#like when i go back to the US i am skipping the light drinks & gettin on the ole rum & cokey cola bcuz idk i do not care for The Selection.

[blue-rphub]

i'm at work and im bored so I've gotta come out with a controversial opinion: booze edition

if you're drinking white claw at any kinda event, whether it's predrinks, house party, club... you are better off trying to get waved off of milk

[liibrii]

Chapter 2: Tattered 

Ojiro Aran x fem!reader

Series Masterpost || Ch. 1

wc: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, internalised guilt and shame, intrusive thoughts, self doubt, depression.

a/n: I don’t really have anything to say other than I’m enjoying writing for Aran so much. if you wanna be tagged in future chapters lemme know, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated! 

Aran knows people don't always mean what they say.  Even he had done it before and it destroyed a few of his relationships. Knowing that doesn't make your words hurt any less.

He tries to convince himself you didn't really mean it, still a part of him wonders if that's how you really feel. How you've always felt. For all those years he was assured of your friendship and now you've pulled the rug from under his feet. None of your words align with the image in his head. Perhaps you've never been the person he remembers. The you in his mind is just that, a memory, a perfect picture he created from bits and pieces he chose. Has he truly always seen only what he wanted to see?

Thoughts of you run through his mind as he stands on the back line. One more serve before he wraps up. Bam.

To always see good in people is what he was thought growing up and what he still tries to do to this day, even if years had thought him people aren't only their good sides. He always thought of you only at your best and failed to even get to know you properly. What kind of friend does that? You're in pain and he can't help because he has no idea where the wounds are. He has no idea where to look for them because he refused to see. 

Perhaps he is a terrible friend after all.

Bam. The ball gets caught in the net and falls. Aran watches it roll away before picking up another. He breathes deeply. It's all about focus, he reminds himself, even when his mind wants to slip he has to remain focused.

All of his teammates have left already. Home, to their partners, their families. What will he return home to? An empty apartment with take-out he'll eat on the couch. Alone. Maybe he should get a pet. But when will he have time to care for it?

Bam.

He should call home. Check on his friends. Maybe if he had checked on you more often then-

Bam.

What use is pondering over what could've been? With each serve his palm aches more, his muscles already sore from practice but he doesn't want to stop yet. One more.

“There's a difference between training hard and overdoing it, you know?“

Perhaps life is just memories of days long gone sipping into present.

When he turns to face you uneasiness rises in him. Any other time he'd be elated to see you. Now even words to greet you with escape him. You come closer, shoes softly squeaking on the gym's floor. “Doorman let me in. After a little bit of convincing.“

“Really?“

“No, I slipped past while his back was turned. How long are you planning on staying? I saw all of your teammates leave already.“

Aran turns the ball in his hands. It's becoming slippery from all the sweat. He can't bring himself to look you in the eyes. “My serves are gettin' sloppy. I need more practice.“

Bam.

You stay where you are, watching and fiddling with the strap of your bag, until you can't bear the silence anymore and speak up. “Aran, I actually wanted to talk to you. About you know... what I said.“

“T's okay. I know ya didn't mean it.“

“I did.“ Your voice eerily echoes in the otherwise empty gym. “As shitty as it is, it's how I felt.“ You're eyes stay fixed on the floor. “I'm sorry.“

Aran catches the ball he just threw in the air for another jump serve. When he looks over at you you're still intently focused on your shoelaces, gripping the strap of the bag so tight your knuckles turned white. Why are you beating yourself up so much? If you feel something, you feel it. What reason for it do you need to have? Knowing how you felt hurts, that much he can't deny. And yet he can't hold it against you.

He puts the ball on the top of your head, just like boys used to do back in high school to annoy you. “If ya really insist on apologisin' then I guess I have no other choice but to forgive ya.”

As his words sink in you shyly glance at him. “You sure?“

“'Course I am,“ smiles Aran, balancing the ball so it doesn't roll from the top of your head.

“You're not angry? At me?“

He takes the ball and starts throwing it from one hand to another. “Not really. Very surprised. A little hurt.“

“I'm sorry-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know,“ he cuts you off. “Set for me and we'll call it even.”

“Aran, my sets are in no way near the level you're used to.“

“So?“ he asks already walking over to fetch the ball cart. “Ya still remember where to stand, right?“ he teases, cackling softly when you roll your eyes and take off your bag and jacket, all while trying to hide a smile creeping on your lips.

It takes a few tries for you to remember how to make an overhand set. Aran's filled with giddy warmth when you manage to send the ball in the right position for him to spike it over the net. Perhaps all those lessons with Atsumu years ago didn't go to waste after all. Your little victory jump makes him burst into laughter and he rewards you with a high five.

It really is an echo of history.

Your skills are rusty, something that makes you apologise profusely every time you mess up, even after he reassures you he doesn't mind, and ruffles your hair.

With each set you relax more, till every smile and laugh seem sincere. Only now Aran realises how he missed this carefree side of you. Time always flies too fast when you're around and soon enough, out of breath and wiping the drops of sweat from your forehead, you call an end of this individual practice.

He hurries with showering and changing into fresh clothes, not wanting to leave you waiting for too long, especially since you have morning lessons tomorrow. He buys you a drink from the vending machine. It's not much, but staying hydrated is important, he tells you when you tease him about it.

“You know, that brought back a lot of memories,“ you say while walking to the train station, then poke his shoulder. “Thanks.“ The smile dancing over your lips makes his cheeks warm up. You glance over to the sky hiding behind a golden halo that city lights cast over the rooftops. “Do you ever miss Hyogo?“

“Sometimes.“

“I miss the stars.“ You kick a small stone from your path. “You've become quite a star too you know. With all the fans and attention I really wonder, do you get lonely?”

Your question catches him off guard. “I'm too busy to get lonely,“ he lies.

“I get lonely sometimes,“ your eyes still search for a glimmer of a distant star. “And tired. Some days I just want to sleep all day. Do you ever get the urge to do that? Skip practice and stay in bed?“

“No. If I skipped practice how will I become better?”

You purse your lips and nod. “That's why you're a professional athlete and I'm just trying to figure out why I have to separate blue and red laundry.“

“Those are two very different things.“

“Both are just some pieces of cloth. Why do I have to separate them? If they got problems with each other they should grow up and talk it out.” 

That’s not what he meant, but your slight annoyance over technicalities of doing laundry still makes him laugh.

In the coming days Aran checks his phone every chance he gets, just to see if you already wrote back. No matter what you talk about he wants to hear it; be it about your day or the delivery man being late with your order. His teammates notice and tease him about it yet he denies you're anything more than just a friend, and they exchange knowing looks when his back is turned. Even if his entire body heats up at the sole mention of your name Aran isn't ready to admit to himself, let alone others, he wants you to be more.

Not when he isn't sure if his feelings for you are being muddled by his memories.

That Tuesday you grab a dinner together that turns into a late night walk through the streets. It's not a date, Aran keeps reminding himself. It's just two friends hanging out as you've done a thousand times before. So why is his heart threatening to thump it's way out of his chest?

After that night weekly hanging out with you becomes a regular occurrence. Sometimes you go out to eat, sometimes you drag him along when you go shopping, saying he has a good eye for colour combinations. It has nothing to do with the fact he buys you ice cream every time. Some days you come to his place to play video games or watch movies. Seeing his favourite series making you laugh warms his heart.

As you become more comfortable around him your facade slowly, bit by bit, starts to crumble. He's scared to see what lies beneath yet at the same time he wishes it would break already. He can't help you if he doesn't know, can he?

Whatever is troubling you he wishes you'd trust him enough to confide in him. In the back of his mind lingers the question he's too scared too ask.

Does Kita know what's on your mind? Do you still talk to him?

You used to be close to the team. The one they relied on. The one who so lovingly tapped their fingers before each game. Do they know your eyes are puffy? Do they know every sleepless night that goes by makes the dark circles under your eyes harder to hide? Do they know his heart breaks every time he sees the tremble of your lips when you force a smile?

No matter how bad he wants to hold you, tell you it's going to be okay, the mere thought of reaching out paralyses him.

What if you don't want his help?

If you did, you would've asked already, right? Not even practice can stop him from thinking about you. His disappointment grows a little when he sees no new messages. Perhaps you don't want to talk to him after all.

He's just leaving the gym when his phone lights up and seeing it's your name makes his heart flutter. He eagerly picks up. “Hi!“

“H-hey.“ Already in the first word the strain in your voice is apparent. “Um, am I interrupting you?“

“No, of course not. I just finished with practice. What's up?“

“I-“ He hears you take a deep breath. “Um, I don't, I don't feel so good...“ Your next words are almost a whisper. “Could I come over?“

“'Course ya can come over. I'll be home in about an hour.“

By the time he arrives you're already there, standing by the entrance nervously stepping from one leg to another. You give a shy wave when he approaches. He noticed you've been acting weirdly sheepish around him and he's not used to it. You're friends. What's making you so nervous?

You trail behind him, hands tucked deep in your pockets. You don't even pull them out when taking your shoes off.

“Tea?“ he offers when you make your way towards the sofa.

“Sure,“ you nod, sitting and tightly hugging a pillow. “Sorry about that,“ you say when he joins you with two cups of tea, “I just... bad day, you know? Didn't want to be alone.“

With a smile he assures you it's no problem. You're welcome to come by whenever you want.

You tell him about college, about work. “Boss is a shit bag,“ you complain. The working hours make you late for your lessons and even professors are getting fed up with you always being late. Not to mention your classmates aren't keen on lending you notes to copy.

It's all too much, you say, work, college, the pressure of everyone's expectations. Your fellow students give you funny looks sometimes, you tell him. It's only a few years but you're still older than them, at the age where your parents are asking when you are going to settle down. Have children. Get a stable job. Well how could you when you haven't even gotten your degree yet? It all makes you feel like a failure.

And yet something tells Aran that's not why you're here. Maybe it's the nervous fumbling with the hem of your clothes. Maybe it's because you don't look at him at all. A silence falls on you as you sip your tea. Aran considers asking out right but you gather the courage before he does.

“Shin called.“  

“Ah.“ That's all he manages to say.

“He's doing good, in case you're wondering. He asked if we have any plans on visiting any time soon.“ Your eyes skim over his face. “That would be nice, don't you think?“

Aran forces a smile. “Sounds great.“ Once again your words threaten to shake the ground he stands on. All he hears is 'seeing Shin would be nice'. His grip on the cup tightens and he puts it away before he'd crack it.

“Do ya miss him?“ he asks, words coming out more choked up than he intended. He clears his throat when he leans back on the couch's backrest.

You think over his question. “I miss my best friend.“

He asks. Even if he doesn't want to know the answer, he asks. “Will you get back with him?“

“No.“ Your answer is quiet, but firm. You readjust yourself to lean on the backrest, facing him, the pillow still tightly squeezed in your grip. “Shin is a great guy just... not the right for me. Wasn't easy to accept but that's how it is.“ You fumble with the thread sticking out from the stitch. “I wasn't good for him, you know?“ you quietly continue. “He protected me since we were kids but at some point it all just... fizzled I guess. I was so used of always being by his side the thought of living without him terrified me. He was that stability I craved. For a long time I believed he would give me a goal in life, or something similar.“ You chuckle. “Try getting through seventeen-year-old-me's head that's not how relationships work. I knew we wouldn't work out. But I stayed because I was selfish and stupid... and scared. I think he knew. And it started to take a toll on him. So I left before he'd break.“ Tears start forming in your eyes. “Shin could never understand why I'm so sad without a reason... Maybe if I left sooner... well, it doesn't matter now.“

“Ya can still go back,“ hearing his own words shatters Aran's heart, “once ya feel better.“

The brief laugh you give almost sounds like a sob. “Can I?“ You forcefully wipe the tears away. “Even if I could it wouldn't be the same as I remember now. It's hard to explain but somehow, what’s in your memories is always better than reality. Know what I mean?“

He knows. Memory is the thief of future.

The lump in his throat grows larger, heavier as he watches you try to hide tears starting to run down your cheeks. He's lost, not knowing what else to do but to pull you closer, tucking your head under his chin. He hugs you and softly caresses your back. “It's alright,“ he whispers when you apologise through sobs and tears. He keeps repeating, it's alright. What else could he possibly say?

You relax in his arms and your sobs slowly turn to muffled sniffles. Aran only wishes you feel safe in his arms, your head leaning on his shoulder, your arms shyly wrapping around his middle. It's not the most comfortable position but he's to scared to readjust. He hears your hitched breathing sync with his own as he runs his hands up and down your back and, exhausted from your crying, you're soon fast asleep.

Perhaps for the first time in his life Aran's starting to really understand you. It pains him, knowing your struggles. You, who were always so full of light, you who were the pillar, tall and unyielding, one he could always lean onto. How memories managed to muddle his perception of you so much is beyond him. The only thing he can do is promise himself to never let them deceive him again. After all, who needs memories?

He messages you more frequently. Not too frequently, he doesn't want to appear nosy or pushy. Just often enough to let you know he's there for you if you need him.

You've been busier with college lately, so weekly hang outs turn to late night phone calls. Hearing your voice feels like a refreshing cool breeze on these hot summer nights.

He collapses in his bed, only half listening to your rambling on about one of the professors. He didn't catch her name.

“Aran? You still there?“

“Yeah, I'm still here. T's been a long day, t's all.“

He hears you hum and he can imagine the way you lean your head to the side. “Coach in a bad mood?“

“Not really. I'm just not feelin' my best. Couldn't sync with Aritsura's sets. But ya know, more practice 's all we need. How was your day?“ he asks, forgetting you just told him a few minutes ago.

“It was alright,“ you say instead of repeating what you already told him. “Actually, I wanted to apologise. About last time. I shouldn't have dumped all my problems on you.“

“How many times do I need to repeat it's okay. I'm here for ya.“

“Still. I'm sorry. It was a lot. I... I don't want to be a burden.“

His brows furrow. How many times does he have to repeat it? Why don't you get it? “Yer not.“ Your low chuckle makes him irritated . “I mean it. If ya ever need to talk just say, alright?“

“Yeah, yeah I will... Thank you. It's just that... I don't want to ruin this friendship too. That's all. Tell me when I become too much. Please.“

What are you talking about? “Whatever is on yer mind I promise I can handle it.“

“Can you? So you not being able to play your best has nothing to do with me dumping all my problems on you?“

Something in the way you say those words pushes the wrong button. He's only trying to be here for you, why can't you see that? “I don't care enough to let it impact me.“ Fuck. Even before the final word leaves his mouth he knows it came out wrong. “I'm sorry, fuck, y/n, I didn't mean it like that-“

“It's okay,“ you interrupt. “You're right.“

“I'm-“

“Get some sleep Aran. You have practice tomorrow. G' night.“ You end the call before he gets the chance to say goodbye.

Fuck.

Ch. 3: In the light, your name

Tags: @rosecaffelatte, @aonenthusiast

[sourbat]

Here’s my final magtok of the year, a little something dedicated to my friend, @theywerecars. Your art has been a huge inspiration, and after spending hours just admiring this piece right here, decided I want to try giving a story behind the first image. Thank you for chatting with me, and have a wonderful new year. 

Summary: After a day of shopping and mischief under the sun, Toki and Magnus take a break inside the limo. 

Rating: M

Warning: gets a little heated 

Causing havoc in the city, buying out stores and watching Toki run amok through shoplifting, skipping lines and threatening to have establishments closed for not meeting his ridiculous demands, had run its course. Summer peaked, and Magnus, though delighted by Toki’s whimsical and destructive tendencies, was tired of the walk, being opposed by the rapturous heat, and failing despite his best efforts, to combat against it. Not even the invitation to be rude, berate the clerks and salesmen by the very faces themselves, nor the endless offering (and refusals) of watches, rings, buckles and whatever fancy Toki selected and placed within Magnus’ view, could restore the energy being drained from an increasingly insufferable, but otherwise satisfying, day.

After sending a hood to fetch a diet soda, Magnus decided to end their little shopping spree by flinging a cube in the direction of a security officer. It earned a chuckle from Toki, but as satiating as it was, Magnus’ patience was wearing thin. Hoods approached, more than willing to take Magnus’ bags off his hands, and when they left the second half of the leveled shopping center, Toki promised he would take Magnus to one last place before calling an end to their spree. The sun beat down on them, a blunt and all encompassing-weapon that took its time breaking Magnus and Toki, until neither could tolerate the harsh rays, the weight of their moist clothing, the interior rubbing the nooks and crannies, and succumbed for an immediate reprieve.

Toki wasted little time calling the gears forward, and within five minutes of waiting, a limousine slowed to a still in front of them, and a klokateer merged from within, ready to take their bags and invite them into the dark, heavenly air-conditioned space within.

Magnus was the first to slip inside, hardly giving the gear a chance to respond to his rudely shoving several bags of clothing, music, art supplies and other assortments into his arms. Toki cheerfully climbed in afterwards, muttering an order to keep the partition closed, and air on full blast until they arrived at whatever restaurant Magnus selected for their dinner.

He was lost in a trance, rolling up his denim sleeves as far as he could without constricting movement, fanning himself and staring immodestly at the stocked minibar at the end of the limo, when he picked up on the last of Toki’s comment before turning and watching the door slam shut.

“Dinner?” he asked, eyes lazily glancing about the limo while Toki crawled forward, giggling and raising his palms upright when the engine roared with new life.

“Yeps!”

“Toki, it’s not even four yet.” Magnus sank into the cushioned seat, head falling back and eyes shutting under the steady, welcomed blast of sweet, cold air.

Still smiling, Toki hurriedly took a seat when there came a knock from the glass partition. “Yeah,” he stated aloud, eyes peering over and sending a curious, if not slightly disapproving look in the direction of the driver’s seat. “So we has plenty of times to thinks about what to gets.”

Magnus supplied no response, letting the cold rush continue to soak his drained core while the vehicle began its trek towards nowhere. What a waste of gas. Were it not for their given location, and the distance and long ride to his place, Magnus might have suggested they just head back home. The mere mention of dinner suggested Toki wanted him to select something nearby, or perhaps an establishment he normally wouldn’t visit so that Toki could continue showering him with treasures and spoils. That had been the entire day thus far, and if Magnus knew Toki, figured the continued theme would persist through the rest of the afternoon and evening. Magnus sighed, feeling the vibrations creep past the rubber soles of his boots, up to his aching feet, and within moments, felt Toki’s presence enter his space. 

He opened his eyes and found Toki sitting on the cushion neighboring his, pale round face as close as he could get it without getting in the way of the cooled air. He met Toki’s inquisitive look with a deadpan, pinked face with a sink of his brows, parting mouth with an all-too thin line that, for most, proved difficult to interpret. 

Then Toki propped up his arms, exposing a cupped glass filled with ice, lemon, and something that looked like iced tea, but most certainly wasn’t.  

He took it, feeling the immediate rise race up his arm from the shocking contrast of the icy wet glass, and his tempered fingers. “Thank you.”

“Needs anything else?” Toki inquired, voice uncharacteristically low.

“Nope.” Magnus took a sip, tasting the smooth alcohol that ignited the back of his mouth and throat. Oh, that was nice bourbon. He attended to another gulp, lids dropping to a squint when the liquid reached his stomach, calming and cooling him down simultaneously. “You?”

“No, ams fine.”

“Sorry about cutting it short.” Magnus stirred his drink, letting the alcohol burn through the single ice cube floating at the center, hoping it would do more to ease the discomfort, instead of merely watering down what was top-shelf bourbon.

“Ams fine,” Toki said, the top half of his body leaning forward to catch Magnus’ stare and show off his bright, cheeky grin before letting the speed of the limo drag him down to the cushion. He fell upon with a practiced grace, arms cradling the back of his head as he hit the extended seat with a flirtatious wink. “Was gettins really warms.”

It was then Magnus became increasingly aware of the number of gifts bestowed upon him, the immediate desire to call forth a vehicle the second Toki registered the hint of displeasure, and the hasty retrieval for a drink, alcoholic be damned. A wondrous flutter coursed through Magnus, and he met the man’s giddiness with a gentle blink, legs uncrossing and lap exposed, back reclining into his seat and allowing opening of his jacket to part further, tasting luscious air and watching a glint of predatory curiosity hinge in Toki’s large eyes. 

“Going to gets a drinks.” Toki muttered as their darkened chariot made a turn. “You wants anothers?”

They passed under something, a building perhaps, that casted a shadow over the limo. When it left, and the red lighting returned, Magnus was sure he could make out the slightest remains of a blush, front teeth rising from nervously biting a tongue.

Amused, Magnus stirred his drink again. “Sure, I’m in the mood,” he answered, staring at Toki turning, back hunched once he reached the mini bar. Magnus snickered at the shine of exposed spine, licked his own lips, and without thinking, tacked on: “What about you?”

Toki’s head popped upright. “Huh?”

“Nothing.” Magnus laughed, raised his glass at Toki’s ignorance, then returned to finishing off the remainder of the bourbon. Oh, it burned just right, and under the air conditioner, kept the warmth nestled in his chest and stomach.

Toki attended to the drink. Magnus watched, complacent, until he remembered all the nice gifts Toki procured for him, and felt a small tinge of guilt. It wasn’t as bad as it used to be, and Magnus knew there was little point in trying to do the math, imagine some grandiose scenario where he could magically repay Toki back for his extravagant expenditures. That ship had sailed ages ago, and though Magnus found himself eyeing the waters, the ship and wondering if he should navigate it once more, was able to push it aside the second Toki reappeared on his left, raising two glasses between them. 

“Thanks for the stuff,” Magnus said, hand reaching outward and lingering over Toki’s, middle and index fingers grazing his appendages with an intended purpose. “Y’know, gifts and all.”

“Nots a problems!” Toki answered, brows creasing and smile straining to maintain some semblance of friendly innocence. “Don’t minds gettins gifts for my bestest pal.”

Magnus huffed. “Right, well, thanks anyways.”

Toki wasn’t offended by his usual standoffish approach. Much like the gifts, there was little point in arguing over something they’d both come to accept as featurettes that, although difficult at times, were ultimately the characteristics that drew them towards one another. No reason for Magnus to be overwhelmed by the sheer enthusiasm that was Toki, nor an excuse for Toki to fumble over less than excited reactions from Magnus, wandering eyes or miniscule smiles.

There was little point in being hung-up over money, age, celebrity status, Dethklok or past misadventures when there were more immediate, pressing matters at hand.

Empty glass resting in a cup holder, Magnus raised his second glass towards the red, tinted light. In his peripheral Toki glowed a vibrant hue of crimson, blood red from the windows casting a shade that brings further attention to the contained, but noticeable craving hiding behind his eyes.

These days, the biggest crux Magnus faced was building a mood, and only because Toki tried so hard to build one it practically turned into a struggle. 

With a sly wink, Magnus watched Toki mirror his action and brought the glass to meet with his. 

“Cheers.” The glasses clinked.

Magnus was positive Toki’s drink was a front, a possible excuse to earn the right to nestle close, place a hand on his lap, rub his leg with firm, but not entirely suggestive rhythm. Hilarious, given how little it would have taken Magnus to let Toki taste, but accepted Toki’s slow approach was just another trait he not-so-discreetly adored, and paid hardly any mind when he felt the temperature around him start to rise.

Midway into his second drink, their ride smoothened, and Toki placed the glass he carried beneath him and began resting on top of Magnus. Then came the exhale, airy, hot desire that tickled and sent a balmy chill, a small hit of adrenaline coursing across Magnus’ neck. He shut his eyes. It felt good, but Toki’s sighs warmed his face, had his heart pumping for more blood, for another increase in the discomfort Magnus worked hard to remove when he settled under the air conditioner… Ok, so maybe he minded a little.

Toki’s hand slid up the front, touched his cooling chest with surprisingly hot fingertips. Today would be the day Toki was careful not to shock him, and instead carefully add on to his weight, wriggle his way nearer and let his hand travel into the shadowed, concealed portions hidden under Magnus’ jacket. A hand drifted across his chest, over his waist and strummed a gentle melody with roughened tips. Like flint colliding against steel, Magnus’ once cool self sparked into a simmer: a small, but prominent flame. Nerves reacted, pumped messages across Magnus’ weary frame to increase the drive, send a clearer message with slightly flushed cheeks and face that burned to touch. The air conditioner fueled him with enough sense to want to respond, crook his neck to the side and invite more affection, but the discomfort in his denim rubbing across his sweaty back, the sore feet and weighed down curls kept him from completely savoring the growing intimacy. The closeness.

Then the driver, for whatever reason, suddenly hit the brakes; Magnus, already positioned at the edge of the seat, slipped and fell off his seat. The cool air vanished, and replacing it was Toki swearing in Norwegian, middle finger poised at the partition before returning to Magnus with a delicate plea. Aside from the startle, there wasn’t anything to fret over, and Toki seemed to pick up on this detail quickly. When Magnus sat himself upright, he already had Toki’s legs blocking each side, and when he backed against the seat, was welcomed with Toki’s large arms pulling him close.   

Now Toki sat at the edge, form arching to meet Magnus, arms enclosing and hanging limp over a shoulder, another under one of his arms before gripping, embracing him and masking his senses in a scorching flame that sank and pooled just below his navel once Toki dipped his head into his hair, nose parting locks, breathing in his scent, and, oh no.

“Wait,” Magnus said, leaning away, but not quite escaping Toki’s hungry grip.  “I, uh–”

He tried moving, but felt the cold shock of the half-filled drink by his side. He drew back, had Toki’s hands trail up his jacket, search and stop when they came across chest hairs. Magnus jolted at the tickle, frown extending when a palm pressed over his flushed, shimmery skin. It melted over him, danced over his rapid heart rate, settled below Magnus’s stomach, raced up his spine and summoned a cold sweat.

Toki returned, mouth agape at heavy, dark hair tumbling over Magnus’ unwilling shoulder. “Ams wrong?”

Magnus watched Toki’s hand remove itself, saw the press of his hair, weighted down from the moisture. Sweat. Body heat. No doubt Toki felt all of this, and yet, another hand continued to drift southward, where things hadn’t yet cooled, and were in the process of coiling, tightening magma rod brimming once a finger traced over the seam. All of this, and Toki holding him in place, legs drawing near, killing space, crushing, entrapping.

Through the distraction, Magnus swallowed. “I’ve been walking all day.” 

Toki’s nose pressed against the back of Magnus’ head. “Yes, ands?” 

“I’m not exactly peaches and roses right now,” Magnus grumbled, face brimming red. “Y’know, fresh?”

Every pore in his body reacted to the confession, which, naturally, made it worse. Toki’s frame blocked any air from hitting him, and Toki’s presence, impassioned sigh, his mouth inhaling spiced scent, musk from a long day of walking, of being under the sun, brought Magnus to a shudder.

With a sigh, Toki yanked Magnus, until his backside was pressed up against the seat and the younger man’s lower abdomen. 

“You smells fines,” Toki whispered into Magnus’ ear, then pursed his lips over the bottom lobe, transitioning into a delicate nip.

Magnus shivered. “Oh.” 

