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xo-mchanzo-blog · 7 years ago

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ridiculous

am i too late to join this fandom? i uploaded this to ao3 the other day but here it is on tumblr too. fandom: ace attorey rating: teen pairing: wrightworth summary: Phoenix Wright agrees to download Tinder and go on a date at Maya's insistence. When he gets there, though, his date isn't there- but Edgeworth is.

“You should date,” Maya tells him, peering at him from over the edge of her book. It isn’t long after Christmas, and she is wearing a ridiculous pink bobble hat in the office.

Nick laughs at her. “I don’t have time to date. And I don’t want to date.” That isn’t entirely true, but it is easier than telling her the truth- that he can’t help but compare every man he sees to Edgeworth. If he is honest, it started the first time he faced his old friend in court.

“It’s winter. It would be nice to have someone to cuddle up to, talk about law with.”

“I don’t know how many people would want to talk about law, Maya,” Nick replies seriously.

“I can think of someone… he has silver hair…”

In an attempt to distract her from this line of thinking, Nick agrees to download Tinder to his phone. They spend the afternoon swiping through pictures of men. One in particular has silky silver hair and serious eyes. His profile says that his name is Sam.

“He looks just like-” Maya starts.

“He looks very attractive,” Nick interrupts, blushing.

“You should send him a message,” Maya suggests.

Usually, Nick would have objected to this. But he's thinking about Edgeworth, and how lonely his apartment has been feeling recently, and how he doesn't want Maya to seriously figure out the depth of his feelings for Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth. So he fires off a message to the silver-haired Sam commenting how attractive he is.

To Nick's surprise and fear, he receives a message back mere moments later. Maya makes him read it aloud to her. “ Phoenix, you have quite beautiful eyes and a truly lovely name. May I take you out tonight? Oh no, Maya. What should I do?”

“Say yes, you dummy,” Maya laughs. “Suggest somewhere fancy then go home and make yourself look presentable.”

Nick almost objects to her suggestion that he doesn't already look presentable, but he glances down at his creased suit and sighs instead.

Hours later, Phoenix Wright, defense attorney and nervous social mess, arrives at the nicest bar he could remember the name of. It's cold and dark, the air heavy with the promise of snow, and he foolishly forgot his coat. However, he is wearing a very nice navy sweater and black jeans, and he feels that even Maya would have to agree he looks smart.

Sam agreed to meet Nick at 8pm and it's currently ten to. Nick enters and is pleased to find that it is quiet; only a few tables are occupied, soft music plays and the bar is illuminated by golden candlelight. It's very romantic.

He's actually feeling quite pleased with himself when he spots a man sitting facing away from the door, his broad back bent slightly as he pores over the book he is reading. He has a neat, silky silver haircut.

He does look like Miles , Nick thinks to himself, and that pleases him far more than it should. But then the man turns slightly as he takes a drink from his glass of red wine and Nick feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. Shit. It is Miles.

How typical. He can't be caught on a Tinder date with a man who looks just like Edgeworth by bloody Edgeworth himself. The prosecutor is ridiculously intelligent, and any hope Nick has of hiding his feelings from his old school friend and current courtroom rival will be dashed.

He considers fleeing. His whole body is tensed, poised for fight or flight, but he takes a deep breath. Edgeworth is engrossed in whatever he is reading. He won't even notice Nick.

So Nick crosses carefully and quietly to the bar, walking right past Edgeworth, who doesn't even look up from his book. Nick even gets a briefest hint of Edgeworth's aftershave as he passes and has to resist the urge to sigh.

Once he reaches the bar, he makes a promise to himself that he won't turn around and look at Miles. After all, humans have a strange ability to feel eyes burning into them. He is fairly confident that if he ignores Edgeworth, Edgeworth will continue to be unaware of his presence.

He orders a beer quietly and messages Sam to let him know that he has arrived. Then he stands facing the row of spirits on the shelf behind the bar awkwardly, suddenly wishing he could turn around. This is fairly dull. He tries to focus on what charming and dashing things he can say when Sam arrives.

Time ticks by, and Nick checks his phone to see that it is 8. Sam has seen his message, but not responded. Nick feels the first hint of unease about his Tinder date, but forces himself to put his phone in his pocket and concentrate on staring at the wall of spirits. He takes a nervous swig of beer.

He checks his phone again. Ten past. No message. Sam isn't coming.

He feels foolish and hurt. He swallows the last of the beer and turns to leave.

Edgeworth is staring at him.

The prosecutor is wearing reading spectacles which are ridiculously attractive. His dark eyes peer over the rims at Nick, and his face is unreadable. Nick feels the blood rushing to his cheeks- really, this is the last thing he needs now- and raises a hand in greeting.

Edgeworth raises an eyebrow.

Sighing, hating himself, he crosses to Edgeworth’s table and sits down opposite him. “Hey,” he manages weakly.

“Wright. Why were you staring at the spirits for almost twenty minutes?”

Nick's face is burning. “I… um…”

“You were trying to avoid me,” Edgeworth deduces crisply. When Nick doesn't deny it, he leans back slightly, and for a moment hurt is naked on his face.

