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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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Gig apps trap reverse centaurs in Skinner boxes

Enshittification is the process by which digital platforms devour themselves: first they dangle goodies in front of end users. Once users are locked in, the goodies are taken away and dangled before business customers who supply goods to the users. Once those business customers are stuck on the platform, the goodies are clawed away and showered on the platform’s shareholders:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Enshittification isn’t just another way of saying “fraud” or “price gouging” or “wage theft.” Enshittification is intrinsically digital, because moving all those goodies around requires the flexibility that only comes with a digital businesses. Jeff Bezos, grocer, can’t rapidly change the price of eggs at Whole Foods without an army of kids with pricing guns on roller-skates. Jeff Bezos, grocer, can change the price of eggs on Amazon Fresh just by twiddling a knob on the service’s back-end.

Twiddling is the key to enshittification: rapidly adjusting prices, conditions and offers. As with any shell game, the quickness of the hand deceives the eye. Tech monopolists aren’t smarter than the Gilded Age sociopaths who monopolized rail or coal — they use the same tricks as those monsters of history, but they do them faster and with computers:

https://doctorow.medium.com/twiddler-1b5c9690cce6

If Rockefeller wanted to crush a freight company, he couldn’t just click a mouse and lay down a pipeline that ran on the same route, and then click another mouse to make it go away when he was done. When Bezos wants to bankrupt Diapers.com — a company that refused to sell itself to Amazon — he just moved a slider so that diapers on Amazon were being sold below cost. Amazon lost $100m over three months, diapers.com went bankrupt, and every investor learned that competing with Amazon was a losing bet:

https://slate.com/technology/2013/10/amazon-book-how-jeff-bezos-went-thermonuclear-on-diapers-com.html

That’s the power of twiddling — but twiddling cuts both ways. The same flexibility that digital businesses enjoy is hypothetically available to workers and users. The airlines pioneered twiddling ticket prices, and that naturally gave rise to countertwiddling, in the form of comparison shopping sites that scraped the airlines’ sites to predict when tickets would be cheapest:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/27/knob-jockeys/#bros-be-twiddlin

The airlines — like all abusive businesses — refused to tolerate this. They were allowed to touch their knobs as much as they wanted — indeed, they couldn’t stop touching those knobs — but when we tried to twiddle back, that was “felony contempt of business model,” and the airlines sued:

https://www.cnbc.com/2014/12/30/airline-sues-man-for-founding-a-cheap-flights-website.html

And sued:

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/06/business/southwest-airlines-lawsuit-prices.html

Platforms don’t just hate it when end-users twiddle back — if anything they are even more aggressive when their business-users dare to twiddle. Take Para, an app that Doordash drivers used to get a peek at the wages offered for jobs before they accepted them — something that Doordash hid from its workers. Doordash ruthlessly attacked Para, saying that by letting drivers know how much they’d earn before they did the work, Para was violating the law:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/tech-rights-are-workers-rights-doordash-edition

Which law? Well, take your pick. The modern meaning of “IP” is “any law that lets me use the law to control my competitors, competition or customers.” Platforms use a mix of anticircumvention law, patent, copyright, contract, cybersecurity and other legal systems to weave together a thicket of rules that allow them to shut down rivals for their Felony Contempt of Business Model:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

Enshittification relies on unlimited twiddling (by platforms), and a general prohibition on countertwiddling (by platform users). Enshittification is a form of fishing, in which bait is dangled before different groups of users and then nimbly withdrawn when they lunge for it. Twiddling puts the suppleness into the enshittifier’s fishing-rod, and a ban on countertwiddling weighs down platform users so they’re always a bit too slow to catch the bait.

Nowhere do we see twiddling’s impact more than in the “gig economy,” where workers are misclassified as independent contractors and put to work for an app that scripts their every move to the finest degree. When an app is your boss, you work for an employer who docks your pay for violating rules that you aren’t allowed to know — and where your attempts to learn those rules are constantly frustrated by the endless back-end twiddling that changes the rules faster than you can learn them.

As with every question of technology, the issue isn’t twiddling per se — it’s who does the twiddling and who gets twiddled. A worker armed with digital tools can play gig work employers off each other and force them to bid up the price of their labor; they can form co-ops with other workers that auto-refuse jobs that don’t pay enough, and use digital tools to organize to shift power from bosses to workers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/02/not-what-it-does/#who-it-does-it-to

Take “reverse centaurs.” In AI research, a “centaur” is a human assisted by a machine that does more than either could do on their own. For example, a chess master and a chess program can play a better game together than either could play separately. A reverse centaur is a machine assisted by a human, where the machine is in charge and the human is a meat-puppet.

Think of Amazon warehouse workers wearing haptic location-aware wristbands that buzz at them continuously dictating where their hands must be; or Amazon drivers whose eye-movements are continuously tracked in order to penalize drivers who look in the “wrong” direction:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/17/reverse-centaur/#reverse-centaur

The difference between a centaur and a reverse centaur is the difference between a machine that makes your life better and a machine that makes your life worse so that your boss gets richer. Reverse centaurism is the 21st Century’s answer to Taylorism, the pseudoscience that saw white-coated “experts” subject workers to humiliating choreography down to the smallest movement of your fingertip:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

While reverse centaurism was born in warehouses and other company-owned facilities, gig work let it make the leap into workers’ homes and cars. The 21st century has seen a return to the cottage industry — a form of production that once saw workers labor far from their bosses and thus beyond their control — but shriven of the autonomy and dignity that working from home once afforded:

https://doctorow.medium.com/gig-work-is-the-opposite-of-steampunk-463e2730ef0d

The rise and rise of bossware — which allows for remote surveillance of workers in their homes and cars — has turned “work from home” into “live at work.” Reverse centaurs can now be chickenized — a term from labor economics that describes how poultry farmers, who sell their birds to one of three vast poultry processors who have divided up the country like the Pope dividing up the “New World,” are uniquely exploited:

https://onezero.medium.com/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs-b2e8d5cda826

A chickenized reverse centaur has it rough: they must pay for the machines they use to make money for their bosses, they must obey the orders of the app that controls their work, and they are denied any of the protections that a traditional worker might enjoy, even as they are prohibited from deploying digital self-help measures that let them twiddle back to bargain for a better wage.

All of this sets the stage for a phenomenon called algorithmic wage discrimination, in which two workers doing the same job under the same conditions will see radically different payouts for that work. These payouts are continuously tweaked in the background by an algorithm that tries to predict the minimum sum a worker will accept to remain available without payment, to ensure sufficient workers to pick up jobs as they arise.

This phenomenon — and proposed policy and labor solutions to it — is expertly analyzed in “On Algorithmic Wage Discrimination,” a superb paper by UC Law San Franciscos Veena Dubal:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4331080

Dubal uses empirical data and enthnographic accounts from Uber drivers and other gig workers to explain how endless, self-directed twiddling allows gig companies pay workers less and pay themselves more. As @[email protected] explains in his LA Times article on Dubal’s research, the goal of the payment algorithm is to guess how often a given driver needs to receive fair compensation in order to keep them driving when the payments are unfair:

https://www.latimes.com/business/technology/story/2023-04-11/algorithmic-wage-discrimination

The algorithm combines nonconsensual dossiers compiled on individual drivers with population-scale data to seek an equilibrium between keeping drivers waiting, unpaid, for a job; and how much a driver needs to be paid for an individual job, in order to keep that driver from clocking out and doing something else. @ Here’s how that works. Sergio Avedian, a writer for The Rideshare Guy, ran an experiment with two brothers who both drove for Uber; one drove a Tesla and drove intermittently, the other brother rented a hybrid sedan and drove frequently. Sitting side-by-side with the brothers, Avedian showed how the brother with the Tesla was offered more for every trip:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UADTiL3S67I

Uber wants to lure intermittent drivers into becoming frequent drivers. Uber doesn’t pay for an oversupply of drivers, because it only pays drivers when they have a passenger in the car. Having drivers on call — but idle — is a way for Uber to shift the cost of maintaining a capacity cushion to its workers.

