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the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years

Note

Hi! Would it be possible to ask if you could write about Arthur? I was thinking about Arthur falling for a new member of the group who’s pretty dangerous and has a tough exterior, but eventually Arthur is able to get through and bring out the childish and playful side of her, falling for her tough side and her soft side? I hope that makes sense, thank you!!

Okay, I must admit, this one was hard for me to write because I just had a conversation with my therapist yesterday about some of the problems brought up in this piece. So heads up, this piece is pretty much my own way of processing this, is 100% self indulgent, and about 10,000% pure fluff!

(I chose these pics because he is just too darn cute.)

Word count: ~6.000

Warnings: extreme amounts of fluff, mentions of blood, childhood abuse, mentions of grief (I don’t know if any of these might actually be triggers, but in case they are...)

You lower your gun, spitting on the man’s body, whom you just shot. His blood seeps into the grass.

“Horrible man,” you hiss, glaring at his corpse and holstering your gun. You walk back to the wagon where Arthur and John are going through the boxes. John had gotten a tip about this wagon, owned by a popular goods manufacturer. These wagons are always a hit or miss as they sometimes carry expensive items, such as jewelry, paintings, cash and other times nothing but documents, clothes and worthless household items. It’s always easy to determine how valuable the items are judged by the toughness of the driver and his companion.

For this wagon, the armed companion had been dealt with by John and Arthur, who’d given them quite a mouthful of insults. The driver was a different matter. He’d pretended to be harmless and quickly left the wagon, but when he saw you with the robbers, he went off, stating that no self-respecting criminals would let a girl do any of the hard work. John and Arthur just traded smug smiles and let you handle him. They knew exactly how easily you got fired up. The driver turned out to be too easy of a kill.

You put your hands on the edge of the wagon. “Anything good?” you say. Arthur, who’s closest to you, sighs and straightens up.

“Think this company’s gettin’ wise to low lifes like us. There’s hardly worth anything here.”

“Seriously?” you say, looking at the open chests. “But that companion was a hard ass.”

“Like I said, think the company’s catching on. Way to go, Marston.”

“How was I to know there wouldn’t be nothing here?” John snaps. “My guess was as good as yours on the value of the wagon.”

As Arthur opens his mouth to retort, you interrupt. “How about we get the hell out of here before the law turns up? I doubt them gunshots went unheard.”

The boys agree and they take the few items that are worth stealing, mostly cans of food and bottles of liquor. You unhitch the horses tied to the wagons and let them loose, which John scoffs at and Arthur raises a questioning brow.

When the three of you return to Clemens Point, Arthur walks over to you as you’re grooming your horse.

“Can I ask why you do that?” he says.

“Do what?”

“Well, I notice that every job with a wagon or a stage, you let the horses go. It ain’t like it’s hurtin’ ‘em bein’ tied up.”

You pause. You glue your eyes to your horse’s neck when you finally speak. “If I was a horse and tied up like that and my driver died, I wouldn’t wanna be stuck like that until someone found me. I imagine they’d like being able to move around, graze, find some water.”

This strikes Arthur. He’s seen firsthand how vicious and unforgiving you can be. Hell, there are times you’ve whipped out your gun and shot it before he could even pull his own out of its holster. Sure, he knows you love your horse more than just about anything. He never thought you could care about some horses whom you’ve no connection with.

“Well, I guess when you put it that way,” he says softly. “Maybe I’ll start doin’ it too.”

You put your brush away. “I honestly don’t know if it helps or not, Arthur. I just imagine they appreciate it, in their own ways.”

You walk away from him, heading for Pearson’s fire where he’s set out dinner. Your brusque response to Arthur was nothing new. He’s used to your short answers and even your cold manners. However, watching you unleash those horses has got him thinking: is there a soft side to you?

He’d never have thought that before. He’s seen you shoot men who begged on their knees for you to spare them, seen you rip the flesh from small animals after you’ve shot them without blinking an eye. Hell, you can run with the best in the gang. He remembers that bar fight in Valentine. Before he’d gotten tackled by that big fella Tommy he’d seen you pummeling some guy nearly twice your size, his nose bleeding and his eye purpling under your fist. He’d also seen you take your fair share of hits and knows you can hold yourself up after them too. He recalls a couple years ago, not very long after you joined, how one fella you were fighting with shot you in the leg. Despite the obvious pain, you’d gotten up, walked yourself to your horse and rode back to camp without a single complaint.

He watches you dish up your plate, his mind reeling with the possible complexities of your character. You don’t notice and you wander off to go and eat at the round table. He comes and joins you at the table with his own plate, but doesn’t mind when you don’t start a conversation. Unlike the other women, you’re happy to sit in silence. In fact, you’re much like Charles in that if you don’t want to talk, you’re not going to. Arthur admires you secretly. You’re strong and unmovable, nothing seems to scare you. How many guns have you looked down and you didn’t bat an eye?

When Arthur sees you’re done eating, he stands up and reaches for your tin to take it. His hand accidentally brushes your arm and you quickly snap it away, your hard eyes glaring at his hand.

“Sorry,” he says. When you see he’s just taking your plate, you relax and thank him quietly. He has another thing about you to think on. Now that he thinks about it, he’s never seen you touching anyone, not even in a friendly or reassuring manner. Nor has he seen anyone successfully touch you. One time Sean, after making a joke about how frightening you were, he patted you on the shoulder and you immediately pulled away from him.

When you’d come back to camp with that bullet in your leg, you didn’t make any sound of complaint until Susan and Tilly tried to get the bullet out. Arthur recalls how upset you’d gotten when they tried to touch your leg, and how almost feral you’d become when Karen tried to hold you down so the others could get the bullet out. Arthur knew it had nothing to do with the pain and more to do with that they were touching you. Sure, Arthur’s not used to being touched either, but he’s never known anyone to get upset about being touched.

Arthur settles down in his cot for the night, his mind still turning with thoughts of you. Despite the years you’ve been running with the gang, he finds that he still hardly knows a thing about you. You’d run away from your family, fell in with a smaller gang that then got torn apart by the law, some were arrested, some were killed and you were one of the few to escape. That was when you fell in with this bunch. But Arthur realizes that other than that and that you’re capable with a gun and an expert horse rider, he doesn’t know a thing about you.

*********************************

In the morning, Arthur has a plan on maybe learning about you. He’s always been a curious man and your secretive nature only makes him moreso. He looks around camp but doesn’t find you. Your horse is still tied up, and then he spots you on the pier, a fishing pole in hand. Perfect.

He comes over, making sure you can hear his boots thumping on the old wood. He’s witnessed how dangerous it is for someone to sneak up on you. He takes out his own pole, feigning that he doesn’t have an ulterior motive for being here.

“Any luck?” he asks.

“A bit,” you respond, glancing at him. He could swear you smile a bit.

After a short bout of silence, he rubs his neck nervously, his pole staying still in his other hand. “Hosea mentioned a possible lead in Emerald Ranch. Thought you and I should go take a look.”

“What’s the job?”

Crap, he didn’t think you’d ask this question. Most jobs you didn’t ask the nature on, you just went. “Said somethin’ about a train comin’ through, carryin’ some rich folk. I figure we could board at Emerald Station, and as it’s on its way south, we can… take care of the rest.”

