Deal with it.

The shrieking, the palpable energy of that fucking portal being forced close. He felt the energy pour from his body in response, shaking from the influx of it as it passed him. Still. He felt her, felt her give it her all and because of that, he dropped back and wrapped an arm around her while his other braced his rifle, to make sure she was supported by him while his other arm held that rifle in an offensive measure, using the pistol grip, the crook of his arm, and the sling to keep it effective in his one armed stance. They’d be fine, he’d make fucking sure of it, if it was the last thing he’d do.

.As it got dark? She’d feel someone putting pressure on her wound… Though, whoever, or whatever, was doing it? It didn’t stop her from passing out. Still, when she woke up? She’d find that she was alive and well, in a clean bed, without her clothes on, underneath a blanket. Her side was wrapped up, her wound was stitched, and for the most part? She was alive! Like a Christmas miracle!

Bucky looked at the beer before shrugging and grabbing one. She removed the cap easily with her metal hand before taking a swig of it.

@weaponized-sarcasm

“It’s gonna hurt if I do, Darce.”

Bucky looked at the beer before shrugging and grabbing one. She removed the cap easily with her metal hand before taking a swig of it.

First impressions were everything—or, so her mother liked to say. Unfortunately, Emily had never been the type to make good first impressions. She still wasn’t sure if it was accidental on her part, or an unconscious rebellion against her sweet, ol’ mom.

She sat in a beaten down blue truck outside of Bloodbath and Beyond, windows rolled down and elbow leaning haphazardly on the edge. Logic told her that there was probably a better way to go about this than what she had in mind, but if there was she couldn’t think of it. Her brain was fried. It had taken her long enough to get here—ten days on the road, exactly, constantly looking over her shoulder. There were deep, dark impressions under her eyes and she was sure she looked as grimy as she felt. Now wasn’t the time to throw caution to the wind, she should be on the top of her game, but she was tired. It was hard to get a good night’s sleep when you jumped at every shadow.

The bag of peanut butter M&Ms in her hand crumpled as she scooped the last of the candy into her mouth. She grabbed an old, frayed green messenger bag from the passenger seat and slipped it over her shoulder as she got out of the car. “Wait, shit.” She leaned through the car window, head ducking inside as she balanced on her toes, reaching for the keys that she had conveniently left in the ignition. Great start, she applauded, mentally kicking herself. She was going to get herself killed. Everyone said it, Marcus had said it—but he was dead now, so she supposed that didn’t really matter anymore.

A bell above the door chimed as it swung open. Emily strode in, a low, appreciate whistle escaping her. Damn. She hadn’t seen a locally owned, incredibly sourced, gun shop like this in…well, ever. The closest she had gotten was to the chain stores like Bass & Pro. This place, though, this place was freakin’ firearm heaven. She could practically feel her fingers itching to latch on to the Remington 700 bolt-action rifle. Despite her better intentions, her feet carried her over to the showcase. She felt like a kid in a candy store. It would be a good rifle for hunting, she could probably shell out a few hundred dollars for one, and the black finish was sleek as hell.

But then reality kicked in. Practicality demanded that she walk away. She wasn’t hunting deer. She was hunting people, and the handgun shoved into her messenger bag could do the job just fine. She gave one last longing look to the rifle and turned to the employee.

“My friend Marcus Donnavon told me this was the best place to come to if you were looking to buy firearms,” she threw the name out casually, moving towards the pistols and revolvers as she talked, “but I didn’t believe it until I saw it with my own eyes.” Lord help her. There was a pink semi-auto pistol and she wanted it. But the pink was just as inconspicuous as her red hair. There were some things that people didn’t forget, that made you stand out, become more of a target.

Oh, he caught sight of her, alright, and she caught those eyes of his. Busty? Redheaded? Just his fuckin’ type, and he was already grinning as he saw her walk up on him, about to give her the line he gave everyone, but when she said that name, and that line? Oh boy, did the sigh leave him right then and there. “Yeah, he’s not wrong, but he’s also not alive.” Frowning? You bet your sweet ass he was. He’d liked Marcus. Him liking anyone was a fucking rarity as it was. Still though, he blinked when he saw where her eyes were going, glancing over his shoulder then back to her.

@weaponized-sarcasm