What’s more, what Uber charges customers is not based on how much it pays its workers. As Uber’s head of product explained: Uber uses “machine-learning techniques to estimate how much groups of customers are willing to shell out for a ride. Uber calculates riders’ propensity for paying a higher price for a particular route at a certain time of day. For instance, someone traveling from a wealthy neighborhood to another tony spot might be asked to pay more than another person heading to a poorer part of town, even if demand, traffic and distance are the same.”

https://qz.com/990131/uber-is-practicing-price-discrimination-economists-say-that-might-not-be-a-bad-thing/

Uber has historically described its business a pure supply-and-demand matching system, where a rush of demand for rides triggers surge pricing, which lures out drivers, which takes care of the demand. That’s not how it works today, and it’s unclear if it ever worked that way. Today, a driver who consults the rider version of the Uber app before accepting a job — to compare how much the rider is paying to how much they stand to earn — is booted off the app and denied further journeys.

Surging, instead, has become just another way to twiddle drivers. One of Dubal’s subjects, Derrick, describes how Uber uses fake surges to lure drivers to airports: “You go to the airport, once the lot get kind of full, then the surge go away.” Other drivers describe how they use groupchats to call out fake surges: “I’m in the Marina. It’s dead. Fake surge.”

That’s pure twiddling. Twiddling turns gamification into gamblification, where your labor buys you a spin on a roulette wheel in a rigged casino. As a driver called Melissa, who had doubled down on her availability to earn a $100 bonus awarded for clocking a certain number of rides, told Dubal, “When you get close to the bonus, the rides start trickling in more slowly…. And it makes sense. It’s really the type of shit that they can do when it’s okay to have a surplus labor force that is just sitting there that they don’t have to pay for.”

Wherever you find reverse-centaurs, you get this kind of gamblification, where the rules are twiddled continuously to make sure that the house always wins. As a contract driver Amazon reverse centaur told Lauren Gurley for Motherboard, “Amazon uses these cameras allegedly to make sure they have a safer driving workforce, but they’re actually using them not to pay delivery companies”:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/88npjv/amazons-ai-cameras-are-punishing-drivers-for-mistakes-they-didnt-make

Algorithmic wage discrimination is the robot overlord of our nightmares: its job is to relentlessly quest for vulnerabilities and exploit them. Drivers divide themselves into “ants” (drivers who take every job) and “pickers” (drivers who cherry-pick high-paying jobs). The algorithm’s job is ensuring that pickers get the plum assignments, not the ants, in the hopes of converting those pickers to app-dependent ants.

In my work on enshittification, I call this the “giant teddy bear” gambit. At every county fair, you’ll always spot some poor jerk carrying around a giant teddy-bear they “won” on the midway. But they didn’t win it — not by getting three balls in the peach-basket. Rather, the carny running the rigged game either chose not to operate the “scissor” that kicks balls out of the basket. Or, if the game is “honest” (that is, merely impossible to win, rather than gimmicked), the operator will make a too-good-to-refuse offer: “Get one ball in and I’ll give you this keychain. Win two keychains and I’ll let you trade them for this giant teddy bear.”

Carnies aren’t in the business of giving away giant teddy bears — rather, the gambit is an investment. Giving a mark a giant teddy bear to carry around the midway all day acts as a convincer, luring other marks to try to land three balls in the basket and win their own teddy bear.

In the same way, platforms like Uber distribute giant teddy bears to pickers, as a way of keeping the ants scurrying from job to job, and as a way of convincing the pickers to give up whatever work allows them to discriminate among Uber’s offers and hold out for the plum deals, whereupon then can be transmogrified into ants themselves.

Dubal describes the experience of Adil, a Syrian refugee who drives for Uber in the Bay Area. His colleagues are pickers, and showed him screenshots of how much they earned. Determined to get a share of that money, Adil became a model ant, driving two hours to San Francisco, driving three days straight, napping in his car, spending only one day per week with his family. The algorithm noticed that Adil needed the work, so it paid him less.

Adil responded the way the system predicted he would, by driving even more: “My friends they make it, so I keep going, maybe I can figure it out. It’s unsecure, and I don’t know how people they do it. I don’t know how I am doing it, but I have to. I mean, I don’t find another option. In a minute, if I find something else, oh man, I will be out immediately. I am a very patient person, that’s why I can continue.”

Another driver, Diego, told Dubal about how the winners of the giant teddy bears fell into the trap of thinking that they were “good at the app”: “Any time there’s some big shot getting high pay outs, they always shame everyone else and say you don’t know how to use the app. I think there’s secret PR campaigns going on that gives targeted payouts to select workers, and they just think it’s all them.”

That’s the power of twiddling: by hoarding all the flexibility offered by digital tools, the management at platforms can become centaurs, able to string along thousands of workers, while the workers are reverse-centaurs, puppeteered by the apps.

As the example of Adil shows, the algorithm doesn’t need to be very sophisticated in order to figure out which workers it can underpay. The system automates the kind of racial and gender discrimination that is formally illegal, but which is masked by the smokescreen of digitization. An employer who systematically paid women less than men, or Black people less than white people, would be liable to criminal and civil sanctions. But if an algorithm simply notices that people who have fewer job prospects drive more and will thus accept lower wages, that’s just “optimization,” not racism or sexism.

This is the key to understanding the AI hype bubble: when ghouls from multinational banks predict 13 trillion dollar markets for “AI,” what they mean is that digital tools will speed up the twiddling and other wage-suppression techniques to transfer $13T in value from workers and consumers to shareholders.

The American business lobby is relentlessly focused on the goal of reducing wages. That’s the force behind “free trade,” “right to work,” and other codewords for “paying workers less,” including “gig work.” Tech workers long saw themselves as above this fray, immune to labor exploitation because they worked for a noble profession that took care of its own.

But the epidemic of mass tech-worker layoffs, following on the heels of massive stock buybacks, has demonstrated that tech bosses are just like any other boss: willing to pay as little as they can get away with, and no more. Tech bosses are so comfortable with their market dominance and the lock-in of their customers that they are happy to turn out hundreds of thousands of skilled workers, convinced that the twiddling systems they’ve built are the kinds of self-licking ice-cream cones that are so simple even a manager can use them — no morlocks required.

The tech worker layoffs are best understood as an all-out war on tech worker morale, because that morale is the source of tech workers’ confidence and thus their demands for a larger share of the value generated by their labor. The current tech layoff template is very different from previous tech layoffs: today’s layoffs are taking place over a period of months, long after they are announced, and laid off tech worker is likely to be offered a months of paid post-layoff work, rather than severance. This means that tech workplaces are now haunted by the walking dead, workers who have been laid off but need to come into the office for months, even as the threat of layoffs looms over the heads of the workers who remain. As an old friend, recently laid off from Microsoft after decades of service, wrote to me, this is “a new arrow in the quiver of bringing tech workers to heel and ensuring that we’re properly thankful for the jobs we have (had?).”

Dubal is interested in more than analysis, she’s interested in action. She looks at the tactics already deployed by gig workers, who have not taken all this abuse lying down. Workers in the UK and EU organized through Worker Info Exchange and the App Drivers and Couriers Union have used the GDPR (the EU’s privacy law) to demand “algorithmic transparency,” as well as access to their data. In California, drivers hope to use similar provisions in the CCPA (a state privacy law) to do the same.

