#been gathering clips the past few days & hoping to eventually piece together at least a minute or so for each song 🥰

[kindahoping4forever]

Clips of Ashton performing Straight To Your Heart live @ The Belasco - 18 July 2024

[certifiedskywalker]

Home Bound - Orson Krennic

AN: I think this was the first time I’ve even written for Krennic! 

amadwomanrambles said: I would like to request a Orson Krennic x Fem!Reader insert where Krennic invites reader to stay on the Death Star. Thank you!!!

It had been too long since Orson Krennic had stepped foot on Coruscant. Though the planet that never slept, speeders always racing and lights always glowing, had changed little since his last visit. Krennic could still remember how desperate he had been as a young recruit on Lexrul, eager to fly far from it’s factories and industry if it meant something, anything better. Now Coruscant was no better, or no less bathed in smog, than his homeworld.

Chilled and thick, the air of the city-forged planet welcomed him back cruelly. Krennic cringed at the heavy smell of smoke and rushed from his cruiser to within the halls of the Empire’s engineering headquarters. 

Krennic never called any place home for too long. Akin to many of the high-ranking Imperials officers, Krennic was always moving. Different assignments, different projects, had him running around like a Tauntaun through the snow of Hoth; though much, much faster. To be slow moving, in his position, meant death or worse: job termination. Yet, despite the motion, the engineering head quarters on Coruscant was the second closest thing Krennic had to home. 

Those first steps inside were ones of purpose. He had the directives, the wherewithal, though he feared he lacked the heart. Luckily, before any semblance of what Krennic imagined nerves to be surfaced, the smokey smell of the outside world melded into one more antiseptic.

He felt his shoulders relax for a fleeting moment as he took in the sight. Hardly a thing had changed since he worked in the complex. It was an old Republic building that had been remodeled to fit the more elegant aesthetic of the Empire. Stark grey walls and black-tiled floors so polished that Krennic could see his reflection when he glanced down. He looked tired. 

“Director Krennic, glad to see you arrived in one piece, sir.”

He looked up at the lower ranking officer before him. The younger man was wide eyed, obviously unclear that small talk and additional comments were considered daring. Krennic, when he had been younger, had been just like this boy. Unpolished, looking to climb, reaching for any branch even if it could not carry his weight. How naive.

“Perhaps if new recruits could do their jobs correctly, we in the Empire would have no Rebellion to hear of.” Krennic stepped forward, looming, before adding, “the weak exploit weakness. Follow protocol, don’t show weakness.”

The darkened edge of his voice seemed to be enough. Visibly startled, the young man snapped his jaw shut and nodded his head stiffly. Krennic smirked before reaching a gloved hand out to the man. The new recruit flinched as the Director’s hand landed on his shoulder.

“Good lad. Now, show that I did not waste my precious time in coming here.”

“Y-Yes sir, right this way, sir.” 

Krennic let his hand fall from the younger man’s shoulder as he swiftly went to guide him through the complex. The halls held many different doorways. Some, much to Krennic’s surprise, were new as new finding were brought back for development. Crystal Core Operations to his right. Hyperspace Tracking Theory to this left. 

One door had remained wholly the same: Department of Advanced Weapons Research.

It was still as intimidating as it was on his first day as a trainee. Though, Krennic would never admit that anything, anyone, intimidated him, especially a door. Back then, in those early days, Krennic was confused as to why the department was part of the engineering complex. It was so buried as well. What was the point of it?

Now, after years of climbing up the ranks, Krennic knew. 

The younger man serving as his guide stepped close to the door and it hissed open. With the large door lifting, Krennic caught the first glimpse of what had been his blood, his home, for years. New walkers with varying different heads and blaster arrangements lined the walls of the massive chamber. Any spot left open was covered in blue prints and holographic screens displaying structures that, days prior, Krennic had seen pass over his desk.

If anyone on Coruscant knew what lurked behind the lumbering doors of the Department of Advanced Weapons Research, there would be outrage. Missiles, blasters, and bombs, all in one place; a time bomb waiting for the switch. Yet, with all the power in that room, Krennic knew that he had out-witted out-worked them all. Nearly all of them.

“The, uh, the demonstration will start shortly,” the young guide said. Krennic simply walked past him towards the gathering crowd of grey uniforms. He had heard the tales of the Clone War, how the Clones forged their own individuality with names and tattoos; those below Krennic in the Imperial ranks were more flat than them. The only thing that set them all apart were their ensignas when they turned to face him.

“Director.”

“Director, hello.”

He ignored them all, pushing to the front to get a better view. Behind him, the cape clipped to his white uniform snapped with his movements. There was an open space, the perfect fit, right in front with the leading officers. Smoothly, Krennic took the spot and savored the silence that greeted him there. 

“You’re here.”

Krennic smiled. 

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“You could never lie to me, Director.”

He bit back the urge to laugh. Now was neither the time nor the place for that. There would be time for that later. Despite reason, Krennic snuck a glance out of the corners of his eyes. He saw you, features turned to attention and waiting for the demonstration. 

He let out a hum and the sound pulled your focus away, right to him. Krennic saw the glint in your eyes then, familiar and bright like the stars. You quickly turned your eyes back to the small stage. Higher ranking generals and commanders were making their way to it. Krennic, slightly smiling now, turned to watch the beginning of the demonstration.

“Welcome home, Orson” you whispered, just as the Imperial tech-trumpets began to play. Krennic heat rush through him at the sound of his name falling from your lips. He had to focus, he had to; but his resolve was shaken. 

The confidence, arrogance if he was honest with himself, from before had melted under the warmth of your presence. You always did this to him. It both infuriated and charmed him. You were the one he could never out-smart and he love- he enjoyed that about you. Perhaps that was why he was, for the first time in his life, truly nervous as the question he was dying to ask you remained unsaid on his tongue. 

“And how is your extensive project proceeding, Director Krennic?” 

“On schedule. Sadly, I must spare the details,” he drawled, cocking his head to the side slightly to eye the officer standing before him. “I did hear details about a particular mishap on Anbois. Would you care to-”

“Director,” you interrupted, immediately pulling Krennic’s attention to you. “Your correspondence mentioned a logistics conflict. Blockages in the hyperspace lanes surrounding your project. I may have a solution for you.”

Krennic forced his expression to stay suave, unreadable. It was a challenging feat. You, looking like that and at him, made it difficult. 

“Great to hear someone is capable,” he glanced back at the officer, General Horoix. “It seems I have other thing to attend to. I do hope Anbois recovers. Lieutenant L/N.”

Without waiting for a retort from the general, Krennic turned and headed in your direction. Fluidly, as if riding the same Kaminoian wave, you turned and followed Krennic towards the exit; moving together, stride in stride. The large door grew bigger and bigger as Krennic’s heart pounded faster and faster. It took everything he had to remain resigned but it wasn’t enough. A smile, small and closed-lip, spread along his face.

“Blockages?”

“You were getting snarky,” you replied, only loud enough for Krennic to hear.

“You don’t approve?” 

The door opened to the rest of the complex but didn’t distract Krennic as he glanced at you. You were still facing forward, even began walking when the door lifted, but he could see the hints of a smile on your lips. He had missed your smile.

“I don’t have to.”

Krennic followed you as you led him through the depth of the complex. Eventually, you both had to mask your smiles for the sake of preserving yourselves and your reputations. At some point, the halls of the complex became unfamiliar to Krennic.

“New additions?”

“Remodeled. Our old rooms.”

Krennic took in the doors that led to individual’s quarters. Slate, the cold grey that lined every Imperial base made the hallways seem smaller. They were all closed. Silence filtered through the air and a sudden chill ran over Krennic’s shoulders.

“What has hap-”

Before he could finished, he could feel your hands on his arm, tugging. He looked up and saw you, without the practiced mask you both wore. You were smiling, wide, to your eyes and Krennic felt his whole body react. He rushed towards you and the door you had stopped by suddenly opened, allowing the two of you inside. 

For a few seconds, you were bathed in darkness. Krennic couldn’t see you but he could feel you, all warmth against him. He could feel your hands rising against his chest then to his neck, until your finger tips brushed against his face. Unable to hold himself back any longer, Krennic gave in and pressed his lips to yours. In that moment, his nerves faded away. 

Then the lights flashed on and he pulled away, desperate to see you. Despite the exposure brought on by the light, you look put together. At least more put together than Krennic felt in the moment. Carefully, he reached up and brushed your hand back, eyes never leaving yours. Whatever nerves he felt prior to this melted away entirely.

“Well this is a proper ‘welcome home’,” he joked softly. You rolled your eyes and let your hands fall to his shoulders. He leaned down to kiss you again, full but quick.