He fell back against the sensation, lids sinking through the cold rush that shot across, tantalized; Toki’s words convincing nerves to relax, recline and submit to playful hands. Legs dragged across the fabric surface. Leather seat moaned, creasing under Toki’s shifting self. A kiss to the jawline burned Magnus, freezing him in place while the alcohol began its work and helped muffle any remaining concerns about sweat or appearances. He raised an arm, met another forceful kiss, a hand undoing the button of his pants, and dropped it, slumping over Toki’s leg.

Toki’s lips removed themselves from Magnus’ jawline. “Tastes fines, too.”

Caught in-between a pant and a tremble, Magnus could only manage another “Oh,” before falling prey to the hand freeing him, exposing him to the warmed limousine, atmosphere thickened with wanton lust. Magnus brought his arm up once more, only to rest his elbow on top of the leg, glistening face against an open palm. He rested against it, and Toki dove inward, face buried in hickory brown locks, inhales turning more vocal, and touches intensifying. 

The limousine drove on, going nowhere in particular, not until Magnus finally gave the word for whatever he was craving. Vibrations quaked underneath, crawled up his tired back which now sank against Toki’s. Desire coupled, doubled the need to be close. A cloudy filter alit, veiled Magnus’ vision as he folded, went limp and relaxed. Muscles twitched, shivered out cold that blanketed the mild blush. Heat bubbled below the belt.

“Oh.”

“Mhmm.” A hand descended through a separated zipper. “Feels fine…”

Eyes shut. Through the darkness, Magnus snickered.

No reason to get flustered over a little heat, a bit of sweat. 

Bigger issues at hand, Magnus thought, emitting a slight moan, head sinking back and bare nape exposed to an onslaught of teeth.

[currahee-gal]

Omg can you give us some slowburn Liebgott? Or any Liebgott? Also your Toye fic was excellent!!!

WOW THIS ONE IS SUPER OLD! And wait…did somebody say slowburn??? Because do I HaVe A tReAt FoR yOu!! I really hope you like this Liebgott slowburn. I put my blood, sweat and tears into it. And thank you so much!!

The Five Times Joe Liebgott Almost Kissed Her (and the One Time She Did It for Him)

Pairing: Joe Liebgott x Reader

Warnings: Frustration, angst, minor character death, Liebgott being a dorky jerk, reader being a dorky jerk back, lots and lots of cursing, fluffy, honestly it has a little bit of everything except smut so. Please also watch out for misspellings, grammatical errors, as well as overall awkward sentence phrasing. This took a very long time to write and I am very tired. Mostly edited, but I’m not perfect.

Word count: 7,220 (oops my finger slipped)

A/N: Did somebody say slowburn?!?! You request, I deliver. This monster is finally finished and all I can say is thank goodness it is. I really hope you guys enjoy this. I did. I love Liebgott. Send me more Liebgott because I love him. These stories are solely based on the actors from the Band of Brothers series, not on the actual heroes

The hunting party watched the deer flee into the forest in annoyance. Joe slumps his shoulders and groans.

“Oh damn it Shifty, you let ‘em get away! Army oughtta be glad to be rid of you.”

Shifty nods a little before lowering his M-1. “I wish, you know? It seems they want me to stay around a while.”

“Are you serious?” Liebgott’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.

“How many points you need?” Malarkey asks on the other side of the line.

“15.” Shifty sighs, turning his head to Malark.

“15? Jesus Christ, I thought I had it bad.” Malarkey sighed in disbelief. Shifty shrugged and readjusted the firearm in his grip.

“No purple hearts, never was injured.” With his statement, Shifty took a step forward, the rest of the party following.

There was a long moment of silence that followed. The only sounds that could be heard were the sounds of birds chirping and the crunching of twigs and dry leaves under their army issued boots. It was broken by Malarkey with a statement that made everyone perk up.

“God, if Shifty ain’t goin’ home…”

Liebgott immediately thought of you. He flashed on the conversation he had with you at breakfast this morning.

-

“Can I have your toast?” You asked, your voice still filled with sleep and your eyes cloudy. Joe shrugged.

“I don’t know Y/N, can you?” Joe sneered, glancing up at you from his eggs and potatoes.

“Joseph David Liebgott, may I please have your toast, for Pete’s sake?” You groaned, reaching for your coffee and taking a sip. He smiled and shrugged.

“Yes you may.” Joe handed you the warm, buttered slice of bread.

You mumbled a “thanks” as you took a bite of the slice.

Joe poked at his potatoes with his fork for a moment before peeking up at you. You were staring out the window, the sun was hitting your face and making your gorgeous eyes sparkle in the morning light. He also noticed the dark circles under your eyes.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?” You whipped her head to face him, looking startled. He could see your thought shrinking smaller in your eyes. He felt his chest tighten with a pang of guilt.

“You okay?” Joe put down his fork and furrowed his brows at you worriedly.

The look that came over your features made his stomach churn with worry. Your skin turned pale and your eyes darted down to stare at the contents of your coffee mug. He saw your hands tighten around the cup, your knuckles starting to turn white. He could tell you were debating something in your head. He noticed your jaw clench and unclench as you took a glance out the window again. After a moment, brought the mug to your lips and closed your eyes, taking an inhale before heaving a deep sigh.

“Winters pulled me aside last night. I’m five points shy of going home. I’m being shipped back out.”

-

“Y/N isn’t going home either.” Joe muttered.

“What do ya mean?” Malarkey almost hollered.

“What do ya think I mean?!” Joe yelled back, spit flying from his mouth as he spoke. “She’s five points short.”

“You’re kidding.” Perconte sputtered, shocked. “Christ, it don’t matter if she’s got the points or not, send the poor girl home. She’s been through enough…”

Bull started laughing a little, making the group of men turn their heads to the gentle giant.

“You’d think that after everything, she and Liebgott would’ve gotten married by now.”

This made everyone chuckle, except Joe.

“What the hell are you guys talkin’ about?! I-”

“Oh come on Liebgott,” Ramirez shook his head at his friend. “Don’t play dumb.”

“The two of you have been dancing around your feelings for each other since we were running up Currahee. Don’t try to deny it!” Malarkey grinned. Joe shook his head, a fuzzy feeling bubbling in his chest.

“You guys are nuts. I haven’t even kissed her.”

“You’ve known her for three fuckin’ years now and you haven’t even kissed her yet?! You’re the one that’s nuts, pal.” Perconte chuckled.

“But they have come pretty close a couple of times, if I do remember correctly.” Bull snickered.

Joe blinked a couple times, the memory floodgates bursting open.

1. Lunchtime

The stale summer air lingered in the dining hall at Camp Toccoa. Joe sat in front of his lunch, which looked meatloaf, but he honestly couldn’t tell. All of Easy was exhausted from running Currahee so there wasn’t much talking going on at the table. That was until Webster slapped Joe’s shoulder a couple times.

“What do you want, Web?” Joe drawled.

“Look, it’s her.” Web pointed to the girl in line to get food. Everyone in Easy had heard about the female NCO in their company, but few had been brave enough to try and talk to her. People say she’s fairly quiet and keeps to herself, but she’s impressive. Joe had seen your while running, you were quite the athlete.

“So? She’s just gettin’ her lunch. Big fuckin’ deal.” Joe glances up at you as you start walking towards the tables and soon passes by the two of them.

“Have you talked to her?” Webster glances over his shoulder to see you sit down with Luz and Toye a few tables down. Joe shakes his head, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

“No, don’t even know her name.” Joe gets up from the table, grabbing his tray.

“Where are you going?” Web asked.

“Jesus, Web, quit grilling me! ‘M not hungry, this food is fuckin’ disgusting. I’ll be right back. Try not to miss me too much.” Joe gets up and starts making his way towards the kitchen window. He places his tray on the counter and gives the chef a tight smile. Just as he turns to leave, he runs straight into somebody.

“Jesus, watch where you’re going!” Joe looks down to see the girl standing right in front of him. Now that he’s up close, he can see when people have been ogling at you since you’ve stepped foot on camp. You’re fucking gorgeous.

“Sorry, I just-”

“No, I’m sorry. The heat’s getting to me, my patience is weathering away.” Joe muttered an apology, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s fine, that run has me exhausted too.” You smiled a little, making his heart skip a beat. Joe clears his throat once or twice before attempting to casually lean up against the counter.

“So, you’re the new chick, right?” Joe asked, just realizing how stupid that sounded when it left his mouth.

You nod, sighing as you extend your hand. “Haven’t seen any other girls wandering around, so yeah, sure. I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Liebgott, Joe.” He shakes your hand. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. “Cigarette?”

“I don’t smoke, thanks though.” You kindly declined. Joe shrugs and lights his smoke.

“So, what brings you here?”

“What brings me to war? I want to fight for my country and show that a woman can do it just as good as any man.” You take a step closer as you speak. “But if you’re asking me why I came here to the-”

Joe mirrors your action, taking a step forward. You look a little taken aback when he does. You clear your throat as you look up at him, your faces inches away from each other. “Sorry, but can I please squeeze by you? I need to get to the salt.” You cough, looking down at your boots.

“Hm?” Joe cocks an eyebrow, turning around to see about a dozen salt and pepper shakers behind where he was just standing.

“That’s why I came to the counter… I needed some salt…” You meekly point to the shakers. “Whoever set the tables didn’t give us one.” You say with a simple tone, glancing up into his deep brown eyes. You feel your stomach fill with butterflies when you do, so you look at your fidgeting hands. He’s still so close.

Joe blinks, confused for a moment before he steps out of your way. You take the salt shaker and start making your way back to the tables. “It was nice talking with you, Liebgott.” And with a wave, you leave Joe standing there looking like a blushy fool.

“She was tryin’ to get fuckin’ salt?” Joe was kicking mentally himself. What the fuck was he thinking? That you were trying to make a move on him, so he meets you halfway? When all you really wanted was fucking salt?! Good one, Liebgott. Real fuckin’ smooth. Great first impression.

Joe looks to see you already back at your table, laughing at something George had said. Joe crosses his arms as he starts walking back to his seat with David.

“Hey Lieb-”

“Shut the fuck up for once, will ya Webster?”

2. The Party

The celebration was in full swing and the music could barely be heard above the cheering. Liebgott was chatting with Popeye and Talbert, drinking beers and laughing.

“So, Liebgott,” Tab slurred with a wolfish grin. “People have seen you gettin’ closer with Y/L/N.”

“Yeah,” Popeye smirked. “What’s all that about?”

You and Joe had gotten closer since you had met at that one lunchtime. He had learned that you were just a little shy, but once he started talking to you, you were a real hoot. The rest of the company learned that too over time. He had earned the title “Pretty Boy” (a pet name bestowed upon him by you, of course). That was another thing that the company had learned quickly. For some reason you, seemingly, favored Joseph David Liebgott.

Joe grins and shakes his head. “So I talk to her, what a scandal! C’mon, guys, so I hang out with the girl. What’s the matter with that?”

“Nothin’ it’s just- ” Tab trailed off and stared at something behind Joe. When Joe turned around, he saw you and Donald Malarkey go to the small open space at the front of the room and start to swing dance. He’s spinning you around and lifting you and your smiling and laughing. Joe feels his heart stutter at the sight, but something in his chest swells. He wanted to make you feel like that. Was he jealous? He would never admit it, but yeah, probably.  

“Tab?” Joe turns to his friend. “Hold my beer.”

“Lieb-” Tab tries to say something but Joe is already on the move. By the time he reaches the pair, the song is coming to an end.

“Can I cut in?” Joe holds his hand out for you to take. You glance over at a now pouting Don, and him a sympathetic smile as you leave his arms and take Joe’s hand.

“I don’t know, can you?” You pull Joe out onto the floor.

“Smartass.” Joe tsks.

“You know, it’s not very polite to address a woman like that. You’re being a bit of an ass.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry ma’am.”    

Just then, a slower paced song begins to play. Joe glances up to see Luz and Tab standing by the record player, Tab raising his beer in the air, mouthing “cheers” and Luz grinning the biggest grin Joe has ever seen. Joe rolls his eyes at the pair before places his right hand on your waist and takes your right hand in his left. You begin to sway to the music flowing from into the room.

“You’re hair looks good, Lieb.”

“Gee, thanks! I washed it.” Joe grins and he spins you and pulls you back to him.

“I didn’t take you for much of a dancer.” You observed with a smirk. “I saw you more as a ‘stand-in-the-corner-and-brood-with-a-beer’ kind of guy.”

“There’s still a lot you don’t know about me yet, sweets.” Joe shrugged.

“Joe Liebgott, full of surprises.”

“Tell me about it.” Joe nodded with a chuckle. “How’s your night so far?���

“I missed dancing. My older brother Stanley and I used to go dancing every Saturday.” Your face lit up at the mention of your brother. Joe smiles and nods.

“You gotta brother?”

“Two. I got my older brother Stanley and my younger brother Brian. Stan enlisted in the Navy and Brian’s only fourteen so he’s stuck at home with Mom. He’s probably bored out of his mind.”

“Navy, that’s impressive.” Joe remarked with a smirk. You nodded.

“He’s an impressive guy. Bull reminds me of Stan. Big guy. Looks like he could snap you in half but he’s a real sweetheart, ya know?” You laugh and Joe laughs along with you. Watching you laugh made Joe’s chest prickle with some kind of feeling. It made him pause, but he put it out of mind.

“Bet he scared off all your boyfriend’s that came knocking on your door, huh?” Liebgott gushed, not being able to stop himself. He felt his cheeks warm out of embarrassment for asking such a forward question so boldly, but you just seemed to laugh it off.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

You two danced for a few moments, swaying to the music in each others arms. You lean your cheek on his chest and Joe tenses for a moment.

“What about you?” You wonder out loud, your voice almost in a whisper.

“What about me?” Joe questions, glancing down at you. He noticed your head fit perfectly right under his chin. The thought made his lips twitch into a smile.

“You got a broad back home waiting for you to come home after all of this is over?” You bring your head up from his shoulder to look back at him, noses practically touching. You could feel Joe’s heart beating in his chest and he could feel yours. Joe shakes his head.

“Nope, just me.” Suddenly his confidence slowly leaves his body, his voice low and almost wavering. He was looking right back into your eyes, and he felt himself drowning. You were so close to him, he could smell your perfume. It was intoxicating.

His eyes slowly drifted down to your lips, which were painted a bright cherry red. You bit your bottom lip, your hand slowly snaking its way behind his neck.

“Lucky me…” You sigh as your eyes flutter closed.

Joe closes his eyes, he starts to lean in and-

scrEEEE

“TEN-HUT!”

The two of you leap apart from each other and stand at attention. Colonel Sink struts into the room with Major Strayer and Winters and Nixon off to the side. Joe sighs with a defeated look evident on his face. He glances over at you to catch you already looking at him. You quickly flick your gaze back to the Colonel.

Colonel Sink gives a short speech detailing how proud he was of the company.

“I want you to know that I’m damned proud of each and every one of you. However, I would like to take a moment to recognize Corporeal Y/N Y/L/N. You’ve shown just what it means to be a fine soldier and paratrooper, and you, m’dear, set the bar high for these men and for everyone that follows. You’re making history here. Congratulations, Corporeal.” The Colonel smiles down at you.

You feel yourself flush red as the who company starts to cheer your name and you salute Sink. “Thank you, Sir.”

He gives you a nod and turns his attention back to the crowd. “Now you deserve this party.”

Chuck comes up with a pint of beer for the Colonel, to which Sink thanks him.

“Now I want you to have fun, and remember our motto. Currahee!”

“Currahee!” The entire company shouts. And with that, the celebration resumes. Chuck and Popeye approach you with a pat on the back and a hugs.

“Congrats, Corporeal.” Popeye mimics Sink with a smirk. You laugh and give him a slap on the shoulder.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up now. I’ll be outranking you suckers by Christmas, just wait and see.” The group that had formed around you laughed. You glanced around the group and your eyes locked with Liebgott. He smiled as he gave you a quick once over before taking a sip of his beer. You smiled, your cheeks flushed a pink tint.

This was going to be a long war.

3. Normandy

To say that Joe was stressed about the jumps into Normandy would be an accurate assumption. To say that Joe was stressed about not being with you on the jump into Normandy would be an extreme understatement. He knew you would be fine (only because you reassured him before going your separate ways) but he couldn’t help it.

Neither of you have spoken about that night since it happened. If someone else tried to bring it up around you two, they would get shot down immediately and were told to drop the topic. He couldn’t tell if you never brought it up because you were embarrassed it happened and just wanted to forget about it, or for whatever reason. He tried not to think about it. Despite that, he could safely say that, by this point, you were one of his closest friends he had made on this journey thus far. And maybe he had deeper feelings than just friendship, but he didn’t have to tell anybody that. Ever.

When Liebgott got to the assembly area, you were nowhere to be found. A couple people from your plane had arrived, so all he could do is wait and he hope for the best. He sat on a dirt mound with Joe Toye and a couple others as they waited for instructions.

“Relax, Lieb. She’ll get here.” Toye tried to help his friend relax.

“What? Nah, I’m fine. I’m worried about the other guys too. They’ll get here, I know.” He muttered, trying to keep a cool composure. Toye scoffed.

“Whatever you say.”

His hopes only got higher as he saw a group of Easy men walk in.

“Ah, Easy Company.” He greeted, getting to his feet. After greeting his fellow E company men, as well as this Hall character from A company, we turned to sit back down. Then, his ears perked up.

“Pretty boy!” Joe heard you cheer from down the road. To your left was Bill Guenere, grinning like a cat as he watched you practically skipped to Liebgott.

“Glad you could finally make an appearance.” Joe teased as he engulfed you in a sweaty hug.  

“You know me, always making an entrance and showing up fashionably late.” You giggled.

“Fashionably?” Joe reaches out and smudges the tar still on your face. You flinch and smack his hand away.

“Like you look so dapper yourself. What happened to your hair?” You reach out and ruffle his brown locks. He scrunches his nose and grabs your wrist and puts it back at your side.

“It’s called jumping out of plane, try it some time, sweetheart.” He sneered.

“Actually I just did, and I think I still look pretty good if I do say so myself. And I do say so.” You rebbuttled with a smirk.

“Y/N Y/L/N, cocky as ever.” He teased.

“Me? Cocky? Take a look in the mirror, you scruffy little-”

“Scruffy?! Fuck off!”

“You fuck off!”

“Love birds, please! Can we keep it moving? We have a war to fight and Nazis to kill. You’re bickering is disgustingly adorable, just get hitched already.” Bill announced, a grin plastered on his face as the fellow E company men started chuckling at the scene. He sauntered off, but not before shaking his head and muttering a “Jesus Christ”.

The two of you watched him go and take a glance at each other before you fall into a fit of giggles. He hooks his arm around her shoulders and guides her down the path.

“Got me worried there for a second. Thought a Kraut ate ya or somethin’.” Joe snickered as you gasped at him.

“A Kraut? Eat me?! Please, I’d shoot ‘em if they got within a hundred feet of me.” You groaned, a smile blooming onto your face.

Joe opened his mouth to respond when a boom echoed in the distance. Joe held you closer as he looked up to the sky. When he looked down, you were scanning the area with wide eyes. He squeezed your shoulder.

“You scared?” He asked in a lower tone, half joking, half serious. You flinched for a second, flicking your gaze to meet his. You nodded, not seeming confident.

“Liebgott, I just jumped out of an airplane and trekked eight kilometers through a warzone in the pitch dark. I fear nothing.” You stepped out of his grasp and turned to look at him. “You?”

“Never.” He replied, not really convinced by his own words. You nodded and let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Good.”

And with that, you turned and walked off to join Toye and Buck.

Joe watched you go, the sound of gunshots firing off in the distance. Suddenly, it was all very real to him. The honeymoon phase was over and it was time to get down to business. There was a good chance that they weren’t going to make it out of this alive, and that scared the shit out of him. But he couldn’t focus on that. Not now. So, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and put his fears in the back of his mind.

-

Joe couldn’t stand it in the back of the truck anymore. The stench made him wanna hurl. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Jesus! Get me outta here.” Joe hopped out from the back of the truck, hearing Sergeant Lipton yell something about “light discipline”, but Joe couldn’t get out of there faster.

He started walking down the street, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he passed dozens of soldiers. As he walked, he saw a silhouette leaning against a stone wall standing on the side of the road ahead. Without much thought, he knew it was you. As he approached you, he saw you picking at her nails, probably trying to get the dirt out from under them. Your helmet was by your feet, giving Joe a rare look at your hair shining in the moonlight.

“Evening, Miss.” Joe greeted, making your head turn to see him. Even in the dark, he saw the small smile appear on your face.

“Evening to you too, Mister.” You greeted as you adjusted your stance so you were standing a little taller, but still leaning against the wall.

“Want some company? You looked a little lonesome.” Joe stood in front of you now. You shrugged, glancing down at your shoes.

“Just in my thoughts is all.” That was the only thing you could muster. After all, it had been a long ass day.

“Penny for ‘em?” Joe moved to lean against the wall with you. You didn’t really say anything at first, you just kinda stared into space, but Joe nudged you with his elbow. “Oh c’mon, don’t go all shy on me now. It’s just me, you can talk to me. I’m your Pretty Boy, remember?” Joe teased, making you smile. God, he loved that smile.

“Joe Liebgott, what would I do without you?” You sighed.

“Enlighten me. What would you do? My curiosity is piqued.” Joe smirked, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“I’d probably be bored out of my mind.” You confessed, turning to look up at him. “You’ve kept me smiling through the whole time I’ve known you. Don’t get me wrong, I love Luz, he’s a crack up, but you’ve kept me on my toes.”

He creased his eyebrows.

“Corporeal, have you been drinking?” Joe asked, not really expecting such a genuine answer. You shook your head and rolled your eyes.

“Just take the compliment, Liebgott.” You groaned. He chuckled and nodded.

Just then, a car rumbled by, its headlights shining towards them as it drove by. With the passing flash of light, Joe noticed a cut on your right cheek.

“Woah, what happened?” Joe cupped your cheek and ran his thumb lightly over the wound.

“What? The scratch? It’s nothing.” You reached up to grab his wrist and pull it away, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Has Gene looked at it yet?”

“Lieb-”

“How’d you get that?”

“Lieb, really I’m fine-”

“It looks like it’s deep, you might need stitches. Here, I’ll take you to go see Doc-”

“Joe!” You grabbed his face, forcing him to look you in the eyes. “I’m fine. I already went to go see Doc, he said I was fine. It was just a graze from some shrapnel earlier today-”

“When the hell did you get hit with fucking shrapnel, Y/N?!” Joe shouted, the vain starting to pop out on his temple.

“I don’t fucking know, Lieb! I was trying to survive while I was being shot at by a bunch of Krauts! Shit happens.” Y/N snarled back. “And to be completely honest, it coulda been a whole lot fucking worse. This litte papercut compared to what happend to some of the guys today, so if you could stop yelling that would be fan-fucking-tastic.”

The two of you just sized each other up for a moment before Joe slouched against the wall and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry…you’re right.” He muttered, sounding exhausted.

“It’s alright,” You nod, looking straight ahead at the passing soldiers. “Never thought you cared so much…”

Joe scoffed at your words, shaking his head.

“‘Course I fuckin’ care.” Joe pulled you into him, wrapping his long arms around you, resting his chin on your head and engulfing you in a hug. You wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your left cheek against his chest. He slowly started to pet your hair as you tighten your grip around his middle. “Maybe I care a little too much sometimes.” He muttered, not really meaning for you to hear. But of course you did.

You look up at him, a smile playing on your lips. “I care about you too, Joe.”

God dammit he couldn’t take it.

“Y/N, I gotta ask ya somethin’-”

“Easy Company! Get your gear, we’re moving out!” He heard an officer call out over the crowd. You groaned, burying your face in Joe’s chest.

“I gotta go grab my stuff, I’ll catch up with you?” You smiled sympathetically at Joe, who nodded.

“Yeah, sure. See ya.” Joe waved and watched you jog off to God knows where. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to scream. Instead, he banged his fist against the stone wall a little too hard.

“Fuck!” He cringed, shaking the pain out of his hand.

He was in deep shit.

4. Bastogne

It’s cold. So fucking cold that Joe thought his balls would freeze and fall off. Everyone in Easy was miserable, but after Colonel Sink’s visit, everyone seemed to be in semi lighter spirits. Joe surveyed the crowd, looking for his best friend, but he couldn’t see her.

“Hey Shift?” Joe turned to Shifty.

“Yeah, Joe?” Shifty looked over at Joe, tightly bundled from head to toe.

“You’ve seen Y/N?” Joe asked, taking another glance around. “Haven’t seen her since this morning.”

“Have you checked her foxhole?” Shifty queried.

“Of course I have.” Joe groaned, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It was the first place I looked.”

“Mess hall tent?” Shifty tried again.

“Tried there.”

“Is she on patrol?”

“No, checked with Lip about that a bit ago.”

After a pause, Shifty pointed through the trees with a gloved hand.

“Is she sitting on that log down that way?”

Joe turned around to see your from sitting on a log with your back to them. Joe nodded.

“Thanks Shift.” And without waiting for a response, Joe started trudging through the snow.

A lot has happened since Normandy. With time, you both got closer, if that was even possible. With that, you both bickered a lot. Replacements would come in and assume the two of you were a married couple that enlisted together. The funny thing was when they asked, the NCOs didn’t tell them otherwise.

You had opened up to him about life back home, too. You told him everything from you first pet’s name to your first heartbreak. You recounted painfully awkward Thanksgiving dinners the one time your brothers put Brian’s pet frog in your bed as a prank and how you jumped so high, you could have hit the ceiling. He enjoyed hearing about your life back home, but he thinks you’re doing it more for yourself rather than just for the sake of telling stories. It was one of the only ways it could keep you from flying off the rails.

Joe finally made his way over to you and plopped himself down on the log next to you.

“Y/N, where were ya? Sink just dropped by for a lovely visit, did ya hear him? Nuts!” Joe laughed, and bumped your shoulder.

When he looked over at you, you weren’t laughing. You weren’t even looking at him. Your gaze was fixed straight ahead, unblinking and blank. Your knees were brought up to your chin as you shivered in the cold.

“Sweetheart, you good?” Joe softened his tone, feeling the heavy silence in the air. It was almost suffocating when her expression remained the same. He moved to kneel in front of you and put his hands on top of your knees. “Y/N? What’s the matter, talk to me.”

You finally looked at him, eyes turning glassy. You swallowed thickly as you grabbed the opened envelope sitting by you on the log. You held it up and took a shaky breath.

“Letter from my mom.” Your voice cracked as you spoke and looked at the neat cursive handwriting on the front. Joe saw your lip began to quaver as you took a quick inhale. “My brother’s dead.” You handed Joe the envelope with a shaky hand.

“Jesus…” Joe took the envelope from you and examined it with darting eyes.

“He was in Micronesia somewhere. Peleliu or some shit like that…” You wiped a stray tear from your cheek and looked at your hands in your lap. “Killed in action.”

“Y/N I- fuck…I’m so sorry-”

“Merry fucking Chrismas, right?” You whispered. Then, you broke down. You head fell into your hands as you started to sob. Joe jumped up and held you.