These efforts have borne fruit. When Cornell economists, led by Louis Hyman, published research (paid for by Uber) claiming that Uber drivers earned an average of $23/hour, it was data from these efforts that revealed the true average Uber driver’s wage was $9.74. Subsequent research in California found that Uber drivers’ wage fell to $6.22/hour after the passage of Prop 22, a worker misclassification law that gig companies spent $225m to pass, only to have the law struck down because of a careless drafting error:

https://www.latimes.com/california/newsletter/2021-08-23/proposition-22-lyft-uber-decision-essential-california

But Dubal is skeptical that data-coops and transparency will achieve transformative change and build real worker power. Knowing how the algorithm works is useful, but it doesn’t mean you can do anything about it, not least because the platform owners can keep touching their knobs, twiddling the payout schedule on their rigged slot-machines.

Data co-ops start from the proposition that “data extraction is an inevitable form of labor for which workers should be remunerated.” It makes on-the-job surveillance acceptable, provided that workers are compensated for the spying. But co-ops aren’t unions, and they don’t have the power to bargain for a fair price for that data, and coops themselves lack the vast resources — “to store, clean, and understand” — data.

Co-ops are also badly situated to understand the true value of the data that is extracted from their members: “Workers cannot know whether the data collected will, at the population level, violate the civil rights of others or amplifies their own social oppression.”

Instead, Dubal wants an outright, nonwaivable prohibition on algorithmic wage discrimination. Just make it illegal. If firms cannot use gambling mechanisms to control worker behavior through variable pay systems, they will have to find ways to maintain flexible workforces while paying their workforce predictable wages under an employment model. If a firm cannot manage wages through digitally-determined variable pay systems, then the firm is less likely to employ algorithmic management.”

In other words, rather than using market mechanisms too constrain platform twiddling, Dubal just wants to make certain kinds of twiddling illegal. This is a growing trend in legal scholarship. For example, the economist Ramsi Woodcock has proposed a ban on surge pricing as a per se violation of Section 1 of the Sherman Act:

https://ilr.law.uiowa.edu/print/volume-105-issue-4/the-efficient-queue-and-the-case-against-dynamic-pricing

Similarly, Dubal proposes that algorithmic wage discrimination violates another antitrust law: the Robinson-Patman Act, which “bans sellers from charging competing buyers different prices for the same commodity. Robinson-Patman enforcement was effectively halted under Reagan, kicking off a host of pathologies, like the rise of Walmart:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/27/walmarts-jackals/#cheater-sizes

I really liked Dubal’s legal reasoning and argument, and to it I would add a call to reinvigorate countertwiddling: reforming laws that get in the way of workers who want to reverse-engineer, spoof, and control the apps that currently control them. Adversarial interoperability (AKA competitive compatibility or comcom) is key tool for building worker power in an era of digital Taylorism:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

To see how that works, look to other jursidictions where workers have leapfrogged their European and American cousins, such as Indonesia, where gig workers and toolsmiths collaborate to make a whole suite of “tuyul apps,” which let them override the apps that gig companies expect them to use.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#gojek

For example, ride-hailing companies won’t assign a train-station pickup to a driver unless they’re circling the station — which is incredibly dangerous during the congested moments after a train arrives. A tuyul app lets a driver park nearby and then spoof their phone’s GPS fix to the ridehailing company so that they appear to be right out front of the station.

In an ideal world, those workers would have a union, and be able to dictate the app’s functionality to their bosses. But workers shouldn’t have to wait for an ideal world: they don’t just need jam tomorrow — they need jam today. Tuyul apps, and apps like Para, which allow workers to extract more money under better working conditions, are a prelude to unionization and employer regulation, not a substitute for it.

Employers will not give workers one iota more power than they have to. Just look at the asymmetry between the regulation of union employees versus union busters. Under US law, employees of a union need to account for every single hour they work, every mile they drive, every location they visit, in public filings. Meanwhile, the union-busting industry — far larger and richer than unions — operate under a cloak of total secrecy, Workers aren’t even told which union busters their employers have hired — let alone get an accounting of how those union busters spend money, or how many of them are working undercover, pretending to be workers in order to sabotage the union.

Twiddling will only get an employer so far. Twiddling — like all “AI” — is based on analyzing the past to predict the future. The heuristics an algorithm creates to lure workers into their cars can’t account for rapid changes in the wider world, which is why companies who relied on “AI” scheduling apps (for example, to prevent their employees from logging enough hours to be entitled to benefits) were caught flatfooted by the Great Resignation.

Workers suddenly found themselves with bargaining power thanks to the departure of millions of workers — a mix of early retirees and workers who were killed or permanently disabled by covid — and they used that shortage to demand a larger share of the fruits of their labor. The outraged howls of the capital class at this development were telling: these companies are operated by the kinds of “capitalists” that MLK once identified, who want “socialism for the rich and rugged individualism for the poor.”

https://twitter.com/KaseyKlimes/status/821836823022354432/

There's only 5 days left in the Kickstarter campaign for the audiobook of my next novel, a post-cyberpunk anti-finance finance thriller about Silicon Valley scams called Red Team Blues. Amazon's Audible refuses to carry my audiobooks because they're DRM free, but crowdfunding makes them possible.

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agirlandherkinks · 9 months

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Hypnovisor: Beta Test (TGTF, Hypno)

James had always been a tech super-fan. The newest phone, newest headphones, shiniest laptop, he had to stay abreast of and on top of the current trends. So when he read about some fancy new VR company that wanted beta testers for a headset, provided for free (minus shipping), his vision blurred and he signed up before he even considered finishing reading the ad.

Three weeks of anticipation and waiting passed until his doorbell finally rung, accompanied by the corresponding buzz of an email notification on his phone. Scrambling from his couch he flung the apartment door open, and to his mild surprise saw that the postman was nowhere in site. There was just a nondescript cardboard box labelled "Fragile", which fortunately bore none of the expected dents and scratches one would associate with the postal service and delicate freight. Practically bouncing with undignified delight, James scooped his parcel up and dashed back inside, barely remembering to lock the door behind him.

The headset looked even better than he had imagined. Sleek plastic curves surrounded a central visor that was just translucent enough to see through, meaning you could walk around safely if you turned a program's opacity down. It fit beautifully when he tried it on, more comfortable than anything he'd ever worn. Wearing it felt wonderful and... right, somehow. His only complaint was that the black headset was decorated in hot pink highlights, although it still looked futuristic enough to sooth his fragile masculinity. His roommate and best friend Erik certainly agreed, interspersing James' insightful comments with appropriate "Ooh's" and "Aah's". Waiting for the battery to charge seemed to take a thousand years, although chatting with each other about what it could do replaced their boredom with swiftly growing excitement.

Two hours later, a soft buzz from the headset in the corner signified its charge was complete. Erik cheered, his sandy-blonde hair bouncing behind him, and even James couldn't suppress a soft whoop of excitement. Erik unplugged it and handed it to James with a flourish and a bow, who accepted it with a suitable stuffy speech. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he was so giddy with anticipation he felt he could match Erik's goofiness for once. The advertisement had promised unmatched realism, a luxurious fit, and cutting-edge, groundbreaking technology. Normally James would have discounted claims like that as corporate claptrap, but the headset fit so well he actually believed the rest of it.

Booting up the headset brought a perky, relaxing jingle in his ears and wall of settings text in his vision. He would have read it, but between his own excitement and Erik's infectious enthusiasm he left the settings on default and skipped to the main menu. The feedback for the buttons was amazing, it felt just like he was pressing down on them whenever he touched one! Another little jingle sounded as he confirmed his choices, and a few games and applications bubbled up into his view, imposed over a hot pink background.