“No…well yes, but not because…” Nick feels himself losing his train of thought as he stares into Edgeworth's dark eyes, and he flushes and looks away. “I don't mean to be defensive -”

Miles groans.

“- but I have sent you several messages since the trial asking if you are okay and if you want to hang out, and you haven't even replied, so don't start looking hurt at me.” Saying the words aloud makes them hurt again. After the trial, Nick had wanted to be there for Edgeworth, but the prosecutor had disappeared from his life.

“That's hardly the same. Not replying to your messages isn't the same as seeing you in a bar and ignoring you.”

“I wasn't ignoring you. I was very aware of your presence.”

The two men mull on the words which Nick so carelessly blurted out, the words he wishes he could shove back in.

“Then why…? Oh.” Bloody Edgeworth. He's figured it out. “You're here on a date.” His expression is suddenly sour. He probably finds the idea of someone lusting after Defense Attorney Wright disgusting.

Nick is scarlet. His hand rests on the back of his neck awkwardly. “I was. He… didn't turn up.”

Edgeworth exhales. He is giving Nick a ridiculously intense glare. Then, to Nick's eternal shock, he springs to his feet. “I'll buy you a drink,” he informs him, then heads to the bar.

Nick watches him go in amazement. It's wildly out of character for Miles. He notices that his old friend is still wearing his shirt and trousers with an impeccable waistcoat, but his cravat lies abandoned on the table. Nick tries his very best not to stare at Edgeworth's large, strong body.

He turns to the book on the table to distract himself. It's some miserable-looking Latin tome, classic Miles, but when Nick tugs it closer to get a closer look, something smaller and colourful falls out.

Manga. Steel Samurai manga.

He's still laughing when Edgeworth returns to the table and places a glass of beer before him. Edgeworth looks from his laughing friend to the manga on the table and blanches as he looms over Nick, looking for a moment as though he might just bend down and kill him.

It's bloody attractive.

“If you tell anyone, I'll ruin you,” Edgeworth says darkly, taking his chair. “I am, however, pleased to see you smiling despite the trauma of being stood up.”

It's impossible to tell if he is serious. “Thanks.”

“Have you known him long?” Edgeworth asks. There's an edge to his voice. He's probably never had a conversation like this with anyone. Nick feels mildly grateful that he is at least attempting it.

“Not at all,” Nick says. The whole situation is becoming oddly surreal: sitting opposite Miles Edgeworth in an intimate bar, discussing his inability to attract a mate. “I only started speaking to him this afternoon on Tinder.”

Distaste is clear in Edgeworth's eyes now. He takes a delicate sip of wine. “It is indeed his loss, Phoenix,” he says softly.

His tone is at odds with the expression he is wearing. Nick isn't used to hearing Miles use his first name, and something about it makes his spine tingle pleasantly. He feels emboldened by the intimacy.

“Would you like to see a photo of him?” Nick asks. He's playing with fire now, the beer and a half he has consumed spurring him on.

Miles frowns slightly, but inclines his head, apparently dedicated to his role as a good friend after a tragic date abandoned.

So Nick hands him the phone, loaded with Sam's serious eyes and soft silver hair. His heart is racing as he watches his courtroom rival look at the clear evidence he has been presented with. Edgeworth swallows visibly, and he looks up at Nick before looking back down at the picture. His brows are scrunched, the way they are in court when Nick has presented him with some surprising twist.

“He looks very…” Miles speaks, and the words are strangled. Oh, shit. Nick has disgusted him. “This is what you find attractive?” Miles asks finally, meeting Nick’s eyes.

“Yes.” Nick is scared to move, even to breathe. “Very much so.”

The tip of Edgeworth’s tongue darts out, licking his bottom lip. It’s obscene, really, how much it thrills Nick. “Wright… Phoenix… I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your messages,” Edgeworth says in a rush. “It’s just that after you helped me I needed to get my… feelings in order before seeing you.”

“Your feelings?” Nick is leaning forward, the urge to reach out and touch his old friend almost unbearable. Something amazing is happening here.

Miles closes his eyes. “I tried to tell you, back when we first met again. That you had… burdened me with feelings. I lost my nerve at the last minute.”

“Miles, be clear. What feelings are we talking about here?”

Edgeworth doesn’t answer his question. He reaches up to remove his glasses and pinch the bridge of his nose. “Truly, it is a miracle that you ever blunder your way through a case, Wright. The evidence is clear.”

Nick frowns. “I blundered my way through saving you well enough, so don’t start.”

Edgeworth surprises him with a soft smile. He reaches across the table and tentatively curls his fingers around Nick’s hand. Nick gasps at the contact.

“I was thinking about you,” Miles says. “Tonight. That’s why I came here. I was at home and couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was infuriating. You infuriate me. You plague my thoughts.”

“Truly romantic,” Nick says drily. But it is romantic. He is struggling to resist the urge to visibly melt.

“And then,” Miles continues, as though Nick never spoke, “I smell your aftershave on someone walking past me. And it’s you. It’s you, looking lovely, standing staring inexplicably at the bar for twenty minutes.”

Nick can’t speak. His heart is thundering, his fingers trembling beneath Miles’.

“You are ridiculous,” Miles says. He leans closer. “Ridiculous, Nick. And I love that about you. God knows I’ve tried not to.”