You continue staring out at the lake. “Sounds good. When’s it due?”

“Couple of days. But maybe you and I could head out early. Pearson was sayin’ he’s gettin’ low on meat.” Another lie, but he hopes you won’t catch on. Besides, Pearson says there’s no such thing as too much meat. Not with how many mouths the gang has to feed right now. When you don’t respond, he goes on. “Heartlands are a great place to go huntin’. Lots of game. Plus, the view is beautiful.”

“Sure,” you say, collapsing your pole. “We can go hunting. I could use some time away from this place.”

He hides his smile and then follows you to the horses. You both mount up and head out. It doesn’t take long to reach Emerald Ranch. You both stop there to “scout” the station, though you’re still unaware that he’s lying. He must admit, he’s a little afraid of how you’ll react when you find out there most likely won’t be a train stuffed with rich folk. He knows you won’t kill him, but you’re already so closed off, it might just make you even moreso.

You walk down the steps of the station, walking towards him as he stands near the horses. “Just talked to the clerk,” you say. “Says a train’s coming that’s heading south in about three days. We’ll have plenty of time to hu- oh, hey kitty.”

You’re stopped in your tracks by a cat that’s winding its way around your legs. The scrawny tabby looks up at you and gives a cute “brrr”. Arthur watches as a rare smile stretches your face. You bend down and pet the cat, who just rubs over your legs even more in response. You pick it up and it starts rubbing its chin across your cheek.

“Oh, you’re a sweet one, huh?” you say. Arthur’s never heard you sound so sweet. “Yeah, you’re pretty. Handsome boy like you, you’re a heartbreaker, huh?”

After a moment, you put the cat down and it walks off, tail pointed straight up. You smile as you watch it walk away. When you look back at Arthur, you see him staring.

“Sorry. Just… haven’t been able to cuddle a cat in a long time.” You mount up and walk your horse over to the plains of the Heartlands. Arthur watches you go, even more confused. Why is it that when he’s seen a person touch you, you’ve flinched and acted like there was physical pain to it, but when that cat touched you, you willingly accepted and even encouraged it?

He follows you, his mind reeling even more.

******************************

That night, you and Arthur make a campfire for the night, several pelts drying under the stars. You reach into your satchel and pull out a thick batch of raspberries to add to dinner as Arthur cooks some meat. He can tell you’re relaxed and content. Now is the best time for him to try and learn more about you.

“Can I ask ya somethin’?” he says.

“I suppose,” you say shortly, leaning against a rock.

“How come you ran away from your family? Most of us who had a proper family left that life because they died.”

Your hands shuffle a bit in your lap and you stare off into the fire. It takes you a few moments before you answer. “It was just… easier running away than… than staying, I guess.” He waits for you to continue but you don’t. He wishes you’d give more detail. The tone of your voice says you chose your words carefully.

“You know you can trust me, right?” he says softly.

You look up at him for a brief second and then look back to the fire. It’s true, you trust Arthur more than the others. Something about his presence has always had more of an impression on you than the others. You don’t respond, but your hands continue to fidget. He knows you’re not going to come out and say things, if he wants to find out more about you, he’s going to have to ask.

“Why was it easier to run? Did your pa get busted for runnin’ an illegal business or somethin’?”

You shake your head. “No. No, he ran a legitimate business. He was the sheriff’s deputy, actually. Well respected in our town.”

“And?” Arthur says after you fall silent again. “And what?”

“What was he like?” Arthur asks.

“Why do you care?” you suddenly snap. You’ve never been comfortable with people wanting to know about your life. It’s an alien thing to you, for people to want to know. When you were a kid, people really didn’t like you much. They found you annoying and you tried too much to be like them in order to make friends. In school, the other kids were more than happy to shut you out.

Your home life wasn’t much better. You were the youngest of four children to your family. Your brother was significantly older and he was a bully to you and your two sisters. Since you were the youngest though, he left you alone a decent amount of time. Your sisters were a different matter. They teased you a lot, and they used to chase you around the ranch with sharp objects because they knew it scared you. It also wasn’t unusual for them to hit you out of the blue.

Then there were your parents. Your mother was nice, but she criticized you a lot. She didn’t like that you weren’t as social as other kids your age. When you told her it was because the other kids didn’t like you, her response was that you didn’t try enough. She made comments about how she thought you could make yourself look prettier, how you should wear dresses more often. She also held it over your head that you would be married one day, despite you having no interest in anyone in that way. When you admitted you never experienced romantic attraction towards anyone, she simply brushed it off and said “you just haven’t found the right one yet”.

Your father was the worst of the lot. He never took any interest in you (or any of his kids for that matter). He seemed to hate you the most though. When he’d come home from work angry, he seemed to take it out on you, screaming at you, blaming any irritance he had on you. Perhaps it was because you were the youngest, but a feeling in your gut said that he hated you because he’d wanted another son when your mother was pregnant with you. There were times too he’d become physically violent with you. It didn’t help that whenever you became emotional, he’d get irrationally angry and tell you to go hide in your room, that no one wanted to see your tears.

All those things combined into one shaped you to distrust people. You hated being touched because when you were a kid, the majority of the times you were touched caused physical pain. You also couldn’t relate your emotions to people and you had become detached from them over the years, to the point you found it extremely difficult to cry.

You think back on these things as Arthur stares at you. He’d been taken back when you’d practically shouted at him.

“I… I guess I’m just curious is all,” Arthur responds.

“Well, don’t be,” you hiss, turning back to the fire. Arthur’s curiosity of you is making you extremely uncomfortable. Why should he be? No one else ever was. You sigh, trying to simmer down. “Sorry, Arthur. It’s just… it’s better for everyone if you don’t worry about me.”

Arthur stares at you for a moment. He can tell that whatever is making you so closed off is causing you a lot of pain. He feels an urge to get close to you, to try and comfort you, but he knows that might just makes things worse.

“Sorry,” he says. “Guess that’s just my problem. I worry about most people in camp, except Micah maybe.” He sees you chuckle a bit at this, which is an encouraging sign. “Point is, I am worried about ya, Y/N. I ain’t known anyone like you, and to be honest, I ain’t too sure it’s healthy.”

You look up at him, your eyes wide. You want nothing more than to tell Arthur about everything, but there’s something preventing you from doing so. All you can think is that he’d find you weak and pathetic if he knew. It’s just better and easier to keep it all bottled up.

You sigh heavily. You have a feeling he won’t stop asking about why you ditched your family until you gave him a reason. “I… I ran away because my family proved they weren’t worthy of being my family. I… I remember reading a book and a character said ‘family don’t end in blood’. I don’t know why, that just stuck with me. When I realized what it meant, I knew that my parents, my siblings… they weren’t my family. I’ve never had the luxury of having one.”

You look down at your boots, your chest tightening. You know you’re close to getting choked up and crying, but you can’t do that. You can’t let Arthur see how weak you are.

He finally looks away. “I’m real sorry about that, Y/N. Families are always complicated. And I’m sorry if you felt like I was pressurin’ ya. It’s just… how many years you been with us? I feel like I don’t know the first thing about ya.”

You look up at him again. “Why would you want to, Arthur?”