“Shhh…hey you’re okay…” Joe muttered into your hair, rocking you back and forth as you cried into his coat. He felt your hands grip at his jacket in tight fists, clinging to him. He didn’t really know what to do, he’s never seen you cry before. Not even when you rolled your ankle while running Currahee in Toccoa and you still made it back down the hill. You never cried.

After a couple of minutes, you calmed down and you were reduced to whimpers. Joe pulled away and wiped his thumbs across your wet cheeks. Your scratch from Normandy and had scarred over now.

You leaned forward and pressed your forehead to his, you eyes screwed shut.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologize. Never fuckin’ say sorry for something like that.” Joe snapped back sternly. You nodded.

“Okay.”

You opened your eyes to look at Joe staring back at you with a gentle intensity. His hands still cupped your cheeks and held you close. Joe glanced at your lips before licking his dry ones. Despite being chapped and swollen from crying, you still looked just as beautiful that night you were all dressed up for the party. And he wanted to kiss you even more now than he did then.

“Y/L/N, you okay?” Malarkey had just happen to walk by the scene in front of him, his can of food in hand. You pulled your head from Lieb’s hands, sighing. Joe’s hands drop to his lap with a loud smack.

“Yeah, fine.” You smiled tightly, turning to Malarky.

“You sure? You don’t look too good. Maybe go and grab some hot chow?-”

“On it, Malark.” You cut him off, followed by a curt nod. Malarkey turned his hands up in surrender and walked off to join Muck and Penkala.

You grab the letter off the snowy ground and stuff it in your pocket.

“I’m goin’ for a walk, I’ll catch ya later, Lieb.” You muttered quickly before standing.

“I’ll go with you-”

“No that’s fine, Joe. Go grab some lunch, I’ll be back.” Just like that, you zipped off into the fog without another word or a glance back.

Later that night, he walked past your foxhole on the way back from taking a piss. And there you were, wrapped up in a blanket, shivering, with a cigarette hanging from your mouth.

“Thought you didn’t smoke.” He whispered, not wishing to startle you or disturb other foxholes. You look up at him from your hole and shrugged as you took the cigarette from your lips and blew out a stream of smoke.

“I don’t.” You said simply. Joe nodded.

“You gonna be okay?”

“…I will be.” You assured him.

Suddenly BOOM! German artillery started bursting in the sky. Joe jumped into your foxhole with you as you both tried to shield yourself from any shrapnel. The blasts were short lived and soon they were given the all clear. Joe looks over at you as he moves to get to his feet.

“Thanks for your hospitality.” He said with a little laugh. “I guess I’ll see you-”

“Joe?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay with me. Please.” Your voice was so soft and meek, it surprised Joe. Your eyes were pleading. “Just for the night.”

“Yeah, of course.” Joe nodded, laying back down on the dirt.

“Thank you.” You whispered before you cuddled into Joe’s chest.

Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly to him. He fell asleep almost instantaneously.

However, when he woke up in the morning, you were gone.

5. The Truck Ride

You didn’t talk to Joe a lot after that. You really didn’t talk to anybody after that. After you got news of your brother, you really didn’t want to talk to anybody. With Joe, you wanted to talk to him, but you were afraid to because after that night, you were so afraid because you might have been falling for the guy. So, you kept your distance the rest of your time in Bastogne, and barely spared him a glance while Easy was up in Haguenau. He really could have used your company then, Webster was being a real pain in the ass. You finally started talking to him again in the back of the trucks on your way to Bavaria.

“Can I have one of those?” You croaked as Lieb lit a cigarette.

“So she speaks? You finally talkin’ to me now?” Joe sneered with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, smoke billowing from his lips.

“Joe-”

“You barely spoken a word to me since Christmas and, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, it’s April now and the first thing you say to me is you ask me for a cigarette?”

“It’s a start, isn’t it?” You mutter, not breaking eye contact with the seething eyes piercing back at you. “Look I’m sorry, I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“The nerve on you-”

“Quit soundin’ like my mother, Joe. My brother died and suddenly you get all butt hurt when I needed some goddamn space for two fucking seconds. I apologized, now can I or can I not have a cigarette?”

Joe looked at you for a moment. Your eyes had lost some luster he remembers you having a long time ago. Your eyes are sunken like you haven’t slept since Normandy. Even your hair had lost the brightness in color. He sighed as he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

“I don’t know, can you?” He says with the slightest hint of a smile creeping onto his face. He hands you the cigarette. You take it and put it in your mouth and lean forward, looking expectantly at Joe. “Oh, you want me to light it for you too, your majesty?”

“Mhmm.” You hum with a nod of your head and a roll of Joe’s eyes as he pulls out his Zippo.

“I have to do everything in this fucking relationship-”

“Shut up.”  You laugh as you pull the lit cigarette from your mouth and blow smoke in his face. He smirked at you, waving a hand in front of his face.

“You know, it’s not very polite to blow smoke in someone’s face. You’re being a bit of an ass.”

You smiled and shook your head in disbelief. “Deja vu.”

“Tell me about it.” Joe smiled back.

After a moment of silence, David decided to pipe up.

“What about you, Y/N?” Webster asked.

“What about me?”

“What are you gonna do when you get home?” Webster took a bite his food as he awaited for your answer. You ran a hand through your hair as it flowed in the breeze.

“Home? Jeez, I don’t know. Hug my family?” You laughed.

“We’re all gonna do that. I mean life stuff. Got any plans?”

“Well,” you paused, thinking about it for a second. You haven’t given it much thought lately. “I’d start off by getting a job. Maybe waitressing or something like that, that’s what I did before the war. Then,” you paused, glancing up at Joe, who was already staring at you with some kind of look in his eyes. You couldn’t look away.

“Then I’d probably find someone to settle down with. Have a kid or two, and try to have a normal fucking life that is far away from this shithole. Try and be happy.” You finished but taking a drag.

“That’s a good goal.”

“Gee, thanks Web.” You muttered sarcastically.

“That sounds real nice.” Joe said, a soft smile appearing on his lips. You nodded.

“Sure does.”

-

After making a stop, the seating got switched up. Now you were sitting next to Joe, his arm around you as you fell asleep on his shoulder. Joe looked down at you, warmth spreading in his chest for the first time in a long time. You were back, and you looked so peaceful.

“Jesus, Lieb, just kiss her already.” Web laughed across from Joe.

“You’re lookin’ at her with the biggest heart eyes I’ve ever seen.” Luz chuckled. “Are you ever gonna tell her how you feel?”

“Will you both shut up?!” Joe spoke between his teeth. “She could wake up and hear you knuckleheads.”

“Lieb, she’s knocked out cold.” Perconte observed from down the row.

“Can you blame her??” Joe asked, his voice suddenly sorrowful. The boys glanced at you. They had to admit, they haven’t seen you actually sleep since you found out about Stan.

The car goes over a rather large bump in the road, waking you up with a start.

“Morning, Sunshine! How was your nap?” Luz drawled throwing his baseball in the air. You yawned and lay back against Joe.

“Fine. I had a dream about you, Pretty Boy.” You muttered, closing your eyes again.

“Oh did you now?!” Luz exclaimed, throwing Joe a knowing look and smirk.

“Pray tell.” Web piped in.

“Well,” You put your chin on Joe’s shoulder and turned to face him. “You, sir,” you poked his cheek. “Were going on and on and on about something beyond boring when I up and punched you square in the jaw. And even in my dreams, you don’t change a bit, because even after I hit you, you would not shut the hell up!”

This made the entire car laugh, even Joe. When he turned his head to you, he bumped his nose with yours.

“Sorry.” He murmured, pulling his head back a little. You shrugged.

“It’s okay.” and in a brave moment, you leaned forward and rubbed the tip of your nose to his in an eskimo kiss. “G’night.” and with that, you fell against his shoulder and started to snore. Everyone in the car was staring at him with wide eyes and hanging mouths. Joe could only shrug.

-

Easy Company had decided to play a company baseball game. It was a warm day, partially cloudy. It was perfect.

“I wanna play!” You squealed. Buck arched a brow at you.

“You know how?”

You scoffed and grabbed a glove out of the box next to the batting cage. “Buck, I grew up the middle child of two boys. Yes, I know how to play.”

“Alright, play ball then, I guess.” He laughed, his chest rumbling.

After playing for a few hours, hitting a line drive and throwing a couple guys out, they jokingly declared you Easy Company’s Rookie of the Year. The peace was disturbed by Speirs.

“Easy Company! School circle!”

As the company gathered around Major Winters, Liebgott pulled you under his arm and you wrapped an arm around his middle.

“You never told me you played ball so well.” He said barely above a whisper. You snickered and leaned up to whisper in his ear.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Liebgott.”

“Touché.”  

“Listen up!” Winters announced, glancing at the two of you with a small smile. “We’ve got some news. This morning, President Truman received the unconditional surrender from the Japanese. The war is over.”

You felt like the air had been punched out of your lungs. For a couple moments no one moved, probably afraid that if they did, they would wake up from this crazy dream we all must be having. You laughed a little and looked up at Joe. He smiled and nodded.

“We did it.” He grinned.

“Yeah we did!” You responded. Soon, the men started to disperse. You however, jumped into Joe’s arms and wrapped your legs around his torso as he held you up.

“We made it!” You squealed. Joe laughed and put you down.

“I knew we would.”

Before he could say anything else, you grabbed his face and smashed your lips onto his. He responded immediately by cradling the back of your head and holding you as close as possible. You could hear cheering from the men around you.

“Fuckin’ finally!”

“It’s about time.”

“We’ve only waited three damn’ years for that to happen.”

“I don’t know if I’m more relieved that the war is over or that their finally sucking faces.”

“Yes! Hey Bull, you owe me thirty bucks!”

When you broke apart, Joe was panting with the biggest smile you have ever seen on his face.

“Come back home to San Francisco with me? We could make that dream of yours happen.”

“The one where I punch you in the face?” Your face scrunched up in confusion.

“No, dufus,” he laughed as he cupped your cheeks. “Settle down, fall in love, get hitched.” He kissed the tip of your nose.

“Well I’m already in love with you, so you can check that off your list.” You grinned.

“God, I love you Y/N. Never leave my side.”

“I don’t plan on it. C’mon, let’s get home.”

Taglist: 

@gottapenny

[theauthorlives]

“So What Happened....” (Accepting for all!)

@briingmayflowers​

-

Oh, so I sees how it is. Youse could’ve asked any one’ve the other schmucks on this blog to talk ‘bout a bitta of their past but no. Youse just go straight for th’ jugular.

“Oh please Yancy! Tell us how you came to be here! Surely a sweet little baby like you would never do such a rotten thing.”

Well I got news for youse. I ain’t no sorta ‘baby’! I ain’t here ‘cause I was caught smugglin’ drugs, or got involved in some sorta gang mess that wasn’t my fault. Oh-ho no. I’m here for murder. Double homicide, if youse wanna be fancy ‘bout it.

I’ll give youse the full scoop, but I know these sorta details makes some folks get a bit squeamish so I’ll stick it under one of them ‘read-mores’. If youse don’t like talk ‘bout family problems, death, murder, or any of those sorta things, don’t click through. While I’m tellin’ my side of things, I don’t wanna make some of youse upset.

-

Now youse gotta understand, ain’t none of this gonna be in the ‘court records’ if youse is gonna do some research after. I pleaded guilty an’ skipped the bulk of a trial. I knew what I did, and it ain’t like I could’ve pinned the blame if I wanted to.

My family? Good people. Went out there, working hard an’ making a name for themselves. Some of my former older siblings even did quite well considerin’ how little cash we had at home. Since I’ve essentially been kicked out of the family for good, I’ll save them face an’ say nothin’ more there. All youse need to know is that theys is good people.

My own experiences growing up? Absolutely shit.

My old man was one of them ‘tough love’ guys. Probably should’ve been a soldier or something. He always thought that if he was strict with his kids, then they’d succeed. Yeah, sure, it worked with the rest, but never with me. I could never do good in his eyes. When I was ten, I tried telling him an’ Ma that I was havin’ issues in school. The stuff was too hard an’ I couldn’t remember it no matter what I tried. Youse know what I was told? I was bein’ lazy. That’s what. Joke’s on you, pa! I got proof now that I have a learnin’ problem! Some of th’ head docs made me do tests ta prove it! I ain’t lazy at all!

As for my ma? She would’ve been one of them moms that any kid would’ve loved. She was always there, wanting to do what’s best, making sure youse is happy an’ healthy an’ well-fed while you is chasing youse’s dreams. But when she learns that dream is learnin’ ta fix cars? Oh, suddenly that dream’s too small. I should be lookin’ at bigger things! I should consider goin’ to college an’ gettin’ a job that pays! “How can you be a good husband or family man if you’re only making pennies in a garage, son?” She was so set on this idea of what was best for me that she never once asked what was right for me!

Sorry, gettin’ a little heated here. Ain’t something I’m over yet.

So you would think that me killin’ my folks happened when I was at my lowest point in life, yeah? When I was a fuckin’ mess who was trying to make it big in a gang and was doin’ all I could to numb the pain of the days?

Nah. 

I was 21 when it happened. I’d had this dream, y’know? Like, one like in that movie where a guy dressed like the Grim Reaper points you to youse’s grave an’ says how awful youse is? One’ve them, except it was a guy dressed in a dark red suit holdin’ a cane. He said somethin’ bout how all I was doin’ was lettin’ myself down. Who cares what my folks thought? If it was somethin’ I wanted to do, then I oughta do it! Otherwise, I was gonna be nothin’ but shit.

I mean, I still think I am shit, that didn’t change. Point is, it wasn’t a bad idea ta try goin’ for my dream again. An’ so I did. I managed to worm my way back outta th’ gang an’ get back to th’ mechanic that was probably th’ only guy that ever cared ‘bout what I thought ‘bout things. He promised to help me finish my apprenticeship if I promised to stay outta trouble. I quit drinking, an’ managed to cut down th’ smokes to a pack a week; to only havin’ ‘em when I’m stressed, like how I smoke nowadays. I knuckled down, an’ did all I hadta do.

An’ I did! I did it! I showed ‘em all that I could do well in classes if they was stuff I could work with! The day I got my cert to show I was qualified should’ve been the happiest day of my damn life... But no. I got into a bike accident on th’ way home. Some asshole broke a red light and rammed his SUV into my poor bike. It was some sorta miracle I wasn’t hurt beyond some bumps, bruises, an’ one hell of a headache; but the bike was totalled. 

But when my folks came by to pick me up from A&E... Let’s just say they weren’t too pleased none. They didn’t believe nothin’ any of the other witnesses said. They all knew I was th’ victim and did nothin’ wrong, but my folks didn’t believe it. Once the docs were happy I hadn’t no concussion, we went home an’ we had a huge argument.

Did it matter I had done a big turnaround in my life? Nope. Did it matter that I had just graduated an’ got a degree to show I could work? Nope. Did it matter I had been clean from both alcohol an’ crime for nearly a year? ‘Course not!

Youse know what did matter? Th’ fact I was th’ reason some ‘good person’s’ car got damaged, how my bike got destroyed, and they were gonna hafta foot the bill for all that. Again, the crash wasn’t my fault, an’ I never asked them ‘bout helpin’ me fix my bike.

It all came crashin’ down on me that nothing I’d ever do would ever make ‘em happy... And I snapped. I’d been carryin’ this switchblade ‘round for self-defence (in case any of that old gang changed their minds ‘bout letting me leave) and I pulled it out an’ turned on my dad. A cut to the neck was all it took to get him to stop yellin’ at me. As for ma? She always said I broke her heart when I was at my lowest point. Seemed fitting to break it one last time. But she didn’t suffer none. I cut off her breathin’ so she never felt the real pain of a broken heart.

Youse could say that it was ‘cause of a bad day, an’ I’d agree. If I’dve managed not to get hit, I might’ve been able to go home an’ finally get some sorta validation... Then again I mightn’t have. This could’ve happened six months later. But as much as I hated ‘em for how they treated me, they wasn’t bad people. I got ta see how they treated my nieces an’ nephews, an’ they was great grandparents. If I’d been a little smarter, or if I didn’t have this stupid learning problem, maybe they’s woulda treated me like that too.

They didn’t deserve ta die, neither of ‘em.

But is it wrong that I ain’t sorry I did it?

[a-splash-of-stucky]

darkened corridors and shadowy corners

Read it on AO3

Square Filled: Semi-Public Sex Ship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers Rating: E Major Tags: Top Steve, Bottom Bucky, Anal Sex, Exhibitionism Word Count: 3316 Summary:

Bucky Barnes hates gala dinners and Steve Rogers has an exhibitionist streak.

Created for @mcukinkbingo

Notes: Posting this fic today in celebration of two things. Firstly, I’ve hit 4000 (!!!) followers on my tumblr, so consider this my thank-you present to all of you. I seriously don’t know why y’all follow me, but I’m grateful nonetheless. 

Secondly, it’s a special someone’s 36th birthday tomorrow, and I feel like that’s an appropriate occasion to put this fic up. 

Inspiration for Steve’s tux: [x]

Stucky Masterlist

Bucky’s come to the conclusion that he hates gala dinners.

He has many reasons as to why this is the case.

For starters, they’re filled to the brim with people he has no interest in talking to. They also involve him having to listen to a ridiculous amount of insincere and unnervingly similar speeches. Plus, he has to wear ridiculously constrictive penguin suit, the food is horrendous (at best), and he can’t even get drunk on the fancy-ass champagne.

He’d much rather be back home with Steve, cuddled up on the sofa or on their bed, watching something on Netflix and eating spring rolls from the Chinese place near their apartment.

Bucky snags a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, just to give his hands something to hold. He spies a familiar head of blonde hair at the foot of the grand staircase and decides to make his way over to Steve. Bucky tucks his metal hand into his pocket and sips on his drink leisurely as he threads his way through the crowd of bodies.

Steve is talking to an elderly couple, his expression open and attentive as he listens to them.

He looks gorgeous tonight, all dolled up in a navy-blue suit that hugs his shoulders and nips in at that unfairly trim waist. The black lapel of his jacket is a nice little detail, and it ties in with the black bowtie he wears. His suit pants draw emphasis to the musculature of his thighs – Bucky wouldn’t mind feeling those thighs wrapped around him, right now. Anything’d be better than milling around doing nothing. Beneath the jacket, Steve wears a crisp white shirt, the buttons straining – just a little – against his broad pecs.

As if sensing Bucky’s gaze on him, Steve’s eyes flick over to Bucky, a silent question in them. Bucky raises his glass to him, before downing the rest of his champagne in one gulp. Steve presses his lips into a thin line, like he’s trying to suppress a smile. He turns his attention back to the couple in front of him.

Bucky stifles a laugh. No matter what pleasant and charming expression might be on Steve’s face, Bucky knows that internally, his boyfriend is dying of boredom, just as bad as Bucky is. There are few things they hate more than going to these so-called ‘charity’ gala dinners.

Bucky snorts. If the guests in attendance really did have charity-based reasons for their presence, they sure as hell aren’t dressing like it. You’d think that people concerned about kids dying of poverty in Sub-Saharan Africa wouldn’t show up to an event like this with their Rolex watches and their necks dripping in precious jewels. Besides, if this charity was actually serious about using their funds for the greater good, then they wouldn’t have hired out this fancy-ass mansion, with its antique furniture, marble floors and crystal chandeliers.

The only reason that he and Steve are here at all is because of Pepper. The organiser of the event is apparently a dear friend of hers, and they’d asked Pepper to be their guest speaker for the night. A last-minute commitment had prevented Pepper from attending, and so, not wanting to disappoint her friend entirely, Pepper had asked Steve to make a speech in her stead. Steve — being Steve — had of course said yes, but had insisted that Bucky be made to come too, because they have a rule about gala dinners: either they suffer together, or they don’t suffer at all.

Finally, after what feels like a decade later, Steve manages to excuse himself from the elderly couple. He strides over to Bucky, who is leaning against a side-table, twirling his empty champagne flute between his fingers.

“You seem popular, tonight,” Bucky comments, as Steve stands beside him, leaning his back against the wall.

Steve sighs heavily, pushing his fringe away from his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “This is a fucking joke,” he grumbles, “That lady—ugh.”

“What’d she say?” Bucky asks

“Some bullshit about all Africans being dumb and lazy, which is why they ain’t gettin’ any richer,” Steve rants. “I mean—I should’a known that was comin’ when she said that Africa was a country, but still.”

“Why the fuck’s she at this charity event then?” Bucky asks incredulously.

“I don’t fucking know!” Steve hisses, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I just—ugh. I hate goin’ to these things, remind me not to be nice anymore.”

“Steve,” Bucky drawls, “You’re the biggest asshole I’ve ever met. Just let more people see that side of you and they’ll stop askin’ you for favours real fast, pal.”

Steve barks out a surprised, slightly hysterical laugh, one that makes his entire body shake. He turns, pressing his forehead to Bucky’s shoulder as he catches his breath.

“You’re somethin’ else, Buck,” he murmurs.

“I’m bored outta my mind, is what I am,” Bucky says.

Steve hums sympathetically, curling his hand around Bucky’s bicep to give it an affectionate squeeze. “I know, sweetheart,” he sighs, as he straightens up. “But for what it’s worth, I’m real glad you said yes to this.”

“You better get me a real good thank you present for comin’ with you,” Bucky says, jabbing Steve in the chest to emphasise his point.

Steve grabs hold of Bucky’s wrist, preventing him from pulling his hand away. His head is cocked to one side and his eyes are narrowed in thought. Bucky tenses up instinctively.

“What?” he asks, immediately worried. “What is it?”

“Baby, you’re a genius,” Steve whispers, looking at him with bright, sparkling eyes.

“I’m a what now?” Bucky says, confused.

Steve’s lips curl into a slow, devilish smile as he tugs Bucky closer. He leans in close, pressing his lips to the shell of Bucky’s ear. “You’re bored. I’m bored. We got another hour ‘fore I gotta get ready for my speech. What’s say I give you your thank-you present now?”

Bucky reacts in several ways. His eyes widen, his heart skips a beat, his lungs forget how to breathe and most importantly, his cock perks up in interest.

“Jesus,” he croaks.

“Nah, s’just me,” Steve jokes.

Bucky punches him in the arm. With his metal fist.

Dumb punk should know better.

“Hey!” Steve protests, “I’m serious, you want it or not?”

Bucky shakes his head in disbelief, before leaning in closer, until he can smell the woody scent of Steve’s cologne.

“D’you even need to ask that question?” Bucky asks breathily, “M’all yours, baby.”

Steve curses under his breath as he laces their fingers together. No sooner has Bucky set his champagne flute on the table does Steve drag him off. They walk through the crowd with purposeful strides, though it takes everything in Bucky not to sprint through the halls like a giddy nymph. He and Steve get a few curious stares, but no one stops them, and they don’t seem to arouse anyone’s suspicions.

Bucky realises that Steve is pulling him in the direction of the cloakroom, which: okay, he’s down with that. But, instead of turning left towards the aforementioned room, Steve turns right, taking Bucky down a narrow, dimly-lit corridor. They pass a few doors, all marked with either ‘No Entry’ or ‘Staff Only’ signs. Luckily for them, there’s no one around. Steve takes a couple of left turns before abruptly fisting his hands in Bucky’s jacket and crowding him up against a wall.

The kiss they share is hot and dirty, with Steve shoving his tongue into Bucky’s mouth as his fingers tangle through Bucky’s hair, loosening his ponytail. Bucky moans, cock swelling in his pants as Steve grinds their hips together.

“Gotta be quiet for me, Buck,” Steve whispers, as he peppers feather-light kisses down Bucky’s neck. “Don’t want anyone to catch us, do we?”

“Fuck, Stevie,” Bucky whimpers, eyes screwing shut at the thought.

Oh, the press’d have a field day with something like that. The whole world would go into a frenzy, with every single news outlet publishing some atrocious, punny headline. He can imagine the beating they’d take from the PR team if someone were to see them going at it like a pair of rabbits.

“What d’you want, baby, what d’you want?” Steve whispers, his breath hot and wet against Bucky’s throat. “Want me to suck your dick? Want me to eat you out? Want my cock inside you?”

Bucky clings to Steve’s shoulders helplessly, each idea making his stomach flip with arousal. “Yes,” he pants, “Yeah, I want it.”

Steve chuckles darkly, the sound low and husky against Bucky’s ear. “Which one, Buck?”

“All of it,” Bucky replies, turning to press his lips to Steve’s throat. “I want all of it.”

“Can’t baby, we don’t got enough time,” Steve says and damn it, how can he sound so hot and so sincerely apologetic at the same time?

Bucky growls in frustration, catching Steve’s skin between his teeth. “Fine,” he grumbles, “Then slick me up and get your cock inside me right fucking now.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. “Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he says, shifting back slightly.

There’s a grin on his face that is equal parts sappy and devilish and honestly? Bucky’s body doesn’t know how to respond to that. His heart is overflowing with fondness, but at the same time, his dick is throbbing in anticipation.

When Steve pulls out a packet of lube from his back pocket, Bucky quirks an eyebrow in surprise.

“Were you plannin’ on this, Stevie?” he asks, a sly smirk on his lips.

Steve shrugs his shoulders. It might be dark, but Bucky can see the beginnings of a flush on his cheekbones. “Well, I was kinda planning for it to happen in the car on the way home, or somethin’, but this works too,” he mumbles.

Bucky laughs softly, tugging him in for another kiss. It starts off soft and sweet but soon crosses the line into filthier territory, as Steve slides his thigh between Bucky’s legs and presses it against his trapped cock.

“Turn around,” Steve husks, not bothering to break the kiss.

Bucky turns to face the wall and Steve presses up behind him, a hot, comforting weight at his back. Two pairs of fumbling hands manage to undo his belt and fly; his pants and boxers get shoved partway down his thighs. When the cool air blows over his exposed ass, Bucky shivers.

There’s something so sinfully delicious about sneaking around like this. He’s never thought of himself as an exhibitionist, but there’s just something about getting it on in darkened corridors and shadowy corners that makes his blood run hot. If someone were to see them right now, what would they think? Steve’s good-boy image would be shattered entirely, and Bucky would be known as Captain America’s slut – which, to be honest, is something he’d be quite proud about.

He hears the crinkle of Steve ripping the lube packet open, which is all the warning he gets before he feels two slick fingers rubbing against his hole. Bucky grunts, spreading his legs as far as he can with them still trapped in his pants. Steve eases one finger in gently but quickly, twisting it around to slick up Bucky’s insides. Once Bucky’s relaxed enough to take another, he works the second one in, spreading them apart and twisting his wrist around to loosen Bucky’s channel. Bucky has his bottom lip between his teeth to muffle his moans and cries of pleasure.

“Steve,” he pants shakily, “Baby, c’mon, m’ready, get in me, c’mon.”

“Fuck,” Steve mutters, “Yeah, okay, just lemme—”

Steve tears open a condom packet and slides the rubber onto his length. Rationally, Bucky knows that using a condom makes clean-up a lot easier, but he much prefers Steve going bare inside him. Plus, the thought of having Steve’s come dripping out of his ass for the rest of the night? His own dirty little secret? That lights a fire inside him.

Maybe that’s something they’ll save for another time.