“Again, very romantic,” Nick says, finding his voice.

Miles’ face is before his own now, the two men leaning right across the table. “I thought you… well, I couldn’t see how you could see me in that way.”

“Miles, I can’t stop seeing you in that way.” Nick grins. “God knows I’ve-”

Miles kisses him, and suddenly they are all tongues and teeth, Miles’ hands coming to cradle Nick’s face possessively. Nick’s fingers find that silky hair, finally, and bury their way in, messing up the usually neat prosecutor. Their mouths work furiously, and Nick delights in the taste of Miles, which is wine and something wicked. Distantly, he thinks that this must be some sort of dream, but it is really happening; his rival is currently dipping his tongue wantonly into Nick’s mouth.

Gasping, they break apart, staring at each other with wide eyes.

“I had no idea you felt that way,” Nick says.

“I refer you to my earlier comment about you blundering your way through cases, Wright,” Miles says, with mock resignation. His eyes glitter, and the surprising humour makes Nick melt. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

Nick laughs despite himself. “Ridiculously attractive, apparently.”

“You are lovely.” Edgeworth’s eyes glaze over. “The first time we faced each other in court, all I could think about was how handsome you had become.”

“All I could think about was how terrifying you had become.”

Miles barks out a laugh. “Terrifyingly attractive, apparently.”

He isn’t wrong. Nick cocks his head, looking at Edgeworth with something delicious uncurling within him. “Maya wanted me to find someone to cuddle up with and talk about law,” he says.

“We could talk about law. It seems to me that you are desperately in need of some pointers-”

Nick kisses him to shut him up. This time is gentler, more affectionate.

“I could get used to that,” Nick says, when they draw apart.

“I’d like it if you did,” Miles replies. “Watching you is liking watching a hurricane, Wright. You're a literal disaster, but you're a force of nature. I had a taste of what it is like to have you on my side in the trial. I want that to be permanent.”

Nick is ecstatic, but he forces a frown. “It's hardly traditional to ask someone to be your boyfriend by calling them a 'literal disaster’, Miles.”

“Boyfriend,” Miles repeats. “Is that what this is?”

Nick finds himself smiling.

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #wrightworth

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xo-mchanzo-blog · 7 years ago

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Hanzo meets Jesse and he is confused (Mccree’s natural charm is super effective)

First part of University!AU mini comic.

#mchanzo

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xo-mchanzo-blog · 7 years ago

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crimson and gold chapter two

Chapter Title: Cold Light Of Day Rating: Explicit Summary: Jesse McCree is a failing newspaper editor whose life has been thrown into turmoil by the addition of Lord Hanzo Shimada, nobleman and vampire hunter. When debutante Angela Ziegler is attacked by a vampire in front of McCree, they are saved by Genji Shimada, a man with his own deadly secret. Suddenly, McCree’s reality is dangerous and frightening…

Shimada House is quiet when Hanzo enters in the pink light of early morning. The brothers keep a skeleton staff. The fewer people who know the truth about them, the better. Hanzo closes the door behind him and leans against it, closing his eyes and exhaling shakily.

“Sir, do you require anything?” Reyes asks, stepping briskly into the hall. Hanzo opens his eyes and shakes his head. Reyes is the head of staff here, and Hanzo’s trusted friend. He is a square, dangerous man with scars on his face from the fights he has been involved in against the undead enemy.

“Has Genji returned?”

Reyes frowns briefly. “Your brother is in his rooms. He is… not in a good way.”

Hanzo sweeps his cloak off and hands it to Reyes, clapping him gratefully on the shoulder before ascending the wide staircase. His whole body aches. He was at a ball last night before all the drama, and he needs to sleep.

He stops before Genji’s door, listening carefully. When he hears nothing, he knocks briskly and opens the door.

Genji’s room is pitch black; huge black sheets are pinned up at the windows to save him from the sunlight. In the light cast in from the hallway, Hanzo can see the dark, slumped shape of his brother sitting cross-legged on the bed. He clutches a bottle of rum.

“Close the door, will you, brother?” Genji asks in a thick voice. “Even a little sun makes my skin burn.”

Hanzo steps in and closes the door behind him, plunging them into darkness. For a moment, he cannot see anything, but his eyes adjust quickly these days, and he blinks at his brother. “Should you be drinking at this hour?” he asks mildly.

“What difference does it make?” Genji asks humourlessly. “It isn’t like I can actually get drunk.”

Hanzo sighs. “You can’t punish yourself for-”

“I can and I will,” Genji snaps. “Miss Ziegler is never going to heal well from that wound, and you know it. She was a beautiful young woman with a world of marriage prospects yesterday, and now she is…”

“Come, brother, don’t be so ridiculous,” Genji smiles, covering Hanzo’s shoulder with his hand. “You will have a brilliant time.”

They are standing in the hallway outside the ballroom, listening to the sounds of music and laughter from inside. They often come to these events just to maintain appearances, but Hanzo has never enjoyed them. As a theoretically eligible bachelor- if one looks past the vampire hunting, which is admittedly not common knowledge- he finds himself inundated with giggling chits the moment he enters a ballroom. Genji, as the younger brother and heir to no title, is more free to pass the time however, and with whomever, he pleases.

