His voice, low and hungry, yet definitive, cuts through the warm air between you. He needs you to hear it, but more importantly, he needs you to know it.

A soft laugh of relief huffs quietly out of your nose at the statement. You smile slightly, so happy to finally hear him say the words out loud after all of this time.  

“I want you too, Arthur,” you breathlessly whisper. You lift your face away from his to look into his alluring eyes again. “So very much.”

He searches your features, digging deep, for any last minute hesitation. When he sees none, Arthur kisses you yet again, this time passionate, but not as desperate. His large hands find their way to your back as he pulls you into him even tighter than before, wrapping you up against him. You can feel his hand splay-out under your shoulders, while the other trails down towards the small of your back.

The feeling of his wide and strong body against yours makes your knees weak, and heat begins to build in your abdomen. Your arms rush to extend past his barrel-chest and over his shoulders to fold around his neck, matching the force Arthur is using to keep you close. Your arm curls up to cradle his head, fingers entwining in his hair, which feels like heaven to him. While your other arm moves to firmly wrap around his shoulders, your lips never part. Arthur notices how your knee bends slightly to scissor between his thighs.

The two of you stay like this for several heated moments, finally taking the time to feel one another, to experience what you have both been sorely longing for all this time.

The connection is massive and electric; it’s almost oppressive, making it hard for you to breathe. This feels different than it did previously. Before, it was a sweet longing, yet held back by the tethers of impropriety and notions of “never-to-be”. But now those ropes of restraint have been cast off, tossed to the wayside, allowing free-reign for you both to push the limits and boundaries. A herd of wild horses couldn’t pull the two of you apart right now. Arthur would sooner lose his hand than release his grasp of you. And you would rather be blinded than gaze at anything other than his handsome face at this moment.

When he pulls away again, you chase his lips with a pout, clearly not wanting the intimacy between you to stop. Arthur smiles down at you, gently moving a piece of your hair out of your eye with his fingertip.

“I’ll get a fire going. Why don’t you get the bedroll from my saddle and get comfortable, hmm?”

*I’ve seen this image posted in multiple places on Pintrest. I tried to track down the owner, but can’t locate him. If anyone knows @bushcraft_jack, let me know!

A/N: Sorry if this one does not have the spark that the previous 2 did. But, I think you all know what’s coming next. Stay tuned for Part 4.

[chenziee]

Fly, little bird (away from everything)

Written for the wonderful @opmarcozine! So happy and honoured to have been able to take part in this project 💙

I wrote one more fic for the digital add-on which is much, much lighter than this ahaha If you fancy yourself some silly pineapple flambe and jealous kittens, stay tuned for later this week! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Last chance to grab yourself a copy!

[ READ ON AO3 | KO-FI | COMM INFO ]

—————

The one time the Whitebeard Pirates had visited the Land of Wano, it was a peaceful and beautiful country. Marco still remembered the lush forests of Kuri, could smell the aroma of the giant koi being grilled over fire, could hear Kin'emon scolding Oden for wanting to leave. It was a great place; the stories Oden, Inu, Neko, and later Izo had shared with the family were all fun and happy.

With the isolation policy, they all assumed the country was still the same. That Oden had made his way back to the country after Roger's execution and was now busy being a terrible Shogun—having more fun than governing, giving Kin'emon and Denjiro grey hair while Toki did nothing but encourage her husband.

They had no reason to think there was anything wrong with their brother (or uncle?) and his country.

But then the news reached them.

Watching Pops' almost permanent wide grin freeze and eventually disappear was never a good sign. Honestly, a skirmish with some stray Beast Pirates who thought picking a fight with another Emperor was a bright idea wasn't a good sign either but Pops going from relaxed to shocked to angry was in a league of its own.

"What's going on, yoi?" Marco asked as he rushed towards the group dealing with the mess.

When Izo turned to look at him, Marco startled at the sight that met him. Izo's lips were pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenched. His brow was furrowed so deeply that his carefully applied make-up was creasing and the look in his eyes was… full of fear.

Marco took a deep breath, his gaze darting between Izo's twisted expression, the looks of anger on his other brothers' faces, and Pops, who had stood up to his full height with Murakumogiri in hand, his grip tight as he glowered at the pirates in front of him. Haki was vibrating in the air when he finally spoke up, his voice resounding around the Moby Dick with a commanding tone that would make even the greatest Neptunians quiver.

"Kaido's ruling the Land of Wano? What's that mean, squirt?" he asked.

"Exactly what I said," one of the Beasts said, voice full of fake confidence even as he visibly shook in fear.

Dead silence followed his words. Everyone could imagine what it meant.

Carefully, tentatively, Marco raised his hand, placing it on Izo's shoulder. When he didn't immediately shake him off, Marco squeezed lightly, hoping to remind his fellow division commander that he wasn't alone. Marco wasn't sure if that was enough… but he didn't know what else to do for him right then.

It seemed like a pointless question when Pops demanded to know what happened to his little brother; Marco was sure they could all imagine Oden's reaction when he had learned Kaido put a pawn on the Shogun's throne and took control of his homeland. Oden might have hated the isolation policy but he loved his country and its people.