"So Erik, what do you think I should try," James asked. "We've got a music player, interior design app, some sorta idle monster game, and a few RPG's." "Surely try out the RPG's man! You've gotta see that high-definition you were yammering about when we called." Erik's voice came back surprisingly muffled, as if he was speaking down a long tunnel. "Bro, I can barely hear you, the noise-cancelling on this headset's insane! It's like I'm in a world of my own!" James took a deep breath, recovering a little of his composure. "Alright, an RPG it is. Fantasy, sci-fi, or modern day?" "Go fantasy! You know we've both got a thing for elf chiiiicks. Hell, with the kind of feedback you were telling me about, you might even get to grab her" Erik's distant voice sounded playful, with a ting of desire and jealousy. And it did make James hard, at the thought of getting to look and squeeze and fondle some busty elf bitch, made entirely to his wishes~

To James' horror a quiet moan escaped his lips, accompanied by faint hysterical laughter from his friend. Brushing it off angrily, he slammed the icon for 'Silverflame: A Magical Journey' (the button felt like thick moss to his touch). Instantly a soft flute begun to play in his ears, accompanied by the gentle lull of a harp and a quiet sparkling. James felt himself relax, all the tension draining out of his body. Erik must have noticed too, because James heard his laughter die down to be replaced with a slightly concerned silence. "Don't worry man," James said, "music's just really pretty..." He trailed off with a slight giggle, but heard Erik give an affirmative just before a silky, sultry voice started to speak.

"Welcome traveler, to the beautiful world of Silverflame. An untamed paradise where strange beasts roam the land, noble adventurers go forth in search of treasure, and the most wonderful magic [James shuddered] is woven. You are the latest brave, beautiful heroine [Heroine? Shouldn't I get to choose my character's gender first?] to step foot into this land. But first, tell us a bit about who you really are."

Pink sparkles rained across the screen, superimposing his view of a vibrant meadow with a series of stats. Physique, IQ, Wisdom, and Charisma, fairly standard stuff. And next to it, a human man with a blank, slightly happy expression on his face [...did he look familiar?]. James gasped, he looked just like a real person! Erik was suitably impressed by this information, and urged him to pick some stats so he can get to the body modification. "You can always change them later man, might as well pick a couple of stats now and get a move on. Sounds like you're not gonna get to pick your gender for a while, which kinda sucks. Buuut if we're being horny about this, you might as well go for a slut scaffold so you make less changes later." James chuckled at this, remembering the build they discussed one night while both sloshed beyond belief. For this game it would be high Physique and Charisma, low IQ and Wisdom. James touched the slider for Physique, and gasped as he felt himself feel... better than he had in a long time.

Not trusting his senses any more, and worrying about Erik being exposed to whatever was happening from the other side of the headset, James brushed off his concerned questions (which he could barely hear now, past the soothing, soothing, music) and suggested he went to the toilet, since he'd been holding it in since he got here. Erik grumbled at missing out, but mercifully left. James was actively sweating from what just went through his body, but couldn't muster the energy or concentration to feel the level of panic he knew he should be. The music was just so, so calming, that fear was harder to feel than usual. The prompt told him he still had to change two more stats, so he decided to turn down Wisdom. He gasped again and his vision went blurry, and when it cleared he felt a bit, fuzzier? In the head. But it wasn't too bad, in fact it was perfectly manageable. He felt even calmer now, so maybe changing another stats would make him feel better. Why not IQ? He tapped the slider.

He groaned as an immense pressure wrapped around his brain. Thoughts, aspirations, memories felt like they were melting from his head faster than they appeared. The pressure seemed like it lasted forever, but eventually it trailed off and he was left panting in his chair. It had felt, really good? Like, tots good, even. James giggled to himself. Something was different about him, but he couldn't think what. Oh well, it'll probably come to him later. He squealed in delight as he realized he could get a step closer to the body modification page, although he looked longingly at the IQ slider. He could come back to it later, for now it was time to make his super-hot elf slut a body!

James clapped to himself with delight as a cute little melody played, a shower of sparkles spiraled [spiraled...] across the screen, and the man on the side moved to the center of the screen. "Firstly", the sultry voice said, "choose what race you want to be." That was an easy choice. He clicked on the 'Elf' button, and shivered as he felt tingles run through his body, intensifying in his ears. Reaching up to touch them, he inhaled as he felt long, pointed tips. In fact, his whole body seemed a bit slimmer. This doesn't quite feel right... he thought. Oh I know! It must be making me an elf too! Maybe we'll be in a party together! Between the strange fuzziness and the pulsating heat in his groin, James quickly flicked to the next page and made his choices. Long, silver hair, gorgeous big purple eyes, and some giant perky lips. "Combination unlocked!" the narrator exclaimed, "+1 Charisma, -1 Wisdom!" James giggled again as the mental fog settled a little tighter around his brain and naughty thoughts about cute girls and boys filled his brain. Boys? Well I guess I've never minded swinging both ways... This felt natural to him, because of course he'd always been bisexual. Next screen!

"Choose your voice young heroine," the woman commanded. James felt a little strange, like her voice was echoing around his head. And why were the sparkles still there, spinning and spinning around the screen. He felt confused, but knew he had to obey that voice. He picked the sexiest combination for his own voice; high pitched, breathy, perky. "Combination unlocked! +1 Charisma, -1 Int." He moaned as that wonderful pressure wrapped his brain and his weekend plans changed to eyeing hunks at the beach. Girls were cool and all, but men had always been more interesting to him [and their pulsing, hard...].

"Now heroine, can you tell me: Are you a girl, or a boy?" The question sent shock waves through his brain. He was a he... right? Why did it feel like there was some longing, some need to acknowledge the woman in him... her? The fog, the music, the spirals, all the feelings he had been having, James could hardly think. Maybe he should think less. Being a girl sounded fun, it's just a character after all. And he needed to be sexy. "Wonderful choice young lady! Now, are you a dominatrix, a super-switch, or a bimbo slut?" Bimbo slut~ James giggled as the words echoed in her brain. She was a bit of a slut, now that she thought about it. It felt odd to pick it, but why not for funsies? "Bimbo slut selected! Wonderful choice, just wonderful. Hold still while your stats are adjusted, and then we'll begin on giving you the perfect, sexy body you've always wanted."

The spirals filled her view and began increasing in speed. James was taken aback at first, but quickly felt oddly calm and receptive to that sultry voice.

"Physique +1, Physique +1, Physique +1." James felt wonderful, like every ache and blemish in his body had faded away.

"Wisdom -1, Wisdom -1." Thinking was fuzzy, but Jamella felt so content she didn't care.

"Charisma +1, Charisma +1, Charisma +1, Charisma +1. Charisma +1." Jamella gasped as visions of sexy men, pecs and abs and juicy, throbbing cocks filled her mind. A desperate heat filled her, and she began touching her groin against her will to try and ease it.

"IQ -1." She moaned, feeling light.

"IQ-1." Empty. She was so, wonderfully empty.

"IQ -1." This was like, so much funsies! She didn't know what was going on, but everything felt so nice~

"IQ -1. Congratulations Ella, you now have the 'Bimbo Slut' build."

Ella giggled absently. Thinking was like, so hard, and she felt like, so hard~. The fun spirals had disappeared... But the nice lady was talking to her again! With great effort, she listened in. "Now that your mental changes are complete, it's time for the physical changes!" Ella rubbed her thighs together and cheered in excitement. She couldn't wait to have more fun! "Unless you choose so now, the process will be au-to-ma-tic [...why was she using such big words?]. You can choose to take over at any time, or wait until the end and adjust as you please [...please. That word felt funny in her brain]".

"No user input detected. Body adjustment commencing."

A nice shiver went through Ella's body as she felt her headset warm against her face. Looking at the boring young man she'd begun to customize (her reflection, of course), she couldn't wait to begin! She sighed happily as waves of pretty silver hair drifted into her view and cascaded down her back. It felt especially nice against her smooth, soft skin, and she couldn't help but gently shake her head to watch it sway. A cool feeling brought her attention to her face, and the alluring amethyst eyes now set in it. Her face itself became much more elegant [but cutesy, too!], and she puckered her lips as a lovely pressure made them swell and bulge out, giving her a sexy and kissable pout [the boys'll love this look! boys~]. She felt herself shrink a few centimeters, gulping as her Adam's apple disappeared into her body. In fact, her whole body had become even more slender, with narrow shoulders, adorably small hands [pretty purple nails!], and a tiny little waist. She gasped, then clasped her hands over her mouth in delight. Her voice was so high and cutesy! She couldn't stop herself from giving out tiny, high-pitched giggles, just to hear how cute she was!