Bucky whimpers when he feels the hot, blunt pressure of Steve’s dick nudging at his entrance. “C’mon, c’mon,” he chants, pressing his forehead to the wall.

Steve spears him open, working his cock into Bucky with short, sharp thrusts. He has a death-grip on Bucky’s hips, fingers digging in hard enough that if Bucky were a normal person, Steve would probably break his bones.

“Shit,” Steve says reverently, “Buck – ah, oh, you feel so good.”

Bucky groans in agreement, unable to come up with something more coherent as his response. His lungs have seized up, unable to draw in a full breath as his system is overcome with pleasure. Steve’s cock inside him is rubbing all of the right spots, stretching him to the brink of his limits – Bucky is teetering on the border of pain and pleasure as his body struggles to rearrange itself around Steve’s girth.

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ huge,” he moans, exhaling harshly through his nose. Distantly, he feels Steve shaking with breathless laughter.

“Want you so bad, baby, you feel so good,” Steve says, hunching over to press a kiss to the side of Bucky’s head. Bucky hums in response.

“Fuck me, c’mon,” he says, “Give it to me good, Stevie.”

Steve growls. He laces his fingers through Bucky’s hair and yanks his head back, forcing Bucky to arch his back slightly. Bucky whimpers, a bolt of desire shooting to his groin.

“Yes,” he hisses, gritting his teeth as Steve starts to snap his hips in earnest. The plates in Bucky’s metal arm whirr and click as pleasure crawls up and down his spine.

“Goddamn, baby,” Steve puffs, his free hand on Bucky’s ass cheek, spreading him open. “Wish you could see, you’re takin’ me so damn good.”

“Steve,” Bucky moans, knees going weak at the possessiveness of Steve’s tone.

His head is spinning with pleasure as Steve’s clock plunges into him again and again, brushing against his prostate each time. Bucky claws and scrabbles at the wall, his fingers seeking purchase to ground himself against the force of Steve’s thrusts. He’s doing his best to suppress his noises of pleasure, but the occasional choked-off moan or breathless whimper still manages to escape.

So lost is Bucky in his own pleasure that he doesn’t hear the ladies until they’re almost on top of them.

Thankfully, Steve is more aware of his surroundings than Bucky is, so he stills as soon as he hears voices, one hand coming around to clamp over Bucky’s mouth. Bucky stiffens, his eyes going wide when he registers the clacking of stilettos against the wooden floor.

He strains his ears, trying to discern how many people there are – and why the hell they’re walking in this direction.

“Shelly!” a shrill voice calls, “Where’re you going?”

“To the bathroom!” someone replies, probably this Shelly person. It’s a woman’s voice. She’s disturbingly close, perhaps only fifteen feet from Bucky and Steve’s position.

Bucky is about to turn around and tell Steve to pull out when he feels a large, callused hand wrap around his leaking cock. He inhales sharply as Steve strokes him from root to tip.

“The bathroom’s this way, babes,” laughs the first voice.

Bucky wriggles in Steve’s grip, trying to shove him off. Steve only presses in closer and tightens his fist around Bucky, twisting his hand up and down his shaft. Bucky’s harsh breathing is muffled by Steve’s palm, and there’s a coppery tang in his mouth – he must’ve bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Are you sure? I saw a sign pointing this way,” says the second voice. Fuck, she’s even closer now.

Steve still isn’t letting up. He continues to jerk Bucky off with maddeningly slow motions, flicking his thumb over the slick head of his cock on every upstroke. It’s a miracle that his erection hasn’t wilted from the panic, honestly. Bucky’s knees buckle when Steve teases his nail into his slit, swirling a blob of pre-come around.

“Shelly, c’mon,” says the first voice. Heels click on the floor as the voice’s owner walks closer. “I don’t think it’s in here, look at all these doors – c’mon, we’ll go out and ask someone, yeah?”

Shelly groans in frustration, just as Steve grinds his hips into Bucky’s ass, the head of his cock dragging over Bucky’s prostate. Against his will, a whimper bubbles out of Bucky’s throat.

“Did you hear that?” Shelly asks. Bucky wants to scream – she’s around the corner to where they are.

“Shelly, c’mon,” the first voice whines. “It’s creepy, I don’t like it.”

Shelly sighs. “Okay, okay, let’s go.”

As their voices fade into the distance, the tension dissipates from Bucky’s body, bleeding out as he exhales in relief. When Steve takes his hand away from Bucky’s mouth, he immediately twists around to glare at his boyfriend over his shoulder.

“You fucking asshole,” he growls.

Steve grins maniacally in response. “That was amazing,” he says giddily.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Warn a guy before you indulge in your exhibitionist fantasies,” he grumbles.

“Aw, baby, don’t be sore at me,” Steve croons, his fist jerking Bucky’s cock hard and fast as he resumes the movements of his hips. “C’mon, lemme make it up to ya’, make you feel good, yeah?”

Bucky makes an unintelligible noise in reply. He braces his forearms against the wall and fucks himself onto Steve’s cock, timing his movements to Steve’s thrusts. Steve grunts, tightening his grip on Bucky’s waist with one hand. His other fist flies over Bucky’s cock, making lewd squelching noises.

“Stevie,” Bucky whines breathlessly, toes curling in pleasure, “Oh—don’t stop, please.”

“Gonna come, Buck?” Steve asks darkly, hips pumping with renewed vigour.

“Yeah,” Bucky moans, “Yeah, yes—oh, yes, you feel so good, oh m’god—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Steve husks, “Let go, Buck.”

“Steve, fuck—fuck,” Bucky gasps, thumping his fist against the wall.

The pleasure building at the base of his cock explodes without warning as spurts of come shoot from the tip of his dick. Some of it hits the wall, but most of his release trickles over Steve’s fingers. Bucky bites down on his lips, muffling his screams of pleasure. His eyes are screwed shut and his pulse is roaring in his ears. His head is spinning with pleasure — it all feels so goddamn good.

Steve follows soon after, cursing under his breath as his hips rut against Bucky’s ass. With one final thrust, he slumps forward, pressing his forehead to the space between Bucky’s shoulders as he rides out his climax. His hips make jerky grinding motions as his dick shoots off into the condom.

As their heartbeats struggle to return to a normal pace, Steve slips out of Bucky’s ass and pulls off the condom, tying it closed and wrapping it in some tissue that he whips out of his pocket. He cleans off his dick and spunk-covered hand, then reaches around to clean off Bucky’s cock.

What a gentleman.

Spending the next couple of hours with dried come on the inside of his pants wouldn’t be that great, so Bucky is grateful for Steve’s preparedness.

As Steve tucks himself away, Bucky pulls his boxers and pants back up, before fixing his jacket and straightening his tie. They’ll both need to stop by a bathroom to freshen up before they re-enter the main hall, but they look presentable enough that at first glance, no one will wonder what they’ve been up to.

Bucky grasps Steve’s lapel and yanks him close, planting a filthy kiss on his lips. “You’re a fucking punk,” he says heatedly.

Steve chuckles fondly, one hand curling around Bucky’s bicep. “I know,” he says simply. “And you love me for it.”

“You’re gonna pay for that later,” Bucky warns him.

Steve flashes him a dark smile. “I’m countin’ on it.”

[bourbonboredom]

Bachelorette Party II

This was originally going to be a one shot, then I realized I’m basically incapable of keeping things brief.

A ClydexReader fanfic

Part I  Part II   Part III

Summary: You’re back in Boone County for the first time in seven years. Your best friend from high school is getting married and you wouldn’t miss it for the world. On her last night of freedom, the bachelorette drags her bridal party to Duck Tape as a final stop on their bar crawl. It’s under the dimmed lights that you see your high school friend/high school crush, Clyde Logan. Is it fate? Or is your friend just trying to set you up?

Word Count: 3,204

Warnings: drinking, cursing

@a-whole-damn-sackler​ @sadsexvibes @ladygrey03​ 

You spent the next thirty minutes stealing glances at Clyde. You tried to be present at the table and be apart of the bachelorette activities but you were having trouble focusing. Sarah hip-checked you out of one of your space-outs and motioned to the tray of empty shot glasses in front of them.

“Hey can you grab us another round?” she asked.

“Are you making me get it on purpose?” you ask back. You were aware of her intentions now, and were a little more cautious.

“Absolutely,” she said, “You keep lookin’ that way, you might as well go over there,”

You shot her a look, but you knew you’d been caught. She gave you a look back, and you knew she wasn’t gonna let you go on this one. You flipped her off as you walked away, making her and the other girls laugh behind you.

You approached the bar slowly, the deafening music proving no match for the sound of your heart beating in your ears. This was stupid, why were you acting like this? It’s just Clyde. He’s the same kid who had you pull a crawfish off his nose when he held it too close to his face and it pinched him. He’s a dumb boy who you had a dumb crush on. This was fine, you were fine. Just be cool.

You walked to where you stood before, feeling a little more put-together. Jimmy was still sitting on his stool, nursing a new beer. Clyde stood behind the bar chatting with him. They both looked up as you drew near, Jimmy smiled and Clyde’s face was, well, unreadable.

“Back so soon?” Jimmy asked.

“Sarah sent me up for another round, whiskey this time,”

“On it, I’ll be back in a sec,” Clyde said as he went to retrieve a bottle of Jack Daniels.

“He hasn’t been able to stop looking at you all night,” Jimmy leaned over to whisper in your ear. “He’s havin’ a hard time bartendin’, I watched him almost flood the counter with seltzer a minute ago,”

“You’re an awful brother,” you roll your eyes. He just laughed.

“Am I? Would an awful brother tell you he had the biggest damn crush on you in high school?”

Your eyebrows shot up and he took your stunned silence as a signal to keep talking.

“I spent years trying to get him to ask you out. He never did it obviously, he’s too stubborn for his own damn good,”

“You’re crazy,” Jimmy had to be wrong. Clyde never did anything to indicate he liked you.

“He’d kill me if he knew I told you but he has a stack of letters he wanted to send to you when he was serving but never got up the nerve to actually do it. I found them in his pack when he came home,”

This was all too much. This couldn’t be true. But before you had the chance to ask him anything else Clyde was back with a new bottle of whiskey.

“Jimmy what’re you tellin’ her,” his look was dangerous, not that his brother seemed to care.

“Were just catchin’ up, you worry too much Clyde. I gotta head out actually, gotta pick up Sadie in the mornin’,” he said his goodbyes and patted his brothers arm as he got up.

His metal arm.

You can’t believe you didn’t notice until now, it’s kind of hard to miss.

“Clyde, your arm,” you said softly.

“It’s nothin’,” he said, pouring the shots. He worked with his good arm, trying to keep the robotic hand out of view.

“That don’t look like nothin’,” you noted. “Was this overseas? How long ago did it happen?”

“About five years ago now, right as I was gettin’ out of my last tour. They did a trans-radial amputation. This prosthetic is newer. I had a standard plastic one, but was lucky enough to be upgraded to this one. It can grab on to stuff, so it’s closer to havin’ my hand back. I got it probably a year and a few months ago,”

You felt a wave of shame wash over you. How could you not know about this? Sure, you fell out of touch but this was literally life-changing. Your friend lost his arm and you were so busy doing whatever that you didn’t even know. Nothing in college or at work could have trumped this, you felt like you let him down.

“I’m so sorry Clyde, that must have been so painful to go through,” his eyes caught yours as you spoke, flitting away a moment later to focus on the bottle of Jack. “I should have been there for you,”

“It wasn’t your fault. And you were busy with school, I wasn’t gonna bother you. It did hurt but I’m better now. The doctor’s said I healed near perfect and I got this fancy arm,”

“I would have dropped everything to come see you if I knew,”

“I know, that’s why I didn’t tell you. You got out of this town, I wasn’t gonna have you comin’ back on account of me gettin’ hurt,”

You looked at him, at a loss for words. He purposely didn’t tell you because he knew you, and how you’d react. Part of you wanted to be mad, but the other part understood. You were overwhelmed with emotion. You wanted the counter separating the two of you to disappear so you could hold him close. You settled on reaching across the bar to hold his good hand in yours. He looked taken aback at first, but gave you a gentle squeeze when he saw the look in your eye.

“Don’t be worryin’ about me, you’re supposed to be partyin’ tonight,”

“I’d rather talk to you,” the words came out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“Go, we’ll catch up later,” he gave a small smile that made your heart skip a beat.

You took the tray of shots and headed back to your table. Except it was empty now. You looked around for Sarah and the rest of the bridal party, but they were nowhere to be found. Still carrying the tray of shots, you headed outside to call her. It was colder now and you crossed your arms across your body in an attempt to keep warm.

She picked up on the third ring and you immediately heard a chorus of laughter in the background.

“Hey girl!” her voice came.

“Sarah, where did y’all go I can’t find anyone at the bar,”

“Oh sweetheart I’m so sorry! A few of the girls got real sick and we had to take ‘em home right away! And you were talkin’ to Clyde and I didn’t want to disturb you because you looked so happy!” your stomach formed a huge knot. This was the damn country, there weren’t any ubers or taxis around and Sarah’s parent’s house was a few exits down the highway. It was much too far to walk back.

“So whats the plan then?” you tried not to grit your teeth as you spoke.

“Well, my sister and law and I and come back and get you but it might be a bit. One of the girls threw up in the car and we wanna get it out as fast as possible. You could ask Clyde for a ride home, maybe? I don’t think he could say no to you,”

Ah, there it was. This was probably not an accident. Sarah liked to try to set you up. You thought it was just her taking you here but you realized she’d planned a little further than that.

“Oh! And I left my card at the bar, can you close my tab and stuff?”

You stop for a beat and smile to yourself. You had your own plan now. If she was gonna play this game with you, you were gonna change a few of the rules.

“Sure thing babe, I’ll ask if Clyde can help me out, I’ll be home soon hopefully,” your tone dripped like honey, a rare occasion for you. Sarah was too drunk to notice though and just said her goodbyes.

You hung up and let out a loud sigh. It was almost three in the morning now, way too late for this shit. Way too early too. You headed back into the bar and back over to Clyde. Duck Tape was rather empty at this point, the crowded dance floor had cleared out and your friend was closing out the last few tabs for the night.

“Hey, didya find your friends?” he asked.

“They had to run home for an emergency, so I’m kinda stuck here for a bit,” she settled on telling half of the truth.

“Do you need a ride? I’m pretty much done here, I can take you home if you want,”

“Thats sweet of you, I’d appreciate that. But no need to rush, I don’t want to keep you from your job,”

He stepped away from the cash register and put both arms on the bar counter on either side of yours. He towered over you, his long locks threatening to fall in his face as he spoke softly.

“Darlin’, I’m the owner. I can do whatever I want,” he said as he stared into your eyes with a small smile.

You knew he didn’t mean it like that, but fuck you felt heat pool in your stomach with those words. He’d never called you by a pet name before. You didn’t know if that was something he just said when talking to girls, or if it was just for you but you wanted to be the only girl he’d call darlin’ ever again. You mustered a nod in response and sat on a stool to wait.

“Sarah, um, left her card here. She wanted me to close out her tab,” you mentioned.

“Sure thing, I kept the card but I wasn’t gonna charge her for anything,” he passed the plastic your way. Before he could turn around, you tapped his shoulder with it.

“Actually,” you started. “She said I could get myself something for the trouble. Would you wanna stop by the Exxon station and get some junk food? For old times’ sake?”

He smiled for the second time that night, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Only if we can get Slushies,”

—————————

The two of you practically bought out the gas station using Sarah’s card.  M&Ms, chips, twinkies, cookies, candy bars, and of course, slushies. You don’t remember when it started, but buying gas station junk food was kind of a thing between you and Clyde. When one of you was having a bad day, you’d both go to the Exxon by the high school and buy as much crap as possible. Slushies were always a must, no matter the weather. Red for you and blue for him.

Since there wasn’t anywhere for you to sit at the gas station except the pavement, you’d accepted his invitation of going to his trailer. He’d noticed you were starting to shiver as you walked through the store and he offered you his coat that he kept in the back seat.

You sat in the passenger seat of his car as you drove down the highway. You were the only car on the road, something Clyde told you he was used to. He worked weird hours because of the bar, and was fine staying up with you. You snuggled further into his coat as you listened to him talk. It was much too large for you, but you didn’t mind. It was warm and smelled like him. 

His trailer was just off a main road, tucked in the trees. He told you about how he lived with Jimmy for a while after he and Bobbi Jo divorced and after Clyde’s medical discharge. They never really said it out loud, but they needed each other back then. Now, Jimmy moved to be closer to his daughter and he’s been seeing this girl so he’s all set. And Clyde has the bar, and he’s saved up “a lil bit of cash” so he figured he should get his own place. It looked modest enough from the outside, just a standard trailer.

When he took you inside though, it was a far cry from anything she’d seen in Boone County before. It was clearly new, with no wear and tear in sight. It had a decent sized kitchen, with an even bigger living area. A tv was mounted on the wall in between two large built-in bookcases that were filled with books.

He always did like his books, you thought.

You could only imagine what the rest of the place looked like. You were kind of surprised he could afford this, the bar must be doing really well.

“This place is gorgeous,” you tell him, “did you decorate this yourself?”

“Mellie helped a lot, she’s better with that stuff than I am. I chose the bookshelf though, wanted to have a place to put everything,” He stood next to you, watching you look around.

“Well it looks great, I bet girls love coming over here,” your cheeks heated as you realize what you had just said to him, you turned away to focus on drinking your slushie, trying to use the cheery-flavored ice to cool down.

You didn’t notice as a blush spread across his cheeks. He was thankful for the hair covering his ears because he could feel them burning.

“I don’t get too many girls coming here. Or any, really,” he said.

“I find that very hard to believe,” you tease him. Your mouth was clearly on auto pilot and you decided to just roll with it. “A handsome guy like you? You mean picking up women at the bar is harder when you’re the owner?”

“I don’t know about all that,” his face was getting pink.

“About what?”

“Bein’ handsome. That’s not somethin’ people really think,”

“They’re idiots then,” you say, meeting his gaze. He gave a half-smile, cheeks getting a little pinker.

“Come on, lets sit down and eat all this junk,” Clyde said. You knew he was just changing the subject but you didn’t mind much. He’d always been bad at accepting compliments.

You sat down a respectable distance away and poured out the contents of the gas station bag on the table. You grabbed a pack of m&m’s while he grabbed a Twinkie and you sat in silence for a moment, reminiscing.

“So what’re you up to these days?” He finally asked.

“Nothing exciting really, I got a job in my field of study and have been working there for about four years now. I’m up north now, not too far from where I went to college,”

“That’s nice, I’m glad you’re doin’ well,” he paused for a moment, clearing his throat. “Are you seein’ anyone?”

“Not at the moment no. My last relationship was kinda... intense so I’ve been taking it too slow,” you explain.

“Intense?”

“Well, there was talk of marriage and I thought I wanted that at first, but the person I was seeing was pressuring me and I wasn’t really comfortable with it. And then i found out they were cheating on me and it kinda fell apart from there,” you tried to drown the bitter taste in your mouth with more chocolate, it was kinda working.

“You got cheated on?”

“Yeah, it’s shitty, but at least I didn’t marry them. I got out while it was still relatively easy to. It’s harder once there’s a ring and a wedding involved.”

“I suppose so, and I’m glad you aren’t with them. They don’t deserve you,”

“Thanks,” you mumble, cheeks heating. “I think being at Sarah’s wedding is helping me not be so bitter about it all, her and her fiancé really love each other,”

“That’s good to hear. It’s a shame she had to run off like that, I hope those girls are feelin’ better,”

“Actually,” you press your fingers to your temple, in disbelief that you’re actually going to tell him her plan. “I kinda think she did it on purpose,”

“She’d leave you behind on purpose?” he asked, clearly confused.

“I think she’s got bride brain, she’s too obsessed with love right now. It’s embarrassing...” you start, figuring out if you really wanted to tell him this. “...but I had a crush on you in high school. And I think she thought it’d be a good idea to try and set me up with you because of it,”

He was silent, brow furrowed as he studied you. You didn’t know whether to look at him or not, your gaze flicked between your lap and his face. Suddenly you weren’t so sure of what Jimmy had told you. Maybe he’d just been pulling your leg. Maybe he didn’t really feel the same way and this was all a cruel joke.

“I–it’s stupid, I know. That was like ten years ago, it’s not really helpful to tell you now and Sarah’s clearly out of her damn mind and–”

“I had a crush on you too,” he rushed to say.

Your eyes shot to his. He was picking at the slushie cup in his grip.

“I didn’t know you felt the same, I thought you just wanted to be friends so I never brought it up. And then when i went to the army and you kept sending me letters about how much you missed me and I thought maybe I had a chance.

"I was gonna tell you. I wrote letters where I was gonna tell you when I was afraid I might not make it back. But I never got up the nerve to send them. And when you came and visited me between tours, you were seeing someone else. I didn’t want to come between you. So I stopped writing as much,”

You had no idea he felt that way.

“I wanted to be with you,” you said quietly. He almost missed it. So you spoke again, louder. “They didn’t mean anything, i broke up with them as soon as we got back to school. I— thought I was over you but then hanging out with you that week just brought everything back. I wanted to be with you, Clyde,”

“And now?” he asked, his tone almost ghostly.

“Now…” you swallowed, his dark eyes felt like they were going to swallow you whole as he waited for your answer. “I walked into that bar tonight, saw you, and knew nothing had changed for me—”

His lips were on yours in an instant. You were shocked at first, barely registering what happened. This was something you’d only dreamt of, and now here he was, kissing you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. Your hands tangled tentatively in his dark curls, something you’d been longing to touch all night. He leaned into your touch, deepening the kiss. He broke it when he needed air, chest rising and falling lightly as he looked at you.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I was 16,” he said.

“I’ve been wanting you to do that since I was 16,” you smiled, pulling him back in.

[thefloorisbalaclava]

The Hunter and the Hunted - Jesse McCree x Reader

A/N: I have no self-control. Once I saw his new skin and heard his voice line, I had to write this. I hope you all like it.

Words: 2,117 Warnings: None

It had been a while since you had seen anyone from Overwatch. After you had disbanded, you all went your separate ways without so much as a goodbye so getting this flyer about a Halloween/reunion party was a shock to say the least. You wouldn’t mind seeing some of your old comrades in arms again, but would anyone else actually show up? You loved Halloween and having something to do this year really made it better, you only hoped it wasn’t a bust.

If you wanted to be honest, you had missed quite a few of them and had always wondered what most of them were up to. You had heard about what happened to Gabriel and Jack and you wanted to see the rest of them before something like that happened again. At least this wouldn’t be some awkward, stuffy reunion. You all would be having fun – drinks, food, and costumes. What could go wrong?

In the days leading up to the party/reunion, you found yourself getting more nervous. You hadn’t seen any of these people in years and who knew what they would think of you? You were most concerned with how one person in particular would view you now. You smiled as you thought back to your puppy love. Every time that cowboy smiled at you your heart skipped a beat and you had always wondered if his did the same when you smiled at him.

Your phone rang, showing a number you didn’t recognize on the caller ID. Usually, you didn’t answer unknown numbers, but for some reason today you decided to.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Hey there,” a slightly accented, female voice responds. “It’s Pharah.”

“Pharah…oh my god! How have you been?”

“I’m well. I can’t believe I found you. I was calling to see if you were attending our little reunion this weekend.” As if she could sense your nervousness, she added, “I will be there.”

“I will, too. Are you wearing a costume?”

“Of course…and don’t ask what I’m going as because it’s surprise.”

“Fine, mine is a surprise too. So, I’ll see you on Saturday.” You were about to hang up when a sudden wave of emotion hit you, “It’s going to be so nice seeing everyone again. Thanks for calling.”

“I’m only sorry I didn’t call sooner. It makes me sad that it took a party to get us all together again, but at least it will make things less awkward for a few of us.” After some silence, she speaks again, “Do you still have a crush on McCree?”

You scoff, “Don’t be ridiculous, Pharah. How long has it been? He probably doesn’t even remember my name.”

“Okay but I’m asking you the question, not him.”

After starting and stopping a few times you finally figure out what to say, “It doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t recognize me, especially since I’ll be in costume.”

“You’re avoiding the question, but I understand. I’ll see you on Saturday…and yes, Jesse will be there.” Before you could respond, the line went dead and you stood there, mouth agape, holding the phone to your ear.

Jesse will be there…

SATURDAY

You had been sitting in the hovercar outside the venue for at least half an hour without moving. Your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest. At one point, you felt as though you were suffocating so you had to roll the window down. It didn’t help that your costume required a corset and that was cutting off enough of your air in the first place. You were starting to think this was a bad idea when your phone rang.

“Where are you?” Pharah asks on the other end. “You said you’d be here.”

“I am…” Your voice sounded so small.

“Where?” You just so happened to look out the window when she asked and saw a woman dressed as Cleopatra looking around exasperatedly. Suddenly, she looks in the direction of your hovercar. “Wait, is that you there?” She points to your car and you sink down in the seat.

“No, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I saw you! Get out here now or I’m coming to get you.” You knew that it wasn’t a threat, it was a promise. You sigh and open your door slowly, reluctantly. “Move it!” she shouts and hangs up.

You walk over to her slowly and she bounces up and down excitedly. When you’re close enough, she grabs you and pulls you to her for a hug. “Don’t you dare make me cry. This makeup took forever to put on,” you say, fighting back tears.

“Same here, you jerk.” She pulls away and looks at you, “Well, don’t you look sexy. Jesse’s gonna love you, I mean, it…your costume.”

“Pharah, this isn’t for him.” You turn away and slip the fake fangs into your mouth, “There.”

“What or who are you supposed to be anyway?” she asks.

“I’m a vampire, duh!” you say, pointing to the fangs. “Get it together, Cleopatra,” you tease and she nudges you. She takes your hand and pulls you along until you enter a ballroom that has been decorated wonderfully. Black and light orange balloons float in the air, fitting the Halloween vibe and the colors for Overwatch. Silly decorations hung from the rafters and balcony – witches and bats and ghosts. You were so busy staring up that you hadn’t heard Pharah calling your name.

“Still avoiding the question, huh?” she asks.

“Wait, what?”

“I said Jesse is on his way.” She gauges your reaction, but you must not have reacted the way she wanted because she frowned. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Yes, I mean, I guess.” You shrug and look down. “I’m more nervous than anything.” You had to speak a little louder since music had started to play.

“Well, don’t be. You look great and I know he can’t wait to see you. I’ll go get us something to drink, you need to loosen up a bit. Be right back!”

“Pharah, wait-!” Your grip on her arm wasn’t enough and she walks off. She runs into a group of people and starts talking to them, leaving you there looking silly. You thought this was a good time to go find a bathroom and make sure you still looked okay. On your way in, you run into another woman and begin apologizing profusely.

“Well, hello you!”

“Tracer?!” You hug her tightly and now you needed to check your makeup because you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing this time. “How have you been?”

“I’m great, love. How are you? You look great!”

“Thank you! I’m good.” She must have seen the uneasiness on your face.

“You sure about that?” She moved closer to you and looked into your eyes.

“Yes, I just need to use the bathroom.”