“Very well,” Hanzo sighs.

They open the doors and enter. Dozens of pairs of eyes turn to them, and Hanzo cringes a little. He claps his brother on the back and heads for the drinks table, aware of hundreds of eyes burning into him.

He takes a lemonade and sips it crossly. A girl with a tumble of dark hair passes him with a blush and a giggle, and he sighs. For a moment he thinks of Jesse McCree.

His skin suddenly crawls on his neck, and he looks over to the shadows by the door to the terrace. A man stands in black, his eyes staring hungrily at the dancing. It is Wrexford, the vampire they have been tracking.

He is watching Genji dancing with a beautiful, yellow-haired debutante in a green dress. He is grinning down at her, his handsome face relaxed. She laughs prettily at something he says.

“You are correct. She will not heal. She is lucky to be alive.” Hanzo’s words are heavy. “But it is not your fault.”

“Don’t you see? If I had never danced with her… if I hadn’t lost their trail…” Genji takes a long drink. “If your friend- McCree- hadn’t been passing, she would have died before I arrived.”

Hanzo’s mind goes to Jesse, how pale and weak he had looked. A momentary flash of white rage grips him as he imagines Wrexford biting Jesse’s throat.

“I killed Wrexford before managing to get any information out of him,” Genji continues hopelessly. “I was furious.”

“That’s understandable.” But problematic. Without a lead, the brothers are merely fumbling in the dark, fighting random vampires and trying to hold back the seemingly rising tide of monsters on the streets of London, without getting any closer to figuring out what is causing it.

There is a knock at the door behind them, and it opens to reveal Reyes. “We’ve just had word of the attack on Miss Ziegler, Sir.”

“We had best send some flowers,” Hanzo replies, and Reyes nods, turning to go.

“Wait- flowers?” Genji snaps. “Yesterday the poor woman will have had tokens and visits from dozens of men. Now, she will wake up to nothing but some flowers from disgusted well-wishers. We must visit her.”

“It may have escaped your notice, but you can’t leave the house during the day.”

“You can,” Genji says wildly. “Think about it- Lord Hanzo Shimada, an eligible bachelor by anyone’s standards, visiting her. That’s going to give her a boost. It will show other men that she is still desirable.”

Hanzo frowns. “Why are you so invested in this?”

“I am a monster, and I am responsible.” The words are sincere, but Hanzo suspects they are not the entire truth.

An hour later, desperately tired and longing for his bed, Hanzo climbs from his coach in front of the Ziegler’s home. He knocks politely on the door, and it opens to reveal a young maid. He smiles at her and hands her his calling card.

“Very good, Lord Shimada, Sir. Allow me to show you to the parlour.”

The house is small but well-presented. It is obvious to Hanzo that the Ziegler family, although not poor, are certainly not ridiculously wealthy. The parlour is pleasant, and he stands by the fireplace.

“Lord Shimada,” a woman says behind him, and he turns to see Mrs Ziegler enter. He knows of her, and has seen her at several balls, although they have never spoken. She looks like her daughter, her yellow hair greying at the temples. Her eyes are pink from crying. “Can I help you?”

“I have come to offer my assistance, Mrs Ziegler. I received word of Miss Ziegler’s injuries.”

She sighs. “My poor Angela. She is… she is not doing well. She appears to have been attacked right outside our home.”

“That is monstrous.”

Mrs Ziegler nods sadly. “I did not realise you had ever been introduced to my daughter, Lord Shimada.”

“Of course we have,” Hanzo lies smoothly. “She is a delightful creature.”

Mrs Ziegler starts to say something, then stops. “She is not well enough to receive visitors today, my lord, but you are welcome to visit her again tomorrow.”

“I shall. Please convey my best wishes.”

Jesse wakes up with a start. He sits up, his heart thundering in his chest, and for a moment he can’t quite work out why it is the middle of the day and he is in his bed, not the office. The itching, burning pain on his neck quickly reminds him.

There is a loud knocking at the door, and Jesse wonders if this is what awoke him. He is shirtless, still wearing the trousers he wore yesterday. Shakily, he climbs from bed, reaching for his worn red robe, which he wraps around himself. Hesitating for a moment, he grabs a knife from his small kitchen area, and crosses to the door.

“Who is there?” he yells.

“It’s Lena and Jamison, boss!” comes a female voice.

Jesse opens the door and stares out at his employees, who are standing bundled up in coats and scarves. Lena’s eyes widen at the knife he is holding, and he lowers his arm automatically.

“Sorry- wasn’t sure who was out there,” he says.

“You often need to stab people who knock on your door?” Jamison asks mildly.

Jesse shakes his head, standing to the side to allow them to enter. Neither of them has been here before, and he watches them looking around curiously. He feels sick. He supposes he really did lose an awful lot of blood last night.

“What happened to your neck?” Lena asks, suddenly staring at him. “And your face?”

Jesse remembers the crushing blow which had sliced his face open, and fingers the crusty scratch curiously. “I got… attacked. On the way home last night. Nothing to worry about.”

“You as well?” Jamison asks.

“As well?”