"Basic body structure altered. Adjusting outfit in preparation for primary and secondary sexual characteristics."

Ella ooh'ed appreciatively as a stream of sparkles enveloped her body. And when they disappeared, she squealed in delight! Her drab t-shirt and denim shorts were gone! In their place was a beautiful silver mini-dress that shimmered like starlight when she moved. She frowned in vexation, though. The plunging chest and shoulder-less design was very pretty, but her chest was flat! [shouldn't I have tiddies? The boys won't like me like this...] And the way it clung to her waist and hips would have been sexy, but as it was there was barely any difference between them! Her ass wasn't nearly big enough to justify how the dress cut off barely past it, and with how tight the fabric was Ella could see how achingly hard she was [wait, why do I have a cock? I'm supposed to get cock! In my mouth, in my ass, in my tight little pussy~]. It wasn't right!

"Thank you for your patience sweetie. Optimal figure calculated. Prepare for adjustment of sexual characteristics."

Ella let out a moan as a wave of heat and pleasure washed over her. With how horny she was she could barely keep her eyes open, but she knew she wanted to watch herself become the sexy little [cum] slut she was meant to be [I want it... I want to be~]. The heat settled in her hips, her ass, and her chest, and she moaned again as the changes begun.

Her nipples grew first, more than doubling in size and stiffening through the soft fabric of her dress. Tentatively touching them induced a gasp of pleasure [so nice~] and sent her rocking backwards. The motion made her giggle, because in that time she'd grown a cute pair of B-cup breasts that jiggled when she rocked. Jiggle makes me giggle. I like giggling. I like jiggling. Ella nodded thoughtfully to herself, feeling very wise. Her boobies grew to C-cups. She jiggled some more. She giggled some more.

A tightness around her hips distracted Ella from her tiddies. They were growing! She groaned as fabric and flesh tightened around them, too euphoric to feel pain. Sliding her hands from her waist to her hips made her squeal happily. She had such a sexy hourglass figure, she knew any girl worth her money would be jealous [and the boys would wanna hold me and squeeze me and fuck me raw]. Thighs thickening dramatically in response to her growth, she slapped her ass in impatience. Why won't it get bigger already!

But get bigger it did, swelling out in response to her touch. She fell forward as sheer pleasure blanketed her mind and weakened her knees. Squishing her boobies against the ground made her feel even nicer, until she was panting and moaning for somebody to help, to hit her again and make her bigger~

A slap landed on her booty, and she groaned in delight as it and her thighs swelled again. More. More! I NEED MORE! She moaned in ecstasy as blow after blow landed, making her swell and grow and grow and swell and feel so gooooood! Her tits inflated to D, then E-cups [good for the boys. I can jiggle so well for them~]. Her hips widened and thighs thickened, until she looked ridiculously large compared to her waist [ridicu... ridic... really, really sexy...] And her ass kept growing, and growing, and growing and growing and growing and growing! Tighter! Around my cock! Cock... I... oh~ Too... too... much! Too much! I'm~ I'm!

OooOOoOoOOooOoOoooOOOOOHHH~

Ella screamed in delight as she came, just cumming and cumming and cumming her tiny little brain out.

"Wisdom -1. IQ -1. Charisma +1. Charisma +1."

She was desperate, humping against the ground as the flow of cum abated from her cock. Everything she had been was flowing out of her messy stupid brain, and everything that she should be was coming in. Boys... Cock... Need fuck... Breed~ I'm such a dumb little cum slut~ She giggled to herself.

"Final adjustment required."

Ella stood up shakily, the bottom of her dress a cum-soaked mess. She squealed with delight as the mental fog settled even tighter and she felt an intense heat in her groin. She could see the tops of nipples trying to break free from her dress, and could feel the air drift over her ass, which had mostly escaped the fabric in her growth. So sexy. Hehe~ Boy can take me~ Don't even need dress off~ Thinking hard... Her ass and hips had pulled up so much fabric that her cock was visible now, deflating and still leaking from her orgasm, but she gasped in pleasure as it began rising up again. And, as she felt something long and hard brush her booty [cock? Boys? Fuck?].

A pressure like hands on her shoulders forced her to her knees, and she whimpered in desire as she felt an unseen cock touch her cheek. At the same time, something began intensely stimulating her own. She reflexively opened her mouth in a moan, but was cut off as she felt the cock shove inside [Feels~ Feels!].

All thought stopped.

Her mind was blank, full of pleasure and desire and happiness. Her cock felt good like it never had before, and the dick in her mouth tasted wonderful~ This was what Ella was made for, what she was meant to be. Feeling good, feeling sexy, feeling a pleasant emptiness that could only be filled with cock. Her haze reached a crescendo. Dimly she was aware of her own cries of ecstasy, muffled by the cock fucking her mouth and mind, as she came harder than she even had before. And as she came, her dick shrunk with each spurt until it went inside her [inside me!]. The cock withdrew from her mouth, filling her with a desperate longing. Emma moaned for her unseen hero, then gasped as she felt him once more. And blinked in surprise as the pretty meadow and her sexy reflection disappeared.

She was kneeling on the floor of an unfamiliar room. Shaking off a little of her confusion [don't need know much anyways...], she gasped as the tell-tale smell of pre-cum filled her nose. There was a man standing in front of her!

Sandy-blonde hair. Body like a surfer hunk! Naked. With a massive, sexy cock, dripping with her saliva and it's own juices. Ella moaned in desire, falling on all fours. Visibly trembling with lust, he tenderly cupped her cheek and slowly moved behind her.

Touching her with his [cock!].

Ever so gently, on the edge of her [...pussy!!!!]

He rammed inside her, and she screamed as an absolute feeling of rightness, of sexiness and pleasure and single-minded happiness rushed through her [MORE! HARDER! COCKKKK~]. Riding his dick she felt herself go into a trance, with nothing, absolutely nothing, disturbing her feelings. Ever. This was right. Ella moaned and surrendered to herself, drifting away on her lover's cock and mindless pleasure.

#hypnosis #tgtf #brain drain #breast expansion #hip expansion #ass expansion #hypnok1nk #bimboification #expansion #ally's kinks

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mystickissies · 8 months

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GAMER RAGE!~ x fem! reader

*cough cough*

my first smut on this app no laughing at me okie? ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡ minors dni pls, contains: piv, S E X!!, your boyfriend being a bully, consensual canoodling.

it's midnight. the soft glow of the computer screen illuminates the room as you hear your boyfriend cursing seemingly for the nth time, he has tough luck winning in the game today.

he leaned back on his chair letting out an exasperated sigh, his headphones dangling, his biceps squeezed in his tight shirt, your boyfriend was such a hottie but you have to admit, seeing a big man desperately try to win a video game was hilarious.

you let out a soft giggle which caught his attention. his head turned to you, uh-oh, his eyes were filled with annoyance and a tad bit of arousal. "what's so funny!" he exclaimed half joking half annoyed.

you didn't get a chance to reply as he jumped on the bed, his ego was bruised as he pulled on your skirt. "i may suck at finding treasure in the game, but i sure can find your g-spot, my love." he winked at his amazing line, which you definitely found cringe.

you chuckled and laid back as your shitty gamer of a boyfriend freed you of your clothes, "m gonna knock the mario coins out of you baby." his fingers found thier way to your soft folds, spreading them apart, he bit his lip in excitement as he saw your clit twitch softly under his thumb, you were already getting wet, but oh no no no you were going to pay for giggling at him earlier.

he stroked his rock hard member as he saw you whine in impatience, he was going to catch you off guard. "you're so pretty y'know, like a sweet-" you squeaked as he suddenly entered, letting out a soft mewl, he grinned in amusement. so adorable.

he was completely filling you up, you wrapped your hands around his neck for support as he thrusted upwards, making you gasp and moan. "a-ah~" that was enough for him to chuckle. "my pretty."

you would've enjoyed the compliment if you weren't getting railed by him, his hips bucked faster and faster as you tried to gain any rhythm of breathing. he was correct, he did find your g-spot - he hit the bundle of nerves with precision.

your squealing couldn't stop, your toes curled up in pleasure, the knot deep in your stomach getting tighter, he was FUCKING you so deliciously. "baby~ cum, cum for me." welp, that was enough for you to break and let out a loud whine as your orgasm hit you like a freight train,

wetting his dick as your lips quivered around him. he exactly wanted this, you losing your mind on his dick, he groaned as cum spilled out of his dick, he aimed it at your face for that extra sense of ownership. "there ya go cutie, now your ego is bruised." he chuckled and kissed your cheek and hugged you close to him.