“Oh, right, of course! Come and talk to me when you’re done!” She skips away and you walk into the bathroom. You look into the mirror, happy to see that your makeup had stayed intact for the most part. You peek out of the bathroom before stepping out and putting your fangs back in. After a few deep breaths, you step back into the ballroom where the party had picked up a little.

“You look like you could use this,” Pharah comes up to you handing you one of the drinks in her hand. You take a sip and cough a bit. “You always were a lightweight,” she teases.

“Shut up.” You sip a little slower next time. You had to be careful, this was one strong drink.

“Jesse’s here, by the way,” she says as if she was telling you it was raining outside.

“He what?” you ask although you heard her just fine.

“He’s here. Went outside for a smoke.” This was your chance to run and hide somewhere. You felt hot and uncomfortable all the sudden. You hand her your empty glass and tell her you need some air.

“Which way did he go?” She points to the left exit so you take the right, making sure you wouldn’t have any awkward run ins. You pull the fake fangs off your teeth once again as you push the door open and breathe in the cool air. You sit on the bench and start talking to yourself.

“What would I even say to him? ‘Hey Jesse, how’s it going? How are things? How have you been?’” You scoff and slouch down on the bench. “He would laugh right in my face. He probably still thinks of me as the girl with the silly little crush on him.” You chuckle at that. “Handsome devil…”

“I hear ya, pumpkin,” a familiar voice says and you jump, sitting up straight again. “I am one handsome devil, ain’t I?” You turn towards the voice slowly and almost gasp out loud. If you weren’t sitting you probably would have fallen over. “And might I say, you make a pretty fine…whatever it is you’re supposed to be.”

“Th-thank…you.”

“Now, you look like you done seen a ghost or somethin’. It’s only me. Hair’s a little longer for the costume, but I’m thinkin’ about keepin’ it this way. You like it?” He turns so you can see the hair he has tied back under his hat.

“I love you…it…shit.” You hide your face in your hands and groan.

“Still gettin' nervous around me, huh?” He walks over and takes a seat next to you. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

“I am?” you ask, shocked.

“Yes, ma’am.” He sits forward, elbows on his knees, but turns his head so he can look at you as he speaks, “How you been?”

“Good. Great. You?” You were still having trouble looking directly at him so you pretended to be looking at his costume, mainly the crossbow on his back.

“I been good. Could always be better. I gotta say, though, this is one of the best things that has happened to me in a few years.”

“The party?” you ask.

“The party is nice, but I meant seein’ you again.” He looks at you and you look down at your fingers. “I’m sure you got a lot of suitors and whatnot. I’m not tryin’ to push up on ya or anything, but damn if you ain’t the prettiest thing I ever seen.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Jesse McCree.”

He puts a hand over his heart, “My name sounds just lovely comin’ from you, but I’m afraid you made a little mistake. You see, tonight I ain’t Jesse McCree. I’m Jesse Van Helsing. Get it?” He stands and poses for you making you giggle. “What’re you supposed to be?”

“I’m afraid to tell you, Mr. Van Helsing.”

“Why’s that?” He puts his hands on his hips and watches as you turn away to put your fangs in.

“Because you’re a vampire hunter and, well, I’m a vampire.” You smile and he lets out that laugh that you remember from all those years ago, that laugh that lit up an entire room.

“I’ll tell you what, you let me take you out some time and I’ll let you ‘accidentally’ escape.” He waits for your answer, rocking back and forth slightly.

“That sounds good to me. It’s about time you asked.”

“You just made my night. Scratch that, my year.”

“And you made mine.”

“Eventually, I will have to…

“Stake my heart, I know.” You stand up so you’re facing him.

“Nah, I could never stake a pretty lil thing like you, but I would like to claim your heart…if you’ll let me.” For the first time while you two have been talking, he looks nervous.

“Jesse, you’ve had my heart for years. It’s yours to claim, stake, break, whatever…”

“There ain’t gonna be no stakin’ or breakin’ from me, I guarantee that.” You nod and he takes your hand, “May I?”

“Yes.” He leads you inside, walking so quickly you almost have to run to keep up. He walks right up to the group Pharah was with. “Would you look at this? I went outside for a smoke and caught me a vampire just like that. A beautiful one, too.” He picks up a glass of bourbon from a tray that a waiter walked by with.

“I thought you were supposed to…stake them,” Pharah says and Jesse chokes on his drink as you hold back a laugh.

“In due time, missy. Right now, I just wanna enjoy the feel of her hand in mine. Is that all right with you, Cleopatra?” he jests.

“Of course it is,” she says, looking right at you and winking.

And it was quite all right with you, too.

[adolphuslongestaffe]

Defiant

Chapter 6: Nonstandard Vernacular  

When Jesse arrived in the hotel room, the commander was just entering from the balcony door.

“Jesse,” he said, forgoing a greeting, “did you hear or see anything on your way back here? I mean, did you know you were being followed?”

“Well I supposed I was,” Jesse said. “Weren’t you shadowin’ me?”

“I wasn’t the only one. Someone came over the wall of Shimada castle after you left the gate. Masked, dressed in black or dark blue. I stayed on the rooftops and kept eyes on him. He followed you along the roofs on the opposite side of the street till you were in view of the hotel. He stopped on that building across the square and watched you go inside, then he turned around and took off back toward the castle.”

“Masked like a ninja or somethin’?”

“Yeah,” Reyes said.

Jesse shuddered. “I don’t like the idea of bein’ exposed like that, boss. Gives me the willies thinkin’ someone had a clean shot on me the whole time without me knowin’ it.”

“I wouldn’t have let him take it,” his commander said. “But I don’t think you were in danger. If they wanted you kill you, they wouldn’t let you leave the castle and then do it in the street.”

“I guess they’re curious about me on account of me gettin’ friendly with the master’s kids, then.”

“Most likely. I’ll have to be more cautious when I follow you from now on. I don’t want to risk their spies seeing me by mistake. Did you find out anything interesting from the boys?”

“Nothin’ we didn’t know already. But I’m workin’ on it. I got a feelin’ the older one knows a lot more than the younger one. I’m goin’ back tomorrow at noon. I’m gonna learn to play the koto.”

“They’re giving you music lessons now?” Reyes laughed merrily at the idea. “What did you do to make them like you so much, blow both of them in the hot tub?”

“You know me, boss,” Jesse grinned broadly. “Anything for the mission. But no, I reckon it was the train robber stuff. Genji says I’m like a real life Jesse James.”

“Alright, Mr. James, what’s your instinct about being in the castle? You feel safe there?”

“Safe as I ever feel anywhere. Why?”

“Unfortunately, their spies following you puts a damper on your mobility at the moment. I want to do some recon at Imagawa Castle, but I can’t take you with me and risk them finding out what we’re doing. You think you can handle it solo tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll be ok,” Jesse said. “It’s just a music lesson. I shouldn’t be there for more than a couple hours.”

“What’s the name of the older brother again?” Reyes asked.

“Hanzo,” Jesse said.

“Hanzo. He’s a good looking boy, isn’t he.”

“He is. Just about the most beautiful boy I ever saw.”

“Jesse,” his commander said. “Seriously, watch yourself, ok?”

The boy’s face flushed and he fidgeted uneasily under his commander’s keen eye. “What do you mean, boss?”

“I mean don’t piss off the Shimada clan by fucking the master’s heir. It’d be war.”

“I don’t think there’s much chance of that, boss. He don’t like me very much. I think he agreed to teach me to play out of plain courtesy.”

“Alright, Jesse. Just be careful.”

“Course I will. Say, you hear anything from Commander Morrison?”

“No, but I didn’t expect to. He won’t risk communicating with us unless it’s something big. Now let’s get some sleep. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

Jesse returned to the castle the next day at fifteen minutes before noon. He found the gate guards fully instructed and expecting his arrival. They opened the gate and bowed as he approached, telling him that the young master would see him in the tea house in the garden. He made his way to the indicated structure, where he found the young master serenely waiting with his instrument already set up. Jesse mumbled an apology for being late.

“You are precisely on time, Mr. McCree,” Hanzo said.

“Please, just Jesse.”

“Jesse,” his host said, adding a kind of breathed quality to the vowels that gave the name an unfamiliar ring in its owner’s ears.

“Well, I’ll be,” Jesse said. “You say my own name better’n I do. How do you get it to float around way up in the air like that?”

This appeared to have annoyed his host, and Jesse was instantly uncomfortable, which made him defensive. He shut his mouth tightly and turned away to set his guitar down.

“Jesse,” Hanzo said.

The cowboy turned around to face him and waited.

After a pause, the young man continued, “You must excuse my delays in responding to you. My English is not strong, and your nonstandard vernacular is…difficult for me.”

“My—my nonstandard vernacular,” Jesse repeated.

“Yes. You speak very quickly and you use idioms and turns of phrase with which I am not familiar. I pause because I am attempting to understand. I do not mean to offend you.”

Jesse was stunned. Had that been it? Had he been assuming this man hated him because of a language problem?

“Oh boy, I’m real sorry,” he said. “I get ahead of myself and I forget some folks ain’t accustomed to my way of talkin’. Don’t feel bad, though. Most people from my own country can’t understand me either.”

This statement elicited a smile from the stoic young archer. Jesse thought it was the prettiest smile to ever light up the world, but he knew better than to say so. His host directed him to sit beside him and began to instruct him in the basic theory of the instrument, which was similar enough to the guitar so that Jesse wasn’t entirely lost. Then the young man played some basic scales so Jesse could observe the placement of the hands. He couldn’t help turning his head now and again to look at that lovely face, and his host was not unaware of the fact. He thought he’d been particularly sly about it, but suddenly the young man looked up at him and caught him in the act.

“Jesse,” he said.

“Hm?”

“Are you paying attention?”

“Uh huh,” Jesse said absently. “I’m payin’ attention.”

His host smiled again, a very slight but genuine smile, and returned to the task. Jesse tried a few notes, then Hanzo adjusted his hand position, then they repeated the process. Jesse made his best effort, but he found his hands would cease to function properly when his instructor touched them, and so he couldn’t get more than half a scale out before he lost the plot. But they persevered until Jesse was able to play a full scale on his own. Then they moved on to a basic melody. After the third or fourth attempt, Jesse was able to play the first part. He was exceedingly pleased. The other young man took his hands and adjusted them again. Jesse began to pluck at the strings, but then his heart skipped a beat and he froze in place. The other set of hands had remained resting on his. He cast a sidelong glance at his instructor, to find that he was gazing up at him.

“Jesse,” the young man said. “Would you like to kiss me?”

Jesse blinked at him stupidly, attempting to ascertain whether he’d actually just heard those words, or was losing his grip on his sanity.

“Would I—you…I uh, yeah. I mean, yes. Yes, please,” he managed at last.

The archer lifted his hands and placed them on the sides of the cowboy’s handsome face. He leaned in and cautiously brushed his lips against Jesse’s. Jesse took him by the sleeve and collar and pulled him closer. He pushed the other boy’s lips apart with his own, caressing his tongue and inhaling his intoxicating scent. His head spun. He was dizzy and breathless. He felt the kiss in his entire being. Hanzo drew away, blushing like a rose, and looked at the ground.

“What’s the matter darlin’,” Jesse said softly.

“I—I am not certain I did that correctly,” Hanzo said falteringly. “I apologize for my…lack of experience.”

“Oh, sweetheart, it was perfect,” Jesse said. “The most perfect kiss in the history of time, maybe.”

The archer didn’t look up, but he laid his head on the cowboy’s broad chest and allowed his long, silky hair to be stroked. Jesse wrapped his strong arms securely around the other boy’s body.

Before he could think to stop himself, he asked, “Have you…have you never kissed a boy before?”

“I have never kissed anyone before,” the archer answered quietly.

He raised his eyes to look into Jesse’s. Jesse stared down at his beautiful captive. It was impossible. How was it that no one had ever kissed those perfect lips. This boy couldn’t be real. All at once, the stoic young master was entirely transformed in Jesse’s eyes. Still the same in essence, but as if viewed through an altered lens. Pristine angles where Jesse had seen hard edges before. Refined diffidence where he had seen haughty aloofness. He saw through the mask to the vulnerable, unworldly young man beneath.

“But…did you like it?” Jesse asked.

The black-eyed angel smiled shyly and turned away again.

“Yes. I liked it very much,” he said. “I would like to kiss you again, if that would be acceptable to you.”

Jesse answered by kissing him again, this time with more urgency. The archer gasped and gave a little groan. His body went slack and pliant in Jesse’s arms. Jesse suddenly felt powerful, masculine, almost omnipotent, exhilarated by the keen sweetness of the other young man’s ready submission to his desire. In direct contradiction and at the same time, he knew he had been utterly conquered. Knocked down. Defeated. No quarter given or requested. He would be this boy’s willing slave, a dog at his feet if he wished it, from this moment on. He was in love.

“Acceptable,” Jesse said, laughing blithely. “Darlin’ I don’t want to do anything else but just kiss you forever and ever.”

His darling frowned thoughtfully. “Jesse, that would be very impractical. How would you eat and drink? You would starve to death.”

“Sure I would, but what’s that to me,” the cowboy said fervently, squeezing his quarry tight, as if to prevent his escape. “Let me starve to death, I say. If I die kissing those lips, I’ll die a happy man and that’s that.”

The absurd idea coupled with Jesse’s theatrical delivery elicited an actual laugh from the young master. A low, soft laugh that was music to Jesse’s ears. It was the first time he’d heard it. He laughed as well, from pure delight in the suddenly and drastically altered state of their interaction. The archer allowed his impetuous cowboy to kiss him again, then gently freed himself.

“I must go to my training now,” he said, standing and straightening his loose-fitting tunic. “May I walk you to the gate?”

“Well, sure,” Jesse said cheerfully, but with a hint of disappointment. “I can find it on my own, though, if you need to get goin’.”

Hanzo stood thinking for a moment.

“Jesse,” he said. “You told me that you had never seen a person use a bow. If that is something that interests you, you would be welcome to observe my exercises.”

“That is something that interests me very much,” Jesse said, raising his eyebrows. “You sure you wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. Do you shoot?”

“Not with a bow. But if I’m lucky, I can hit the broad side of a barn with a revolver.”

“Would you like to practice together, then? I can have ballistic targets prepared.”

“I’d love to,” the cowboy said, “but I don’t have a weapon on me.”

“You may borrow one from the armory. It is no trouble.”

“Armory?”

“Yes.”

Jesse appeared perplexed.

“I am certain you are aware of the nature of my family’s business.”

“I’m not, though. I mean, I heard a rumor about rival clans or something, but I ain’t a hundred percent clear on what that means.”

Hanzo clarified. “We operate a powerful trade syndicate. Within the law, but close to its edges. In our profession, we are often required to defend ourselves from other such syndicates who seek to encroach upon our livelihood, sometimes with violent force. As such, we are trained thoroughly in combat, armed and unarmed, as a matter of course. We also keep a store of weapons at our disposal, should the need arise.”

“That a fact,” Jesse said, pushing his hat back to express his appreciation of the sentiment. “I guess that’s just plain prudent, then.”

“It is. My life and the lives of my family have been threatened many times.”

“You ever scared?”

“Once,” the archer said. “When I was six years old. I was traveling in a car with my father. We were stopped by a roadblock and armed men assaulted the vehicle. My father killed two of the men, and our guards dispensed with the others. It was over very quickly and I was unharmed. But I was afraid, yes. Now, I am not.”

Jesse eyed his friend closely. He certainly didn’t look like the kind of man to get scared. He looked like the kind of man other men feared and were right to do so. There was a detached, calculating quality to him that Jesse hadn’t observed before. This young man was dangerous. A killer, his mind whispered. He pushed the thought away and returned to the immediate subject.

“Well I pity the dumb son of a bitch who comes lookin’ for trouble with you, darlin’,” he said. “I remember that arrow stickin’ out of the target dead-center.”

The archer smiled and bowed, pleased with the good-humored reference to their inauspicious meeting.

“Hey, Hanzo,” Jesse said. “How old are you, anyway?”

“I am eighteen years old,” he replied.

Jesse was dumbstruck again. This formidable man was actually younger than him.

“I’ll be damned,” he said. “I’m older than you, then. Wait, how old is Genji?”

“He is sixteen.”

“Sixteen!” He whistled through his teeth. “See, I woulda swore he was my age and you was five or six years older, on account of you bein’ so serious and cultured and all.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” the young man said, looking up at his friend.

“It’s meant for one, but it’s just true, too. Genji, on the other hand…he had me kinda worried with all the drinkin’ and I won’t rest no easier knowin’ he’s already took on like that at sixteen.”

“It is a matter of deep concern for me, as well. I do not wish to see my brother destroy himself. But he is troubled in his spirit and I do not know the remedy.”

“Why don’t your pa do somethin’ about it?”

“My father does not share my opinion in this matter. He dismisses my concerns as pettiness and tale-bearing. So I watch over my brother and make certain no harm comes to him when he behaves recklessly. It is all I am able to do.”

Jesse wanted to take the other boy in his arms again, but he was certain such an embrace wouldn’t be welcome at that moment.

“You’re a good brother, Hanzo,” he said. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, Jesse. I intend to be so.”

They walked together to the aforementioned armory, a mind-boggling arsenal kept in a massive, concrete-walled basement beneath the castle. Hanzo spoke with the guard while Jesse browsed the selection of weapons. He chose a Colt Single-Action Army revolver, which he was delighted to discover on a rack among the other handguns, and the two made their way to the practice range. Ballistics targets had appeared as if by magic, and the stone wall behind them was covered by a large, movable barrier made of tightly-packed hay bales.

“After you,” Hanzo said courteously, motioning toward the wall of targets.

Jesse stood contemplating the scene, hefting and spinning the revolver in his hand to get a feel for its weight and balance.

“Tell you what,” he said. “How’s about you shoot first. Six shots. Then I’ll try to get as close to your arrows as I can.”

The young archer assented to this and nocked an arrow to his bow. Jesse stepped a polite distance behind him and watched as six arrows swiftly struck the center marks of six targets.

“Yeehaw!” he exclaimed. “That’s some fine shooting, there, archer.”

Hans bowed in acknowledgement of the compliment and stepped back to make room for Jesse.

“What do you say my chances are,” Jesse said, smiling mischievously. “Think I can get close?”

His friend eyed him dubiously and laughed at the proposition.

“Alright, then. Let’s see just how rusty I am.”

With a rapid-fire report, so quick it almost sounded like a string of firecrackers, Jesse emptied the six-chamber barrel. Hanzo stood frozen in undisguised awe. In the center marks of six targets lay the splintered fragments of six exploded arrows. Jesse stepped back and playfully nudged his friend.

“Not as rusty as I thought,” he said.

“How…how did you learn to shoot like that?” the archer said at last.

Jesse grinned wickedly and tipped his hat to his friend with the barrel of the revolver. “I told you fellas I was a famous outlaw.”

“I have never seen such a thing. I—” his words were arrested by a kiss on the mouth from the triumphant sharpshooter.

They stepped apart just in time for Genji, who had been disturbed by the thunder of gunfire, to miss the boldly affectionate gesture entirely.

“Jesse,” he called out, delighted to see his friend. “What are you two doing? I heard gunshots.”

“I’m showin’ your brother here how the west was won,” the cowboy replied, spinning revolver around his finger. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, no, I was studying for an examination. I did not know you were coming or I would have been out to see you much sooner. When did you arrive?”

“Oh, a couple hours ago. Hanzo has kindly agreed to teach me how to play that weird little floor guitar of his.”

“Koto,” the older brother said.

“Koto,” Jesse repeated, smiling broadly. “I don’t mean to brag or nothin’, but I can make it sound just like a bag of angry cats.”

Genji enjoyed this little joke thoroughly and Hanzo smiled stiffly.

“Perhaps the two of you would like to take some refreshment,” the archer said. “I must continue my exercises.”

“That is my brother’s way of asking us to go away and stop bothering him,” Genji said. “Jesse, have you had lunch?”

“I haven’t, but I can’t keep intruding on you folks’ hospitality at mealtimes. You’ll get to thinkin’ I only come for the food.”

“Nonsense, Mr. McCree,” Hanzo said. “We are more than happy to share our good fortune.”

Genji rolled his eyes and grabbed Jesse’s arm.

“Come on,” he said. “Please let us go before my brother embarrasses me any more.”

As he was being dragged bodily away from the object of his affection by an impatient, green-haired teenager, Jesse turned and looked back wistfully. The archer smiled and dipped his head, communicating everything Jesse wanted to know. Then he went with the younger brother more willingly and in a better humor.

Genji was annoyed by his brother’s comment about their good fortune, taking it as a slight to Jesse’s wayward condition, and said so.

“Well, if he meant any offense, I didn’t take none, so it don’t matter much,” Jesse said. “But I do think he was just tryin’ to be polite. Your brother ain’t half so bad as he comes off. I mean, he did agree to teach me to play that koto for nothin’ but me showin’ him a thing or two on the guitar.”

“That is a strange bargain, cowboy,” Genji said.

“How do you figure?”

“He knows how to play guitar. He plays very well.”

“Peculiar,” Jesse said, scratching his chin. “Well, who knows. Maybe he was just bein’ charitable.”

“That does not sound like Hanzo,” Genji persisted. “What is he up to, I wonder…Aha!”

“Aha?”

“Jesse, my brother is trying to steal you from under my nose!”

“Come again?” the baffled cowboy said. “Steal me? How do you mean? I ain’t a wallet, I’m a person.”

“Simple,” Genji said, putting on the air of a television detective about to reveal how he had uncovered a dastardly plot. “He has no friends of his own, and no one likes him. No one but you, for some reason. So he has decided to make himself agreeable to you and to turn you against me so that he will have you all to himself.”

“I don’t think that’s it, Genj,” Jesse said, laughing outright. “I don’t see why I can’t be friends with both of y’all.”

The boy considered this for a moment.

“I suppose you could,” he said doubtfully. “But I do not know why you would want to. My brother is very boring and he worries about everything. He is like an old hen.”

Jesse’s mind was still aglow with the soft, sweet longing of that kiss in the tea house.

“Maybe,” he said dreamily. “But maybe an old hen is just what fellas like you and me need sometimes.”

“You are very tolerant, Jesse, but you will grow weary of his mothering soon enough,” Genji said decisively.

Jesse doubted he would, but he didn’t say so. He imagined being fussed over and supervised by that stern, beautiful young man. Falling asleep to the strains of his koto and waking up to his kisses. Even being scolded by that perfect creature and made to comb his hair and pick up after himself sounded like his idea of heaven. He changed the subject.

“What kind of examination you studyin’ for?” he asked.

“Differential calculus. It is necessary to complete my secondary education.”

“Secondary education?”

“It is what Americans call high school. I am almost finished.”

“Already? Ain’t you young for that yet?”

“I suppose so. But I would prefer to get it done quickly rather than linger over it. How long did it take you to finish yours?”

“Even faster, bein’ as I never bothered to begin. Ain’t much time for school and things when a body has to work the way I did.”

“You never went to high school?” his friend said in a tone of hushed awe. “How did you learn to read and write?”

“My ma taught me those things before I went to primary school,” Jesse laughed. “I ain’t illiterate, just educated differently. I can’t list the dates of important battles and whatnot, but I can sure as shit tell you how to win one.”

“That seems to be a preferable manner of education,” his friend said. “Eminently more practical.”

“That it is,” Jesse agreed heartily. “Say, Genj, Hanzo was tellin’ me about how your family’s been havin’ some trouble with a rival clan. Y’all ever have any real serious brawls with ‘em, like the Hatfields and McCoys?”

“There have been none since I can remember,” Genji said. “But my father and brother were attacked when I was three or four years old. That was the last serious engagement. It is mostly a proxy conflict now.”

“How so?”

“Their subsidiary organizations making trouble for ours and vice versa. A direct assault on us would be unwise, since it would be costly and attract the attention of the police, most of whom are loyal to us.”

“Y’all got the cops in your pocket?” Jesse said, genuinely impressed.

“Not in our pockets,” Genji laughed. “But many are members of families that are under the protection of our clan. We are loyal to them and they are loyal in return.”

“I bet that works out nice. Ain’t much petty crime in your city, is there?”

“None at all, as far as I know,” Genji said. “It would be foolish to risk the displeasure of the Shimadas by committing a small offense in their home town.”

“It would, indeed,” Jesse said.

The two friends chatted pleasantly about clan warfare and assassinations and sabotage while lunch was served to them in the main hall of the brothers’ shared space. The servants had taken away the dishes and Jesse was tuning his guitar to play something for his friend, when Hanzo entered the room, looking very grave and pale.

“Jesse,” he said, looking back and forth between his brother and the cowboy, “my father, Shimada Sojiro, would like to make your acquaintance. He requests the pleasure of your presence in his drawing room as soon as is convenient for you.”

Genji’s face drained of color as well.  

“That means right now, Jesse,” he said in a stifled whisper. “Brother, should I come, too?”

“You are also wanted, yes. All three of us,” Hanzo replied. He looked positively sick.

If Jesse felt any apprehension at the prospect of a face-to-face meeting with the old warlord, he didn’t show it. He stood languidly, stretching his long arms and straightening his shirt, then he tossed his hat onto a table and gave his hair a rake with his fingers.

“That’s mighty hospitable of your pa, wantin’ to meet me,” he said. “We best not keep him waiting.”