“Nearly thought you had forgotten about me, us,” you sighed. “Abandoned it all for your Death Star.” Krennic smirked, pulling your body flush with his once more.

“Shocking, the little faith in me.”

“We don’t have time for faith,” you chided, “we barely have time for this.” You leaned up to him, capturing your lips with his. 

With every kiss, Krennic left as if you were drawing the question out of him. His directive, his, besides the demonstration, main reason for returning to Coruscant. ‘Home’ you had called it when you welcomed him back the first time. It didn’t feel right.

“We could have more time,” he said when your lips moved to his jaw. At his words, you ministrations stopped. You pulled back, looking him dead in the eyes. “For this and,” he took your hand in his, “other things of the like.”

“Other things? I don’t,” you began warily, “I’m not leaving my post.”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “I know. I wouldn’t want you to.” 

“Then what are you saying?” Your grip on his hands tightened. Krennic swallowed hard and pressed forward.

“My project, it’s nearly complete and testing is imminent. You know it’s a big station and,” he peered up you, “my chambers has room for two. I want…”

He trailed off, a strange feeling rising up in his throat. It wasn’t nausea or even nerves. His chest ached and he forced himself to look away from you. When he arrived he had told the greeting officer not to show weakness and yet here he was. Imperial Director, Orson Krennic reduced to near tears at the thought of being alone. Somehow, he managed to push through the shame and found his voice. 

“I don’t want to be without you, anymore, love.”

“Orson,” you sighed, moving your hands to his face. Gently, your fingers brushed through his grey hair as you tried to soothe him. By the Gods, weakness felt good.

“Coruscant is not my home,” Krennic said, collecting himself. “You are and I always come back to you. For once, I want to just have you there. I want to show you all I have built to protect you.” His voice faltered on the last few words. It wasn’t a lie; the Death Star was meant to protect people in some sense, you in particular for Krennic’s own selfish wants, but it was the Empire’s sword to wield, the Emperor’s, when it came down to it.

You knew this. From the moment you met Orson Krennic you knew he told half truths. Lies weren’t his style. Years of loving him had taught you how to see his truths. You could see them before you now, reflected in his words and his soft, blue eyes. 

“I’ll go,” you replied, “Orson, I’ll go with you.”

The meaning, the strength in your voice was enough to pull Orson back. He leaned in and kissed you again, making up for all the times he couldn’t. With you close by, he could keep you safe. He would not let his weakness get exposed. He would not like his home fall to ruin.

[spacesnail3000]

Brooklyn’s Sweetheart Chapter 2: Diamonds Are Forever, Those Boys Ain’t

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Chapter Summary: They say diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but can diamonds keep her company all summer at Martha’s Vineyard? She didn’t think so. 

Word Count: 4,336

Warnings: Language, drinking, eventual smut

Masterlist / AO3

The next morning, Y/N sat at the kitchen table, eating the Eggs Benedict their chef, Rita, had made, when her father walked in.

Obadiah sat down at the kitchen table and stared at his daughter. “Good morning.”

“Morning, Daddy,” she greeted him, her voice light.

“What do you want?”

It was his way of apologizing for the night before. They’d been through this enough times that it was now a routine.

When he yelled at her during her celebratory end-of-eighth-grade-sleepover, she got a brand-new MacBook out of it. When he screamed at her homecoming date in sophomore year, he gave her a St. Bernard puppy. When he cursed out her coach at her state qualifiers swim meet the year before, he bought her a white gold and diamond tennis bracelet. 

She wore the bracelet now, and the dog, a Sweet Good Boy named Hermes, sat at her feet, looking warily up at her father. Hermes and Obadiah had quite the hateful relationship.

Hermes was just a good judge of character.

“I want Steve and Bucky to come with me this summer.”

She had thought about it all last night, knowing her father would come to her this morning with a peace offering—more like a way of buying her forgiveness. And she knew what she wanted, which was to spend the summer with her two closest friends since childhood.

Every summer, her father sent her off to their vacation houses. The cabin in the Adirondacks, the beach house in the Hamptons, the cottage at Martha’s Vineyard. Each time, she was accompanied by a small entourage—people to keep her safe and to keep her from being bored, because of course her parents weren’t about to spend the entire summer with their daughter.

Steve and Bucky had gone with her on several of these trips but had made no plans to be with her for this summer, which was outrageous to her because they were the perfect pair to keep her both safe and entertained. 

She was headed to the cottage in a week and she wanted her favorite boys to be there, no matter if one was not speaking to her and the other had forced a very interesting kiss on her the night before.

So maybe the kiss she shared with Bucky had prompted this whole idea, but she sure as hell couldn’t ask her father for only Bucky to come. That would be suspicious. And she did miss Steve, so she hoped this would give her the chance to smooth things over with him.

Even if he was a big dumb blond hunk of meat.

“That’s all you want?” her father asked suspiciously, expecting the other shoe to drop.

“Yes,” she nodded. 

“Really?” he stole a piece of toast from her plate, and she glared at him. As he chewed, he said, “You know, diamonds are forever, those boys ain’t.”

Simpering, she quipped, “Whoever said diamonds are a girl’s best friend hasn’t met Steve and Bucky.” Then, “A new Balenciaga bag would sweeten the deal. But mostly I just want them with me for the whole summer.”

“Sure thing, sweetie, whatever you want.”

As their weekly mob meeting later that night finished up, Obadiah broke the news to Steve and Bucky. It worked out well for Obadiah. He hadn’t known who he was going to send with his daughter to protect her until she made the decision for him. Stark had taken an interest in the Rogers kid for some reason, had big plans for him over the summer, but he had managed to talk Stark into letting him go at least for a little while.

 “You two will be accompanying Y/N this summer,” Obadiah said with an air of finality, “Your job is to keep her safe and happy.”

That had always been their job. To anybody remotely concerned, that was Bucky’s and Steve’s sole purpose for being alive.

They hadn’t been doing that good of a job of it for the last few months—at least not the “keeping her happy” part.

The boys didn’t argue—not to Obadiah’s face. They didn’t have a death wish. 

“You’re leaving in a week for Martha’s Vineyard.”

Tony sent them a look that told them he approved of this and they had no choice in the matter, before he exited behind Obadiah.

Sam waggled his eyebrows at them. “Make sure to pack your swim trunks, boys. Oh, and you’ll have to find a guard-dog-friendly beach. Pets allowed, and all that.” He snickered as Bucky flipped him off before he exited the room. 

As the last two in the meeting room, Bucky and Steve looked at each other. Bucky’s gaze was pleading—Steve had barely spoken to him the entire day, and when he had, it had been clipped statements that simmered with an angry undertone. Steve’s gaze now was even angrier.

“What the fuck, Bucky?”

That was all Steve said before leaving.

Bucky had no idea why Steve was so mad—aside from the obvious fact that he kissed Y/N. Even then, Bucky thought it was hypocritical of Steve to be mad over such a thing considering he had also kissed Y/N last year. Bucky had told Steve as much earlier, and Steve only responded by getting even angrier.

Bucky made his way into the kitchen, where everyone was gathered for the big family dinner they always had every Sunday, right after the official weekly meeting. Tonight, Tony’s chefs had prepared a variety of Indian cuisine for them.

He spotted Y/N on the other side of the kitchen. She had just come in from the backyard with Peter Parker, Tony’s boy, and she was barefoot. Bucky started to make his way over to her but Steve got there before he did. Peter scurried away when Steve made eye contact with him.

“So,” Steve said, sidling up to her right by the kitchen table, effectively trapping her between him and the table. “Martha’s Vineyard, huh?” His voice was hard, slightly annoyed.

She looked up at him with that sweet smile. Her lips were glossy with lip balm and she smelled like the sun. “Yeah, I thought it would be fun. Are you excited?” 

He sighed her name, exasperated.

“Hey,” she said before he could say anything else, “I’m wearing the necklace you got me. Thank you, it’s perfect. I love it.” She hooked her thumb around the chain and showed him the gift he got for her birthday. It was a silver locket, an engraving of the sun on the front.

His eyes softened when he saw that, and he smiled at her genuinely for the first time in a year. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I’m not sure what pictures I should put in it, yet,” she said, fingers opening and closing the latch of the locket with a little snap. “Maybe we’ll take some good photos at Martha’s Vineyard.”

He hesitated before asking, “Why did you want us there this summer?”

“I miss you guys,” she answered earnestly. “You never spend time with me anymore. And next semester, I’ll probably be at NYU, maybe. And then I’ll never be around and I’ll never see either of you.”

“Sweetheart—”

“I just want one summer with you guys. Is that too much to ask for?” Her puppy dog eyes hit him in just the right spot.