+ satoru, suguru, toji, mikey, draken, eren, kaiser, rin, sae, scaramouche, heizou, ajax, nagi, itto(?), your fav~

- phew! that was time-consuming lol, hope you enjoyed my dear scroller!

#eren smut #itto smut #blue lock smut #nagi smut #gojo smut #mikey smut #sukuna smut #blade smut #rin smut #sae smut #genshin smut

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itruckdispatch · 2 months

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Optimize Your Truck Business with iTruck Dispatch App

Take your truck business to the next level with the iTruck Dispatch App. Our state-of-the-art dispatch software and load tracking app ensure efficient management and seamless operations. Ideal for modern trucking services, the app provides real-time tracking and comprehensive management tools. Discover how iTruck Dispatch can streamline your operations. Visit iTruck Dispatch and transform your trucking business today.

#truck business #dispatch software #trucking services #load tracking app #tracking app #fleet management solution #load management #trucking company #freight tracking

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niki-phoria · 1 year

Note

a prom runaway w m!reader and yeonjun after m/n got humiliated, because the school jocks ruined his suit, then yeonjun noticed, tried to fight but m/n grabbed him outside, they both go to a nearest park and yeonjun comforted m/n 🥹

pairing: yeonjun x male!reader (no pronouns used; implied masc reader) genre: hurt comfort to fluff word count: 1.2k

includes: high school (prom) au, not super romantic but they do have feelings for each other, reader cries, reader is implied to be shorter than yeonjun, starts utc bc of cws

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i changed the idea slightly but i hope you still like it :))

warnings: unspecified slurs, bullying, violence, cursing, mentions of fighting, implied homophobia

PART O1 / PART 02

you bite your lip in an attempt to starve off any incoming tears as your back harshly hits the brick wall of the cafeteria. you cower away from the boy looming above you as his friends continue to taunt you. a variety of slurs and insults leave their lips as you flinch away from their laughter and harsh kicks against your legs.

“hey!” a familiar voice calls. “what the fuck are you doing?”

a soft gasp escapes your lips as yeonjun forces himself in front of you, separating you from the group of bullies. he glares harshly at them. his hands are balled into fists - knuckles burning white at the white hot rage coursing through him.

you scramble to your feet, wincing at the pain in your muscles. “yeonjun,” you whisper, hesitantly reaching out to gently grab his wrist. you bite your lip; your eyes anxiously scan between him and the group still staring down at you menacingly. “let’s go. it’s not worth it.”

yeonjun spits a few insults at the group, turning to glare at the other boys over his shoulder before he follows after you. your hand slips out of his once you leave the cafeteria. tears of humiliation sting at your eyes as you stumble through the decorated hallways until you finally escape the school into the cool night air.

the door slams shut behind yeonjun as he rushes after you into the night. “y/n,” he softly calls, slowly approaching you from behind.

you furiously wipe away the tears that threaten to roll down your cheeks, catching the muscle of your cheek between your teeth in an attempt to stop the oncoming tears from flowing. you wrap your arms around your torso. a shiver wracks down your spine at the cool breeze blowing past you.

“thank you,” you finally murmur, turning back to face yeonjun. the setting sun casts a golden glow across his face. your voice shakes with every word, though you both ignore it. “you didn’t have to stand up for me back there. i appreciate it.”

yeonjun steps closer to you. his eyebrows furrow into a concerned glance. your own gaze falls to the ground as another tear slips down your cheek. “are you going to be okay?”

“i’ll be fine,” you sniffle. your shaky hands fumble with your phone as you desperately search through the various apps to find a driver to pick you up. “i’ll just call a cab or something.”

“do you want me to stay?”

you freeze completely at yeonjun’s words. the blood coursing through your veins goes ice cold. you look up at him with wide, teary eyes. your breath hitches in your throat when he hesitantly reaches up to wipe away yet another tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. his thumb is gentle as it brushes against your skin just underneath your eye.

it’s comforting despite being unfamiliar. during your years of friendship you had grown accustomed to his lingering touches. your skin burning whenever his hands brushed against yours become second nature though it’s never felt so intimate before. so safe. so loving.

yeonjun’s hands are warm against your face. he caresses you carefully - as if you’re made of glass. something deserving of being handled with care.

you find yourself leaning into his touch. months of repressed feelings hit you all at once like a freight train. your heart beats erratically in your chest at the sudden new onslaught of thoughts running through your mind.

you sniffle once again. your eyes flutter closed. yeonjun’s hand remains cupping your cheek before he carefully coaxes you into a hug. you all but collapse against him, finally letting yourself fall apart for the first time that night. you bury your head against his chest as tears roll down your face. choked sobs occasionally escape your lips.

“it’s okay,” yeonjun whispers. his hand falls from your face to wrap around your waist, keeping your body pressed against his. he rubs a comforting hand against your back, tucking his chin over your head. “i’m here. it’s all gonna be okay. i’ve got you.”

you cling to yeonjun’s now-ruined suit when you finally calm down enough to pull away. you wipe away the dried tears on your face as you step back, suddenly embarrassed at your breakdown. “thank you,” you whisper once again.

yeonjun simply shakes his head, leaning in to press a sweet kiss against your forehead. “feeling better?” you nod. goosebumps arise against your skin as another strong gust of wind blows past. you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself once again, shivering at the cold.

yeonjun furrows his eyebrows slightly before he silently slips his blazer off. your questions fall on deaf ears as he wraps the thin fabric around you so it rests gingerly around your shoulders. you softly smile at him, tugging it further around yourself.

you move to sit down on the steps, staring out at the setting sun behind the horizon as you patiently await for the driver you had called to arrive. yeonjun’s knee knocks against yours as he moves to sit beside you. his arm rests gingerly around your waist’ your head lays against his shoulder.

a comfortable silence falls over you. you can just barely hear the blaring music echoing from inside of the high school cafeteria. the upbeat tempo is paired with the noise of occasional cheers and the sound of dress shoes and heels sliding against the freshly waxed ground.

“i love spending time with you,” yeonjun finally whispers. you shift to look up at him - a silent cue for him to continue. “you make me feel safe. i know you’re probably blaming yourself about what those guys said earlier but i want you to know… none of it matters. you’re perfect, no matter what they tell you. what anyone tells you.” he pauses, reaching over to intertwine your fingers together. “i’ll always protect you. no matter what.”

you smile up at him, squeezing your hands together. “you make me feel safe too.” your ride rolls to a stop in front of the school’s steps. you both stand up, slipping yeonjun’s blazer off of your shoulders before handing it back to him. “thank you for staying with me,” you say. you bashfully stare at your own feet before you muster up the courage to look up at him once again. “you made tonight better than i ever thought it could be.” you reach over, taking yeonjun’s hands into your own before gently squeezing them. you step closer before leaning in to press a sweet kiss against his cheek. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

yeonjun’s face flushes a deep red as a smile spreads across his face. he watches as you walk over to open the car door, momentarily pausing to wave goodnight before you slide into the backseat. he waits for you to drive away before he shyly brushes his hand against the patch of skin your lips had touched. he chuckles to himself at how flustered such a small action from you has made him.