“Miss Angela Ziegler- the debutante. The whole city’s abuzz with it. She got attacked outside her home. Her whole face is ruined. But- and this is really weird- whoever did it bandaged her face afterwards.” Lena’s eyes are glowing.

“That’s why we came,” Jamison adds. “You weren’t in the office. We wanted to know if we should run the story.”

Jesse’s legs feel weak. He thinks about the young yellow-haired woman, how she had thrown herself at the vampire when it bit him. “Run it. But I want positives about the girl. Minimise this face-ruined aspect.”

Lena exchanges a surprised look with Jamison. “If you say so, boss.”

“I do say so,” Jesse says. He sits down on his chair. “I… I might not be able to make it in today.”

“I think that’s probably wise,” Jamison says. “You look bloody frightful.”

“Thanks, Fawkes,” Jesse returns, rolling his eyes.

“Do you need anything?” Lena asks, elbowing Jamison.

“No, thank you.” What Jesse needs is to be able to forget the truth- the horrifying, dizzying truth- about the vampires living in London. He thinks for a moment of the thing’s- Wrexford’s- long fangs and empty black eyes, and shivers.

Lena and Jamison leave, and Jesse crosses back to bed, sinking onto it and lying back against the pillows. Jesse has never been a coward, particularly, but then again, nothing particularly frightening has ever really happened to him. He is very aware of the fact that he has to make a choice about what sort of man he intends to be.

He thinks of Hanzo Shimada, the man who started all this for Jesse. He shivers when he remembers the brief kiss Shimada gave him. There is clearly an attraction between them, but it is ridiculous to have hopes about such a thing; Shimada is a nobleman, and will be expected to marry a woman and produce an heir eventually. He is also devilishly handsome and apparently a dangerous vampire hunter: in summary, he is far too good for a scruffy, impoverished newspaper editor like Jesse McCree.

And yet… and yet,he has promised to return tonight.

#mchanzo #fanfic #fanfiction #hanzo shimada #jesse mccree #crimson and gold

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xo-mchanzo-blog · 7 years ago

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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 (coming soon)

Superhero/journalist AU is very good AU. Much wow. Except when I have to draw armor on every panel so I made a quicker version without a lot of details. I was supposed to draw that for Peapod McHanzo week but it took me ages to finish those pages :’)

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xo-mchanzo-blog · 7 years ago

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crimson and gold chapter one

Chapter Title: Vampire’s Kiss Rating: Explicit Summary: Jesse McCree is a failing newspaper editor whose life has been thrown into turmoil by the addition of Lord Hanzo Shimada, nobleman and vampire hunter. When debutante Angela Ziegler is attacked by a vampire in front of McCree, they are saved by Genji Shimada, a man with his own deadly secret. Suddenly, McCree's reality is dangerous and frightening...

The sky is inky black, rich and beautiful, sprinkled with silver stars. Morning is a long way off, and the pavement is already frosted with deadly ice. Jesse McCree is bundled up in his greatcoat, a cheroot dangling from his frozen lips. Silently, he curses the fact that he hasn’t been able to afford the purchase of a new scarf. His worn boots tread silently across the ice as he makes his journey home from the newspaper offices.

He has been working late again. In the two weeks since the paper ran the sensationalist story about Lord Shimada, and then ran an apology the very next day, readership has risen a small amount. It is not enough, but it is promising.

Jesse wonders where Shimada is tonight, and blushes involuntarily in the darkness. He remembers the taste of Shimada’s brief kiss. However, too much vampire hysteria around London will encourage them to be reckless. It puts me in danger. McCree remembers Hanzo’s words with a shiver; even in the freezing, empty night, it is almost impossible to imagine that these words were true, and yet he can’t forget the scars on the nobleman’s beautiful neck.

A carriage rolls past. Jesse breathes his last from the cheroot and crushes it beneath his boot. The offices are a good thirty minute walk from his home, but it has always seemed pointless paying for any form of transportation. McCree has grown very used to living a frugal existence. No wonder Hanzo Shimada has not been in touch; what interest could a scruffy newspaper editor hold for a titled, handsome gentleman? Jesse laughs aloud at himself, reaching up to drag his fingers through the stubble on his face.

Ahead, around a corner, there is a loud crash and the squealing of horses. Jesse McCree freezes for only an instant before setting off at a run. A carriage crash in these icy conditions is hardly surprising, but could be incredibly dangerous.

A scream shatters the night. It is a sound filled with such dreadful terror that it makes the blood run cold in Jesse’s veins.

He rounds the corner, his boots skidding helplessly on the ice. In a small alley, the carriage has flipped onto its side. The horses lie dead, a surprising amount of blood coating their slick bodies. There is no sign of the coachman.

A figure in black is standing on the side of the carriage, his back turned to McCree, who watches as the stranger takes hold of the door and tears it off effortlessly, like a boy tearing paper. Something tight and icy knots in Jesse’s stomach, and he tries to shout out, but the words die in his throat.

The scream comes again; it is coming from the woman in the carriage. The stranger bends down and lifts her roughly, pulling her out into the moonlight. Jesse recognises her, but cannot remember her name; her face is twisted in terror as she looks up at the man who has her by the shoulders.