“No,” he sighed, giving her a small smile, “No, it’s not too much… It’ll be fun. We’re excited.”

Y/N parted from him then, squeezing past him to make her way into the living room to talk to Wanda and Pietro Maximoff before dinner started.

Bucky came over to Steve and Steve sighed. “I couldn’t stay mad at her.”

“You don’t really have a reason to be mad at her,” Bucky pointed out, “Not really.”

“I know…” he turned to Bucky, eyeing him. “Do I have a reason to be mad at you, Buck?”

Bucky shrugged. “I told you, the kiss was an accident. Doesn’t mean anything.”

 “Yeah… Okay… Sorry for bein’ an ass.”

“S’okay,” Bucky clapped him on the back. “I’m used to it by now.”

Steve laughed and punched at Bucky’s shoulder, and then dinner was called.

A week later, Steve and Bucky were packing their suitcases into the SUV for them to get ready to go on the six-hour trip to Martha’s Vineyard. They had gotten a late start and probably wouldn’t be there until it was dark. 

Steve drove and Bucky rode shotgun, dictating the music the entire drive—much to Steve’s and Y/N’s chagrin. She sat in the back with Hermes and chattered with them both about nothing for the first half of the drive.

They were already behind schedule, and it was only made worse when Bucky and Y/N demanded they stop for a bathroom break about three times each—Steve was seething by the last time. He calmed down when she came back from the gas station convenience store with a bag of M&M’s for him—his favorite candy.

They had stopped for a late lunch at a pizza place in Boston—and had gone 40 minutes out of their way for it. Between the three of them, they had devoured three pizzas and a whole basket of garlic knots. It had sent Y/N into a food-induced stupor. By the time they were pulling up to the Stanes’ cottage, she was fast asleep, using the dog as a pillow.

He and Steve carried all the luggage in before they contemplated waking her up. 

“Let her sleep,” Bucky said, “She’ll probably be out for the rest of the night.”

“I’ll carry her in,” Steve said as Hermes jumped out, “Can you get the dog?”

Bucky obliged. He let the dog go into the fenced-in backyard.

The cottage at Martha’s Vineyard wasn’t so much a cottage as a 6-bedroom converted-barn-turned-luxury-mansion overlooking the water, complete with a big fancy backyard and a pool and access to the beachside and a private dock. Bucky was always blown away every time they visited and this time was no different.

He stood in the backyard admiring the black waters while Hermes did his business.

“I set her on the couch,” Steve said, startling Bucky.

Bucky looked back to see Steve on the porch, taking a seat on the porch swing that faced the ocean. He walked over, taking a seat next to him. Their arms brushed together as they settled in.

“Here,” Steve said, handing him a bottle of whiskey. “They’ve got this place stocked with liquor but no food. We’ll have to make a grocery run tomorrow.”

Bucky grunted in response as he took a long drink. It had been a long day, and truthfully, all he could think of doing right now was going to bed. Instead, he stayed up with Steve, ready to relax on their vacation after the last stressful few months. 

Tony had taken Steve under his wing, mentoring him into a more important place in the mob. It was the start of something big, Steve kept saying. Bucky was excited for his friend, if not a little jealous. But Steve deserved it, he knew; Steve was always the more determined of the two of them, always the more ruthless one.

So tonight, Bucky welcomed the respite. As they chatted and ribbed each other over the bottle of whiskey, it was like nothing had changed.

The conversation had turned to Steve and Peggy, and Steve was saying, “Yeah, Peg’s great, but I dunno. She doesn’t really get it.”

“Get what?” But Bucky had a feeling he knew what Steve was talking about. He took another swig of whiskey before passing the bottle to Steve.

“The mob, the life we live. She doesn’t know the half of it, and if she did… She wouldn’t stick with me through it.”

“You need someone who already knows our life, Stevie. Someone who understands.”

Steve was quiet for a moment before saying, “Someone like Y/N?”

Bucky stiffened. That hadn’t been what he was going for, but Y/N was on the back of his mind when he said it. She had been on his mind since last week. He laughed it off. “C’mon, Stevie, you think Stane would let you have her?”

“Stane’s been thinking of who to marry her off to,” Steve said after a long drink. “Only reason he’s letting her go to NYU is ‘cause he hasn’t had any good contenders yet.”

“And you think you’re gonna put in an offer?”

Steve scoffed. “No. I’m dating Peggy, Buck. C’mon.”

“But if you weren’t?”

Steve looked beside him to find Bucky already staring at him intently. They made eye contact, the air between them tense. Finally, Steve shrugged. “I’m not sure, Buck. Maybe I should be askin’ you the same thing.”

“Does it look like I’m ready to settle down and take a bride?” he asked, giving Steve and incredulous look. Steve laughed and looked down at his lap, shaking his head, doing that bashful thing even when Bucky knew he wasn’t bashful at all. “Besides, I wouldn’t do that to her.”

Steve knew what he meant. Tying her to the mob, for as long as they both shall live. Mob wives were much more involved than the children of the mob, and they both knew Y/N was too sweet and innocent for that.

Steve’s smile fell away and he nodded, thinking it over. “Yeah. I wouldn’t want to either.”

They had both had quite a bit of whiskey by now, and Bucky was feeling brave. “Tell me about when you kissed her, Stevie.”

Steve’s eyes widened and he looked at Bucky with a shocked expression. “You know about that?”

“Yeah, she told me the other night,” Bucky answered, taking the bottle from Steve as he was about to take a drink. “’Fess up, punk. Don’t avoid the question.”

He let out a long sigh, his shoulders drooping, hands braced on his knees. “Fine. But you can’t tell anyone.”

“Who the fuck would I tell?”

Steve swatted at his knee. “I don’t fucking know, just keep your mouth shut about it. Got it?” When Bucky nodded, Steve continued. “It was the end of last summer when we were all in Southampton. She snuck out with some of her friends to a party one night, and I caught her coming back late. I was just startin’ to lay into her about it when she started crying—and not her usual crying when she’s bein’ a brat, you know?”

Bucky knew. She got real teary eyed sometimes when they caught her doing something she shouldn’t have been, specifically when Steve started yelling at her. But usually she took his scolding with a stiff upper lip, unless he was being really unfair.

“She starts sobbing, and I can tell something’s really wrong. So I hug her and coddle her and eventually she tells me that some guys at the party were makin’ fun of her because she’s a virgin.” Steve clenched his jaw, remembering the way she blushed when she told him, the way she looked down and whispered it like she was ashamed of it. “And so I’m trying to tell her there’s nothing wrong with that, and she tells me she’s never even kissed anyone, and how is any guy ever gonna like her if she doesn’t even have any experience.”

“So you kissed her?” Bucky asked, remembering Y/N had said that he had offered.

Steve shook his head, laughing a little. “I don’t know what came over me. She was just so sad, and you know I have a soft spot for girls when they cry.”

Bucky knew very well about Steve’s weakness for people when they cried—not just girls. He and Steve had experimented in bed plenty of times and if there was one thing they had found out, it was that Steve loved it when Bucky cried. It really got him going for some reason.

“I wouldn’t call it a soft spot…” Bucky muttered, earning a punch on the arm. Steve still laughed about it good-naturedly.

“She was lookin’ up at me, all doe-eyed, and red, and sad. Kinda like how you used to look at me, Buck.”

Bucky looks at him, surprised, and memories of their times together flash through Bucky’s mind. They were each other’s firsts, stumbling their way through puberty and coming-of-age and the discovery of teenaged sexuality together. It wasn’t until after he experimented thoroughly with Steve in many different ways that he became the Lothario he is today. He feels his cheeks heat up at the images his brain conjures of them together in bed, touching and kissing, dry-humping each other until Bucky came in his pants.

“Yeah, like that,” Steve said, looking at him with a fond smile, something dark gleaming in his eyes. And truly, Steve thinks Bucky looks wonderful right now, all flushed and shocked and exactly like he did when Steve fucked him for the first time when they were 16.

So maybe Steve has a type for innocent young things who blush a lot. That’s why he was trying to stay away from Y/N. Maybe that’s why Steve had always felt like Peggy was wrong for him but staying with Peggy was such a great distraction for now.

“So I couldn’t help myself,” Steve shrugged. “I asked. I didn’t just force myself on her.” Part of Bucky feels sheepish at that, because that was exactly how he kissed her the night of her birthday, forcefully, predatorily. The other part remembers how nice it was every time Steve forced himself on Bucky in the heat of the moment. “I asked if she wanted me to kiss her just to see how it felt. And she said yes. So I kissed her.”

“Did you like it?” Bucky asked. He couldn’t help it.