This question strikes him and he knows exactly why you’re so private. He feels a pang for you as he realizes that no one has ever shown any interest in you, that you’ve always been alone. He knows exactly what he has to do for you to open up.

“Maybe because you’re worth knowin’,” he says. He sees your breath quicken. Are you scared? He goes on, wanting to make you feel comfortable. “Maybe because no one deserves to be alone their entire lives. I don’t know what happened to make you feel that way, and I ain’t askin’ you to tell me. But I just want ya to know that no matter what you think or feel, I’m here. I’ll listen. I ain’t gonna think less of ya.”

He can tell you’re listening hard to everything he says, that he’s got your mind turning.

You swallow, wanting to test his words. “I used to have a cat, you know. When I was a kid. He was a good boy. The best in fact. He… he chose me. We weren’t supposed to keep him, but when my ma saw how much he and I loved each other, she convinced my pa to keep him.” You smile as you recall the things he did, how he made you feel loved and how he made you laugh. You start to get choked up again when you get closer to telling Arthur the end. You don’t notice that he’s carefully scooting closer to you as you talk.

“What happened to your cat?” Arthur asks softly.

“He got old,” you say. “He was thirteen and one day, he jumped up into a tree and hurt his leg. After that, he just went downhill. He started limping a lot, and then he… he had a seizure out of the blue. He only lasted four days after that, and he was half paralyzed when he finally….” You find yourself unable to finish the story. Even after all these years, thinking about him still hurts as badly as it did the day he died. “All I can think is that at least I was there with him when he…”

Arthur’s sitting only a foot from you now. He’s so close he must be able to see the tears in your eyes. You wish he wasn’t. It’s rare for you to have a moment of weakness like this, and it’s been an extremely long time since you had an audience. Pathetic doesn’t even come close to how you feel right now with him being a witness. He must think you’re laughable, weak, pitiful. You hate yourself for it.

He surprises you when he speaks in an incredibly soft voice. “At least you gave him a good life, and you gave him the comfort of not dyin’ alone.”

You sniff, a tear finally cascading down your cheek. You turn your head so he can’t see. He feels sorry for you; he’s never seen you this upset and he can tell you’re fighting extremely hard to keep yourself contained. He forgets for a moment about your touch aversion and he puts an arm behind you, trying to comfort you.

Your response is instant. You immediately flinch and jump out of reach, your eyes wide and hard. He raises his hands up. “Easy, easy. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

You blink several times and then sit back down. “Sorry,” you say. “I just… I don’t like being touched.”

“I know,” he says. “Can I ask why?”

You swallow heavily. “I just don’t.”

He sighs, knowing he won’t get any further. He’s okay with that though, you’ve already come a long way tonight. He starts humming a song Uncle often sings and it relaxes you. After a bit, the two of you crawl into your bedrolls for the night, but Arthur stays awake a long time. He thinks about the things you said. He can tell by your behavior you’re crying for help, but you just don’t know how to ask. He wonders how he can help you out, especially with your touch aversion.

**************************

The next morning, you get up before he does. You had dreams of your cat and you feel ashamed for how you reacted the night before. Thoughts of how miserable you must have seemed to Arthur circle in your head and you can’t handle the guilt. You quickly grab your bow and head off to hunt, determined to take out your emotions in the thrill of stalking a deer or a rabbit.

An hour passes before you return to camp, carrying a buck’s pelt, your satchel laden with rabbit furs and even a badger. You can see Arthur’s up and you sigh, trying to pull yourself together. His behavior from last night confuses you. The questions he was asking, the looks he gave you, how he tried to touch you. You have to wonder why. You can’t come up with an answer, so you resolve yourself to hiding it all again.

As you throw the pelt over your horse’s back and start stuffing the smaller skins into the saddlebag, Arthur puts out the fire.

“I wanted to ask ya somethin’,” he says quietly.

You pause, scared he might ask something similar to the things he said last night. “Okay,” you say in a weak voice.

“What do you feel when someone touches you?” he asks. “And I don’t mean physically. What do you feel?”

You look up at him, your eyes wide again. You don’t know what it is about Arthur, but you find yourself wanting to be honest with him. “I… I don’t know.”

He clasps his hands in front of him and takes a few steps closer to you. “Do you feel afraid? Confused? Repulsed? Angry?”

“No, just… confused and… worried, I guess.” You plant your back to your horse, crossing your arms over yourself. Arthur notices your defensive position.

“Can you think of why you feel those things?” he asks. His voice is so soft you almost don’t hear it.

You shake your head, truly not sure why you feel those things. “I don’t know.”

“Do you… well, do you hate it?”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Do you hate that you feel confused and worried?”

You swallow again and lick your lips. “Yes,” you finally say. “I… I read somewhere that we’re wired to enjoy touch, but I just… I can’t.”

He stands still for a moment. “Can I try somethin’?” he asks. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya, and if it’s too much, we don’t have to go further.”

“What is it?” you ask. Your heart’s racing in your chest and you feel the impulse to run. Arthur’s too close, he’s been staring at you too long.

“Let me see your hand,” he says. He’s determined to voice every step he plans on taking, that way you don’t have to be afraid. When you don’t move, he thinks maybe you’ll deny him. Finally though, you unclench your hand from your shirt and hold it out for him. He can see you’re shaking.

“I promise, I ain’t gonna hurt ya, and I ain’t gonna think you’re pathetic. Y/N, I just wanna help ya.” He slowly raises his hands and clasps them around yours. His hands are so warm, almost hot, and they’re rough from calluses. He can tell you’re resisting the desire to whip yours out of reach. He keeps his hands still around yours for a moment, and then one finger brushes the top of your finger, leaving a burning trail in its wake. Arthur keeps his eyes on your hands, allowing you to process this.

After a few moments of him just gently tracing your hand, he speaks up. “Tell me what you feel. Not physically, what do you feel?”

He can see you’ve settled down, your eyes are softer, your breathing lighter, but you’ve barely blinked since he started this.

“I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “I feel.... I don’t know.” And it’s true. You don’t know what you feel. You’ve no idea that right now, your brain is releasing oxytocins, making you feel good, but they’re clashing with your adrenaline. It makes for a very odd combination.

“Does it feel good?” he asks.

You give him a tense nod and he smiles. “Yeah, I know it does. Touch doesn’t have to mean pain. It’s okay to be touched, and it’s okay to want touch.”

He lets go of your hand and takes a step back. He decides the best thing to do is to leave you alone so you can process it all; he could tell from the look on your face you need time to think about all this.

When his back’s to you, you flex your hand. It feels much colder without his around it anymore and your skin tingles from where he rubbed your skin. You feel confused again, but for different reasons than before. You used to feel confused because you couldn’t understand why someone would want to touch you, but now you’re confused because it did feel good. It felt comforting, reassuring. Even more confusing is that you want him to do it again.

Arthur looks back and sees you haven’t moved an inch. You’re still looking at your hand like you’ve never seen it before. He chuckles softly and mounts his horse. Despite that it’s obvious he’s caused you to have a miniature identity crisis, he finds your signs encouraging. He’ll give you a break, and then maybe later, he’ll try going further.