[thepathsofdestiny]

Trail of Embers, Ch. 4 - Eyes in the Dark

~*~ Glory, Marta, and David have had a long week. As they head out onto the road and put Halcyon City behind them, the trio takes a moment a breathe, rest, and (re)discover each other- three wandering souls, out in the wild. Read it on AO3 here.  ~*~ Marta dreams. She is sitting on a cliff, gazing out at the sea. Her legs dangle over the ledge and she kicks them, like a child. Her mother is with her, a smudged blur in her peripheral vision, robed in midnight blue- a memory from too long ago, coalescing from fog. She stands, and finds herself in a copse of trees- smoothly, seamlessly, as is the flow of dreams. There is a man sitting cross-legged on the grass before her. His head was a stag’s skull, crowned with antlers, lit from within by a gentle sapphire light. Vines spill out the back of his skull and lie draped across his shoulders, his arms, in a semblance of long hair. He smells like the land; of honeysuckle and tilled soil. Thunder rumbles in the distance. Marta lifts her head, sees the glint of red and gold, tastes the tang of smoke in the air. He is coming. The stag-headed man fixes Marta with his empty gaze, blue fire in an antlered skull. His voice comes out like gravel, like crumbling stone. Do not let him in. ~*~ 

Marta woke with a soft gasp, her cheek resting on smooth fabric. She instinctively nuzzled the cloth before she caught a flash of black and red and remembered where she was. She snapped awake, jerking back and banging her head on the low ceiling of David’s sedan. She mewled in pain, the beginnings of a blush coloring her cheeks. “I am… so… sorry,” Marta eked out, wincing. Glory stared at her, her dark eyes rimmed with red. Unnerving as Glory’s piercing, unblinking gaze was, there was a hint of mirth buried beneath the ice. Glory’s smiles rarely made it all the way to her lips, but they always started in her eyes. “It’s okay,” Glory said. “How did you sleep?” “Okay,” Marta shrugged. “Weird dreams. You?” “I didn’t sleep,” Glory said flatly. “And I don’t dream.” “Oh.” Marta looked past Glory and out her window. They were at a fueling station, framed by trees, fog, and a cloudy sky, with the dim yellow lights of a mini-mart only barely cutting through the gloom. “Come on,” Glory said, tipping her head towards the window. “I was just going to ask if you wanted anything.” ~*~ “Good lord, David, you’re still driving that hunk of junk? It’s so old it still runs on gas.” “Yeah, and you still sell it, so what does that say about you?” The shopkeeper grinned. He was an older man, in a denim vest over a white T-shirt, with a gray beard and a trucker’s cap. Steve Wilk, owner of Wilk’s Fuel Station and Auto Shop (and Mini-Mart), the last little island of civilization before trees and fog took over. “You going on some kinda trip?” Wilk asked, amused, as he scanned and bagged a veritable mountain of protein bars, energy drinks, string cheese and soy jerky. “It’s for a job,” David explained, a growing number of shopping bags hanging from his arms. “I’m going to be out of the city for awhile.” Glory appeared, silent and inscrutable. She dropped another pile of goods on the counter just as Wilk had finished bagging the first- aspirin, rolls of gauze, bottles of quick-sealing trauma spray. Marta followed behind, adding a number of boxes to the pile- tampons, teabags, chemical hand warmers. She glanced up at David. “...I get cold,” Marta said, sheepish. David reached into the pile and picked up a bottle of trauma spray. “‘For the instant sealing of open wounds’,” David read. “‘Like stitches in a bottle.’ ...Y’know, don’t all three of us have some form of healing magic?” “Say you’ve just received a traumatic, painful, bloody wound,” Glory said, tone flat as always. “What would be easier: concentrating on a healing spell, or shaking a spray can and pressing a button?” “Point,” David admitted. Wilk stared at the trio. “Just what kind of trouble do y’all think you’re gonna run into?” “Bears,” Glory said, deadpan. She took an armful of shopping bags and left, Marta following close behind. Wilk watched them go, shaking his head. “There’s an interesting girl,” Wilk muttered. “She’s my boss,” David cut in. “And she’s paying for all this, so-” “Easy, boy. Meant no offense.” David mumbled a non-response, handing over his credstick. Wilk scanned it and handed it back, along with the rest of the crew’s supplies. “Did you hear about the fire?” Wilk asked. David hesitated. “Which one?” “South side. Took out a church, a homeless shelter…” David’s expression darkened. “Yeah. That was a shame.” “There was another one, up at the docks. Some chemical fire. But this one, they’re saying, this one was the gangs. Bunch of thugs bombed the place. Can you believe that?” Shadows flashed across David’s eyelids. The Branded. The mob. The sorceress. The fight in a burning church. The daemon seizing his skin, fighting him for control. David sucked in a breath. “I really can’t,” he muttered. “Nasty. Nasty stuff. It’s shit like this that makes me want to get out of this city, myself.” Wilk smiled. “...Can’t, though.” “Why’s that?” “Come on, kid. I can’t skip town. I gotta wait for everyone else to do it, so I can fuel ‘em up on their way out. You think I’d miss out on all that business? I’d make a fortune.” David chuckled. Grinned. “It was nice seeing you, Mr. Wilk. I gotta go. Say hi to the dogs for me, would you?” “When was the last time you saw ‘em, huh? They’re gettin’ big. Real big. They’ve been dying to see you again.” Mr. Wilk reached out and gave David’s hand a firm shake. “You take care on your little road trip, son.” “Thanks, Mr. Wilk.” “Oh, and David?” Wilk called, with David halfway out the door. “The next time you want to buy me out of jerky and string cheese, you call ahead, first!” ~*~ Scarcely an hour out of Halcyon City, and already the urban sprawl gives way to one-lane roads, thick woods and log cabins. The sky remained gray and gloomy, and fog seemed to follow them wherever they went. It was as if the Nameless Queen’s ghost had risen from the burning ruin of her church, and had come to haunt their steps. Everywhere they looked, it was gray, gray, gray. It was gray in the misted woods closing in around them, and it was just as gray in the shifting shadows of astral space, where David now lurked. In astral space, the light of life blazes like stars. But as David scanned the lodge, he saw only the faintest traces of memory, echoes of its previous inhabitants, glimmering like moonlight through the trees. David blinked, and the faint glow of astral space receded back into the darkness of reality. He eased open the door, pistol drawn. He crouched in the shadows, reaching up to key in his comm. “All clear,” he whispered. The lights came on, and David practically jumped out of his skin- only to feel Glory’s hands on his shoulders in an act of questionable reassurance. “You’re okay,” Glory said tonelessly. Marta stood behind, smiling sheepishly beside the light switch. David exhaled, holstering his pistol. This lodge wasn’t quite like the one David was working at four days ago, when Glory charged in, killed all his coworkers, and only spared him because, he was forced to assume, he asked nicely. That lodge had two storeys, couches, and bedrooms on the second floor. This place, meanwhile, could charitably be called a lodge, when in reality it was more of a ‘shack’. That being said, it was still roomier than David’s car, so nobody was really complaining. “Nice place,” Marta said, glancing up at the lumen strips incongruously set into the walls. “Electric lighting kinda ruins the look, but- Oh! A fireplace!” “Let’s start a fire, then,” Glory said. “I don’t want anyone coming by and wondering why the lights are on in the middle of spring, with hunting season months away. Do we have any firewood?” David poked his head out the back door. “Hopper’s empty.” “I’ll go find some, then,” Glory said. “Do you have a hatchet?” Marta asked. Glory extended her hand razors with a click of metal. “I’ll manage.” She waggled her clawed fingers at Marta, a playful smile in her eyes, before stepping out. “Keeping the lights off is one thing,” David said, “but what about the car?” “I can take care of that,” Marta offered. “Come on. I’ll show you something cool.” Outside, David shut the trunk with a thud, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and stepping back. “Okay,” Marta said, cracking her fingers. “Watch this.” David watched, fascinated, as the tips of Marta’s hair began to shine like hot coals. Traceries of blue light flowed down her arms and gathered at her fingertips in a coruscating cloud of energy. Marta blew a kiss across her palm. The spell dusted across her hands and coiled around the car like wisps of smoke. David’s vision shifted and blurred, like heat haze, and just like that, his car had vanished. David reached out, groping for his car in the seemingly empty air. He could feel it beneath his touch, and could hear himself tapping on the roof. He blinked and slipped into astral space. There he could see it, tinged with the lingering traces of their auras- Marta’s in blue, David’s own in gold, with a shadow where Glory’s should have been- but to his eyes in realspace, his car was as good as gone. David whistled, impressed. “Whoa,” he breathed. Marta beamed. “It’s- It’s, y’know, not perfect. The illusion only works if it’s not moving, so no taking it with us on the go. We can run or hide, not both.” “Still. That’s a hell of a trick,” David said. He looked up at Marta, suddenly sheepish. “But, uh. You can make it visible again, right? All our food’s still in the trunk, and uh… I can’t see where to put the key.” ~*~ Glory returned from her firewood-hunt soon after with an apology and an armful of moist wood. (“It rained last night, remember?”) Fortunately, Marta then used her magic to draw the water out of the wood, making them properly dry and oh-so-flammable, and a spark from Glory snapping her mechanical fingers took care of the rest. Their little fire crackled in the hearth, borrowed, like so many other things- shelter, stillness, time. Who knew how long this safety would last? But despite everything, a moment of calm managed to settle over the trio- a trio who met under decidedly un-calm circumstances. Marta took a deep breath and sighed, savoring the moment’s peace. The three of them were assembled on the floor around a collapsible cot they were all using as a table in the sparsely furnished lodge. To her left was David, gnawing on a piece of soy jerky. He was fiddling with his PDA, putting together a playlist to sync to his comm. Marta could hear the first few muffled seconds of each track as he considered it; plaintive strings, melancholy piano, blaring synth and everything in between. To her right was Glory, also studying her PDA, her eyes fixed in her characteristic intense, unblinking stare. Glory wasn’t too close, but neither was she too far away. Marta was between them, facing the fireplace. She sat in the shifting firelight, their little borrowed hearth so unlike the blaze that had consumed her church. Scarcely a day ago, she’d been a nun, living a life of charity and piety in the service of the Nameless Queen. Now, look at her. She’d fought daemons and sorceresses, pulled people out of burning buildings… She’d stepped out of her life of quiet devotion for all of 24 hours, and now here she was, on the run, with friends old and new, both of whom had already saved her life at least once before. How much difference a day makes. Unlike David and Glory, Marta wasn’t looking at her PDA. She was shuffling her deck of Tarot cards, handmade and hand-painted. They had been a gift from Sister Shelley, long ago, when she’d first joined the abbey. ‘They’ll tell your fortune’, Shelley’d told her, ‘and if you don’t care for what they tell you, you can use just them like regular playing cards.’ Honestly, Marta wasn’t really looking at her cards, either. She was just shuffling them so she had something to do with her hands. It was Glory who really held her attention. Glory, who sacrificed herself, body and soul, to break free of Harrow and The Horned King. Glory, who literally carries the weight of that sacrifice everywhere she goes. Glory, who, even after escaping The Horned King’s grasp, dove right back into Hell to pull Marta and the other kids out. Glory, who, years ago, caught first Marta’s eyes, then her heart. Glory, who, even now, clung to Marta’s thoughts and wouldn’t let go. “Marta?” “Huh? What?” Marta blinked. “You’re staring,” Glory said, peering over the top of her PDA. “Do I have something on my face?” Glory’s eyes glinted in the firelight. Marta sucked in a breath. “Um. Yes, actually. D’you mind if I…?” Glory nodded her assent, leaning closer. Marta reached out with a tissue and dabbed at a few rust-red flecks on Glory’s cheek. In the firelight, one could almost believe they were freckles. Marta pulled away, trying not to dwell on how warm Glory had been beneath her hand. “Blood,” she said, simply. “Don’t worry,” Glory said. “It usually isn’t mine.” “Usually,” Marta echoed, watching the shadows flicker across Glory’s face. “Thanks,” Glory said lightly, returning to her work, while Marta gathered the willpower to finally wrench her gaze away. Marta fixed her eyes forward, embarrassed and annoyed at her own feelings. It had been years since she and Glory had been together. Even then, it was as part of Harrow’s Apostles, his inner circle of wives and, frankly, accomplices. They were just teenagers, then. Just kids. Marta could barely remember it all, through the intoxicating haze of The Horned King’s influence. Then Glory snapped. The Horned King pushed her too far- deceived her into killing her own mother. That moment of grief yanked her out of the fog, and she disappeared. She got the surgery that gutted her magical potential and cut her off from The Horned King, and vanished into the shadows, beyond Harrow’s reach. Then she came back, years later. She rescued Marta, rescued Harrow’s acolytes, and purified the Heart of Feuerstelle, the fragment of The Horned King that Harrow was using to force their obedience when words alone were no longer enough. Their reunion was short-lived. Marta left to rediscover herself, now that she was cut free from Harrow’s poisonous influence. And she promised she’d get back in touch once she’d figured things out again. Well, here she was, and Marta did not, in fact, have everything figured out. She didn’t have all the answers. But she sure kept the feelings- even after all this time, it was like riding a bike. You never really forget. Marta heaved a weary sigh, fanning her cards out on the cot. She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and drew a card, holding it up to the firelight. A woman, robed in blue, seated between two pillars- the darkness and the light- with a banner or veil stretched behind her, separating the conscious from the unconscious. The High Priestess. Patience. Insight. Intuition. The unknown. Marta made a face. “You think that’s funny?” Marta muttered, and shuffled it back into the deck. ~*~ Marta dreams. She half-expects to see someone berating her for still carrying a torch for Glory. Maybe she’d be on a stage, under a spotlight, in front of a leering, laughing crowd. Maybe there’d be someone looming above her, mocking her. Maybe it’d be her parents. Or Harrow. Maybe even The Horned King himself. Marta doesn’t dream of any of these things. Instead, she is back in the Wood. The Heart of Feuerstelle sits before her, his antlered skull of a head lit from within by a tranquil blue light. He sits, serene, even as fires burn in the distance. Smoke drifts into Marta’s face and stings her eyes. One by one, torches appear in the clearing- rising up out of the ground in an eerie imitation of trees taking root. Six. The Heart’s voice rumbles through Marta’s head like a tremor in the earth. Six jewels in the crown of the Horned King. Six torches ring the clearing, but only four are ablaze. Two of them stand unlit, weeping black smoke into the air. The Heart leans forward. He sighs. Smiles, if a skull could be said to smile. A cool breeze passes over Marta, ruffling her hair and whistling through the trees, smelling of honeysuckle and tilled earth. The Heart speaks, his voice like thunder. You’re almost halfway there. ~*~ Daylight came- technically, if not literally. The weather stayed gloomy as ever, with clouds overhead and fog blanketing the road. The loamy earth and sweet honeysuckle of Marta’s dream gave way to wooden floorboards, charcoal, and a sizzling skillet. “I’m sorry about this, boss,” she heard David saying. “I’m, uh, not really a cook.” “That’s fine. These aren’t really ingredients.” “That’s the last time I go grocery shopping at a gas station,” David muttered. “But I meant more along the lines of, ‘this is my first time cooking in a fireplace’.” Marta blinked herself awake, her vision settling into place. She pushed off of her bedroll, sitting up. David was kneeling by the fireplace, Glory sitting nearby. He had propped a grate over the coals, and was tending to a small pan, the smoke making his eyes water. “I feel like I’m doing this wrong,” David grumbled. “I’m getting smoke all up in my face.” “Is there anything I can do to help?” Glory offered. “Yeah, actually. Would you mind chopping up some potatoes?” “Alright. Do you have a knife?” “Just use your claw-thingies.” “You want me to use my hand razors? Do you have any idea where those have been?” Glory turned, and caught Marta’s gaze. She smiled at her- figuratively, as Glory’s smiles so rarely made it to her mouth- and in the dim morning light her eyes glinted like lit coals. “Good morning,” Glory murmured, the warmth in her voice pricking Marta’s heart like a fishhook. “G- Good morning,” Marta returned. The flush across her cheeks was twofold; first, from the blissful thought of simply waking up to Glory, and second, from the embarrassment of such a little thing getting her so flustered. Glory held Marta’s gaze for a long moment. Their eyes glinted in the firelight, brown and amber edged with red, the mark of the Horned King’s influence lingering on them both. Marta swallowed. Even before the surgery, Glory had a habit of staring right through her... “Mornin’,” David chimed in, oblivious, and Marta exhaled, quietly grateful. “Good morning, David,” Marta smiled. She lifted her pendant, the icon of Venus, and slipped it around her neck. “What are we having?” “Breakfast! ...Sort of!” David announced, with something almost, but not quite, resembling pride. “We’ve got eggs, sort of, and uh, sausage, sort of. And potatoes. Those are real. I’m like… ninety percent sure.” “I don’t know if I like those odds,” Marta teased. David made a face. He held out the skillet and Glory dropped in a handful of chopped potatoes, hissing as they hit the pan. “Come on,” David protested. “Doesn’t that just smell delicious?” “Well. I mean...” “It certainly smells.” “Thank you, Glory. That’s… that’s real helpful.” ~*~ For all their needling, in the end, David really could make a halfway decent batch of skillet potatoes. Although, next time, he’d prop up the grate a little higher for better temperature control… and maybe put the potatoes in first, so they have time to get tender before the eggs start to burn. It was still miles better than soy jerky and string cheese, although, admittedly, that wasn’t a very high bar. Marta sat back and sighed, satisfyingly full. Glory and David were both poking at their PDAs; Glory, studying her screen and scribbling notes into a pocket notebook; David, his eyes darting quizzically between his PDA, the still-warm skillet on his lap, a spatula, and a little box of coarse salt. For one reason or another, Marta found herself smiling. It had been a hectic few days. To simply enjoy a meal with friends, old and new, felt comfortingly domestic and mundane. That is, until David snapped to attention. He jumped up and pressed his ear against the wall, the skillet falling off his lap and hitting the floor with a thud. “What-” Glory began. “Get down,” David hissed. Marta dropped flat, her pendant clanging against the floorboards. Glory followed suit. David crouched by the wall, his hand hovering over his thigh holster. Marta felt the rumbling along the ground. She exhaled, sliding into astral space. She saw Glory beside her, a shadow threaded with green, and David by the door, his aura glimmering gold, urgent, attentive. She saw them- a cluster of glowing red, ambling past like a meteor in slow motion. She felt the weight of their tires on the pavement, the rumble of engines. Marta exhaled, vision snapping back to reality. “Two vehicles,” David reported, peering out the window. “Red pickup, then a big white van. Probably driving slow ‘cuz of the fog. Gone now.” David exhaled, returning to his spot at the folding camp bed they were all using as a table. “Sorry, guys,” David said. “False alarm. Probably.” “Better safe,” Glory shrugged, returning to her notes. David glanced at Marta and Glory, looking up from his PDA’s extranet article on how to clean a cast iron skillet when you don’t have access to running water. “You know,” he began, shaking some coarse salt onto the pan and starting to scrape, “I’d meant to ask this earlier, before the, y’know, stuck-in-a-burning-building thing. But how did you two meet?” Marta and Glory shared a look. “It’s a long story,” Marta offered. “We’ve got time,” David said. “We met through Harrow,” Glory said. Her eyes were flinty and hard. “That’s all you need to know.” David withered under Glory’s stare. Eventually, Glory exhaled, tucking her PDA into a coat pocket and rising to her feet. “I’m taking a walk,” she announced icily, slipping out the back door. An uncomfortable quiet settled between them. Marta cleared her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said. “No, I’m sorry,” David muttered. He set the pan aside, half-finished. “It’s a touchy subject. I probably shouldn’t pry.” “That ‘touchy subject’ is the foundation of this whole trip,” Marta said. “I’m just a bodyguard,” David shrugged. “...Who, admittedly, just let his primary walk off into the woods without him. But still. Glory doesn’t have to answer my questions.” “No,” Marta pressed. “If you’re going to help Glory in this hunt- if you’re going to follow her into Hell- then you deserve to know exactly who you’re after and what you’re getting into.” David considered that. Swallowed. Nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Fair enough. So… how did you two meet?” Marta let out a long, tired sigh. “It feels like a lifetime ago…” ~*~ Marta told David everything. Haltingly at first, then all at once, like a handful of misplaced pebbles triggering a landslide. How she first joined the cult as a teenager, sucked in by Harrow’s looks, his charm, his bright lure of freedom, the promise of independence from an unjust, uncaring society. How he put her to work, combing the streets for kids who’d be open to what Harrow had to say- and how, over time, they’d hang on to his every word. She told him about how they touched up an abandoned hunting lodge in the Schonbuch Forest and transformed it into Der Feuerstelle, The Fireplace, Harrow’s compound and castle. She told him about what she became: a face of the cult, recruiter, kidnapper, a den mother to the acolytes, a wife to Harrow himself. Harrow made her dye her hair fire-red, as a symbol of her status. She was favored among the cult; Harrow’s queen and right hand. All this time, Harrow hadn’t resorted to using dark magic to control his followers. He lured them and kept them, with words alone. Harrow’s poisonous charisma was enough to utterly consume Marta’s thoughts. She was obsessed. Poisoned by his words. Addicted to his body. And then, on a routine scouting sweep for potential recruits, Marta found Glory. Glory was homeless. Penniless. Young. Vulnerable. Beautiful. That’s what Marta thought. She couldn’t let someone so beautiful simply starve on the street. So Marta reached out her hand… and Der Feuerstelle swallowed Glory up. Over time, the influence of The Horned King began to grow. Little changes piled up over time, little things that went unnoticed in the haze of Harrow’s worship. His iconography spread throughout the house, in etchings, wood carvings, decorations on the shelves, the walls, the mantelpiece in the lounge. Antlers everywhere. Antlers and flames. Der Feuerstelle might have been Harrow’s house, but it was The Horned King who truly reigned. The daemon’s presence was intoxicating. Harrow’s followers hung on his every word, and leapt at the chance to please him, no matter what his demands. Petty theft. Robbery. Arson. Kidnapping. Assault. It didn’t matter. Harrow spoke, and his disciples obeyed. He was the king of Der Feuerstelle. A narcissistic criminal whose pockets swelled with blood money while lovestruck addicts clawed at his feet. And Marta was the one who gave Glory the invitation. Marta was Glory’s gateway drug. Glory was special. She climbed the ranks much as Marta did, and soon found herself counted among Harrow’s inner circle. Glory commanded respect from the acolytes, and soon became charged with carrying out Harrow’s will on expeditions outside the lodge. If Marta was the matriarch, then Glory was the muscle. Together, they formed the pillars of the household. But then something went wrong. Glory went out on an expedition and never came back. And with Glory missing, Harrow’s influence began to crack. No one knew why Glory had suddenly disappeared; or if they did, no one was saying anything. Some of Harrow’s followers proposed that they search for Glory, Marta foremost among them. But there was no search. Harrow set aside a room of the lodge, placed a shining stone on an altar and declared the room off-limits. And, just like that, the whispers of dissent grew silent. “I don’t remember much after that,” Marta said, her expression clouded. “There’s just a heat, and this stinging feeling, like smoke getting into your eyes. Anyway. A year ago, Glory returned to Feuerstelle with a shadowrunner named Poplar. They purified the spirit that Harrow had press-ganged. That snapped me out of my… trance, I guess. They broke us out; me and the kids that were still around. Glory went back to Berlin. I went to join the Sisters. And, well. You know the rest.” David sat, pensive, his fingers steepled. Marta watched him, wary. She was waiting for the judgment; waiting for the surprise, the outrage, anything. She was waiting, anxiously, for David to react to the years of messy, damning history she’d all-but-vomited onto his lap. She was waiting for him to berate her; to call her stupid, gullible, desperate, foolish. He didn’t say any of that. He didn’t say anything; only met Marta’s eyes in the dark, and kept his maddening quiet. David opened his mouth, as if to say something. Marta leaned forward, expectant. David slumped in his seat. He closed his mouth and heaved a sigh. “Man…” David’s caught Marta’s gaze. “That’s some fucked up shit.” Marta barked a laugh, despite everything. “...Yeah. I’m- I’m sorry to just dump that on you all at once. I just thought you needed to know.” David smiled. “It’s fine. For your part, I think you needed to tell it.” Marta grinned in return. David was right. In her time at the abbey, she’d only divulged her checkered past as a cult matriarch in bits and pieces, hiding behind imperfect memory and ambiguity. There was something truly refreshing about being able to lay the truth bare. She’d known David for scarcely a day, but Marta thought he could be a friend. He made for a decent enough confessor, at any rate. Marta shivered. Marta wasn’t sure what she’d expected David to say, but he’d taken her impromptu honesty hour completely in stride. Her anxiety left her in sighs, in smiles, only lingering in the tips of her fingers. “What about you?” Marta asked, shuffling her Tarot deck if only to occupy her restless hands. “What’s your story?” “Well, shit,” David shrugged. “I don’t have anything like all that. Honestly, I’m kinda boring. Even my aura’s boring. You can read me, if you want.” “Can I, really?” “Yeah. No skin off my nose.” Marta exhaled, sliding into astral space. David’s aura unfurled before her, a pale, smoky gray, threaded with luminescent gold. His magical potential coiled around him like smoke, only coalescing into two distinct spells: the ability to heal minor wounds, and the ability to sharpen one’s aim. Even these two spells didn’t crystallize in his aura like they would a professional, textbook mage. Self-taught, then. Intuitive. Adaptive. He could be an Air magus in the making, if he could get the proper training. “I’m nothing special,” David was saying, as Marta returned to realspace. “I’ve got a few drops of magic in me, but that’s never paid my bills. I never had any real aptitude for book learning, but I’m in decent shape, and I’ve got decent aim, so I went for a career in CorpSec. I was there almost ten years. I was even on track for a position at Knight Errant. But…” “But?” David let out a breath. “...I quit.” Marta blinked. “Why?” “I don’t know,” David shrugged. “It just sort of… happened. That’s when I went freelance, and moved to Halcyon City. I packed up my gear, my coat, my car, and tried to make it on my own.” David smiled, rueful. “It didn’t work out as well as I hoped. I was broke for a while. But there weren’t so many contracts, and there wasn’t as much fine print and corporate PR to sift through. So that was a plus. And, well… I got by. More or less.” Marta nodded. “So how did you meet Glory?” “Glory saved my life,” David said softly. He broke into a grin. “Well, more like she spared my life. I was on a job, guarding some little cabin in the woods. Easy money, standing on a porch and taking in the air. Turns out I should’ve looked into my client more carefully. They were there laying the groundwork for a Firepact cell.” Marta cringed. “...Yikes.” “Yeah, ‘yikes’,” David snorted. “So imagine my surprise when Glory charges out of the woods to kick our goddamn teeth in. Blows out a guy’s chest with a high caliber revolver round. Uses her claws to tear two other guys to shreds. Only spared me, I can imagine, because I asked nicely- in other words, begging and damn near pissing myself. I still wound up getting kicked into a tree because I said something stupid. Blacked out for a bit. When I came to, she was gone.” David shook his head. “Just left bodies behind.” “I’m sorry,” Marta said. “Don’t be too sorry,” David said. “Sergeant Castor was alright, but the other two guys were dicks. Besides, we were rent-a-cops. Mercenaries. Mercs who make it to retirement are one in a million.” Marta nodded. She shuffled her Tarot deck, somber. “Anyway,” David said, breezing past. “I ran into Glory again on another job. That night, if you can believe it. Long story short: she saved my life for real, that time. And then she offered me a job. As her bodyguard, which, y’know, only gets more laughable the more I see her fight.” “Still,” Marta smiled in gratitude. “I’m glad you were with her, even for a little bit. With how much danger she’s been in, with who knows many people coming after her… I hate the thought of Glory facing that alone.” “But she’s not alone, is she?” David asked. “She has you.” Marta’s Tarot deck slipped from her fingers. Her cards scattered across the floor, a flush coloring her cheeks. “That’s…” Marta bristled, crossing her arms across her chest. “...I don’t know what you mean by that.” “Oh boy,” David sighed. He started gathering up the fallen cards. “Look. I’m sorry. I know it’s none of my business. But, if you’d like my unsolicited opinion-” “Which I don’t.” “-I think you should tell her.” Marta’s expression softened. She sighed, picking cards up off the floor. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Marta murmured. “I think you two are adults,” David said, “and it’s better to have stuff like this out in the open instead of letting it keep you in knots.” David handed her his pile of cards. Marta took them, muttering muted thanks. David sighed. He reached out, snagging one last card that had slipped under the cot they were using as a table. “Why did you go with Glory?” Marta asked. “Honestly? A job is a job,” David admitted. “Nothing personal. But it’s personal for you, and for Glory, too. I don’t know this Harrow guy, but he sounds like a real scumbag. He sounds like he deserves every bit of karma coming his way. So if I can help you guys make that happen, I will. In the meantime, I’ll be happy just getting by.” “That’s all?” Marta wondered. “If you just wanted to make a living, you could have stayed in CorpSec. I’m sure that’d be a more comfortable life. If you stay here, you’ll be a fugitive. Is that what you want?” David shrugged. “You could’ve stayed with the Sisters, helped Sister Shelley rebuild the church. The Firepact’s gunning for Glory. Once she left the city, you’d have been safe- now you’re a fugitive, too. Why did you stay?” “Glory’s my-” Marta bit her lip. “...friend. I couldn’t let her do this alone. But you don’t know her, David. The Firepact is dangerous. What if you get hurt? What if you get killed? You don’t owe her anything.” “Yes, I do,” David said. “She saved my life, remember?” “I just…” Marta sighed. “I just don’t want you to die for her.” “Wouldn’t you?” Marta paused. She looked at the floor, shuffling her Tarot deck. “I’m a mercenary, Marta,” David said softly. “I know the numbers. Chances are I won’t retire. I could die working in CorpSec, or for Knight Errant, or as a freelancer. I could die, no matter who my boss is. But what Glory’s trying to do… I don’t know. I want to do this. This feels like something big. Something important. I haven’t known her as long as you have, but I know she’s someone worth following. Even into Hell.” Marta nodded. David handed her the card that had fallen under the table. She held it up to the light- an eight-spoked wheel, so like a compass, with no mortal hand to guide it. The Wheel of Fortune. Circumstance. Change. The hands of fate, spinning out of mortal control. “I don’t think Glory needs a bodyguard,” David said. “But I think she needs you.” Marta took a deep breath. She swallowed. Nodded. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I’ll-” Marta paused as a strong breeze buffeted the cabin, carrying the scent of coming rain. The back door swayed open. A figure slipped inside before the door closed again, a shadow in the dim light. Glory. “You’re back,” Marta blinked. “Where did you go?” Glory decided not to disclose that she had briefly stepped outside to escape bad memories, and then been promptly preoccupied by a stray cat that was wandering through the undergrowth. “I got distracted,” Glory said flatly. “Now’s not the time. Get down. Mr. Wen, the road.” Marta tucked away her Tarot deck and fell flat onto her stomach. David crept up to the window and peeked outside. They could hear it; the sound of engines, of tires creaking over pavement. The sound grew louder, got closer, before it faded into the distance. “Damn it,” David muttered. “Two vehicles. Red pickup. White van. Damn well the same ones from before.” “Pack your things,” Glory ordered. “We’ve stayed here too long.” ~*~ The rain came, haltingly at first, then all at once. It came down in fat, wet drops, turning the ground into mire in a matter of minutes. Marta, for her part, was untouched by rain. Since abandoning the Horned King as the source of her magic, her affinity for water meant she didn’t have to worry about getting wet. A bubble of Marta’s magic kept the driving rain at bay. David and Glory were grateful; but they still weren’t too comfortable, perched as they were in the boughs of a tree. “Four guys on foot,” David reported, squinting through his rifle scope. “Hunting dogs. Five, maybe six. There’s something up with their eyes. A glow, like fire. So, I’m guessing hellhounds.” “Fun,” Glory muttered. “The rain will cover our sound and our scent,” Marta chimed in. “It’s not too late for us to just give them the slip. We can circle behind them, get back to the car, and get out of here before they make it back to their vans.” “No,” Glory shook her head. “We slip away now, they’ll just be back on us later. We stop this tonight.” Glory turned, her eyes glinting in the dim light. “Marta, can you shroud this location?” “Yes,” Marta nodded, “but the dogs are magically active. They’ll sense us hiding, even if they can’t see us.” “The shroud will still keep the hunters from getting a shot off,” Glory said. She dropped to the ground with a splash, flicking out her hand razors. “Stay here,” Glory said, glancing up at Marta. “Stay safe. This shouldn’t take long.” “But-” “Don’t worry about me,” Glory smiled in her eyes, not quite reaching her mouth. “Just stay close to David until we get this over with.” Marta opened her mouth, then closed it again. She sighed. “...Alright.” “Mr. Wen? The dogs, if you please.” “You got it, boss.” Marta took a deep breath and sighed. Pale blue power gathered at her fingertips and coalesced in a glyph around the base of their tree, hiding them from view. David shouldered his rifle and swept his aim, while Glory turned, coat-tails flaring in the wind, and strode out into the storm… ~*~ Two hunters picked their way through the mud and the muck, rifles tucked under their arms, cheap plastic ponchos flapping in the wind. Their pack of hunting dogs had vanished ahead of them into the woods. With the fog, and the pounding rain, if not for their incessant barking, they would’ve lost track of them already. “Shitty day for a hunt,” one of them muttered, boots sloshing through the sodden undergrowth. “Pay’s gonna be worth it,” his partner replied. “The boys are gonna have steak tomorrow.” “Yeah, and if the fuckin’ dogs are having steak, imagine what we’ll have,” the first hunter grinned. “We’ll have some fancy shit wrapped in gold foil. Whassat called? Pheasant.” “Man, there ain’t no pheasant ‘round here. They’re in, like, China.” “We’ll import it, then. We’ll have the money-” An explosion rocked the woods, and the two hunters snapped to attention, their rifles shouldered, peering through their scopes and into the dark. The edges of a red-hot fireball curled into the air, rising above the trees. Seconds later, it happened again: a sharp bang, like a grenade going off, and a curl of flame and smoke. “D’you see ‘em?” the hunter hissed, urgent. “Man, I don’t see a damn thing.” And he really couldn’t. In the dark, and the fog, and the rain, there was nothing in those woods but the glow of distant fires and the shadow in the trees. Movement. Splashing footsteps, flashing steel- The hunter went rigid, reaching for his throat, fingertips hooked and numb. His blood fountained into the air in a ghastly mist, damped down by the rain. His partner swiveled and took his shot. Strong hands jerked his rifle up, and he fired over the phantom’s shoulder. The butt of his rifle slammed back into his sternum, the impact jarring it from his grip. It swung up and cracked him in the chin. He fell to one knee, and had his neck broken by a home-run swing. Glory dropped the rifle in the mud and kept on running. ~*~ The hellhound was huge, by dog standards. It was an English mastiff before its Awakening, already one of the biggest dog breeds out there. But when its spark ignited, its dormant magic transformed it into a beast- a three-foot tall battering ram, corded with muscle, glowing with magma beneath its skin. In realspace, it was a shadow through the trees, only given away by its eyes, smoldering like hot coals. In astral space, its aura, fire-red, blazed like a torch. Three rifle rounds punched into its body and cut its thread, its aura going dark. In realspace, its body did the opposite- it exploded in a huge, bright ball of fire and cooked meat, its volatile metabolism erupting in some catastrophic, arcane reaction. David exhaled, adjusting his scope. He slid back into astral space, hunting for targets, seeking the bright lights in the charcoal dark. “Is it always like this?” Marta asked from her perch, while David fired another aimed burst that set a hellhound off like a bomb. “You watching from a distance, while Glory’s out there, in the thick of things?” “In theory,” David said. He dropped another distant hellhound, its dying explosion throwing up mud and steam. “I mean, I’ve only been working for her for, like, four days. But that’s the plan. More or less.” “I see.” David glanced back at her, his vision sliding back into realspace. Marta was a shadow beside him, stricken and pale in the dim, misted light. “...Hey. She’s gonna be fine,” David said gently. He clicked out his empty rifle magazine, reaching into his coat for a fresh one. “You’ve seen Glory fight, haven’t you? She’s a monster. She can take care of herself.” “I know,” Marta murmured. “I just… wish she didn’t have to.” Marta suddenly grabbed David’s arm. He looked up, sliding a new magazine into his rifle. “What is it?” David wondered. Marta didn’t know. But she could feel it. A tremor at the edge of her aura. A distortion. A whistling- Marta kicked off the branch she was standing on and shoved David off his perch. Three magical bolts slammed into her and exploded in a plume of flame. ~*~ Glory ducked behind a tree an instant before a high-powered round tore a chunk out of the wood. She drew her revolver and coiled out of cover, firing into the dark. Two shots blew out chips of tree bark. The third yanked the hunter off his feet like a bad actor being pulled off stage. A bolt of magic exploded against the tree beside her, gutting its trunk in a burst of flame. The tree toppled over in a cloud of sparks and splinters, nearly severed at the waist. Glory ducked out of the path of the falling tree, only to spot a hellhound bearing down on her, charging through the mud. Fire gathered in its mouth, trailing embers in its wake. Glory spun around the bolt of magic the hellhound vomited in her direction. It seared past the small of her back and exploded against a tree behind her. The hound leapt at her, and Glory followed through with a spinning kick that pancaked the beast against a tree trunk. Glory shot it in the chest. It exploded against the tree, its arcane metabolism igniting like a firework. Glory jerked to the side, spun by torque. A hellhound’s jaws clamped around her wrist. Its weight and momentum wrenched her arm around, the heavy impact forcing her to the ground. Glory cried out in pain as she hit the muddy ground. She rolled to her feet, shaking her arm, but the beast had sunk its teeth into her augmetic musculature and would not let go. Glory grimaced and plunged her claws into its heart. The beast glowed white, and then exploded in her face. Glory dragged herself up out of the mud, dizzy with pain and fatigue. She clutched her stricken arm to her chest, the augmetics straining. An organic arm, she knew, would have been broken and dislocated, or worse. In the distance, Glory heard the frenzied barking of more hellhounds. Just how many of these damn things were there? “David, I need you to take care of these dogs,” Glory said into her comm. Glory coughed, gagging on soot. She tapped her commlink. “David?” ~*~ David hit the ground with a splash, his ears ringing. He should’ve known. The first rule of astral space is if you can see them, they can see you. And Marta was a Mage, more powerful than he was by a country mile. No wonder they’d be drawn to- “Marta,” David breathed, falling to his knees beside her. Marta was sprawled on the muddy ground, haloed by the burning skeleton of the tree beside them. For someone caught in an explosion, she was remarkably, surprisingly intact. Marta coughed, and blinked, her vision settling. She sat up in David’s grasp, the shimmering traces of a pale blue barrier lingering in the air around them. Her fingertips brushed against the icon of Venus hanging from her neck. “Thank you, Hecate,” Marta smiled. David blinked. “Who?” Marta abruptly pulled David behind her, her fingertips shining blue. A dozen bolts of fire sailed through the air towards them. At Marta’s command, a wall of water rose up to meet them. They struck the barrier and exploded into wisps of steam. Through the swirling water of Marta’s barrier, they could see the pack approaching: another half dozen hellhounds, their handlers undoubtedly close behind. The pickup truck and the white van from before. The ones that had passed their cabin twice. It hadn’t been the same ones, after all; there were two teams. Two hunting parties. And just because they managed to get the drop on the first one didn’t mean they were ready for the second. David swore under his breath. He shouldered his waterlogged rifle, misfired, and swore again. “Marta,” David began, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. The pack was closing in. “Can you gather all the water on the ground into one big puddle, deep enough that the hellhounds can’t just run through it? And can you do that while making sure the two of us stay totally dry?” Marta swallowed. Nodded. “I think so. Why?” David drew his pistol and racked the slide, a soft blue glow coming from the base of the grip. “No reason.” Glyphs traced themselves in the air around Marta’s hands. Magic thrummed in the air, the rain and water around them standing to attention, heeding her silent voice. Six hellhounds broke through the treeline. They charged forward in a frenzy, jaws trailing spittle and embers, scenting Marta’s magic in the air like blood in water. Marta’s wave surged around their feet. Their charge slowed to a trot, then a crawl, and finally, a paddle, as the water rose around them and they couldn’t simply run on through. The wave held them, halted in their tracks. In a circle around David and Marta’s feet, the soil became parched and pale. David fired. The gel-tipped phasic rounds burst as they struck the surface of Marta’s wave. Azure lightning cascaded through the pool, surging into the pack of hunting dogs. They shivered, convulsed, and went still, weeping smoke and steam from their singed bodies. Marta exhaled, and released her hold on the wave. The water receded back into the muddy earth, and for a moment, the only sound was the patter of rain. David turned to her and grinned. The rifle round punched through his chest in a spray of red. David staggered took two halting steps forward. Marta caught him in her arms, fear rooting her in place. She stared down at the ragged hole in the back of his coat, looked up and saw the shadow in the trees. The spent shell fell by the hunter’s foot. He slid the bolt back in place, took aim- His shot exploded off of Glory’s shoulder in a burst of chipped ceramite and sparking metal. She let the force of the shot spin her around. She drew her revolver, took aim, and fired. ~*~ Their healing power merged together, the scent of honeysuckle and tilled earth mingling with that of seafoam and rain. David gasped awake, coughing. He sat up too fast, clutching his head when the dizziness hit him. He groaned, prodding at the frayed hole in his shirt and the unbroken skin beneath. “Oh, man,” David muttered. “If I had a nickel…” “You’d have two nickels,” Glory said. “Three if you count the stun round,” David smiled, despite everything. Glory helped David to his feet with her good arm, clutching the other to her chest. Already, the soft green glow of the Heart’s healing power was coiling like climbing ivy around the damaged limb. He glanced behind her, to where Marta was lingering close at hand. “Everyone alright?” David asked. “Compared to you?” Marta asked. “Fair.” David shrugged. “Come on,” Glory said. “There’s something you should see.” David made his way over to the last of the fallen hunters, leaning on Marta for support. The hunter was lying in a puddle, bleeding out from a shot to his stomach courtesy of Glory. Blood darkened the mud around him. The man lifted his head and glowered at the trio. David’s lips curled in disgust. “You shot my dogs, boy,” Mr. Wilk spat. “Well, you shot me,” David grumbled. “So I guess we’re even.” David searched for the tell-tale glint of fire in Mr. Wilk’s eyes, but found nothing. He exhaled. “He wasn’t enthralled,” Glory said flatly. “None of them were. If they were, the Rose Compass would have sensed something, before.” David gritted his teeth. “Every man has his price,” David said, his voice cold. “Don’t you judge me, boy,” Mr. Wilk said, pulling himself up to his elbows. “I’m just a man trying to make a living. To provide for his family. You’re a mercenary too, boy, or did you forget? A job is a job. You would’ve done the same.” “Would I?” David asked. He reached into the mud and pulled out Mr. Wilk’s hunting rifle. He examined the scope, drew back the bolt, then slid it back into place. For a moment, Marta thought David might shoot him. Instead, David simply slipped the rifle into a canvas sleeve on his back and walked away. “...Little vulture,” Mr. Wilk spat, indignant. “Business expense,” Glory shrugged. She turned and left him there in the mud, Marta following at her heels.   ~*~ The rain cleared, but the mood stayed sour. They drove just long enough to put their encounter with the hunting party behind them, before they stopped and found somewhere to make camp. David, normally the most talkative of the three, was quiet the whole way. When they stopped to make camp, he disappeared into the tent and fell asleep almost immediately. Driving must have worn him out, Marta thought. That, or being shot in the back just a few hours before. Marta sat on an uncomfortably moist log, shuffling her Tarot deck to steady her fingers. Briefly, she considered using her magic to dry it out. But after summoning that wave against the charge of hellhounds, re-casting the concealment spell on David’s car, and, most importantly, subconsciously shielding herself from that explosion… Marta sighed. She was spent; magically, physically, mentally. But when Glory took a seat beside her, her heart still skipped a beat. “I can keep watch,” Glory said, flexing her still-recovering arm. “You should get some rest. That tent is really only big enough for two, anyway.” “I’m okay,” Marta said. “Suit yourself.” Marta exhaled, gazing up at the sky. The clouds were clearing, and the moon was shining through. “So this is what you do?” Marta asked quietly. “This is what you’ve been doing, for all this time?” “Yeah. More or less.” Marta shuffled her Tarot deck, her fingers still trembling. “All this… danger. All this fear, and bloodshed. And for what? Nothing. Nothing but your own survival.” “Sometimes surviving is the best you can do,” Glory said, her eyes distant. “I can’t believe this,” Marta said. “All this time, while I’ve been at the abbey growing tomatoes and ladling out soup for the homeless, you’ve been fighting. You’ve been getting back at the Firepact, punishing them for what they did to you. For what…” Marta swallowed hard. “...for what I did to you.” Glory shook her head. “It wasn’t you. It was the daemon.” “Not in the beginning,” Marta pressed. “I fell for Harrow. No magic involved. I ate up his lies. And then I turned around and did the same thing to you.” Glory exhaled through her nose, staring blankly ahead. Her silence was agonizing. “Glory,” Marta asked, her throat tight. “Do you… hate me?” Glory took a deep breath. “A little,” Glory admitted. The words turned Marta’s insides to ice. “If you had never found me on the street, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I wouldn’t be hunting Harrow down, fighting off Firepact assassins at every step. I wouldn’t even have these,” Glory said, holding up her cyber-arms. “...So… yes. Part of me hates you. A small part. I can’t not, after everything that’s happened.” Marta’s voice was tight. “...I understand.” “But,” Glory continued, “I’m glad you’re safe. I’m glad you’re here with me, Marta. And I’m glad you got out.” “You got me out,” Marta whispered. “You broke me free of Harrow’s control. You saved those kids. You saved me. I…” Marta hesitated. “...I love you for that.” Glory stiffened. She fixed her gaze straight ahead, letting out a sigh. “...I think…” Glory said, choosing each word carefully. “...you may be confusing adrenaline for some other emotion.” She reached out, placing a hand over Marta’s. Beneath her cool touch, Marta’s shaking hands stilled. She exhaled, idly drawing the card from the top of the stack. A woman, bearing a sword in one hand and a set of scales in another, a blindfold around her eyes. Justice is blind. But so is love. It was the sign she needed. The courage she couldn’t find. “I love you, Glory,” Marta breathed. “I love you now, and I loved you then.” “What we had with Harrow was not love,” Glory warned. “I know,” Marta said. “He got in our heads, poisoned us to worship him- but what we had was real. What we had was not the daemon’s doing. We’re not the same people we were before. We can try again.” Glory heaved a sigh, squeezing Marta’s hand in hers. “Do you really believe that, Marta?” Their eyes met in the dark- brown and amber, ringed with red- both of them touched by fire, but neither one consumed. There was still some blood flecked on Glory's cheek, light enough that one might hope they were freckles. Marta didn't care. None of that mattered right now. Marta summoned the last of her courage. She traced a fingertip down Glory’s cheek and curled her hand beneath her chin. “Believe this,” Marta whispered. They were so close. They were haloed in moonlight; wreathed in rain. All that lay between them was just an inch of indecision. And very soon after, not even that. ~*~