Letting go of a shaky breath, Marco tried not to imagine what Oden's last moments might have been like. He simply squeezed Izo's shoulder tighter.

The man stood still for a moment longer but then he finally shook Marco's hand off and stepped forward.

"What about the retainers? What happened to them?" he asked, voice carefully measured.

"The castle burned down. There's no way anyone survived," the Beast answered after a reluctant pause.

Heavy silence settled over the deck before Izo turned around, his coat swishing behind him as he walked away. No one dared follow him.

"Toss them overboard. I don't care what happens to them," Pops announced, sitting back down in his chair to signify the matter over.

Marco didn't wait around to see Jozu leaving their lives in the mother sea's care. With one powerful wave of his wings, he rose up high to the air, soon leaving the Moby Dick behind as he shifted into full phoenix form and took off to nowhere in particular.

It was moments like this that he was grateful to his devil fruit. The ability to just up and leave when he wanted to clear his head or just needed a break—that alone was worth the threat of drowning in a puddle. Maybe he should take Izo up here once the gunman sorted out his thoughts.

Once Marco sorted out his own.

He wanted to go back; he wanted to go to Pops and demand they turn the ship around and go to Wano to free their family's country, to get revenge… But he wasn't stupid. He knew it was impossible—not without putting countless lives in danger and not without the World Government getting involved. After all, this wouldn't be just a matter of two rival crews fighting amongst themselves. This would be an open war between two Emperors.

It was simply not going to happen. Pops would never agree and Marco himself wouldn't easily make that decision. Maybe if Oden was still alive, if they were sure Izo's sister was alive… it would be different. But as it was, there was nothing to gain, Marco knew.

He knew, but that didn't stop him from wishing they could just go and do it.

And so he merely waved his wings, rising higher still.

—————

­­Looking at the large stones in front of him, Marco wondered if it was possible for tears to run out. It had barely been a week since Marineford, the wounds still fresh, still tender, still so damn painful... and yet, Marco's eyes stayed dry now. They stayed dry despite the cold, hard reminders within an arm's reach; reminders that he would never again hear Pops' laughter, never again find Ace sleeping on top of his own medical records and setting them on fire.

It almost felt like the gravestones were mocking his inability to cry anymore.

It didn't come as much of a surprise when quiet steps approached him before a delicate hand came to rest on his shoulder.

It took a long time for either of them to speak, time filled with mutual understanding and mourning for the ones they had lost. But finally, Izo's soft whisper was carried by the breeze to Marco's ears. "Thank you for being here."

At that, Marco snorted. "Shouldn't I be saying that in this situation?"

"Maybe. I just wanted to say it," Izo replied, his tone lighter but every bit as serious as it was before and Marco's shoulders sagged.

"I'm sorry. This is the second time we let your family die," he muttered.

Izo clicked his tongue, letting go of Marco's shoulder to instead whack him over the head. "Shut up. Neither what happened in Wano, nor this was your fault. We all did what we wanted in the end. Including Pops and Ace."

"I know," Marco sighed. "It's just hard, yoi."

"It is," Izo agreed quietly, his hand landing back on Marco's shoulder to give it one last squeeze.

Marco huffed, a small smile finding its way to his lips for the first time in days. "Thanks, yoi."

"You know where to find me," Izo said before he took a step back.

Marco briefly wondered whether he was that predictable or if Izo was simply that perceptive but he decided not to dwell on it. He let his arms be engulfed in blue flames that soon formed into fiery feathers—soft, warm, and familiar, turning his arms into powerful wings which could carry so much weight… but which still couldn't carry the future of the crew.

But if he let them… maybe they could at least carry the guilt and leave it somewhere far above in the clouds. Maybe turn it into rain to replace the tears Marco couldn't shed anymore.

"I'll see you later," Marco only said before raising into the air, Izo's nod nothing but an afterimage as he took to the air, just like he had done years ago after they had learned about Wano’s fate. Just like he had done countless times in the past few days.

As he rose up, higher and higher, he was surprised by how much lighter he felt now; it was like he was leaving behind not only Izo and Whitebeard and Ace’s graves, but also a large portion of the weight that had been sitting on his shoulders for days—months, really; ever since Thatch was killed—and which had been keeping his wings from spreading fully.

It would probably never go away but maybe, just maybe… it would become easier.

And he would never have to take to the air to mourn ever again.

—————

As he soared through the skies of Wano, Marco couldn't help the wry smile pulling on his lips. What a naive wish he had made two years ago.

There was no one to comfort him now; no one to squeeze his shoulder and smile encouragingly. Izo was gone, just like Pops and Ace and so many others.

But Marco… kept soaring.

[ask-haruaki-honmaru]

"Ship content between swords"? Which ones? Any good examples of what to expect? What is your favorite?

Midare: Anon, I am SO glad you asked. Keeping tabs on citadel gossip is one of my favorite (self-assigned) duties. I even made a list to keep track!

Wanna hear about it~?