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hana-bobo-finch · 2 months

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I didn’t have my iPad to work on any comics so I instead did the next best thing and used my finger and the notes app on a phone. I made two masterpieces. the first is based on the side effects of eating a clover that Louie listed. Especially the sauciness

The quality of the drawings and writing is absolute trash so I’m gonna transcribe it here so it’s at least slightly legible:

Olimar. I am going to perish. Goodbye.

?? What??

I ate this plant thing.

Ok?? And it’s poison?

Mhm. I will soon be gone from this mortal world!

Oh. Ok. Bye…??

AHAHAHAH. HAVE FUN WITH YOUR 9-5, SUCKER

What??

Y’know. I’m going to go to heaven and eat aaaall the bugs I want. But you’re stuck slaving away at Hocotate freight for the rest of your sad, sad life.

…Louie, you’re not going to heaven.

I’m gonna either faint or puke. Watch out buddy.

#these drawings are obviously terrible #but I really wanna redraw the smug looking Louie lmao #pikmin #art #louie pikmin #olimar pikmin #my bad if the screen recording goes by too fast/slow I had no time to make it decent

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vettelsdarling · 1 year

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I’m so in love with Max Verstappen lol can u write a one shot but where he isn’t a driver and both the reader and max are just normal people? Can you also make it a smut >_<

𝑺𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝑫𝒐𝒘𝒏

➪Ask and you shall receive ;)

➪I chose to base this off an interaction I’ve had irl, that I thought was pretty writable lol (most is fiction!)

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: (Minors dni) smut, swearing

Word Count: 3.5k+

You were visiting The Netherlands for a couple of weeks because you had a job there. You were a talented journalist from Vogue, but only one of many other writers. To show your boss that you had more potential than she thought, you decided to do a revolutionary piece on Amsterdam. You decided, one night, that you wanted some wine whilst writing your intro. There was a small and modest liquor store close to your hotel, so you didn’t have to worry about public transportation. It was nearing the evening and the sun was starting to set, which meant you had to pick up the pace if you wanted to make it in time.

When you got to the store, you found that you were the only one there. There was no cashier or worker in sight, but the store was open. Browsing the different aged wines had you feeling like you had taken the high road. Old money style. You were in your own little world, taking pictures of the different bottles and even holding out a peace sign in front of one of them and snapping a picture. After a while, you noticed a song come on the speakers. It was something you recognized from your earlier years in college when you went out partying constantly. The song had been popular back then, and the nostalgia hit you like a freight train. You already had your phone out, and you knew it’d be impossible to sleep without knowing the name of the song, so you held up your phone to one of the speakers and turned on your Shazam app. It kept loading and failing and loading and failing.

“I see that you like the song,” a voice said. It was smooth and had a thick Dutch accent. A hint of a smirk was mixed into it as well. Upon retracting your arm and turning to face the voice, you found the shop clerk staring you down with what could’ve been the most jaw-dropping smirks of the century. He was a sight for sore eyes. That was for sure. You buried your face in your hands out of embarrassment, as he’d caught you trying to Shazam a song on the speakers.

“If you must know, that song is… Slow Down, by Chase Atlantic.” Trying to save face and not look like a cartoon character, you removed your hands from your face and politely thanked him.

“Thanks, I should get going now, though. I have a train to catch in the morning.” That was a lie. All you had to do the following morning was report to your boss about current developments.

“That’s a shame, I could’ve prepared a special tasting for a gorgeous lady like you.” An immediate blush spread across your face. The effect he had on you was obvious and it only fueled his ego and confidence.

“I suppose a tasting wouldn’t hurt.” You looked down at your wrist as if to check the time. The man kept looking at you with his mesmerizing eyes and deep gaze. You knew damn well it could’ve been your own delusions. That he may have tried to merely act friendly or treat the last customer of the night real nice. It was impossible to say for sure. You had been in one too many situations where you'd accidentally misread a situation.

“You look deep in thought, darling. Relax and come with me to the back. That’s where I keep the best wine.” You could hear your own thoughts screaming at you to do something. Darling? That was something you’d only ever read in romance books. Was he even real?

“So, what’s your name?” He asked as he browsed his gallery of fine wines. You hesitantly told him your name and saw his face light up with a tiny smirk,

“That’s a beautiful name. Mine’s Max. Max Verstappen.” You took a mental note of his name in case you weren’t going to get his number later in the evening.

“So what brings you to Amsterdam?” His genuine curiosity made him that much more attractive. You couldn’t tell whether to cry tears of joy or run away from such a foreign feeling of delight.

“I’m a journalist or writer. Whichever name suits the piece I work on. I’m just here to do a review of my time here. It’s supposed to act as a travel ad, I guess.” He nodded, smiled, and pulled out a bottle he fancied.

“Sounds like quite the job, do you enjoy it?” He poured you a glass and also a glass for himself. A whole glass? Here you thought it was going to be a simple tasting.

“Oh uhh, yeah, I’ve loved writing since I was young. I don’t think I’ll ever stop writing.” Reminiscing about your younger self showing off your short stories to your older siblings and family members had you smiling like a fool. Max, being observant, picked up on it and took a mental picture of your smile. He’d never seen anyone as radiant as you.

“How’d you get into the wine business, if I may ask?” You watched him contemplate for a brief moment, before eventually telling you about his family and his legacy.

“So, yeah, here I am taking over my father’s business. He does most night shifts, but he had some errands to run this evening… so you’re stuck with me.” Was the liquid courage already going to your head, or were you really just that bold? You decided to look him directly in the eyes as you told him,

“I’m glad I decided to come tonight of all nights, then.” Your head was swimming in some newfound confidence. Perhaps Max had rubbed it off on you.

“Sure you are,” he chuckled and poured himself another glass. You weren’t a lightweight, and he didn’t seem to be one either, so you asked him to pour you another glass as well.

“I should probably go after this round. I have to do something tomorrow morning.” You chugged the last of your wine and squeezed your eyes shut.

“Yeah, heard you before. You have to catch a train, huh?” You just nodded to not seem suspicious and began walking towards the exit.

Before you had the chance to though, Max grabbed your arm and turned you around. His face was etched with confusion, not even understanding his own actions. The two of you stood there for a short while before he slowly let go.

“Sorry, I- um. I don’t know why I did that.” Your teeth subconsciously tugged at your lower lip and you gulped before taking a leap of faith.

“Wanna see my place? It’s just a hotel room, but the view is wonderful,” you broke the unnerving silence. Max took every word in and ultimately responded with,

“No, I think you should see my place instead.” Your boldness was met with twice as much boldness coming from him. You found it hard to breathe, let alone think. He started turning the lights off in the shop and clearing a few bottles that had been on display.

“I’ll lock up and then we can go. I’m sure my view is better than yours in more than just one way.” His smirk as those words left his mouth was smooth. Not just smooth— it was unreal. You were desperate for more.

You waited for him to finish up and when the two of you finally got out, and you heard the clank of his keys— he made you lock your arms around his arm. With that, you enjoyed the night sky and the dimmed street lamps. You took in the fresh air; a stark contrast to the New York air you were so used to. Max mostly stayed quiet, but he’d quip a fun fact about his country here and there when walking past the few sculptures that adorned the streets of Amsterdam.

“I’m starting to think you don’t even live in Amsterdam. We’ve been walking for at least an hour now,” you chuckled. Just as if your words were magic, he stopped walking and motioned for you to look up. There you saw a gorgeous penthouse. You never would’ve thought he’d live so luxuriously.

“Wait, that’s your place?” Your eyes were wide open. A small grin crept up his face and he shook his head,

“No, I’m just kidding. My place isn’t that fancy. I’m barely able to pay rent. It’s a day-to-day thing.” His living situation was surprisingly similar to yours. Most apartments in New York were too expensive to rent out, so you lived in a modest, but cosy apartment with your personality plastered all over. The rent was cheap and you had excess money to spend on personal indulgences.