It’s only when he’s gone off hunting that you come back to yourself. However, the memory of him just touching your hand causes distraction. You’re not as focused as usual, you miss a lot more often when you manage to find an animal to stalk. At one point, you sit down and try rubbing your own hand, trying to recreate what he did, but it doesn’t work of course. You end up sitting a long time, feeling perplexed about the whole thing.

Arthur meanwhile finds it sad. He wonders if you’ve ever really felt someone touch you in a positive way. He’s no doubt that your family hurt you and not just physically. The fact that you struggled and even fought with yourself last night to control your emotions screams that somewhere in your life, you were taught to completely bury yourself as a form of protection. Arthur is a private man, he knows how hard it is to open up sometimes. But there are still people he knows he can talk to about his own feelings. John, Hosea, Mary-Beth, he knows he can talk to them. But you don’t seem to be able to do it with anyone. He sighs, knowing there’s a very long road ahead with you, but he’s willing to go down it. You deserve to be helped.

*********************************

That night, when camp is set up again, Arthur sits close to you. He finds it encouraging when you let him. He notices you keep positioning your hand in such a way that if he wanted to take it, he could. Not only that, you keep rubbing it. He definitely gave you a lot to think about.

“So how you feelin’?” he asks after you’ve both eaten.

You look over at him. Your eyes say you’re still a little lost. “I’m alright.”

He smiles and pats your shoulder, only this time, you don’t flinch. “Good. Maybe you can make some progress.”

He gets up and walks over to his horse, reaching into the saddlebag and pulling out a bottle of rum. He turns around and almost runs into you.

“What are ya doin’?” he asks. It’s obvious you followed him.

“I don’t know,” you say quietly. You want to ask him to touch you again, but maybe go further. However, there’s some kind of block that prevents you from doing so. He smiles.

“You want me to help you again like I did this morning?” he asks.

Your eyes widen even more. He can see how tiny your pupils are, despite the darkness. You’re nervous again, but he sees your head tip in the tiniest nod. He sets down the bottle slowly.

“Okay, but I’m gonna go a bit further this time. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

“I know,” you say.

Spurred on by this, he holds his arms out a little and he takes small, slow steps closer to you. Slowly, he wraps them around you, enveloping you in a hug. You tense up until you hear his voice.

“It’s okay. Not gonna hurt ya, not gonna think badly of ya. Don’t think about what I think. Think about how this feels, okay?”

He can see how tense your jaw is, you’re clenching your shoulders and your breathing in short, quick bursts. He holds you gently, but he notices you’re not reacting. He lets you go, thinking maybe he moved to this point too quickly.

“Ah, I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says. “Probably frightened ya.”

“What…” you start in such a quiet voice he almost doesn’t hear. “What do I do? When you do that.”

It’s his turn to be confused and then it hits him. You don’t know how to reciprocate touch.

“It’s easy,” he says. He slowly grabs your hands and stretches your arms in front of you, folding them around his waist. “Just do this, then I put my hands here.” He places his hands on your back. “You can lay your head on me if you want,” he says when he notices how stiffly you’re holding your neck, staring up past his shoulder.

“You’re not… you’re not gonna be upset?” you ask quietly.

He knows if he voices how shocked he is by this question you’re going to retreat, so he holds it in. “No, Y/N. I ain’t. You just do whatever feels good, okay?”

You stand stiff in his arms for a few seconds, your hands clenched to the back of his shirt. Then finally, you lower your head and press your cheek to his chest. You can hear his heart beating, slow and steady, opposite of yours. His hand rubs slowly up your back, flooding you with a soothing sensation. You feel yourself suddenly relaxing in his arms, your stomach and chest loosen up, you slowly let your shoulders down and you press your face into his chest. As you relax, you’re able to wrap your arms further around him. His body’s firm and he’s warm, God he is warm. He shifts a bit and then you feel his cheek press down on your head.

A swarm of emotions suddenly slams into your chest. You’ve never felt like this before, so comfortable and protected. You can’t remember the last time you felt this safe. You suddenly realize how lonely you’ve been all these years, and how much you’ve secretly craved something like this. Your chest tightens again and before you can stop yourself, you’re suddenly crying into Arthur’s shirt. You wait for him to pull away, to be disgusted by you, but he doesn’t. His arms tighten further around you, one hand comes up and cradles your head to his chest.

Perhaps you imagine it while what feels like every pent up emotion escapes from your body, but you swear you feel Arthur’s lips on your forehead as you sob. Maybe you just wish you felt him do that, it’s not entirely clear if it really happened.

When you’ve finally lost the ability to cry anymore (your body just can’t seem to produce another tear), you pull away slightly to see the mess you’ve made on Arthur’s shirt.

“I’m sorry,” you say, wiping your eyes dry.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says gently, his arms still around you. He suddenly smiles. “I never knew someone so tough could be so-”

“Pathetic?” you say.

He tilts his head to the side a bit. “Passionate. You got a lot of feelin’s swirling around in ya, I bet ya didn’t even know about some of ‘em.”

You blush and look down at his shirt again.

“Point is,” he continues, “it’s okay to feel them, to let yourself feel. It ain’t healthy and it ain’t weak to let yourself be vulnerable once in a while. You’ll find that you’re able to stand stronger when ya do.”

Your hands clench his shirt a bit. This isn’t right. Arthur shouldn’t be comforting you, the two of you should be settling down to sleep right now.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you say, your voice squeaking.

He lets out a long sigh. “Because you deserve it, Y/N. Because it ain’t fair to you for everyone to expect you to always be strong and stoic. You deserve to be allowed to be vulnerable. I don’t know who taught you that showing it when you’re upset is a bad thing, but it ain’t.”

One of his hands comes up and brushes your cheek, wiping it dry. You feel yourself trusting him and get a sudden desire to spill all your secrets to this man. You can’t look away from his lips either. How strange it is that Arthur Morgan, the toughest man you’ve ever met, with a temper so easily flared, is teaching you the importance of being weak every once in a while?

You press your face back into his chest, your forehead settling against his neck. His arms tighten around you again, his right hand settled between your shoulder blades. You relax even more, to the point you acknowledge his scent. Leather, tobacco leaves, gunpowder and sage. God, he smells good.

You don’t know how long you stay in his arms, but you’re so comfortable and feel so safe you feel your eyes drooping. He must be able to tell too, because he pats your shoulder.

“Let’s get some sleep, hmm? I know you’re exhausted.”

You nod. You surprise even yourself when you move your bedroll next to his, but then feel worried that you might be encroaching on his personal space too much. You look up at him and he smiles.

“You can sleep next to me if ya want. I don’t mind.”

For the first time, you smile back at him. When he’s settled in his roll, lying on his back, you curl up against him, your head settling on his chest. Arthur brushes your hair, his fingers trailing down your back. His other hand settles over yours, which rests on his stomach.

After a while, you look up at him. “Arthur?”

“Hmm?” His eyes find yours.

“Thank you. I know I… I still have a long road to recovery, but thank you. I wouldn’t have known how much help I needed unless you showed me.”

He smiles and then his lips press against your forehead. “You’re welcome, darlin’.”

You settle down back onto him, his heat seeping up into you. When you were young, you imagined doing this with a man you love, but never once did you think it could feel this good. Then it hits you. You love Arthur. There’s no denying it. You wouldn’t have let him even hold your hand if you didn’t. The thought both scares and intrigues you, but you have a prodding in your gut that says he must feel something too. As you lie in his arms, you wonder where he might take you tomorrow.

#rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #awkward asks #self-therapy piece

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deadlybeautydbz · 5 years

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Last First Date

Neeeeew story time my friends! I had originally planned to have this finished for Valentines Day, but that didn't happen. It’s here now though, so I hope you enjoy!

As always, likes, reblogs and comments are apricated, as are reviews and followes over on FFN when this is uploaded there. If you would like to suggest a prompt for me or chat about anything K18, DBZ or anything else, my ask box is always open.

I hope you like this one, I really enjoyed writing it.

Story under the cut.

Last First Date

The thing with 18 was, that it was complicated. Or maybe it wasn’t and Krillin was just doing the same stupid thing he always did, where he made his life way more difficult that it needed to be.

It wasn’t that he was completely inept when it came to ladies. He’d had girlfriends in the past, and more recently even a couple of short summer flings. And growing up around Bulma and Launch – especially when she was a blonde – had taught Krillin how to recognise a sign when he saw one.

And that was the thing. He was sure there were signs. 18 did indeed seem interested. Their banter was playful and free flowing, and all too often seemed to tip over into flirtatious territory. They were comfortable around each other and 18 would often seek Krillin out while he was doing chores around the island, keeping him company while he worked on whatever mundane task he was doing to keep their tiny pink home in tip-top shape.

Then there was the time that she had fallen asleep against him while they watched some awful movie together on the couch one night. From the second her head hit his shoulder, Krillin couldn’t have recounted a single thing that happened on the screen. All he was focused on was the pressure of 18’s head resting on his shoulder and the warmth of her breath against his bicep. Even when his arm started to tingle and eventually went totally numb, he dared not move and risk waking his sleeping beauty from her slumber. And when she eventually did wake that night, there had not been an ounce of awkwardness between them over the intimate moment they had just shared. 18’s eyes had simply fluttered open, she’d asked what she’d missed in the movie, and she’d continued to watch, never moving from her resting place against Krillin.

Oh how he’d wanted to pull one of those dorky teenage fake-yawns that night, and put his arm around her. It was all he’d thought about for the rest of the movie, and every second of every day for the next week, but he’d never worked up the courage and eventually 18 had taken herself to bed.

The point was though, given what he knew, he didn’t think his chances with 18 were totally zero.

But what if he was wrong?

Krillin liked 18. Like, he reeeeally liked her. Like, if it was a choice between having her in his life as a friend, or confess his feelings and risk scaring her off for good, he would pick friendship, because at least that way he got to see her every day.

Unless of course, she decided to move off the island because she thought there was nothing for her here. To the city or something. And she made friends with people who weren’t short, bald, losers. And one of her new tall, handsome model friends asked her out. And she got married and had babies and never thought of Krillin again. He’d get to see her everyday unless all of that happened.

Fuck.

If that happened, if 18 left – and Krillin knew that eventually she would if nothing changed, and he’d never mustered up the courage to tell her the truth, he’d hate himself forever.

“Hey, stranger.” A voice, 18’s voice, dragged Krillin from his melancholy thoughts. “Whatcha doing?”

“Oh, nothing,” Krillin responded.

“Really?” 18 seemed sceptical. She motioned toward the paintbrush that Krillin was holding in his hand, and the little puddle of paint that was dripping off it and onto the roof where he was standing. “Looks to me like you’re making a mess.”

“Huh? Oh shit,” Krillin followed 18’s eyes down to the roof and he winced. Prior to getting so distracted by his thoughts, Krillin had been repainting the window shutters on the upstairs rooms of Kame House. Roshi was very proud of his little island home and took pride in keeping it looking ship-shape. He would not be happy if he saw this. Quickly, Krillin whipped off his shirt and started trying to wipe up the blob of paint. But it was no use, it was about five hundred thousand degrees out under the hot midday sun, and even hotter than that up on the roof, and the paint had already started to set. All Krillin did was manage to smear the sticky, half dry paint across the red tiles, making the situation even worse. “Shit,” he muttered again.

“Hmmm.” Krillin noticed a certain tone in 18’s voice and looked up from smudging paint everywhere to eyeball her. 18’s hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of her shorts and there was a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Are you enjoying this?” He asked. “Roshi will kick my ass over this you know? And don’t think he won’t notice because he’s a thousand years old. He notices everything!”

“No, I’m not enjoying this.” 18 replied, and shrugged her shoulders. She was totally enjoying this. She loved when Krillin got all riled up. He was cute when he got flustered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah right. Just help me clean this up, would you?”

“Are you trying to get me to take my shirt off? That’s very forward of you, Krillin.”

“What?! No!” A blush raced up Krillin’s cheeks. “You know that’s not what I meant! Under the sink in the laundry there’s a bottle of turpentine and some old rags. Can you please get them for me?”

“Okie dokey” 18 nodded and climbed leisurely back through the window she had appeared from, leaving Krillin to deal with the rapidly worsening situation. “Here you go,” she said when she returned a minute later, holding the requisite cleaning supplies, and tossed them to Krillin.

“Thanks, 18.” He quickly doused the rag in the strong chemicals and prayed as he wiped it over the paint that it would work. Success! The paint lifted and Krillin let out a sigh of relief. “Hallelujah,” he said, and readjusted himself so he could sit down on the roof. “Thanks for your help, 18. I owe you one.”

18 sat herself down beside Krillin and shrugged her shoulders. “Hardly.” she scoffed. This was a man who had literally saved her life, not once, but three times, without expecting anything in return. He’d stomped on that godforsaken remote control on what was the worst day of her entire life, he’d cared for her after she’d been inexplicably regurgitated by a monster, and then he’d gone and tried to use a magical dragon wish to return her to her human form, without ever expecting to see her again. The least she could do in return was run down a flight of stairs for him. In fact. “Let me cook dinner for you tonight.” the words had blurted out of 18’s mouth before she’d really even considered them. She didn’t know the first thing about cooking. “Unless you have other plans, of course.”

“Other plans?” Krillin laughed. “Have you ever known me to have other plans?” He wasn’t sure where 18’s offer had sprung from, but he would have cancelled dinner with the Queen of England if an opportunity to spend time with 18 presented itself instead. “Dinner sounds perfect.”

---

Several hours later and 18 was regretting her stupid ideas and big mouth. Cooking?! She didn’t know the first thing about cooking. Surprisingly, the main chef in this small, dysfunctional home, was Oolong – it was just about the only thing the perverted little pig was good for. He would cook for himself and Roshi each day and usually leave enough extra for Krillin and 18 to help themselves too when they were feeling hungry. His dishes were simple but delicious and today, after scouring through every piece of information in her databases, and coming up with absolutely nothing about cooking – thanks Gero – 18 had to swallow her pride and take a leaf out of Oolongs book. He usually cooked a modest combination of vegetables or soup with rice, and so 18 was attempting the same.

Vegetables and rice. How hard could that possibly be?

Surprisingly hard, it turned out. 18 almost threw a spoon at Krillin’s face when he popped his head into the kitchen to see how things were progressing.