[the-lady-bryan]

Weird Dreams - 11/20-11/21/2019 - “im a big fluffy snarly fucker!” edition

So. Cold medicine combines with my normal stuff to make really weird ass dreams. This is the result.

I was, i kid you not, a giant fluffy white direwolf and it was fucking awesome.

Our tale begins in the forest. A forest covered in snow to the far north in the mystical land of Westros, and believe me, this is not going to go in the direction you think it’s going to...

So there I was, chilling with this big burly fucker with ginger hair. It's fuckin snowing everywhere and everybody's drunk. It was some kinda of celebration. Then again these people didn’t need much reason to get drunk and party.

And then this asshole pulls out a dagger and some other guys with him pull out weapons and are like "LANNISTERS PAY THEIR DEBTS!" and fuckin kill everyone. And i mean everyfucking one. I rip off some arms because apparently I'm this big white wolf motherfucker just fucking savage and tearing people apart. When it's all said and done, there's only me and this one girl left alive. And I don't wanna go because holy shit the big burly fucker is dead and so is the dude that I've been with since I was a wee little baby wolfie.

After dealing with the dead - and this girl is like "everyone's gettin a proper true north send off" by setting so many fuckin pyres on fire, me and this girl head southwards. And there's this wall, right, and all these fuckers in black. And me and this girl are comin through and they're like "wtf? a lone wildling? holy shit! that wolf belongs to one of our bros who like, wandered off and never came back!"

And the girl and me are given room and board and i flat out refuse to leave her side. and the girl tells the dudes in this castle built into this ice wall what the fuck happened and they send a letter further south. so then after a while this woman shows up with like, a whole fuckin household of people and i recognize her as being a packmate to the dude i hung out with since i was a baby and she's like "where's my brother?" because even though he like, turned out to be a cousin she still calls him brother or whatever. and the girl tells this woman what happened and she's like "you are coming home with me. you both are coming home with me."

And so me and this girl are taken further south to this castle and i'm like ".......the last time i was here i got my ear cut off" but of course nobody can understand me because i'm a fuckin wolf.

The girl turns out to be one of Tormund Giantsbane's daughters but she wasn't one of his actual daughters, she was one that Tormund and Jon took in when her mother died when she was a baby on the trek back North after Jon's exile. The queen, learning she's the adopted daughter of Jon, welcomes her into the family.

Weird ass time skip forward and the girl's grown up and gets married to some idiot and they have a baby. And I'm like, the family pet or some shit. And even though the girl isn't "actually" part of the royal family and isn't "actually" a Stark, she's treated like one at the queen's insistance. And she's given a proper title of Lady and all that, too. She grows old at Winterfell and dies of old age. And I eventually do, too.

So then I woke up for a while had a drink, took more meds because I'm sick as hell, and then went back to sleep.

The next dream I was just chillin in on a bench having a cigarette, definately human this time, on some street when these boys go running past and I'm like "wtf?" and then everything gets fuckin cold as fuck and I'm like "shit. this is real damn familiar..." and so I go heading in the direction the boys had run from because that's where the cold is coming from and there's this tunnel thing and these boys and one's starting to go catatonic and the other's like "shit shit shit i can't reach it!" and without thinking i'm like "fuck this shit!" and pull out a dagger and am like "FUCK YOU FLOATY DEATH THING!" and i stab it and it screams and disappears and then there's this bright flash of light and a giant fuckin deer running past to get the other one and i'm like "wtf was that? wtf is this?"

And that's how i ended up sitting and watching a house on Privet Drive until it exploded with the boy and his family inside because other black robed assholes showed up and i don't know exactly what happened but fuck if i was gonna let that happen to this poor kid again.

unfortunately i realize too late i've brought a sword to a wand fight and it's not gonna go well for me if i don't do something. next thing i know i'm a giant fucking white wolf and i'm ripping off any arm and hand i see attatched to a stick. one asshole had bright blond hair and i'm like "FUCK YOU!" especially much more to that asshole than the others. eventually they disappear and other people show up with sticks in their hands and i'm like "fuck this shit this kid's been through too fucking much already" and i'm digging and sniffing through the rubble to find this most unlucky asshole and when i find him these new wand waving idjits keep tryng to get close but i'm all snarly and growly and won't let them near him until one of 'em turns into a dog and just kinda... barks at me? and i'm like, the wolf equivalent of "fuck off and leave the poor bastard alone he's had a shite day!" and the dog man is like, the equivalent of "that's my godson, now fuck off you oversized fluffy asshole!" and then this dude in a sweater is like "ffs padfoot! don't get your head bitten off it's a goddamn wolf you moron!" and i'm all like "damn right you mangy ass mutt."

There's a bright red light and i'm out cold.

When i come to, i'm where i was but everyone's gone and i start sniffin around and i'm super fucking pissed because this poor kid obviously needs someone to keep an eye on him and these assholes fucking kidnapped him from the remains of his own house. so i'm like, sniffing all over, trying to get their scents and shit, and then i take off. and i'm lookin for this kid for fuckin days, and eventually find him and i'm just kinda... sat across the street from this ratty old townhouse and i'm like "why the fuck can't other people see this shit? this house. it's right here. but like, nobody notices it." and once i ordered a pizza and the pizza man can't fuckin find it and i'm like "ffs this is so damn sketchy" and so i start snooping around and sniffing around and yup, there's definately those people in there and like hell i'm gonna let them hold that boy captive! not on my fuckin watch mate!

now, unknown to me at least 2 people know i'm snooping around on the property and one of 'em is like "wtf is that asshole wolf doing here" (sirius black) and the other one is like "i'm actually fucking impressed this asshole wolf found us" (remus lupin).

eventually i just kinda park my ass beneath a window and refuse to move. and snarl at anything that comes close to the house in my little spot. turns like, directly above me about 3 floors up, is this kid's bedroom window. eventually mangy mutt asshole comes out like a mangy mutt and is like "fuck off!" and i'm like "you fuck off!" and he's like "this is my house! YOU fuck off!" and we get into a fight and i win. it takes the dude that isn't a dog but smells like a dog to come out and break it up and he takes me inside and i'm all scratched up and shit but i don't care i'm sniffin up a storm and then catch the kid's scent and i'm barrelling through this place, find him, and fuckin tackle him. and i'm sittin on him like a giant ass lap dog right, and he's like "wtf?" and then mangy ass shows up and is all snarly and i'm all snarly and dog smell man is like "so uh... harry. did you get a dog over the summer?" and the kid's like "no?" and i'm trying to decide if i should become human again or not because already this is a hard to describe situation and the longer i wait the more awkward it's going to become.

i decide against it for now because i'm likely to get thrown out.

bushy haired girl cleans me up tho, and i refuse to leave this Harry kid's side. No matter what. and then this asshole shows up in the house some days later and i'm like super snarly at him because i recognize that smell. that smell was at the house explosion and hey hey! he's fuckin limping where i chewed on his ass. and i flat out growl at this motherfucker because why is he here? this is supposed to be, i've gathered, a safe place for this kid. supposedly. i'm not too keen on that ginger woman, the little ginger girl, or that dude in the multi colored dresses. they smell.... off. anyway so i'm like, totally overblown protection mode and the redheaded kids are all like "yeah, even this weird ass giant dog knows he's a greasy twat" and this dude is real fuckin nervous around me and makes sure his ass don't stay long.

so anyway, me and mangy mutt asshole kinda make peace because it's clear my big white fluffy ass ain't going anywhere and neither is he. and the dog smelling man is really nice.

weird ass dream timeskip and i'm kinda low key pissed that the kid's gone and i couldn't go with him. and i wait till people are all out of the house and the mangry mutt man is drunk and sleeping before turning into a human again for the first time in a long while and i'm like "so.... nobody's here. i'mma stretch my legs and get some real human food and have me a smoke." and so i do this sometimes when nobody's around until one day dog smelling man catches me in the library because i'm fuckin bored outta my mind and decided to read upon this magic bullshit. and boy did this not be a good idea.

but i do manage to talk him around to not alerting others, but mangy mutt just HAD to be an asshole about it and i'm like "look dudes, that kid had some nasty wraith looking motherfuckers after him and then his house blew the fuck up i wasn't gonna just leave his ass when he could barely protect himself! especially when these weird motherfuckers showed up waving sticks around just like the assholes that blew up his house!" and they're like "......alright. fair enough. but fuck you're a dude! not a dog!" and i'm like "nah man i'm just me. i've always been like this." and they're like "holy shit. and you don't have magic?" and i'm like "no shit." and they call me a squib or some shit like that. i don't really care.

anyway the three of us get chill and i get to read books and shit when no one else is around but them. and i'm reading, right. and there's all these history books and i'm like "wow this shit's really cool." and then there's this book right, and it's like, the "black family history" or some shit. and i'm reading it. and it goes waaaaay back and then it changes languages a few times and i'm like "holy fuck! you guys seen this shit?!" and i'm reading this one section and mangry mutt is like "holy shit! you can actually read that?!" and i'm like "yeah. it's plain fuckin english mate" and he's like "no, it's not. we don't know what the fuck it is." and it turns out that this mangry mutt asshole is decended of a dude who was part of some group in ancient times called the Night's Watch, and his family gets their name from the people that were in it who were said to "take the black" when they joined and i'm like ".....this seems awfully suspicious and weirdly familiar...." and we go digging through the library and the house and deep in the basement there's this sword, right. and i'm like "holy fuck! i dream about this sword!" and mangy mutt is like "hey, the handle on that looks kinda like you!" and i'm like "yeah, it kinda does..." and this shit's getting super fucking weird right.

so then there's this emergency that happens and i turn back into a dog and everybody's runnin around like "omg! harry's in trouble! omg! shit's going down at the ministry!" and i'm like "you fuckers better take me to harry!" and of course mangy mutt doesn't even think twice even though everybody else is like "damn it sirius you gotta keep your ass here!"

and so of fucking course he takes me with him and when we get there shit just pops the fuck off.

my mangy mutt bro is killed. i chase after that dumb ass kid and fucking eviscerate that bitch that killed my mangy bro and even this kid is like "wtf?!" and then the old guy in a dress shows up to fight this one fucker with no nose and i'm like all snarly and bloody and shit and like "nobody's gonna fuck with my humans you magical motherfuckers!"

when is all is said and done, i jump in the fountain to get a bit clean and then refuse to leave that kid's side and then the old fucker with the dress shows up and there's all these cameras and people and shit and i'm like "we're just gonna nope out of here now"

So i woke up again. and i stayed up for most of the evening. when i finally went to bed after eating, taking my cocktail of medications, and then passed the fuck out, this is what transpired next in my weird ass dreams...