“Let go of her!” Jesse yells, finding his voice.

The stranger lets out an unnatural snarl, and to Jesse’s horror, he flings the woman roughly down to the ground, where she lies still. The man turns around. His black eyes are set in an ivory face. His chin is smudged with blood. An eerie smile twists his lips, revealing elongated fangs.

“Fuck,” Jesse mumbles, thinking suddenly of Hanzo. This is a vampire, and Jesse is not armed.

The creature leaps nimbly from the carriage, closing the distance between them with ease. It is wearing a ragged shirt and black trousers with no jacket. Jesse thinks ridiculously for a moment that it must be freezing before long, lethally strong fingers wrap around his throat. The creature is shorter than McCree, but that is clearly not going to make a difference.

“You should have kept walking,” it growls, with that terrifying smile.

Jesse chances a punch to the stomach. The creature grunts but its grip does not waver, and with its free hand it strikes Jesse across the face. The punishing blow makes Jesse see stars, and he feels the broken skin left by the thing’s brutal nails.

“Let go of him!” The woman has dragged herself to her feet. The creature turns to face her, its fingers still cruelly crushing McCree’s throat. Her green evening dress is filthy from the ground, and there is blood on her lip from her collision with the ground. Some of her yellow hair has come loose and is framing her face. “You wanted me,” she continues, her voice shaking. “You wanted my… my jewels, I presume, or…”

Surely it has to be obvious to her that it isn’t jewels this thing wants; it wants blood.

“Get out of here, you little fool!” Jesse grinds out, the words painful and costing precious air.

The creature laughs then, and it is the worst sound Jesse has ever heard. Those black eyes glitter gleefully, first at the woman, and then at Jesse. The fingers around his throat loosen suddenly and Jesse takes a deep, delicious breath of the frozen air before there is white hot pain.

The vampire has bitten him. Its jaws are locked onto his throat, those fangs lodged into his flesh. He is horribly aware of the blood being drained, and he pushes uselessly against the monster.

The woman throws herself at it, shrieking. Her arms wrap around its shoulders as she tries to drag it off Jesse’s throat. The vampire releases its jaw, and Jesse lets out a grateful whimper he will be ashamed of later. The vampire grabs the woman by her hair and throws her, face-first, against the side of the carriage. There is a horribly loud crunch and the woman is still.

“Don’t…” Jesse grinds out, and he takes a step towards her. His legs are weak and he stumbles to his knees. Helplessly, he reaches for her body, only for the creature to grab him by his hair and jerk him backwards, back towards those teeth…

“Wrexford!” A new voice fills the air. It is strong, loud and powerful. McCree struggles to see over his shoulder and makes out a dark-haired figure in a black cloak.

“Hanzo…” Jesse mumbles.

The vampire lets out a growl, and releases Jesse. The newcomer and the vampire are on each other, a blur of motion and blood. The vampire is thrown over the carriage, and the man leaps agilely over it, tackling the creature.

As the sound of their fight rages on, a symphony of growling and tearing, Jesse crawls over to the woman. She is small as he lifts her gently and feels for a pulse in her delicate throat. She is alive, but the pulse is weak. There is blood and the beginnings of a black bruise on her temple. A bloody gash crosses down one cheek, cutting across her eyelid.

The sound of fighting stops and there are brisk footsteps. The newcomer appears and squats down before them. It isn’t Hanzo, but this man has more than a passing resemblance to him. He has intense green eyes. Jesse, finally coming back to his senses, realises with an uncomfortable shiver that the fight with the vampire hasn’t even creased this man’s shirt.

“Does she live?” the man asks.

“Yes… but she is badly hurt,” Jesse replies, and the words come out weakly.

“As are you,” the man responds seriously, cocking his head and looking at the wounds on Jesse’s throat. “It is not wise for either of you to seek a doctor, although I won’t try to stop you if you wish it. I can help you.”

Something- some important knowledge about this man- is lurking on the edge’s of Jesse’s mind, but in his weakened state he cannot reach for it. All he can think of is Hanzo, and how this man reminds him of the nobleman. He finds himself nodding.

“My rooms are near here,” he manages to say. “We could go there.”

“An excellent idea, my dear fellow,” the man says, standing up lightly. “Can you walk?”

Even if he had lost a leg, Jesse would be far too proud to ask for help. He nods. “Of course. Yes. She cannot, though.”

The man bends down and lifts the woman in his arms, holding her bridal-style. He looks down at her ruined face for a moment and his eyes close briefly. Then he looks back at Jesse, who is pushing himself to his feet.

“Follow me,” Jesse says.

They make the short journey in silence, Jesse concentrating fully on not collapsing. Luckily, they do not encounter a soul in the street. They must make a grim tableau; an immaculately-dressed, handsome gentleman clutching a bloodied, unconscious lady in his arms, following a limping and injured newspaper editor. Jesse can feel blood flowing down from his throat. It is hot and sticky.

The building Jesse lives in is run-down and enormous. There are four floors, but nobody lives here apart from Jesse, who rents the top floor. He unlocks the door to the back staircase with trembling hands and they climb the stairs.