“Everything’s fine, Krillin! What, do you think I can’t cook or something?!” she demanded, while whipping around the kitchen in a disorganised frenzy.

“No, no, that’s not it at all!” Krillin threw his hands up to cover his head from any more projectiles that 18 might hurl his way in her frustration. He noticed the piles and piles of dirty pots and pans that were stacking up by the sink and what looked like smoke billowing out from the oven, but very wisely chose to keep his mouth closed on what was clearly a sensitive subject. “I just came to see if you’d like me to set the table or if you’d prefer to eat on the beach?”

“Beach!” she snapped back, although instantly regretted her sharp tongue. “Krillin, stop!” she called, noting that Krillin had, rather wisely, already started to retreat from the tense air of the kitchen – not that she could blame him. Even she knew she was being feral. He turned back around, and the kind look in his eyes took just enough of the edge off of 18’s frustration for her to try again. “The beach would be nicer, I think.” She said. “Roshi is always hanging around in the lounge watching those disgusting exercise programs.”

Krillin beamed a bright and radiant smile. “Beach it is,” he winked and pointed a couple of dorky double finger-guns in 18’s direction. “I’ll be outside waiting whenever you’re ready. Please don’t rush though.”

It was a little over half an hour later when 18 trotted down onto the sand holding two bowls, which represented her hours of hard work and determination. She was most certainly content to let Oolong keep the title of Cooking Champion of Kame House, that was for sure, but for now, she was proud of what she had achieved.

“What’s this?” 18 asked, as she rounded the corner of the house, to where she knew Krillin would be waiting for her. This side of the beach was where they always sat because a) it was away from the prying eyes of certain stickybeaks in the living room, and b) it had the best view of the magical sunsets that the island was treated to each night.

Krillin, upon hearing 18’s voice jumped up from the sand and turned to face her. “Oh, this” he replied casually to the beautiful spread he had set up for them. A picnic blanket, cushions, a bottle of wine, “This is nothing. You went to so much effort to cook us a meal, I thought the least I could do was provide somewhere nice to eat it.”

“It’s lovely,” 18 handed Krillin his dinner and they both sat down on the blanket. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you!” Krillin poured two glasses of wine and handed one to 18. He was acutely aware of the fact that 18 had had the entire picnic blanket on which to sit, and yet she had chosen to sit right next to him. So close in fact that their knees were touching. ‘Focus, Krillin’ the ex-monk had to remind himself. “Cheers.” He held up his wine glass and clinked it against 18’s, before they both sipped from their glasses.

“So, how is it?” 18 couldn’t even wait for Krillin to swallow his first mouthful of food before she was seeking his approval. She had worked so hard on this meal, and she wanted Krillin to enjoy it. “I know it’s not much, but do you think I have potential?”

Oh, Krillin thought that 18 had potential alright.

“Absolutely,” he shovelled another forkful into his mouth, making sure to chew thoughtfully this time and savour the flavours before swallowing. “18, this is delicious. Where did you get the recipe?”

“Recipe? It’s rice and vegetables Krillin, don’t get to ahead of yourself here.”

“Honestly though, it’s delicious. What type of sauce did you use? I’m very impressed! I thought Oolong was the only one in this house with any cooking skills!”

“Well, I’m full of surprises.”

“I bet you are.” Maybe it was the wine going immediately to Krillin’s head, in the annoying way that wine always did for him, or maybe it was the romantic backdrop of the slowly setting sun – he wasn’t sure, but that last sentence had come out a lot more sensually that Krillin had intended and a blush raced straight up his cheeks. “Sorry, that uh… I didn’t mean that to sound so well… so creepy!” he laughed bashfully and he briefly considered getting up and drowning himself in the ocean.

Quickly, in a last ditch effort to prevent anymore unfiltered nonsense spewing from his lips, he stuffed his mouth full of food and committed to chewing each piece 100 times.

Beside him, 18 shook her head. “You’re an idiot.”

For a while, there was a content silence as the pair sat and ate their food, sipped their wine and watched the sky change from bright blue, through rich yellows and oranges to a deep, dusty pink as the sun sank towards the horizon.

18 remembered vividly the first Kame Island sunset that she had been witness to. A view like that; the most magnificent melting together of colours that she had ever seen, it had taken her breath away. 18 had been sure that it had been a once-in-a-lifetime display. There was no way something so captivating could ever be repeated. But there it was again the following night, igniting the sky with its glory, and again the night after that, and that was when 18 had begun to realise that there was something special about this place.

And it wasn’t just the glorious sunsets that made it so, or the fact that this house seemed to somehow magically exist in the middle of an ocean surround by nothing and yet still had power and running water. No it wasn’t any of that at all. It was the people who lived here. From the moment that Krillin had invited her, and 18 had stepped foot on the islands warm white sand, she had felt welcome.

Roshi and Oolong – disgusting perverted tendencies aside – had been nothing but hospitable when Krillin had humbly informed them that 18 would be making use of the spare bedroom for the time being. There had simply been nodding of heads and they turned back to the TV. No one here cared about her murky past, or that she was a capable of becoming a deadly killing machine if the mood struck her. It was nothing they hadn’t encountered before. 18 quickly learned that over the years, Kame House had been somewhat of a safe haven for the Z warriors, many of whom had started out an enemies, and its door were always open to those who needed it.

And then there was Krillin. He really was something else. He had a heart that was kinder than anything 18 had ever known. She felt at ease around him in a way she had never felt around anyone, not even her own brother. He had invited her to stay with them on the island without any expectations and with no strings attached. It was simply an offer of a warm bed and a roof over her head for as long as she needed. She never felt any pressure here to be anything more than she was.

It had been almost six months now, since her arrival, and 18 was noticing a change in herself. She wasn’t the cold hearted monster she had come here believing that she was. She had just been scared, confused and in full-blown self-preservation mode when she arrived. “Totally normal,” Krillin had said one day, when she’d mentioned her changing emotions. “So many of us, me included, came here as angry little shits, hell bent on making life difficult for everyone around us, and then something happened. This place has a way of bringing out peoples true selves. Like it knows who you were always meant to be.” They were words that 18 would never forget.

And as far as she was able to tell, it was true. Sitting here now with Krillin, sipping on her wine, listening to the waves gently breaking against the shore, she felt a world away from the person she had been six months ago. She felt like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, anew, and awash with opportunities and possibilities. For the first time, 18 was beginning to feel like her life was truly hers to take control of.

The sun had set now, and they world seemed to exist inside a glorious twilight bubble. 18 buried her bare toes into still warm sand and lay back so that she could rest on her elbows and stare up at the sky. “This is nice,” she said, breaking the silence.

“Mmm,” Krillin agreed absentmindedly. He was deep in his own mind too, having picked up his train of thought from earlier in the day. It had dawned on him that this was his moment. The moment. Maybe the only moment he would get, to let 18 know how he felt. He needed to clear the air, and his conscious, once and for all, no matter the consequences. He had to know that he had at least tried. “Do you like it here? On the island?” he asked.

“Of course.” 18 either didn’t hear, or was choosing to ignore the awkwardness in Krillin’s voice.

“And are you happy?”