So there i was, sitting at the end of a bed in my mangy mutt friend's house, and Harry's there and he's all sad. it's been a hell of a year. and then there's a bird on the window, but not his bird. it's a big ass black raven and it's got a letter for Harry. and i'm still a dog. this kid does NOT know that i'm actually a person. and at this point i think if he finds out so soon after our mutual mangy mutt has died, it might just send him around the bend. so only dog smelling man, who i now know is a fuckin werewolf once in a while, is literally the only one that knows i'm a person.

so Harry takes the letter and he reads it and he's really confused. like "wtf is this?" so he takes it to remus and remus is like "it's from the bank. we really need to go deal with this." and so the three of us sneak out and go to the bank and the bank people are like "ah, yes. welcome your grace right this way!" and me and remus and harry are like "wtf?" and then we end up going to a conference room and theres other goblin bankers and they all are like "fucking finally we've got you here!"

and it turns out that his mother Lily was descended of Tormund Giantsbane and Jon Snow's adopted daughter Lyra, who was adopted after their death into House Stark by a fuckin ancient queen. And now Harry's like, a fuckin prince at this point because all those other branches of the bloodline died out and shit. And Harry's like "wtf?" and remus is also like "wtf?" and i'm like "....so fuckin much makes so much sense now. this stupid little shit is a Snow. of course i got stuck with his stupid ass. they never know any damn thing!" and i'm still a dog at this point right. so these goblins are filling poor harry in on shit and eventually he's told he has a fuckin castle and shit. oh, and that he's inherited all his dad's shit and his godfather's shit, too.

so off we go to see this castle right? and it's fucking Winterfell. and i'm like "wtf? has this always been here?" and the goblins are like "when the last Stark left Winterfell, the magic of the land hid this place." and harry's like "but uh... i'm descended from an adopted kid who was later like, double adopted" and the goblin is like "yes. that's true. BUT.... let me show you this over here" and he takes us deeper into the castle and remus is like, gettin really fuckin edgy but i'm not because i'm like "it's motherfucking winterfell! i'm HOME! well, as close as Home will ever be because honestly i'm meant to be much further north than this but this'll do."

And then i smell it. I smell something so wonderful and so amazing and i'm like shooting ahead of them and i come out in this big ass room and there's my boy! there's my Jon! and he's alive and whole and wonderful and there's that big burly motherfucker! and i'm dashing off and tackling Jon to the ground and yappy and happy and Harry's like "i don't fuckin understand what the fuck is going on here?" and Remus is like "y....y...... WHAT THE FUCK I KNOW YOU!" and Jon's like "eh...... so there was this thing that happened....." and it turns out that when the wildlings were massacred Jon didn't actually die. He was sort of put into this weird death-like state. Because the fucker can't die. he already died. and now he can never die. and i'm like "but....but you were dead!" and then Tormund's like "honestly i don't know what the fuck happened to me. i just woke up and there this asshole was grinning at me like a damn fool."

And it turns out that somehow Jon's weird ass immortality was like, shared with Tormund? I don't know. i don't fuckin care. and the goblin is like "so, Prince Harry, you see, there's a Stark in the castle again. And so the castle has reappeared." and they're like "fuck off with that formal shit. we want to adopt you." and remus is like "......you're lily's weird uncle!" because it's finally hit him where he knows Tormund from. and tormund is like "and you're that little toerag of a husband's friend." and harry's like "Wait a fuckin minute! you knew my mom! why the fuck didn't you look for me after my parents died?!" and Jon's like "we did. we never stopped looking for you. and when the goblins said they'd finally seen you when you were eleven, we tried to reach you. Owls were diverted. Ravens couldn't even locate you and they're a hell of a lot more reliable than owls let me tell you. We finally had to send Ghost out to search for you. When he didn't come back for over a year we thought the worst had happened. Honestly, we thought after nearly six years the poor pup was dead. Then we find out from the goblins you've been found, only to be hidden again, but there was a giant white dog with you."

So anyway, Harry ends up staying at the castle. And right now it's just a bunch of house elves, me, Remus, Jon and Tormund. and Remus is coming and going because he's playing spy for us with the Order because he thinks Dumbles was hiding Harry from Jon and Tormund who were willing to take Harry in the moment they found out about Lily and James's murder.

Anyway, weird ass time skip and Harry hasn't gone back to Hogwarts. Voldy's war has escalated. There's no horcruxes but his scar's bothering him, and he's found out i can turn into a person.

There's some other people in the castle now - one is the bushy haired girl. And there's a few ginger haired young men. And Remus has been teaching them magic and Jon's been teaching most of them swordfighting. Except for bushy girl and one of the ginger twins. Tormund is teaching them. Bushy girl has been learning archery and ginger twin one has been using a fuckin battle axe. and it's fucking awesome as hell.

also, apparently the Dementors were the remnants of the White Walkers and their undead soldier assholes and my dagger was made of dragonglass and that's what can kill dementors. so, that was a thing.

the last thing of note before i woke up was when the death eaters attacked Winterfell, i remember Jon commenting that lucius (now dead at his feet) must have been descended of the Targaryans because he sure as shit looked like one of the crazy family fuckers. and Tormund was like "didn’t you used to fuck your auntie, little crow". and then i ripped off snape's wand arm and woke up.

[the-short-stouts-tavern]

Dweit & Pals - The Tomb of the ‘Uber Riches

“Give me back my hat.”

Dweit sat at a small, wooden table in a dimmly-lit tent. The only light in the place was from a lone candle in the center of the table. On the other side of him was...another goblin. The darkness covered the figure in darkness, but Dweit already knew how ugly the poor sapper was.

He also knew that the goblin had the audacity to wear his hat. Who does that?

“Zinkin’ about vhen yer friendzk vill arrive, mine captive?” The figure spoke as one of his large oaf minions pressed Dweit down into his chair.

“‘ey, hands off. Tell your mook to stop tryin’ to manhandle the goods, yea?”

One motion from the hand of the small figure and the oaf moved his giant hand away from the shoulder of the captive. “Mine apologiez.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The captive moved his hand over his shoulder, dusting it off and muttering. “So what do youse bozos want with me?”

“You and me, ve are tvo sidez of zhe zame coin, Mr. Dveit.” The figure moved a hand out and laid down a small gold coin. “Ve vere both burned badly via our previousk employerzk.” The figure was interrupted by a howling wind flying into the tent where they both sat. “Close zhe flap. Zhe sand vill...ruin our converzation.”

The oaf nodded and moved to the flap, trying to close it. Through a continued muttering of drowned out frustration via the zipper getting stuck at the top, the oaf moved his entire body to cover up the doorway. A simple solution.

“Ahh, zhat’s better.”

“So you were sayin’ somethin’ about two sides of a coin or somethin’ stupid like that.”

“Ah, right. Mine apologiez for not gettin’ to zhe point.” The figure shifted and moved a coin bag onto the table. “You are but vone coin in zhe empire of goblins forzked into zervitude by Gallyvickz. A vayvard pennilezk zoul aftervards...but zhe goblin lawz kept you zecure.”

“.....what of it?” Dweit narrowed his eyes.

“I vas not born yesterday, Zhe zhree of you came to Uldum to find zhe fortune before zhe haughty ex found it firzt.”

Dweit grimaced.

“Ah, zhe face you make iz vone of great clarity, so I zhall get to zhe point.” The figure moved forward, the light barely hitting his grotesque face. “Vhere is zhe treasure?”

Dweit figgited in his seat. “All of this for my treasure? Why?”

“It is in mine nature, Mr. Dveit.” Through the darkness the goblin could see a small glint of a smile creep along the figure’s face. “I know zhere iz zometink very preciouz zhat iz kept zhere. Zometink...empire-topplink.”

“..........fine. But before I do, you gotta listen to my tale.”

“Ahhhhh, zhe tranzparent attempt to buy fer time. But thiz is good. I vant to know everytink.”

“Fine...so you’re probably wondering how I got into this mess...” Dweit stared at the figure, one eye closed while the other kept itself trained on the shadowy figure.

“Yezk...zat is vhat I zaid.”

---

Days prior.

“MAMA DWEIT...NO!” Dweit fell to the ground before the bloody, headless corpse of a sweet old lady, tears streaming down his gaunt face and-

---

“Vait, vait, vait. Back up von zeckond.”

“What? You want me to tell the story or not?”

“Aren’t you...zkippink ahead a bit?”

Dweit rolled his eyes. “Oh, so I actually wanna save you time an’ you decide to make me unabridge it. Fine, fine, whatever ‘yer lordship’ wants.”

---

A Few More Days Prior.

So, as it turns out, the Broken Isles don’t really have much in terms of things for us to profit from. Elven ruins were already tapped, and everyone an’ their mother was in Suramar grabbing the wine. Sure, we were there to promote the message of Horde unity and saving the world from the Legion and blah-blah-blah, but...welll, you know goblins. We ain’t going for something we can’t profit from.

So me and my associates decide to leave Dalaran and partake in scavenging on the Broken Shore. That area hadn’t been given a foothold yet and we figure a few ships would have to have something.

But then I had a glaive to my throat.

The hustle and bustle of The Filthy Animal was temporarily interrupted by a demon hunter slamming Dweit into the wall while a blood elf pointed his sword to his side.

“What...did I...do?” Dweit couldn’t help but give the demon hunter a smile. “Did I offend your senses?”

After a moment, Dweit realized who it was who had him against the wall. “Oh, right...you’re Holly’s bae, right?”

“Urrrrrgh...”  Denarye did not look well after he said that, but he had surely been called worse, right? He was also gripping the goblin’s neck tighter. “You will call me Denarye.”

“Right, right, sorry. So...w-what can I do for you?” Dweit looked over to Tendorel at his side, wondering if he was going to do anything useful. Tendorel had his eyes transfixed on the demon hunter, blade nestled firmly into the air and ready to strike at any point.

"Ohohohoho!”

And then Dweit’s last bastion of hope was shattered, when his vision focused to the right and saw Holly walk forward, her hands gripping her giant axe with a smile only a crazed psychopath could love.

“What’s this all about, Holly Nitwit?” Dweit attempted once more to try and loosen the demon hunter’s grip, but it turns out the demon hunter MO really is never letting go.

“Oh, I wanted ta’ make shure ya didn’t skip outta town yet, Dweeb. Not before I gets ta’ kill ya.”

“.......why?” Dweit grimaced.

“Because yer not needed anymore, bozo. I just need ta go to my good-fer-nothin’ ex-mother-in-law an’ get on my way ta’ the big bucks!”

“Your ex-m-...” Dweit’s eyes widened. Then they shot over right to Tendorel. “TENDOREL.”

“Huh, what?”

“You told them?! Why?! Why did you tell them!?”

“W-...hey, it could’ve been Ace!” Tendorel shot back at him, his face shocked at the accusation.

“Ace is surprisingly not dumb enough to keep in contact with the enemy!” Dweit shot a look at Denarye after looking towards Tendorel accusingly.

At this, Tendorel’s ears popped up. He then looked away, coughing. Denarye, to his credit, was not shaken in the least. “So...what, maybe after a drink or two, I-”

“How could you do that to me, Tendorel?!” Dweit exclaimed, letting go of the demon hunter’s grip and grasping in the air in front of Tendorel, hoping his arms would suddenly grow long enough to strangle his warrior companion.

“I...look, I’m sorry. It was late, we were...enjoying each other’s company....I can’t keep my mouth shut when I’m looking into those eyes.”

“CAN YOU THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU JUST-?” Dweit was interrupted by the hand firmly grasping his throat for a moment.

Denarye let out a small cough. Even he was getting a little embarrassed. “Be that as it may, we have what we need from you.”

“Thaaaaat’s right, babe.” Holly smirked, sauntering over to Dweit with a gleam in her eyes. “And all I need ta do is get it outta Mamma Dweit...after I kill you, of course.”

Dweit’s expression darkened as he closed his eyes. So this is how it was going to end? Being choked to death for the insurance money by his ex-wife’s new boyfriend who just slept with his bodyguard?

A solid 8 out of 10 on predictability.

"Is there a problem here, friends?”

Dweit opened his eyes. Oh, good, saved by an archmage.

“Oh, come on. Leave us alone, this is Horde business.”

“Oh, for....” The archmage’s expression turned to frustration rather quickly. “I am a blood elf! I’m a part of the Horde!” He seemed very upset about this. “Look, see? See my green eyes?”

“No.”

“They’re not bad.”

“Keep it in your pants, Tender.”

The archmage sighed and pointed his staff at the demon hunter. “Regardless, we are under constant surveillance by the Council of Six. Though Lady Jaina is not with them anymore, they will not hesitate to kick the Horde out of the city. And I don’t think I need to remind you about your obligations being a figurehead for the Illidari, Denarye.”

The demon hunter grimaced. “Hmph...of course not, Archmage Sotoris.” With that, he loosened the grip and allowed the goblin to fall face-first on the ground.

Holly, meanwhile, was growling, her grip on the axe tightening. She turned around and began to step towards the mage. “I have been waitin’.....for so long for this moment, you pencil-pushin’ thin-skinned, pretty-boy magic-fellatin’-”

Tendorel walked over to Dweit and helped his boss up from the ground. “Hey, uh....sorry for that.”

Dweit smacked the warrior’s hand away after getting up, rubbing his throat. “Eh...whatever...”

Nodding, Tendorel looked over. Holly was still at it, stomping very slowly towards the mage as her expletives began to gain more bite. Sotoris, for his part, was only stepping back with the same rhythm as she stepped forward, though sweat slowly began to form on his forehead.

“Is she always like that?” Tendorel asked.

“Yeup.”

“Yes.”

Denarye looked toward Holly. Through his special vision, it felt almost like she was being enveloped by a seething cloud of anger. It seemed nigh-demonic but he knew all too well that it was not.

“...-robe-wearin-probably-with-nothin-under-like-some-sorta-freak, book-nerdin’, staff-holdin’-”

“Lady Holly. It is time we depart.”

Holly’s intensity shot a quick glare towards Denarye, her eyes looking like they could bring even the greatest of monsters down with just sheer fear. But to Denarye, it was nothing. And after a moment, Holly’s expression shifted to an annoyed grin.

“Wellllll, fine. I guess Dweit can live fer now.” She moved her axe onto her back and smiled at the poor goblin. “Though if you follow me an’ I see you, you’re going to be cut up into so many pieces that a sapper will be jealous, capisce?”

Dweit glared at her, but said nothing. Satisfied with that, Holly and Denarye took their leave, Holly grinning all the way through.

Tendorel sighed, putting his weapon onto his belt and his shield on his back. He looked over at Dweit. “I am sorry”, he repeated.

Dweit shrugged. “It’s fine, I get it.” After a moment, he looked over to Sotoris. “Thank you for your help, Archmage.”

“Ah.” Sotoris coughed, wiping off the sweat that formed on his head. “It was nothing, really. I did not want the work done by those adventurers to be undermined. The fact that an Alliance hero was the one who suggested the Horde return with Archmage Khadgar was the only reason the council budged on the issue. I...didn’t want that to be squandered, of course, and-”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dweit waved at the mage. “Thank you again, so...scram, will ya?”

Sotoris winced at this, then sighed. “You’re welcome.” With a swing of his staff, he disappeared.

A few moments after the encounter, the bustle of the inn began in earnest once again. It was then that Ace walked in, holding a giant backpack of scrolls and inkwells. She looked pleased with herself as she plopped them down onto the table and sat down. “Ah...there we are.”

She looked over to her friends and noticed that they looked a lot worse for wear than before.

“...did I miss something?”

Dweit sighed, rubbing his hands into his brow. Tendorel, meanwhile, was nervously looking away, a shade of blush on his face.

“..................they know it’s Mamma Dweit, don’t th-”

“YES.” Dweit yelled out in frustration, taking the moment to punch Tendorel in the arm.

Tendorel frowned.

Ace looked at the two of them, then sighed with a bit of frustration. “Then we need to go to Gadgetzan. How fun. I really was hoping we could avoid that city...

Espeically after last Winter Veil.”

---

“So now it was time for us to head to Gadgetzan an-”

“Vait, vait...”

Dweit growled. “Oh, what is it now?”

“Vhat happened last Vinter Veil?”

“If I tell you about that, it’s going to take a little bit of time. You sure?”

“Oh, Mr. Dveit. I azzhure you, ve have all zhe time in zhe vorld.” The disfigured goblin smiled.

TO BE CONTINUED

[throwbacknotup]

//UnWired//

Esme wasn't always the girl who seemed a little unwired. She was a girl with darkness resting upon her pale shoulders with satire etched upon her skin. Her eyes electrocuted another with a fear of fear itself, but the girl wasn't dangerous. The girl was just scared. Light was what she craved. Yet, bad blood wired itself around her heart. A heart that was still beating.

                                                     Present

           His nails were gnawed down to stubs. His mat of hair obscured his bloodshot eyes from his mother's harsh stare. This was his fault.

          "Noah...," his mother desperately tried to wake him, "Noah! Get UP! Get out of bed! You need to start to get ready for today." She screamed at his desolate frame of meat and bones. Her frustration was turning to anger, and that anger was turning into her son's self-loathing. This wasn't his fault.

                                                   Rewind One Week

             Noah Thomas never really discovered what it was like to be risky. He never understood the point of his friends going out on the weekend to drink, when those drinks could potentially make them sick or even kill them. He never understood the need for speed, as he read about disgusting car crashes involving adrenaline junkies befriending the accelerator. He never understood what he was missing beyond his five foot eleven walls of caution.  But one day, those walls had a chance of being shattered.

           Friday. Early Autumn. The New York air was brisk. A torn piece of copybook paper was shoved between his lunch and his Psychology textbook in his locker with a message reading, “Meet me in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge at dusk." Start living or keep surviving? Hours of intense pacing later, he stood in the middle of Brooklyn Bridge at approximately 7 o’clock waiting for his nameless host. Rumors and stories about this notorious bridge flooded his memory. Fear wrapped her icy fingers around his wrists trying to pull him from the grasp of another girl.

                                                    Present    

           Noah stepped into the steaming shower. The water hit the back of his neck and crawled down his spine. No amount of soap was going to wash away what happened, but nevertheless, he lathered, rinsed and repeated. Lather, Rinse, Repeat. Lather, Rinse, Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

          "Wait, wait. Wait. Repeat, please? Sorry, I'm having a hard time focusing today... A lot on my mind," Noah's mom, Steph Thomas, said to her own mother, Margaret Thomas.

         "I said, 'You should think about gettin’ Noah checked out.' Like, by a psychiatrist or someone, Stephanie. Honey, listen. Listen, you can't try to straighten him out all by yaself. Ya need help. He needs help." Ms. Thomas sighed and said goodbye to her mother. She didn't want to admit her son's brain might've gone unwired into a catatonic state. She had too much pride to give up. She had raised him by herself all these years, and she wasn't going to let anyone barge in now.

                                                     Rewind

          “Huh, so you showed up,” her voice was cool and slightly surprised.

          Noah fidgeted away from the voice that came out of the dead air. He caught sight of dark flowing hair, gaunt features, and ashen skin coming out of the shadows. It was that girl, Esme. He never spoke to her in the past four years of high school. There were only whispers he knew about her. Her eyes daunted him. All he could see through the dark were two gray rings that had a look of hysterical panic and desperation. It was like she was trying to convince him of something, even though she hadn't said anything yet.

          She ignored the lack of conversation, “I invited you out to this splendid e-ve-ning to tell you My life story. The crazy tale about a screwed up girl. Almost was a spin-off series from those books about unfortunate events... and the old guy or whatever.”

         “I...um.. Uh, I don't understand,” he replied slowly as he scratched the back of his neck. He didn't want to admit it, but she was scaring him. “Why me?”

          “You don't know me. I need an audience. That audience needs to watch and listen without knowing who I am...or who they think I am. It just ruins any plot twists. Standard protocol,” she paused, “What do you think when you think about this bridge?"

           Was this a trick question? He felt uneasy, but answered anyway, "I think of cars. Like, transportation across a body of water. Heights? I dunno.. It's a bridge."

        “See. There it is. The first difference between you and me. You are black and white. Conventional. You see this bridge used for only it's initial purposes. To me? This bridge? This bridge is an adrenaline goldmine,” she smirked. No drumroll, she hoisted herself up onto the diagonal bars using the steel suspension crosspieces. Trying to keep her balance, she motioned for Noah to repeat her actions. He got a firm grip on the frigid bars and used his limited upper body strength to pull himself up onto the ultimate balancing beam. He gaped up at Esme seven bars up from the ground. His breath split once his brain caught up to his body, but he felt it. The rush. Was this what it felt like to be alive?

                                                       Present

       He felt dead. He slowly buttoned up the freshly pressed, starched white shirt, and tied and untied his tie seven times. Noah couldn't focus. He kept fumbling around trying to dress. A look in the mirror made him cringe back. Noah pitied him. When did this coward start looking back at him through the looking glass?

             Ms. Thomas was in the other room deliberating what to do about her current predicament. Should she take her mother's advice, or should she not give up on herself and Noah? How could she admit to herself that her pride and joy has a problem?

                                                        Rewind

           “I have a problem,” she stated. Finally, the adrenaline was running its last laps through his body. Esme continued, “I hunger for these unseen 180°s in life...Ya know what it's like..like when your life gives you like a little dose of turmoil to remind what it’s like to be alive. I’ve been waiting for a disaster to strike me so I could feel something, anything again.” She waited for his answer, but he didn’t have one, so she went on. “I am tired of not feeling.."

          “ Uh, um," he interrupted, “Can I ask… what happened to you?" She sat up abruptly turning away facing the dim lamps. The golden-toned light silhouetted her body revealing there was something tense about how she held herself.

            “It was September. Perfect weather. Still warm outside, but a lil bit of chill, ya know? I was four… Still had to sleep with my blankie at that time.. My parents already had left for work that day. Mom was the secretary for dad’s office… Family business, ya know. But, that day had a very important meeting scheduled on it, so they, like, had left me in the care of my neighbor to get me to school..."She exhaled and laughed. "I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on my neighbor’s face, when she picked me up early that day,” she took a deep breath and continued, “If you’ve ever seen any footage or documentary of 9/11, you’d know of the people, who jumped while holding hands. I don’t know whether my parents were those people, but I like to dream they were.”

              Noah could hear silence. It cut into his ears. She looked up to the sky, "I haven't had a family for over 14 years of my life. My foster homes took out more of my soul than my parents leaving initially did. I've learned to just not feel. You sort of get used to the numbness. It's like a drug."

               He was confused. What was he going to do with this information? Noah sighed and shook his head, "I….I don’t know what to say. I want to say sorry, but a thousand sorries could never replace your parents. But, well...  I just don't understand why I’m here, Esme. You need an audience. I get that. But I just don't get what I’m supposed to do as an audience member."

               Esme snickered, "You're trying to skip to the ending when what you seek was really in the beginning."

             "What? You don't know me I get it but-"

           "Not there. I didn't bring you here to help myself. I brought you here because there is a lesson you can learn from me too. Bridges have another meaning, as well." She grabbed his hand, "you'll understand sooner than you expect. Goodbye, Noah." And with that, she disappeared into the shadows. He wondered if Esme, herself, was a shadow.

                                                        Present

              There was a slight chill in the air as strangers processed from the burial site at St. Paul's Cemetery. Noah stood staring blank-faced at the roses scattered on top of the casket. Words, words, words. Unspoken words. He should've known this was going to happen. This was not the ending that he expected. A hand softly pulled back his shoulder, and a voice asked, "Are you, Noah? Hello, hi. I was.. I am. Esme's foster-mom, sorry... Sorry, She left this for you on her bedside table, here." The woman handed him a letter that read:

Noah,

        Don’t hold this little thing like death over your head. Please. It's something that needed to happen, and it's happening had nothing to do with you. I’m assuming you’re probably still confused on why you were even there that night. I need my story to be told. I trust a stranger more than someone I know. Knew… I’m not really sure what tense to write this in to be honest. That aside, Noah, you were affected (whether you like to admit it or not) by not having a father. (Yes, I did research on the stranger I was going to tell my story.) You aren't able to trust, to risk, to do anything at all... I want you to tell my story, because it's the right thing to do, but live your life, because you have to. You have seen first hand what not feeling does to a person. It caused me to do life-threatening risky things. It caused me to do one final risk to risk to try to help you. You went to the bridge that night. You climbed the bars. You listened to an insane girl. You have it in you to live a life worth living. Stop surviving. Stop going from day to day. Unwire yourself, because I know you have it in you to rewire. Create your 180°...for me.

                                                                                                                -Esme

        "Noah. Noah, I need to talk to you," Ms. Thomas shook her son for his attention, "I've thought a lot about it. Everything. I think it's best to get you some help. You need to work out some issues about what has happened, and I hate to admit it, but I just don't think I'm enough."

          He ignored her comment, "I need a pen and a piece of paper."

          Esme wasn't always the girl who seemed a little unwired. Loose ends must’ve given her the rush that she craved, but she wasn’t heartless. She wanted the loose ends to be tied up for those she cared about. She just couldn’t do it herself. Life had wired her to have a completely normal life, but life made an 180° turn. She had been cutting her wires ever since trying to create that next disaster to put her back on track. The last wire she had to cut was telling someone her story before she ended it.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                           Author: Noah Thomas