The blush on Steve’s cheeks surprised Bucky. “Yeah, I guess I did. But don’t you ever tell anyone that.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. As if he would. “If you liked it, why’d you ignore her afterwards?”

“What? I didn’t!”

“Don’t bullshit me, Steve. You can’t bullshit me, I see right through you, pal.”

 Steve looked down. The red hadn’t faded from his cheeks. “I dunno. I liked it too much, maybe. Stane would kill me if anything happened between us.”

Bucky got it, then. Steve liked it, and he needed to put distance between them to stop himself from taking things further.

“And then I found Peggy, and I just got too busy with Tony. So Y/N and I stopped talking as much.”

Bucky thought about this, but in his tipsiness, his dazed mind kept wandering back to how he kissed her. He kissed her like Steve used to kiss him, and he wondered if Steve kissed her the same way.

“How was it, Stevie?” he asked, a question that had been on his mind for a week now. “How was the kiss?”

Steve smirked knowingly. “Nothing like how I used to kiss you, that’s for sure.”

Bucky remembered their first few times together, sweet and tentative, innocent explorations. Steve had kissed him kindly then, but they had both quickly found out they liked it when Steve took charge. When Steve was rough with him, showed him no mercy.

But Bucky only liked it when Steve did that to him. None of the other men or women he had been with were the same in that regard. He only trusted Steve to take that power away from him, knowing Steve would never hurt him.

He supposed Steve liked the control aspect of it. As for Bucky, he needed that control whenever he was with anybody else.

“Guys?” they heard from the doorway after a brief silence. Hermes, who had been lying at their feet dozing, immediately got up and trotted over to where Y/N was standing, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“Hey, sweetie,” Steve said, “You just wake up?”

She nodded and padded over to them, Hermes following her loyally. Her feet were bare and she was still wearing her clothes from earlier, leggings and an oversized sweatshirt with her high school’s mascot on the front. Bucky thought the sweatshirt had belonged to Steve once, or maybe him—or maybe both, he couldn’t recall.

She took a seat between them and slumped down onto Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m tired,” There was a little pout on her lips, puffy and sleep-swollen.

“Then go back to bed,” Bucky told her, draping his right arm around the back of the bench, letting her rest her head on his chest.

“Can’t fall back asleep.”

“Are you hungry?” Steve asked, ever the doting mother hen. “There’s not food in the kitchen, but maybe we could go pick something up.”

She shook her head. “I’m still full from the pizza.” 

“Well, we’ll go for an early breakfast tomorrow,” Steve said, “Any place you want.”

“Okay, Stevie,” she said, smiling up at him sleepily. 

Steve couldn’t help himself when he swung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to rest on his chest instead. She went willingly, cuddling into him. Bucky sent him a look, and Steve raised an eyebrow back—a little like a challenge, one that Bucky did not accept. Instead, he yielded to Steve, resting his right hand lightly on Steve’s shoulder, feeling the need to be close. Her legs came up to rest on Bucky’s lap and she just sat there with them, enjoying the night. 

Just like old times.

“Are you guys staying with me for the whole summer?” she asked, her voice muffled into Steve’s unusually large peck.

“I dunno, doll, is that what you asked your dad for?” Steve asked knowingly.

She shrugged and buried her face deeper. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean he’ll keep his word.”

“We’re here until further notice,” Bucky said. “Steve might get called away occasionally.”

“Because of Tony?” she asked, her voice small.

“Yeah,” Steve said, pressing his lips to the crown of her head in a kiss, “But you don’t need to worry your pretty head about that.”

“Okay.”

“Now, doll,” Bucky started, placing his left hand on her calf. She glanced at him from Steve’s chest. “Are you gonna behave with us this summer?”

She blushed, but a smirk fell across her face. “Of course I will, Bucky,” she said in a tone that implied the exact opposite.

His hand slid up to her knee. “Not gonna go getting into any trouble with all the teenage hooligans on the island?”

She rolled her eyes. “Why would I want to get in trouble with them when I could get in trouble with you guys, instead?”

Steve’s arm tightened around her shoulders in a way that was just a little bit threatening. “Now, Y/N, listen to me,” he said, using his serious voice, “Your dad wanted us to keep you safe. You’re not gonna go around making trouble for us. Got it?”

“I guess,” she whined. Steve didn’t like that.

His hand came up and cupped her jaw, tilting her head up forcefully so she looked at him. “Don’t be a brat,” he said, a warning in his tone, “You’re gonna be a good girl for us or there’ll be consequences.”

“Steve,” she pouted, the whine still in her voice.

He grit his teeth, and his fingers squeezed her jaw just hard enough for her to get the message. “No complaining, baby girl. Now you say ‘Yes, Steve’, so I know you understand.”

“…Yes, Steve.”

He let her go, and she tried to pull away from him but his arm around her shoulders anchored her against him. Bucky’s hand moved from Steve’s shoulder to her head, stroking his fingers through her soft hair to sooth and reassure her.

They were all silent then, like they often were after Steve scolded her. It was a familiar dance for them. When she got bratty or if she did something wrong, Steve would reprimand her sternly, while Bucky sat by and watched. Then, both Bucky and Steve would calm her down so she knew they forgave her. It worked to correct her misbehavior every time, but it took all three of them.

With Steve rocking them gently on the porch swing and Bucky running his fingers through her hair, it didn’t take long to lull her back to sleep.

Steve carried her upstairs to put her to bed, and Bucky followed, turning down the covers and tucking her in. Hermes curled up on the bed at her feet, settling down and dozing off right next to her. 

Steve had already placed their luggage in the rooms they would be staying in, all their rooms side by side in the same hall.

Bucky followed Steve to their respective bedrooms, and they lingered in the doorways.

“Do you think I was too hard on her?” Steve asked. They spoke quietly in the mellow darkness of the night. Bucky could hear the waves crashing on the beach out back.

“Nah,” Bucky reassured him, “She can take it. Plus, it’d be nice if she didn’t act up during this trip.” He could hope she wouldn’t, at least.

Steve nodded. “She gets so ballsy on these vacations when her dad’s not here.”

“Well,” Bucky said, clapping him on the shoulder, “If she gets like that this summer, you’re here to put her in her place.”

Steve looked at him, dark eyes glinting. “Damn right,” he said, voice low. Bucky couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but Steve’s tone of voice sent a shudder through him. “We should get to bed,” Steve said finally, breaking up the tense atmosphere. “I’m waking you both up early tomorrow.”

Bucky groaned, “Ugh, c’mon Stevie. Let us sleep in.”

Steve grinned, “No chance, Buck. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Bucky said, his voice soft as he watched Steve retreat into his bedroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

He let out a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his face. It was going to be a long, intense summer, he could already tell.

[unofferable-fic]

The Flower & The Serpent (Arthur Morgan x OFC)

Chapter 3 - Full of Sound and Fury

Summary: In the early 1890s, the Van der Linde Gang were truly at their finest. Experts at stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, they’ve made a name for themselves across the West. Two of their newest recruits, a pair of rebellious Irish siblings with an unknown past, slowly find their footing and settle into their new lives as outlaws. And yet, as they grow older, threats from all sides begin to appear. A strained relationship with Colm O'Driscoll spells disaster for the gang, and no matter how far they roam across America, the world continues to change around them. If they want to survive, difficult choices must be made. No one is as they seem and the impending arrival of law and order threatens to tear the siblings, and everything they hold dear, apart. Is it too late for anyone to find a happy ending?

Originally found here

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Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OFC

Warnings: Language, violence, civilisation, jokes at John’s expense.

Word Count: 5,747

Previous Chapter    Next Chapter

Playlist: “Too Old to Die Young” — Brother Dege, “We” — Bon Iver, “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” — Dropkick Murphys, “Inverness” — Jed Kurzel

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A/N: Also available on AO3. Chapter three comin’ at y’all. And yes I like to imagine that William somewhat resembles Luke Mitchell because he’s a beautiful boah.

23rd August, 1893, outside Winterset, Iowa

Another city, another bank to hit. Dutch is happy with our plan to take the bank in Winterset and chose a good team to work with. As well as the boss himself, he wants all experienced hands on deck, so John, Maebh, William, Hosea, and I will be attending. He asked that Karen come too so she can act as a distraction before we make our entrance. She proved she can handle herself in the last town, so we’re happy to have her along. Considering the Callander brothers are newer to how things work around here, he wants them to guard the camp.

With the plan to plant some of us in the bank beforehand, things seem good to go. As long as we get in and out with the money and keep casualties to a minimum — or preferably none at all — then we can call it a job well done.

* * *

“Marston, I’ve a question for ye.”

“What is it, Hennigan?”

Maebh looked up from reading her book beside the campfire. She raised a brow at William and John who sat beside her, the latter whittling away at a piece of wood while the former stared at him curiously.