This time, 18 sensed that there might be more to this than just a casual conversation. She sat up and shuffled herself around on the picnic blanket so that she could better face her companion. “I am happy. Krillin, what’s this about? Is this because I got frustrated at you in the kitchen ea-”

“No, no,” Krillin cut 18 off mid-sentence. “That’s ancient history. It’s just important to me, y’know. That you’re happy here.”

“I am. I’m content here.”

“Good. Because it’s important to me that you are. Happy, I mean.”

“You just said that. Krillin, are you alright?” 18 could see, even in the muted light of nightfall that Krillin was flustered. His cheeks were pink and his hands trembled. A closer, more technical inspection of his vital signs revealed that his pupils were dilated and his heart was racing.

“Because you know, if you’re not happy here, I hope that you wouldn’t feel obligated to stay.” Krillin continued on, totally ignoring 18’s growing concern.

“I don’t feel obligated to-” something dawned on 18. “Krillin. Are you asking me to leave the island?”

“NO!” Krillin snapped back with so much intensity that 18 jumped. “No, I’m most definitely not doing that.”

“Then what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m…” Krillin faltered. What was he doing exactly? “I’m making a mess of this is what I’m doing. I’m sorry 18.” Krillin knew there was no going back now, 18 wouldn’t let him just walk away from this train wreck of a conversation, so he was going to have to go all in. Which was going to require more wine. He topped up his glass and drained it in one smooth movement, and hoped that the liquid courage would give him the boost he needed to get this over the line. “Let me start again.”

“I think that would be a good idea.”

“Okay.” Before he continued, Krillin closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to steady himself. “I don’t want you to leave 18, I’m sorry if it came across like that. What I actually want is the total opposite. What I want is for you to stay for a very, very long time. Maybe even for ever if you’d like.”

“Forever?” 18 asked, not exactly following along with this conversation.

“I like you, 18.” Krillin finally blurted it out, and that was the cue for the floodgates to open. “A lot. I like you a lot and I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time. And I dunno, but I think maybe you like me to and maybe we could have something here. And I hope I’m not wrong, because the last thing I want in the entire world is to make our friendship weird because it means so much to me, just having you in my life at all. But I was worried that if I didn’t tell you and there was even a chance that you might feel the same, that you might think I wasn’t interested in pursuing this and then you would leave and I couldn’t let that happen so I just had to-”

“Krillin. Stop.” 18 placed her hand on Krillin’s forearm and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “You’re rambling. Stop.” Her hand travelled down Krillin’s arm until it found his, and she let her fingers intertwine with his – and chose to ignore for now how clammy Krillin’s palms were. “You can relax okay. I like you to.”

“Really?”

A long sigh came from 18’s lips before she replied, and when Krillin finally worked up the courage to look at her, he could see that she was smiling. There was something about that small upward tick of her lips that soothed Krillin. It was clear that 18 wasn’t feeling uncomfortable about this strange turn of events. “Really.” She eventually said, and Krillin could hear just a hint of bashfulness in her voice. “So what happens now?”

“Now?” Krillin’s mind drew a blank. Honestly he hadn’t thought any further ahead than this exact moment. “You could let me take you on a date?”

18’s raised a cheeky eyebrow. “A date?” she mused. “Alright. A date. How does tomorrow sound?”

“Tomorrow?!” Krillin swallowed, “Are you sure that’s not too soon? I don’t want to rush this.”

18, it seemed, was much more pragmatic about the situation, and was keen to tackle it head on, and right away. “We’ve both agreed we’d like to pursue this. What’s the point in waiting?”

This was panning out better than Krillin could have ever hoped for, but he was still nervous. There was nothing in his life he had ever wanted to work out more than this, and he was weary of getting ahead of himself. It wasn’t like he was about to get down on one knee and propose, hell, he wasn’t even asking 18 to be his girlfriend right now. All he wanted was this one date, and he wanted it to be perfect. “Alright. Tomorrow then. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

The sound of 18 laughing filled the air, and in that moment, Krillin could have sworn he’d died and gone to heaven. Here he was, sitting out under the stars, holding hands with the woman whom he was pretty certain he was going to spend the rest of his life falling in love with and it couldn’t have been any more perfect if he’d tried. The emotional load that had been lifted from his shoulders was intense, and Krillin almost felt like he was going to cry – there was every chance that could have been the wine though. He never wanted this moment to end.

Desperately, Krillin was trying to think of the perfect thing to say next. Should he recite a poem? Sing a song? Do an interpretive dance? No, that last one was definitely a solid no. So caught up in his own head, as he so often was, Krillin failed to notice that beside him, 18 seeming to have her similar internal debate on how best to progress from here.

He blinked when he heard her say, “Ah, screw it.” There was barely a second to register the words before a firm hand yanked his head around and a pair of soft lips were pressed against his own. The kiss only lasted for a second or two and was over before Krillin had even realised that it began, but it was enough for the memory to be burned into his brain for the rest of his life.

18 had kissed him!

By the time he was able to process words and thoughts again, 18 was standing up and brushing sand from her legs. She looked down at him and smiled coyly. “See you tomorrow,” was all she said before disappearing up the beach and into the house, leaving Krillin to sit stunned in the sand.

See you tomorrow indeed. Krillin needed to get busy, it was time for him to plan his last first date.

Hope you liked it!! Please let me know, I love to hear your thoughts, feedback and what you’d like to see from me in the future!

#krillin #android eighteen #kururin #juuhachigou #cyborg 18 #otp #Dragonball z #dbz #Dragonball super #dbs #dragonball #fanfiction #fanfic #dbz fanfic #k18 #writing #deadlybeautyfanfiction

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vaguely-concerned · 7 years

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RANDOM OVERWATCH/MCHANZO HEADCANONS

My headcanons are usually global, so to say, so once established they mainly hold true for anything I write in that fandom until canon actively overwrites it (and sometimes even after that if I think the real answer is dumb ha ha). Most of what I’ve already done is the ‘Scoundrels and Thieves’ AU series.

- Shimadamom died during the omnic crisis, since I feel like she would come up a lot more if she was actually around when her sons literally tried to murder each other. (It would also explain why Hanzo shoots the omnic in ‘Dragons’ even as he goes to some lengths to only incapacitate the other guards and why he thinks Numbani sucks, as well as adding a layer of ouch to Genji’s... robo-dysphoria.) Hanzo remembers her better than Genji does, since Genji would have been pretty young at that point.

- Hanzo is a dog person (oh hello there entire alternate wardrobe made up of wolf imagery) and Jesse is a cat person. (Both because of That Scene in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly with the kitten and the hat (!!!!!) and because really he himself is kind of a very affable yet still half-feral tomcat kind of a man)

- In ‘Scoundrels and Thieves’, at least, Jesse started out smoking cigarettes and graduated to cigars as he got older/had more cash, for that Authentic Man With No Name Look. He still goes for cigarettes sometimes when he’s on edge because he finds the little rituals of rolling them comforting. (Hanzo also has a very private Pavlovian reaction to the smell of a certain brand Jesse smoked around the time they started sleeping together. I’ll let you fill in the embarrassing details in your own time.)