Kashuu and Yasusada: they've been together since before I got here, I think they were one of the first couples our citadel had. I'm not sure how it happened or who made the first move. According to Yagen-nii, they didn't really act any different except that they suddenly started holding hands a lot walking around the citadel, hehe. I guess they've always been inseparable, they were Okita Souji's swords after all, so it makes sense. They manifested within days of each other, so it's nice that Yasusada didn't have to wait long to see him.

Izuminokami and Horikawa: So… like… it's cute how much they care about each other, but they have NO shame. At all. Let's just say they were… um… really enthusiastic about experiencing everything that human bodies have to offer? I feel like almost everyone here has at least one story about walking in on them somewhere really unlikely. When Horikawa-kun manifested, I think Kasen was really hoping he'd end up being a good influence on his brother, but… it didn't really work out like that. Except Izuminokami's hair is always SO sleek and pretty now that Horikawa-kun is here, and Kasen's room is always much cleaner now that Izuminokami moved out of it, so it's not all bad.

Ookurikara and Tsurumaru: I'm not sure exactly when they got together, either. I think it was pretty quick after Kuri-chan joined us, but he's really private - and Tsuru-san talks all the time, but not actually that much about himself - so it's hard to say. They're not joined at the hip like Izuminokami and Horikawa, or Yasusada and Kashuu, but they seem really devoted to each other. And Kuri-chan gets SO jealous if anyone else flirts with Tsuru-san, hee hee. But I think they're really good for each other. Tsuru-san seems less stressed out when Kuri-chan is home, and Kuri-chan- well, he's still Kuri-chan, but he opens up a bit more around Tsuru-san.

Kasen and Yamanbagiri: Kasen was the one to show Manba-chan around when he first got here. Which I mean, he does that a lot, since he's the most senior sword, but Manba-chan really got attached to him, it was sweet. I think Kasen just puts him at ease, somehow. I see them walking in the gardens together a lot, and Kasen shares a lot of his unfinished poetry with Manba-chan, which is NOT something he lets many other swords see. Manba-chan's still rooming with his brother Yamabushi, but I think it's only a matter of time until he moves in with Kasen. We're all rooting for them!

Shokudaikiri and Taikogane: You should have SEEN the way Micchan lit up when Sada-chan manifested. They were so excited to see each other. Micchan used to talk about him a lot before he got here, so it wasn't surprising that they spent so much time together after he got here. Sada-chan's actually a pretty good friend of mine, since we go on sorties together a lot, so I heard a lot about their relationship as it was developing, hehe. It happens a lot with swords who were close as spirits, I think, where it just takes them a little while to figure out how their relationships work now that they have human bodies. I feel like Micchan just really, really wanted to do right by him, so he was taking it slow, but Sada-chan got really frustrated waiting for him to make a move. But TRUST me, they've figured it out by now. Micchan is super domestic and he dotes on Sada-chan so much, he's a real catch! I'm a little jealous!

Hasebe and Souza: It's really entertaining to watch these two go at it. They break up and get back together, like, ALL the time. I've lost track. Yagen-nii is SO sick of it. I guess their past is kind of complicated... Who knows if they'll ever work it out. It gives everyone else plenty to talk about, though. (Sorry, Yagen-nii.)

Nagasone and Hachisuka: If you ask me, it's super obvious that Hacchi is really into Nagasone-san, but I think he's too proud to say it. Urashima-kun keeps trying to get them to get along better, but... well, it only works sometimes. Nagasone-san is really patient, though. Well... I guess he'd have to be, being the captain of all the Shinsengumi swords. That's probably even more exhausting than dealing with Hacchi.

Kogitsunemaru and Mikazuki: So these two are definitely together, but I can't tell if they're just sleeping together or if it's more serious. The Sanjous are all pretty hard to pin down, I guess. And I'm actually not sure THEY know the answer, either. Mikazuki just laughs and walks away if you ask him about it. Maybe it's harder to figure out how human relationships work after you've been a sword that long...

Hizamaru and Higekiri: Okay. So. I can't prove anything but these two are WEIRD, right? Like, I don't act like that around MY brothers, you know?? It's just, Higekiri really likes winding up Hizamaru and it's right on the line where it could be flirting and I can't tell if he's doing it on purpose or if he's as oblivious as he seems. Hizamaru doesn't seem unhappy, though...? I guess it's fine if it works for them??? Relationships with forge-brothers are different for everyone, after all, it's not like with humans.

Hhmm, there's probably a few other swords who have a crush on someone in the Citadel, too... but that's a se~cret~! ;) If there's any developments, I promise to keep you guys updated~

[coochiekrab]

i like the idea that kuri gives hope to the self-ship fandom girlies in the world

like everyone's always "oh, as if a superstar would fall for a random offputting girl with an overactive tumblr account" well guess what. get a load of jacques lebeau's wife. could happen to any of us.

A random off putting girl with an overactive tumblr account would be leagues more qualified as a domestic partner than Kuri is. The bar isn’t even on the floor or in hell it just doesn’t exist there is no Bar. You could take home the grand prize by just showing up