“What happened to your voice to make it permanently raspy?” William enquired, scratching his beard thoughtfully. “Did Arthur punch you mad hard in the throat or somethin’ and you’ve sounded like this ever since?”

John frowned, his hands halting their movements. “I’ll have you know it’s hereditary.”

“Yeah? Who was your da? A furnace?”

Maebh casually added. “A Scottish furnace, actually.”

“My voice ain’t that raspy.”

William let out a snort. “Ah, c’mon now! You’re only twenty and you sound like you’re pushin’ on fifty.”

“No, I don’t.” Maebh tried to keep her mouth shut, but the look of amusement on her face caught the older man’s attention. “What the hell you smirkin’ at?”

She scoffed “Nothin’! Don’t bring me into your little tiff.”

John threw his hands up in the air and let out a huff. “Then maybe get your brother to stop botherin’ me.”

With a shake of her head, she shut her book and got to her feet. “He’s his own man and I’m not gonna tell him what to do.”

She left them to it, just about managing to hide her laughter as William continued to do Marston’s head in.

It had been three years since she and her brother found themselves in a spot while robbing a stagecoach, and thankfully being saved by Dutch van der Linde and his gang. Though they had both been skeptical of the group at first, seeing Dutch and Hosea focusing on helping those forgotten and in need across the country had helped to ease their worries. Now, they were well settled into their rolls and formed bonds with their fellow outlaws. Dutch had been the supportive leader they pegged him for — encouraging them to keep reading and ‘broadening their minds’, thus ensuring that they were made aware of what was happening in the country as governments, cities, and civilisation took over. While it was a nomadic life, it was better than what they had before. Together, they robbed multiple banks across the country, and gave vast amounts of wealth to the forgotten people who needed it.

The gang itself had acquired new tag-alongs and members since they first joined. Another pair of siblings, Mac and Davey Callander, had recently been recruited by Dutch after he encountered them partaking in a massive street brawl. They were a proper vicious pair of bastards by the sounds of the stories they told, but they bothered Maebh very little. Though they were particularly violent, they seemed to be able to control these tendencies towards their fellow gang members. Another newer member was a woman named Karen Jones. Bursting with confidence and personality, Arthur and Maebh were the ones to encounter the proficient scam artist in a local saloon. She did an impressive job of drinking the pair of them under the table that day and stealing their money when they blacked out. When they later tracked her down, they came with an offer rather than a loaded firearm. Last but not least, the ever flamboyant and mischievous Josiah Trewlany appeared randomly at camp a few weeks after Maebh and William originally joined. Apparently, he had been a member of the gang for a while, but rarely stayed at camp. He was constantly going to and fro, but always seemed to have a lead; the very reason Dutch still welcomed him upon each return.

Returning to her tent, Maebh set herself down on her bedding and continued reading. It was one of William’s plays — Othello — he finished it himself a few days ago and asked if she would read it so that he could hear what she thought. He was always one for long discussions about stories whenever they were travelling long distances for work, or while sitting in their tent at night. Having been familiar with Shakespeare’s work already because of his mild obsession with the bard, she was happy enough to read another of his tales. Frankly, she read any book that William hopefully plopped into her lap.

“Whatcha readin’?”

Engrossed in the story, she hadn’t noticed someone approaching. Tearing her eyes away from Iago’s monologue, she was met with Arthur standing in front of her. “More Shakespeare.”

“You really like his work, huh?” he asked, taking the book as she offered it to him.

“He’s more William’s favourite than mine, but I gotta give him credit where it’s due, it’s a good read.”

He flicked through the pages carefully. “Sure. Hope I ain’t disturbin’ your good readin’?”

She waved him off. “Nah. I’ve been at it for most of the mornin’ anyway so I should probably call it a day.”

He nodded and handed her back the play, resting his hands on his belt buckle. “If you ain’t up to much, I was gonna go do some huntin’ if you wanna join? You can ask your brother too if he ain’t busy.”

“Yeah.” She offered him a small smile. “That sounds fun actually. I could do with gettin’ outta camp for a bit.”

“Good, good. Grab your bow and I’ll fetch William before he makes Marston’s head explode.”

“Might want’a move quick, then.”

With a smile, Arthur left to do just that and Maebh gathered her hunting supplies in a bag. She hurried over to the hitching post where William’s mount, Dantès, was currently stationed and waited for the others. She offered him a sugar cube from her pocket and stroked his mane, admiring the animal with genuine fondness. She was surprised to see not only Arthur and William approaching, but also John following closely behind them.

“Marston wanted to join us,” Arthur explained as he readied Boadicea. “So don’t be surprised if him and your brother decide to turn a huntin’ trip into a competition.”

“No thanks,” William countered, patting his horse’s neck. “I’m just here to help get supplies. I’d rather beat him at a good aul fist fight anyway.”

“We can make that happen!” John assured him as he got on top of his own horse.

William shook his head and hoisted himself atop Dantès before he offered his sister a hand on to the back of the Dutch Warmblood. “You ever goin’ t’get yourself a new horse?”

“I will eventually,” she replied and hung on to his slim waist. “It’s not an easy thing to do, y’know, gettin’ over a horse.”

“You’ll know when the time is right,” Arthur added, taking his hat from his saddlebag and putting it on his head. “We ready to go, fellers?”

Soon, the four of them were heading out. They galloped through the rolling hills of Madison County, basking in the heat of the early afternoon sun. They reached a spot not far from camp that was known for having a decent amount of activity amongst the local wildlife. One of the many smaller ponds in the area, deer and other herbivores were common enough around those parts, especially on a hot day like this. They left their horses hitched to some trees and went about planning how to take down a few deer if they could. Splitting into two teams, the Hennigans went to one end while Morgan and Marston went to the other. Not far from where Dantès was hitched, Maebh spotted a rabbit slowly scurrying amongst the brush. Crouched low behind a tree, she notched an arrow and steadied herself when William encouraged her to kill it. It was released with a thwack, and flew through the air before successfully piercing the animal, killing it instantly. Its carcass was swiftly clipped to his saddle before the pair slowly crept to a spot near the lake. From here, hidden within some bushes and the shade of an overhanging tree, they could get a good view of the surrounding area and the deer that currently stood drinking water on its bank. Arthur and John could be seen on the other side, thankfully far enough away that their hunting wouldn’t disturb the Hennigans’ targets.

“Right,” William began in a whisper. “We’ve got three horses, which means three deer max. D’you want to get this one?”

She shook her head. “Nah. I got the rabbit — you can hardly go through a huntin’ trip without catchin’ somethin’.”

“If you insist, sis. You’ll grab its attention?”

Maebh watched as her brother carefully notched an arrow and steadied his aim with an unbreakable focus. They had hunted together on too many occasions to count throughout their lives together, so the process was familiar at this stage. When he gave her the signal, she whistled and caused a nearby buck to raise his head in response. Lacking any hesitation, he let the arrow fly and struck it in its neck. With a mewl, the buck fell to the ground and died as the other deer scattered in fright.

“Nice shot,” she commented, glad that the animal didn’t suffer needlessly. “Need a hand carryin’ it back?”

William grinned widely and stood up straight once more. “Ah, thanks, but I’m grand. I don’t want to give Marston an excuse to claim I wasn’t the one who caught it.”

“Don’t mind him,” she insisted, though her tone was moderately amused with the jesting. “He’ll probably pass comment regardless of who carries it back to the horses.”

“Probably,” he replied, and hoisted the carcass over his shoulder. “But no need to give him a bit of ammo.”

She shook her head as they strolled back to the horses, taking in the sight of the peaceful  little lake, now practically devoid of animals thanks to their intrusion. On the other side, she could just about see Arthur and John carrying their own kills in the same direction. “I swear, you’s two would make a competition out of breathin’ if you could.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea… We’ll see who can hold their breath underwater the longest!”

“You know he can’t swim…”

“… Who can hold their breath the longest in general then! First to pass out loses.”

“Jaysus Christ.”

Dantés waited patiently as the pair of them return to his side. While Maeve petted his mane, William loaded the buck on to his rear and secured it with some rope. Not long after that, their companions appeared through the brush, each carrying their own deer.

Maebh offered them a friendly ‘Howdy, gentlemen’, though Dantés still held most of her attention.

“Only one buck?” Marston observed, voice slightly out of breath as he carried the hefty animal. “You two are losin’ your edge.”

“Excuse me,” she interjected. “I’ll have you know, Mr Marston, that I caught that succulent lookin’ rabbit too.”

“And a fine rabbit it is,” Arthur chuckled good-naturedly. “He’ll taste good in a stew, although probably not if Pearson’s makin’ it.”