At the top, Jesse clutches onto the wall. The climb has taken the last of his energy, and he is ashamed when he stumbles to the floor. The gentleman sweeps past him into Jesse’s home. There is a soft thump as he places the woman down on the bed and comes back out for Jesse, lifting him with a strength that cannot be human.

Jesse is placed upon an armchair and allows his eyes to close for a moment. He hears the man muttering to himself.

“Please don’t hurt her,” Jesse says. He knows he doesn’t have the ability to protect her- or himself.

“You have my word as a gentleman,” the man responds. Jesse opens his eyes to see the man bending down by the fire. He moves his long fingers across the dry wood in the stove and a flame suddenly ignites there.

Jesse cries out. The man stands up and looks at him with inscrutable green eyes. He unfastens his cloak and drapes it across the cluttered desk before heading back to the bed. The orange glow from the fire casts a sickly light on the woman.

The man feels her throat, closing his eyes briefly.

“Don’t bite her,” Jesse says. He is losing a lot of blood. He touches his coat and his hand comes away wet. “Don’t make her take your blood.” He can’t remember where the words are coming from. Everything is hazy.

The man looks at him suddenly. His dark eyebrows are raised. “How do you know-?”

“You’re Genji Shimada,” Jesse manages. “You’re a vampire.”

Then he loses consciousness.

“How could you be so careless?” The quiet, angry words are hissed in a familiar voice.

Jesse opens his eyes. He is still in the chair, but his coat has been removed. He reaches up to his neck gingerly to feel a thick bandage on the wound. Whoever cleaned it- Genji Shimada, he supposes- has removed his shirt as well. It is probably ruined.

“I hardly had a choice,” Genji snaps. The voices are coming from the hallway just beyond the door to Jesse’s home. “Wrexford slipped away from me. By the time I caught him with him, he had killed her horses and her coachman.”

“He would have killed her, too, if not for this man you apparently came home with.”

“I saved them both,” Genji replies, and the words are petulant.

“She can be convinced that the truth isn’t what she believes it to be. This man, on the other hand- your note said he knows what you are? Impossible. He was bitten. What are we to do about that, brother?”

There are footsteps and then, cast in the golden light of the fading fire, Hanzo Shimada steps into Jesse’s room. His dark eyes widen at the sight of the newspaper editor, who raises his hand in welcome.

“Jesse,” Hanzo breathes. He crosses the room and falls to his knees before the editor, reaching for his throat in a familiar way. One gloved hand curls around Jesse’s chin, tilting it out of the way, while the other one inspects the bandage.

“Lord Shimada,” Jesse says. He is suddenly very aware of the fact that he is sitting shirtless. He breathes in the scent of the nobleman, who is looking now into his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Hanzo whispers.

“Hardly your fault,” Jesse replies, then pauses. “Is it?”

Hanzo’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t respond.

“You know this man?” Genji asks, and Hanzo lets go of Jesse, springing to his feet.

“This is Jesse McCree, the newspaper editor to whom we both owe thanks.”

“Let’s skip these formalities,” Jesse says, pushing himself to his feet unsteadily. “I was bitten by a vampire. What is going to happen to me?”

“Nothing. You must take their blood, remember?” Hanzo replies gently. “You merely need to rest.”

“What about the girl?” Jesse asks, looking towards the bed.

She is lying beneath his threadbare quilt, half her face completely covered in white bandage. She is still unconscious. Her silky blonde hair fans out in a puddle on Jesse’s pillows.

“She will live,” Genji says in a thick voice, and Hanzo looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “The injuries she has on her face, though… I am uncertain if they will heal well.”

“This is not your fault,” Hanzo says, but there is a lack of conviction in his words.

“Dawn approaches,” Genji sighs.

“You must take her to her home. Leave her where she will be quickly found. Press a memory into her- alter the truth. She was mugged. Badly injured. She cannot remember what happened after that.”

“You can do that?” Jesse asks, mouth agape as he stares at Genji. “Influence people’s minds?”

The young vampire doesn’t smile. “Did it not strike you as odd that you were so acquiescent last night? You led me home despite the fact I was clearly a dangerous man.”

McCree frowns, an icy sensation settling in his stomach. “Do you know where this woman lives?”

“This is Miss Angela Ziegler,” Hanzo says.

Jesse finally knows how he is aware of her; she is a debutante. The newspaper has mentioned her a couple of times.

“I will take her,” Genji says gently. He crosses the room and lifts her again. She doesn’t stir. Genji crosses to the desk and lifts his discarded cloak, which he drapes over the delicate woman. He walks over to the door before pausing and looking back at Jesse. “Mister McCree, I am in your debt,” he says, then vanishes into the darkness.

Jesse is painfully aware that he is now alone with Hanzo Shimada. His rooms look shabby and untidy in the firelight, and he blushes as he looks around. He has never invited anyone up here.

“I confess I am very relieved you are not more badly injured,” Hanzo says suddenly. Jesse looks back at him to see those dark eyes fixed on him, not on the state of Jesse’s living conditions. “I am so sorry you have been caught up in this.”

There are a thousand things Jesse wants to say, wants to ask, but all that comes tumbling out his mouth is, “I need a rum.”

“Yes- of course.”