- Hanzo usually cuts his own hair - just chops a bit off with a knife or something when it gets too annoying. The first time it was the dramatic symbolic gesture of dishonor ™, but these days it’s just because he can’t be bothered with anything fancier, in the same vein as ‘why even put my shirt on all the way btw did I mention I KILLED MY BROTHER’. (Yes, I know it’s a real traditional archery technique thing, just… let me have this.) Probably also why he wears it up most of the time so you can’t really tell it’s a bit of a catastrophe.

- Jesse taught himself how to play the guitar as a kid and has a wonderful voice for everyday life - it doesn’t belong on a stage but it is perfect for crooning in the background while making dinner or doing chores, stuff like that.

- Jesse is quite ticklish, a fact Hanzo ‘Innate Talent for Strategy and Tactics’ Shimada uses without compunctions when it suits his goals. (His goals usually being a Jesse pink-faced and loose-limbed with laughter)

- Hanzo looks A LOT like his dad but takes after his mum personality-wise - more cynical and closed off except for with their loved ones - while Genji looks more like their mum.

- Jesse’s parents died during the war, quite early on. (tbh this is mostly b/c it breaks my heart to imagine his family would be okay with him having become a notorious killer by the age of seventeen. Like. Bro. I’d rather have someone love and protect him unflinchingly and then having no choice in leaving him. Though if the Deadlock gang had some element of a family business that would mean ANOTHER parallel between them, so if that’s how canon eventually lands I can work with that too ha ha)

- Do you ever think about Jesse at fourteen, coming back from a fight victorious but with new constellations of scars and bruises, curling up somewhere no one’ll find him to watch that scene in For A Fistful of Dollars where the man with no name gets beat up to hell and back and still gets out of it through sheer tenacity and being a tricksy fuck

Because I think about that every day and that’s why I’m constantly on the verge of tears

Anyway not so much a headcanon there as a window into the dark aching corners of my soul let’s carry on

- Jesse is demisexual, Hanzo is gay.

- At first I had settled for Hanzo being bi (what better orientation for a ninja than one that makes you invisible, after all? Who’s bitter you’re bitter) but then there were the White Day lines between Hanzo and Genji and now I’m 100% convinced that he’s gay, if only because it’s so much funnier to me. Let me show my work a bit here:

So as far as I understand, on Valentine’s day in Japan it’s women who give the ~*special men*~ in their life chocolates/gifts. (There’s also an uh ‘tier’ of chocolate that’s completely platonic and is given to friends and coworkers, but from the tone of Genji’s voice I doubt that’s what he’s talking about lol) White day is a month later, and it’s when the men reciprocate the gifts they were given. So essentially what Genji is doing with that line is going “SO… any special GIRLS in your life bro?? *I know you can’t see my face through the visor but you can feel the wink wink nudge nudge through the air*” and Hanzo’s answer is a sort of long-suffering reference to young Genji’s playboy lifestyle as well as a callback to a previous voice line between them, not a slight aimed at any cocoa beans.

Now I like to imagine bb!Genji as a bit of a hilarious dick - like basically sweet and well-meaning, but also hugely spoiled, self-absorbed and easily distracted. It would lend Hanzo’s annoyance so many levels of hilarity if his little brother just… hadn’t realized that the reason he wasn’t dating girls wasn’t just a) he’s been riding a wave of shame, guilt, grief, depression & light alcoholism these last ten years and it’s hard to date with a tight schedule like that, b) he is kind of weird and socially awkward at the best of times, c) his eventual anachronistic weirdo soulmate was running around on the other side of the world doing crazy shit for Overwatch

The reason he’s never dated any girls is that he’s FUCKING GAY

Like it was not as though it was secret, Genji, all you’d have to do was fucking pay attention or hey, ask at any point in the last closing-in-on-forty-years and it would have been EASILY AVAILABLE INFORMATION

FATHER KNEW AND HE NEVER NEEDED TO ASK,GENJI

Anyway I thrive on Hanzo Shimada’s annoyance and consternation because he takes everything so damn seriously and I love him very much

(Obviously in the ‘Scoundrels and Thieves’ ‘verse Genji does know. He’s not THAT massively oblivious.)

- Jesse is mostly ambidextrous but prefers to shoot with his right hand. I think there was some kerfuffle about his holster being put on both sides in official art that prompted this one? I’m not above going ‘*shrug* why have continuity errors when you can have headcanon’

- Shimadadad, intent on his sons not turning into Useless Rich Ninja Kids, made sure they were taught some essential life skills, like cooking and laundry and shit - meaning Hanzo knows how to make a handful of dishes to, like, double Michelin Star levels. He doesn’t actually enjoy it very much, though, so mostly he won’t. Meanwhile Jesse has no outside training whatsoever beyond at one point being shown how to turn on a microwave but figured things out on his own and has pretty good instincts. Hanzo prefers Jesse’s cooking and will happily just do chopping duty (which he’s still proficient at to the point that Jesse’s not sure whether to be unsettled or turned on).

- Jesse learned about horses from an older lady who semi-adopted him after finding him feverish and bleeding in her back garden when he was in his early teens. He stayed on her ranch for a couple of years and then left because he was worried some of the people he’d pissed off would be able to track him down there and burn it all down.

- Hanzo doesn’t like - or really get - giving and receiving gifts as a way to express affection. I’m pretty sure his line of association would go something like gifts ----> money ------> business -----> bribe -----> obligation -------> duty -------> faMILY OH GOD EVERYTHING JUST GOT REAL MESSED UP AND COMPLICATED IN MY HEAD I NEED A DRINK

- Another one where I’ll accept either outcome: I can’t decide from the in-game dialogue if Genji and McCree’s relationship is more bro-like ribbing or if they’re actually a little uh. Adversarial. (“You’re not quicker than a bullet”: a Schröedinger’s playful banter/death threat lol) If they’re mostly friendly that’s great! They can form a harmonious ‘Save Hanzo From Himself’ support group. If they’re more antagonistic? Pure. Fucking. Hilarity. Can you imagine Genji being SO FUCKING MAD because as it turns out the one thing in this world that has ever made his sadsack brother happy is that cocky jingle-jangle bizarro Western cosplay jackass. Like naturally I would prefer it if they were bros but I never turn down comedic potential like that.

- Jesse’s greatest fear has to do with being seen and with leaving. He’s very clearly set up a theatrical, elaborate part of his identity between himself and the world - I don’t think any psychologically unscarred person goes ‘well I’ll just wrap myself in this loner/vigilante archetype until it works for me’ lol. It’s a very smart ‘people are going to look at me so let’s make sure they can’t actually see me’ move. Also it makes me sad that me must have, like, reverse abandonment issues: every time he belongs to something - to the Deadlock gang, to Overwatch, to Hanzo in ‘Scoundrels and Thieves’ - he’s inevitably forced to leave it behind. (I guess this is part of why I love the pairing so much; they’re both wanderers now, they can go together ;____;)

Hanzo’s greatest fear is to really hurt someone he loves again. (Remember that time in Junkenstein’s Revenge where Jack looks at Reaper and goes ‘what could turn a man into this’ and Hanzo immediately answers “To be tested, and to fail”? Because I remember that all the time.)

#overwatch #mchanzo #hanzo #mccree #Perhaps there is still a future for anachronisms #meta #idk it was the only way I managed to do some writing so here we go I guess ha ha #I'm just like... filled to the brim with feels that have nowhere to go #My writing

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