“Marston,” William announced and approached said man as he placed his catch on his horse. “Got a challenge for ya.”

John smirked. “You lookin’ to get beat, boy?”

“I’m only two years younger than ya, pal, calm down.”

“Alright, what you have in mind?”

“We both get thrown into the lake and the first to drown loses.”

Arthur burst out into a hefty laugh while Maebh found herself guffawing at the bitter look of displeasure on Marston’s face. She interjected before a full on fight could break out. “C’mon, let’s get these back to camp before you two have another one of your marital spats.”

Thankfully, everyone agreed to mount up and head back. The success of the trip had the group in good spirits and they took their time heading home, choosing to let the horses roam on an easy trot. As they made their way along the trail, William spotted a small band of wild horses grazing on a rolling hillside. A particularly beautiful chestnut stallion had the young man whipping out his binoculars to get a better look.

William let out a whistle before passing the device to his sister. “That’s some horse.”

“This might be a good opportunity for you to get a new mount,” John suggested. “Considerin’ it’s ’bout time you got one.”

“I’m not the best at breakin’ in horses,” Maebh admitted as she studied the animal from a safe distance atop Dantés. “I’ve much more experience with breakin’ in fellas.”

John spluttered at the retort while Arthur hid an amused grin. “We’ve got your back if’n you wanna try. Gotta try breakin’ in wild horses sometime.”

Knowing that her companions were right, and with a reassuring promise from William to step in if needed, Maebh hopped on to the ground and slowly approached the grazing horse. She planted her feet carefully as she waded through the grass, trying to keep herself  — and the animal — calm. Upon noticing her approach, the stallion raised its head and whinnied. The rest of the herd, alerted to the disturbance, began to scatter in the opposite directing, their hooves thundering into the distance.

“Hey there, big fella,” Maebh called out to the stallion, feeling a little stupid for doing so while her friends were nearby.

The horse stomped a hoof in reply, heavy breaths being snuffed from his nostrils. Despite his visible discomfort, he didn’t run as she continued to slowly make her way to him.

“My brother said you were some horse,” she continued. “And now that I’m up close to ya, I can see he wasn’t full of it.”

The animal began to make small jumps on to his back hooves, neighing as she closed the gap.

“Easy boy, easy… You’re alright. Look at you.”

Eventually she reached the stallion’s side with sure and careful strides. The animal, though somewhat calmer than before, was still visibly uncertain with her presence. She reassured him by carefully patting his neck, though always on edge in case he lashed out — the last thing she wanted was a horse shoe to the face. The thoughts had her heart thumping rapidly.

Thinking that the interaction was progressing well, she saw an opportunity and quickly hoisted herself on to the horse’s back.

It didn’t end well for Maebh.

She managed to hang on to the now panicking horse’s golden mane for some time, trying to desperately balance herself as it leapt around the pasture and tried to buck her off. The rapid spinning of the world around her and the deafening neighing quickly became too much. Suddenly, her balance was lost and she was falling through the air. The landing stung but she didn’t have much time to think about it; the stallion’s legs were kicking wildly and she could only assume she was in its path. Despite the wind being knocked out of her, she rolled her body in a direction she hoped was away from the  angered animal. She rolled and rolled and, as she sensed a distance being put between them, raised her head.

William stood beside the horse, lasso already wrapped around its neck and ensuring that the animal calmed down. Hands grasped her shoulders, and she looked up to see the worried expression on Arthur’s face. “You okay?”

“I’ve been better,” she admitted and winced as he helped her sit up. “I think I made a balls of that.”

“You nearly had it,” he replied and gave her a once over. “But I think it's in better hands now.”

Now that the horse had calmed down, William thrust the lasso into the stunned John’s hands before flying over to his sister’s side. “Are you alright? He didn’t kick you, did he?”

Seeing the panic in his green eyes, she tried to reassure him. “Nah, I’m grand.”

“You got bucked off a fuckin’ horse and you expect me to think you’re grand.”

“I am grand.”

“We’ll have Miss Grimshaw take a look at her back at camp,” Arthur added, presumably trying to calm the situation. “The main thing is she didn’t get kicked. Looks like she got away with only some bruises.”

She pouted at her sibling while he gently brushed some dirt off her tinted cheeks. “I’m sorry I gave you a fright, William.”

“You can repay me by lettin’ me help you back to camp.”

William and Arthur carefully hauled her to her feet, and she was relieved that she could stand without their assistance.

“She okay?” John called while he remained with the wild stallion a few feet away.

“She’ll be fine,” Arthur answered as he fetched their horses. “Doesn’t look like she got any broken bones.”

She allowed William to help ease her atop Dantés and carefully wrapped her arms around his waist as he sat in front of her. “Well, that was embarrassin’…”

“At least you got a new horse outta it,” he offered, taking the lasso as John passed it to him. “And you didn’t die either.”

“I think that horse is yours. You calmed him after all, and I don’t think he likes me much.”

William didn’t even glance at the animal as it followed them back to camp. “We’ll discuss that after we make sure you’re okay.”

Knowing that there was no arguing with him, Maebh simply let her cheek rest against his back and enjoyed the smooth ride home, nursing the ache in her hip and her somewhat fractured ego.

* * *

Arthur had thankfully been right — Maebh managed to escape the incident with no broken bones and only received a bit of hefty bruising on her hip and shoulder from the fall. It was nothing too serious, bar some cuts and grazes. She was mostly just relieved that none of her injuries kept her from the bank robbery that they had scheduled to do a few days afterwards. William didn’t leave her side for days, despite the fact she could walk and talk with no issue. She was however prevented from doing other jobs and leaving camp; Dutch said he wanted her in tip top shape for the robbery, so aggravating her injuries wasn’t an option. She did manage to convince her brother to keep the damn horse though, and now the stallion — formally named Banquo — stood grazing with the others at camp. Arthur checked up on her too, bringing hot food and coffee with him. His presence was appreciated, especially when she started getting anxious about being stuck in camp. At night time, Karen came to her with some beers and the two usually ended up drinking themselves to sleep after a sing-song with Uncle and Miss Grimshaw.

Maebh was relieved when the days passed by and the morning of the robbery arrived. She felt fit and ready for the occasion thanks to her few days of rest. Soon, she and William were riding into Winterset with Dantés and one of the spare mounts from camp.

The plan was simple enough. In order to avoid suspicions with a large group riding into town, she and William would go into the bank alone with concealed guns and inquire about making an account as a newlywed couple. Hosea would also go to the bank on his own, and the three of them would wait on opposite ends of the room for the others’ arrival. Karen was the signal that things would begin — she would come in, cause a distraction to grab everyones attention, and Dutch, Arthur, and John would storm the bank through the front door. Once they arrived, it was masks on and all hands on deck. Arthur was to intimidate the manager into opening the lock boxes as quietly and as quickly as possible. The others would keep the tellers quiet. The plan was that there would be no casualties.

They rode into town, dressed to impress in a suit and frock respectively. Having hitched their horses on the edge of town and entering the bank, Maebh and William played their part well, and the latter got into a casual conversation with one of the tellers under his alias.

“I think I should discuss it with my new wife before making a decision; she’d murder me if I did it without her. Y’know how women can be, huh, pal?”

They retired to a pair of seats on the right and pretended to be in deep conversation about their finances. Across the room, Hosea sat and made as though he was perusing through some bank statements.

“We’re lucky it’s not very busy today,” Maebh said to her brother in a hushed whisper. “Less people in the crossfire.”

He glanced around the room quickly before meeting her gaze. “Hopefully that’ll play in our favour. In and out in no time.”

It wasn’t long before wails could be heard outside and a figure came crashing through the front door. Karen stood there, dressed in her fanciest outfit with tears streaming down her plump cheeks. She heaved out complaints about an apparent man who had wronged her as one of the bank’s staff came to her side. Whatever attempts he had at hushing her were drowned out by her howling. She expertly drew him in, only to suddenly unveil a gun and push it into his gut.

Her voice shed its previous woes, now laced with stinging vinegar. “Get your goddamn hands up! This is a goddamn robbery!”

At her signal, Dutch, Arthur, and John burst through the doors, bandanas covering half their faces and guns raised.

“Nobody move!”

“Hands up!”

“Anyone moves and we shoot!”

John was on the teller with the keys in an instant, and William and Maebh moved into position. They tugged their bandanas on and William and Hosea quickly shut the front doors while Maebh waited by the teller’s door.

“Unlock the door,” John ordered and swiftly tossed her the keys. “Quick!”

Maebh did as asked, trying to ignore some of the pleads from the bank’s workers.