Hanzo sweeps over the dusty sideboard and lifts a smeared bottle of rum, opening it and pouring a measure into a chipped glass. Jesse watches in agonising discomfort, unable to believe that this nobleman is serving him in his own home.

“You don’t have to- Lord Shimada-”

“We are past that, surely?” Hanzo smiles, offering the glass to Jesse.

Jesse looks down at the glass. His fingers tremble as he takes it from Hanzo. He feels like his world has been turned on its head, but standing in front of this man, he isn’t sure he minds.

“I’m glad to see you again,” he says honestly.

“I intended to visit you before now, I promise,” Hanzo replies. “It has been busy, though… they are testing me at the moment. Genji and I have had a lot to do.”

Jesse drains the rum in one mouthful. He is suddenly exhausted. Hanzo reaches out and places his hands on Jesse’s shoulders, steering him towards the bed.

“You must rest, Jesse,” he says.

“I have so many questions-”

“Of course you do,” Hanzo replies softly. “But you must sleep. I shall return this evening, if you wish? We can discuss everything then.”

“This evening. Yes.”

Jesse lies down, sleep already tugging him into blessed oblivion. Hanzo squeezes his hand and smiles down at him. Words bubble up in Jesse’s throat but he is too tired to speak, and he closes his eyes.

#crimson and gold #fanfiction #mchanzo #mcree #hanzo shimada #jesse mccree #fanfic

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xo-mchanzo-blog · 8 years ago

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And One Time He Didn’t. NC-17. Vlad/Don, Fluff and Angst, Political Intrigue, Fisting

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xo-mchanzo-blog · 8 years ago

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my top ten favorite video games of all time

[a remake/updated version of this post]

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xo-mchanzo-blog · 8 years ago

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this was funnier in my head zzz

#overwatch

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xo-mchanzo-blog · 8 years ago

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#mchanzo week 2017 #mchanzo #overwatch #fanfic

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xo-mchanzo-blog · 8 years ago

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mchanzo week day six: first date

Title: First Date Rating: Teen Summary: Jesse McCree doesn’t realise that Hanzo Shimada has invited him on a date. Notes: Sorry it’s late! My internet has been rubbish all weekend.

“I can’t believe you’re going on a date with Hanzo.” Genji’s voice is flat and serious. He has appeared in Jesse’s doorway in the silent, sudden way he does everything.

“What?” McCree looks up from his phone, removing the cigar from his mouth. He frowns. “What are you talkin’ about, Genji?”

Genji shakes his head, exasperated, at his friend. “I’ve just spoken with him. He told me you’re going on a date tonight.”

Something cold and icy settles in McCree’s stomach. His frown deepens. He remembers his conversation with Hanzo this morning and wonders if he has made a huge error.

“Greetings, cowboy.”

“Howdy, Hanzo. What can I do for you?”

“Do you have plans this evening?”

“Just cleanin’ Peacekeeper and getting some sleep, probably.”

“Come with me to get some food.”

An odd request, but then Hanzo hasn’t been fitting in very easily with the group since he arrived a month ago. McCree sort of feels sorry for the guy, although he can’t quite get over the unease he feels around him. Genji has become a good friend and he can’t forget what Hanzo did to him.

“Sure.”

“I didn’t know- he never said-” McCree stammers.

Genji laughs. “I think it is a good idea.”

“I- what?” McCree almost drops his cigar. “A good idea? Genji, partner, that guy damn near killed you. He’s an angry, murderous-”

“He is a very handsome man, is he not? I have seen the way you look at him sometimes.” Genji smiles. “And the way he looks at you.”

“Irrelevant.” McCree stands up, paces nervously, then stops. “He looks at me?”

Genji just sighs. “You might want to wear something… something which is not that.” He gestures elegantly to McCree’s frayed serape.

Hanzo knocks on his bedroom door at seven promptly. Jesse has spent the past hour trying, and discarding, outfits. He has finally settled on his nicest blue jeans and a white shirt. His cheeks are pink from stressing about his clothes. He opens the door and Hanzo is standing there, resplendent and unflappable in a navy silk shirt. The bastard.

The bastard McCree is on a date with. He feels himself blush and tries to greet Hanzo, but all that comes out is a nervous laugh.

“You are exceptionally red,” Hanzo observes.

“A truly heartfelt compliment,” McCree snorts. “Shall we go?”

“Yes.” To McCree’s surprise, Hanzo offers his arm. McCree is fairly positive they have never actually touched before, and he gets a strange thrill when he links his arm through Hanzo’s.

“Is this a date?” Jesse blurts out as they head for the main entrance.

Hanzo stops and looks at him. He isn’t smiling. His face is terrifying. “A date?”

“God. Shit. Forget I said anything.” McCree is scarlet now, and he tries to hide his face with his prosthetic hand.

Hanzo laughs suddenly. It is warm and deep. He wraps his fingers around the cool metal of the prosthetic and tugs it away so that Jesse has to look at him. “Of course it is. I’m sorry I wasn’t more clear. Genji said you were terrified. I can’t resist teasing you.” He smiles. “I think you are lovely.”

McCree grins back. “Lovely, eh? See if you still think that after tonight, Shimada.”

#mchanzo week 2017 #mchanzo #fanfic #overwatch

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