“This is a robbery, gentlemen,” Dutch announced, addressing the whole room. “And we don’t want to shoot any of you kind folk. So do as we say and no one gets hurt, is that clear?”

As soon as she unlocked the door, she called out to Arthur. “We’re in! Come help sort the vault out.”

While the others attended to those in the main room, Maebh, William, and Arthur stormed through the door to the vault. Arthur grabbed the manager by his collar and switched his demeanour like the flip of a coin.

“Open the goddamn vault!” he screamed, revolver pointed to his head. “Open it!”

“Okay, okay,” the manager said, voice quivering in terror considering he had three guns pointed at his head. “Just don’t hurt me, p-please. I’ve got a family—”

“Open the fuckin’ vault if you want’a see them again!” William growled, getting the man to move. “C’mon the fuck!”

He got to opening the vault, moving too slowly for their liking. With a swift whack of Arthur’s cattleman, he worked faster. “Sonofabitch, c’mon! Hurry up!”

The door opened with a heavy creak, and William pushed the suit into the vault with them. Inside were four lock boxes that were sure to hold ample amounts of money they could use. Though things were going well, Maebh could feel sweat building on the back of her neck.

“We’re in!” she called out to the others. “How you’s holdin’ up out there?”

“We’re fine,” Dutch called back. “Just make sure he opens those lock boxes up without causin’ any trouble!”

Arthur grasped the manager once more and threw him towards the lock boxes. “You best get them open before I put a goddamn hole in your head, boy!”

There was no arguing to be had, and the manager did as he was asked. They quickly shoved the contents of the lock boxes into four bags Arthur had brought along.

Once they were in the clear, William gave the manager a box and knocked him out cold. “That should give us a bit more time to get away.”

Before either of them could make a comment about how smoothly things had gone, a commotion stirred up in the other room. A single shot rang out. Glass smashed and screams erupted. Hosea’s voice could be heard amongst the rabble. “What the hell are you doin’?”

The trio emerged from the teller’s door to see Dutch stood by the front door, one of the window panes smashed through and glass littered on the ground. Maebh glanced out one of the other windows and saw a dead lawman on the street, blood pouring from a bullet hole in his chest. The weight of the money bag on her back felt all the more heavier now.

“What in the hell happened?” Arthur demanded.

“Lawman was investigatin’,” Dutch explained hastily. “He saw what was goin’ on — I had to shoot him.”

“We don’t kill people on these jobs!” Hosea argued, disgusted by the turn of events.

Dutch refused to back down. “We do when our lives are at stake!”

“Well now you’ve put all of us at risk! We could’ve done somethin’ else!”

Karen quickly joined Maebh at the window just as more lawmen appeared outside. “Awh, shit… We got more law outside, boys!”

“They sure as shit know we’re here now,” Maebh added and turned to face her friends. “What do we do?”

“We fight our way out,” Dutch answered, drawing his pistols in each hand. “And get back to camp alive and with the money. We’ve been plannin’ this for too long to give up now. We gotta leave this town as quick as we can. Arthur and I will open fire and force them to stay in cover while the rest of you get to the horses. Head down the alley and loop around; Hosea will lead the way. Shoot anyone in your way, you hear me?”

“Lead the way, Dutch,” John said and took the spare money bag from Arthur. “We’re right behind you.”

A swift glance amongst the group to ensure that everyone was ready, and Dutch was kicking the door open. He was the first to open fire on the waiting lawmen, who ducked behind shop fronts and buildings to steer clear of the bullets. Arthur followed, wielding a repeater and forcing their adversaries to hide if they wanted to avoid being shot. One by one they emerged from the bank, cash in hand and guns ready to take out anyone who threatened their escape. As always, Maebh planted herself ahead of William, staying low as they hurriedly turned and snuck down the side alley and through the back gardens of several shops and a hotel. The thundering clamour of guns firing and bullets flying through wood and clashing with brick could be heard as Hosea, Karen, Maebh, William, and John skirted around corners and hopped over short fences.

As the horses appeared up ahead, visibly skittering at the sound of shots firing, Maebh threw a glance over her shoulder to see if Dutch and Arthur were nearby. She let John and William pass her as she peered around one of the alleys.

“What are you at?” William asked, hesitating to continue.

“We can’t leave without them,” she insisted, wiping her brow and getting her breath back. “Two men against a whole load of law won’t end well.”

“It’s Morgan and Dutch; they’ll be grand. We need to stay with the others.”

Though the commotion continued to rage, she was relieved to see Arthur come barrelling around one of the corners, skidding on the dirt ground as he went.

Upon seeing the siblings, he sprinted to their side. “Y’all okay?”

Maebh shook her head. “I feel like we should be askin’ you that. Where’s Dutch?”

“Comin’ ’round now. He told me to go ahead, so let’s move.”

With his confirmation that their leader was alright, the pair followed the older man as they continued in their escape. As they reached the horses — the others already mounted up and ready to leave — Maebh saw Dutch appear from the corner where Arthur had come running. He was unscathed and thankfully outrunning and law that was following him. She would have grinned at the sight, had he been alone.

Before she could cry out in warning, an armed lawman leapt from around a fence behind Dutch. With a whack, he clocked him in the jaw with the butt of his carbine. Dutch was sent sprawling to the dirt.

Maebh grabbed Arthur’s arm in a knee jerk reaction and her breath caught in her throat.

As the lawman stood over their floundering companion and aimed his gun at Dutch’s head, she heard Arthur desperately calling out his name.

A single gunshot cracked through the air.

With a clatter, the carbine felt limply out of the lawman’s hands. His body went next, landing in a lump on the ground, and blood spurting from the wound in the back of his head. Dutch was stunned, as they all were.

“Who the fuck is that guy?” William asked.

Behind the lawman stood a reverend, decked out in a classic black coat and white neckerchief. Underneath his large brimmed hat was thick, wild ginger hair and a weary but anxious expression. In his hand he held a revolver, smoke steaming from its barrel — the weapon that had saved Dutch’s life.

“Thank you, Reverend,” Dutch said, voice cracking beneath his bandana as he let out a sigh of relief. “I think you just saved my life.”

“I think you were in trouble and I helped you,” the stranger replied, frowning beneath his moustache. “Doing nothin’ would’ve been wrong.”

Arthur quickly turned to the others atop their horses. “You three get outta here! We’ll make sure he’s alright.”

Needing no further encouragement, Hosea quickly guided John and Karen out of town at breakneck speeds. Maebh and Arthur sprinted to Dutch and his new friend while William quickly gathered the horses and prepared them for departure.

“Well, I doubt the law will see it that way,” Dutch said as she and Arthur quickly  helped him to his feet. “If you wanna live, I recommend comin’ with us.”

“I don’t even know your name,” he replied, but followed uncertainly as they approached their horses. “And by the sounds of things, you just robbed the bank.”

Dutch was quick to mount up and offered the man his hand. “I ain’t gonna lie to you — we did just rob that bank. There will be time for introductions later though. You saved my life, and I owe you a debt, Reverend.”

Though he hesitated for the briefest of seconds, the reverend took the offered hand and hopped on to the Count. Each of them mounted up, just as more law arrived in town, this time riding on horseback. Maebh grabbed her reigns and quickly pushed her horse to follow her companions’ tail. Last to leave, she tried to stay close behind her friends as they galloped out past the town’s limits.

Up ahead, Arthur called out. “More comin’ in!”

She looked up and, atop a small hill, three more riders appeared, coming towards them with guns drawn. Dutch was on them first, taking one man down while Arthur got another in a flurry of bullets. One remained, but she steered her heavily breathing horse in an attempt to dodge the oncoming attack. Her companions sped off up ahead, the continued strain of jerky movement causing her horse to tire and slow.

They were far off when her horse cried out in pain and several bullets struck the animal. For the second time in a few days, Maebh was flung from a stallion and sent crashing into the dusty road below with some force. Her head spun and her shoulder throbbed. She breathed deep, lungs working overtime to get whatever air she could down her burning throat. Quite suddenly, her scalp stung as a vicious hand grabbed her hair and pulled her head up.

She cried out as tears built in the corners of her eyes. Through blurred vision she saw the lawman who shot her mount. Now he stood before her, his gun stuck in her face. “I got you now, you little—”

A deafening blast cracked through the ringing in her ears, and the man’s chest quite literally exploded. Blood and bits of flesh and bone struck her face, and suddenly, the pressure on her skull relaxed. With a wobble, he crashed to the ground, revealing a fuming William behind him. He sat atop his horse, shotgun in hand with a look that could kill. His piercing eyes fell on her — his only visible feature thanks to his bandana — brow furrowed so deep into his brow that it cast a shadow over his youthful face and emphasised the scar marred into his skin. He barely even flinched as he holstered his weapon once more.

“Get on his horse!” he ordered through gritted teeth by the sounds of it. “We need’ta leave now!”

Though dizzy and trying to get her breath back, Maebh listened to her brother, and quickly hauled herself on to the abandoned animal. There was simply no time to think about what had occurred — if she thought about her close encounter at that very moment, it would surely cost her her life this time around. With a glance at the dead horse and body in the middle of the road, she lurched and kicked the animal into a gallop, following her brother over a hill and out of sight as cries from the evaded lawmen disappeared on the wind.

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: After Years of Research, Minimalist Composer Julius Eastman Gets the Tribute He Deserves

Arcana New Music Ensemble performs “Femenine” by Julius Eastman (image via thatwhichisfundamental.com)

PHILADELPHIA — Tiona Nekkia McClodden gets up from the wide, white table in the back of the gallery. I follow her over to a framed newspaper clipping, and she’s already there pointing at it, ecstatic, “Like, he really says this shit: ‘I always thought I was great, and it really shouldn’t be so hard, but I was shocked at how the processes were so slow.’ I mean, [Julius] Eastman was like, ‘I’m bad, and I’m doing all this wild stuff, and I can talk about it.’” McClodden, a Philadelphia-based curator and artist, is not alone in her excitement for Julius Eastman, the late and much-mythologized minimalist composer who defied convention during his nearly three-decade career. “That’s what makes me really respect the wildest things that I’ve heard about him because I knew that if I had access to him he’d be able to tell why he did that,” McClodden said.

Recent years have brought a renewed interest in Eastman after he was mostly forgotten in the decade after his untimely death in 1990. However, this interest has been, at times, at the expense of historic and compositional inaccuracy, with performances or releases moving forward without permission or aid from the Julius Eastman Estate, which is headed by Julius’s brother, Gerry Eastman, an accomplished musician in his own right. The most conspicuous offender of late was the 2016 London Contemporary Music Festival, which staged a three-day series billed as “the world’s first major overview of Julius Eastman” this past December without approval or collaboration with Eastman’s estate.

Gerry Eastman has argued for the necessity for care and consideration of his brother and his work. What remains of it exists largely in precarity due to the nature of the work itself, which often featured loosely ascribed improvisation that he performed or directed himself, and the whims of Eastman who was categorically indifferent to materialism. A much repeated anecdote is that he lost a large portion of his work near the end of his life when he was thrown out of an apartment when he refused to pay the rent. This working philosophy of Eastman’s left much of his work in a fragile state, though it isn’t indicative that he wasn’t specific and deliberate. It often seems the thing that’s needed to complete his compositions is the presence of Eastman himself. The most successful interpretations of his music to date have been quick to recognize this, notably Jace Clayton’s ambient manipulations in “The Julius Eastman Memory Depot,” and is why a comprehensive orchestration has remained elusive until now.

Installation view of “A RECOLLECTION.” with Tiona Nekkia McClodden, curator. (photo by the author for Hyperallergic)

For the past three or so years, McClodden has been working alongside Dustin Hurt, executive director of Bowerbird, a nonprofit performing arts center in Philadelphia, and with the Julius Eastman Estate, to bring the most — perhaps only — authoritative production of Eastman’s music to fruition since his death. Bowerbird has found generous support in Philadelphia, with the Pew Center for Arts & Heritage issuing two separate grants in the last few years to aid in the research process and the production of Eastman’s music. Eastman also had ties to Philadelphia: He received his formal music education at the Curtis Institute of Music, though his time there was marked by institutional racism, as he was denied sponsorship and housing; he resided at a nearby YMCA from his first year until his graduation in 1966.

Friday, May 5, marked the start of Bowerbird’s production, “Julius Eastman: That Which Is Fundamental,” with a concert of two of Eastman’s most recognizable works, “Stay On It” (1973) and “Femenine” (1974), at the Rotunda in Philadelphia’s University City. Last Friday saw the second concert in the series, and there are two more scheduled this month at the Rotunda; meanwhile, the neighboring Slought Gallery is hosting a split exhibition centered on Eastman’s life and work, Predicated and A Recollection.

Installation view of A Recollection at Slought Gallery showing facsimiles of original Eastman scores. (photo by the author for Hyperallergic)

A Recollection gathers a mix of press clippings, concert posters, photographs found through friends and lovers, some archival recordings — a version of “Trumpet” (1970), newly sourced from a found reel-to-reel, played in the background while I was there — and six full scores readily available for viewing, including “Thruway” (1970) and “Colors” (1973). Predicated occupies an adjoining gallery and is a cross-disciplinary conversation with Eastman’s work, including new and existing video, painting, sculpture, music, and performance from Sondra Perry, Carolyn Lazard, Texas Isaiah, and Wayson R. Jones, among others. Though Eastman is known as a composer, he was virtuosic in other mediums as well. He was a choreographer, dancer, actor, painter, and occasional poet, and some of his musical compositions featured these components. They have proven to be the most ephemeral parts of his practice as an artist, and even less of this work survives. Predicated intimates these mediums of loss, standing in and drawing out work that might have been. As McClodden explained it, “[Predicated] is Eastman in my mind, my nightmares, my biggest dreams of what this cat looks like, feels like.”

Installation view of Carolyn Lazard, “Score for Convalescing 1, 2, and 3” (2017), dimensions variable, in Predicated (photo by the author for Hyperallergic)

It’s partly this idea of searching out a person who seems relatively mysterious that has drawn such vehement interest in Eastman, but the fervor over his work also stems from his identity: Eastman was an out, gay, black man composing classical music while his contemporaries, at least the ones associated with minimalism — Philip Glass, Steve Reich, La Monte Young, et al — were mostly straight, white men. Where his contemporaries have seen their work produced ad nauseam and entered into posterity, Eastman worked in contention with a system that favored those with privileged access. Aware of these dynamics when he was alive, he found profound meaning in impermanence. “There’s statements where he’s like, ‘I don’t give a fuck about [keeping a record of what I’ve done],” said McClodden. “I’ll do it again. The music is in my head.'” Eastman was also purposeful in composing provocative and, more to the point, transgressive work. He was a downtown, gay aesthete and transformative artist of color, crafting what he would eventually call “that thing which is fundamental.” The titles of his compositions, for instance “Evil Nigger” (1979) or “Gay Guerrilla” (1979), were an affront to straight and white sensibilities, and the music itself was transcendent and unabashedly spiritual.

The opening performance at the Rotunda presented two newly recompiled scores sourced from snippets of sheet music, historic recordings, and individual testimony. Though both compositions are notable, “Femenine” is of particular importance because of its length, roughly 73 minutes — a feat of utter endurance from the group of musicians, who were visibly exhausted and wrecked by the physical stress of the composition, which is an Eastman staple. This piece is also a metaphorical expression of gender; Eastman was known to transgress gender norms in his work, and though this was usually more overt, such as eschewing on occasion a men’s suit for a dress during piano performances, he was infinitely capable of subtlety as well: “Femenine” is composed around a whole-step measure, just E♭ to F played on a vibraphone, and the wild, layered instrumentation between those anchoring notes seems to expand the refrain itself as if it were illustrating something much more manifold and mystical.

Installation view of at Slought Gallery, Philadelphia (image courtesy Tiona Nekkia McClodden)

Much like the taxing work of performing his music, synthesizing the pieces of Eastman’s life is also exhausting. “I don’t know if he wants to be fully revealed,” McClodden said. “I mean, the more you read a little bit about the way he moved, he was very ephemeral. He didn’t really care.” Before I leave her, she’s back at the gallery table on a laptop, showing me some images that she couldn’t get permission to display, and sharing how when she started work on this project she had a naïve image in her head of Eastman just “lying in the flowers” and composing all day. She recognizes that even though she’s pulled together what she has of Eastman, he’s still so much farther beyond what she could ever know.

McClodden does have an actual image of Eastman making a painting surrounded by a field of flowers, though. She pulls it up, and we both laugh, and she says to me, “There’s a [companion piece to ‘Femenine’] called ‘Masculin’ that’s lost, and I just want to know: What did it sound like? There’s still hope.” She explains she’s in touch with someone in New York who performed with him and is willing to share an unknown recording. “This is what’s happening: You show and then the people, the oddest folks, are like, ‘I was there. I still have the sheet music.’ So, we’re going to meet with her, and I’m going to listen to this music and see if I can hear him. It’s really an exciting thing. He’s very alive. It’s not dead. It’s not finished.”

Julius Eastman: That Which Is Fundamental continues through May 26. A Recollection and Predicated continue at Slought Gallery (4017 Walnut St, Philadelphia) through May 28. 

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