“Actually, me too. Some would say I live like a peasant,” you joked.

“Great, we’ll be poor together,” he finished. The two of you had a quick laugh about your financial situations before you finally arrived at his place. It was a bit bigger than your own and had 3 rooms total. He showed you around his small flat, starting with the kitchen which connected to the living room. Then he showed you the bathroom, which had a rich lavender scent. He explained that his sister frequently gave him different essential oils and thymes and air fresheners that she’d find whilst travelling. He never knew what else to do with them but make his bathroom smell like a fairytale garden. He was getting closer and closer to being the greenest of flags you’d ever encountered. He showed you to his office which was the smallest room in the entire apartment, fitting only him. There was a tiny space for him to squeeze through and get to his chair.

Then the time came to see his bedroom. The state of people’s houses was one thing, but a bedroom could tell you everything you’d need to know about a person’s personality. It was where they would spend most of their intimate moments. Max’s room was simple. Simple yet stunning. He had a few family portraits on his shelf and a bookshelf you could only dream of having. On a small drawer, he had a TV with a remote next to it. His bed was queen-sized and the pillows were almost bigger than the headboard. The sheets were pearl-white and silk. Just above the headboard was a painting. It was a copy of The Fallen Angel. You recognized it from the required fine arts classes you took in college. It was a gorgeous painting that made the mind go around in circles.

“Yeah, that painting was a gift from my father. It’s a little out of place here but I didn’t know what else to do with it.” Max scratched the back of his neck and leaned against the doorframe.

“I love your place. It’s certainly nicer than my own. I haven’t had much luck with decorating like you. I mostly just have cheap and simplistic stuff from IKEA, if I’m being honest.” You sighed and sat down on his bed. The duvet hugged your hips as your body weighed down on the bed. Max went to sit beside you and decided to let himself fall back. You followed suit.

“IKEA isn’t bad at all. I like simplicity. Who doesn’t?”

“I don’t know, I guess it isn’t really all that bad.” You could feel your heart rate increasing as you heard Max shuffle. It could only mean one thing; he’d turned his head to face you. Frozen. You were completely frozen. You wanted to do the same, but for whatever reason— you just couldn’t bring yourself to do so. Any courage you had earlier was gone. Nowhere to be found.

“You’re beautiful, you know?” That’s what made you turn. You saw the curious look in his eyes and the genuine tug on his lips. You weren’t one to have one-night stands or sleep around, but you felt a certain pull. A pull that you found hard to resist. Max was magnetic and your body wanted nothing more than to be glued to him.

After you didn’t say anything, he moved closer to you and moved a strand of hair out of your face. His touch sent shivers down your spine. You felt an electrical current run through your entire body, coupled with a warm feeling starting to pool in your lower abdomen. The silence only seemed to pull the two of you closer, but it was obvious Max had more guts than you.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” you muttered. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. You definitely did.

“Wait, you’re a virgin?”

“Oh, no no, nothing like that. I’ve just never really been into hooking up with strangers,” you explained. He almost laughed at that.

“We don’t need to be strangers, darling. This is just the beginning.” There was something about the way he said it, that had your mind running wild. At the same time, though, you didn’t want to come off as desperate. So you waited for him to strike his next move.

Luckily, good things come to those who wait. He leaned in for a kiss that moulded into a more heated one. With more and more time passing by, it only got wilder. He switched your positions so that he was on top. Your fingers were intertwined with his blonde strands of hair. There was nothing left to do but start pulling at his shirt. He took it as a sign to pull away and rid himself of the article of clothing. After he threw it into a corner, he took that opportunity to admire the sight below him. There you were; sprawled out beneath him with rosy cheeks and lips that were swollen from all the kissing. Your half-lidded eyes looked up at him and he couldn’t get enough.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he whispered loud enough for you to hear before he dove back down to then attack your neck. It didn’t take him long to find your sweet spot. Once he found it, the whimpers flooding from your mouth egged him on. He fiddled with the hem of your shirt and instead of pulling it over your head, he ripped it off you.

“Hey, my shirt!”

“You can have one of mine instead. I bet they suit you better than they do me,” he whispered in your ear. His breath was hot against your ear. You didn’t actually mind the ripped shirt. It was a Walmart shirt that you got from a buy 1 get 1 sale. You weren’t wearing lace, but you thanked your earlier self for deciding to wear matching underwear.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to completely discard all of your clothes. Max struggled with the clasp of your bra, which you took over and got off. In his eyes, everything was perfect. There’s no such thing as a perfect being; he knew that, but there you were. Beyond perfect. He relished in his victory.

“Can you do me a favour and be as loud as you can for me?” You saw the look on Max’s face and he slowly started kissing down your body. You felt each suck going further and further down. Dangerously close to your cunt. With each gasp you made, the Dutchman gave your hips a squeeze. It was as if getting you off was enough for him. You finally felt his tongue graze your slit and your hips bucked in appreciation. Better yet, he wasn’t a tease about it. He went straight into it, sucking and moving his tongue in ways that made you scream his name like a holy mantra. The walls of the apartment were thin. Perhaps you’d have to apologize to his neighbours the following morning.

He kept going and you started pulling his hair as you got closer and closer to your release. He sensed your need and you immediately felt everything intensifying. There was no way you’d be able to hold back. So you didn’t. With a final scream of his name, you reached your peak and surfed through it gently with his help. Coming down was smoother than the silk sheets you were breathing ever so heavily on.

“Where did you learn to do that?” You tried to catch your breath, but it was hard. So hard for so many reasons.

“If I’m being honest, that was my first time doing that. I was pretty nervous about it, but now I know how you like it.” Was he a god? A sex god? You watched as he moved back up to you, spitting in his hand and wrapping it around his dick. He was above average but certainly made up for it in girth. You started to wonder whether he’d fit or not, but before you could let your mind wander too far, you felt him slide his dick up and down your slit, lubricating himself with your essence. The way he’d graze your clit with the head was to die for. You already knew you were going to be in for a ride.

“You’re sure about this?” He asks to be sure. If there was one thing you appreciated more than anything— it was asking for consent.

“I am. I’m on the pill as well. You can go on,” you said and bucked your hips, to feel just a little more pressure. There was no need for that, however, because as soon as those words left your mouth; he went for it.

You felt him enter slowly and carefully, letting you adjust to his size along the way. He stretched you out like you’d break in a new shoe. When he finally reached the end and couldn’t push any more in, he waited for you to tell him to move. A true gentleman. When you nodded, he almost pulled all the way out, before slamming into you again. You couldn’t help but choke out his name, accidentally leaving a scratch on his shoulder. In response, he attacked your neck. His movements were swift and steady. Your legs were wrapped tightly around him, as he held your hips with his smooth hands. Your hands were now in his hair, pulling and scratching. Your pants synced with his and the room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against each other.

As much as you loved the current position, you wanted more. No, you needed more. He noticed it and pulled out. In that brief moment, you felt emptier than ever. You proceeded to climb on top of him, shoving him back inside you. This time, he was able to reach much deeper. The position was so erotic. He was able to watch as your breasts bounced and your eyes rolled back. It was heaven on earth for him.

“Fuck, you’re absolutely out of this world,” he panted and squeezed your hips, guiding you up and down his veiny dick. Your hands rested on his shoulder and you lowered your head to pull Max into a kiss, connecting a string of saliva as you pulled away. When you felt him thrust up into you in a rather sloppy manner, you knew he was close; and so were you. Your movements became more erratic and desperate.

“Do it, finish all over my dick, darling,” he groaned and continued helping you with your release as well as his. You bounced a few more times before slamming down one last time. Hard. You felt yourself tip over the edge, spilling all of your juices on Max’s abdomen. At the same time, you felt him shoot his own load into you, filling you with a certain delight.

The two of you sat there for a little before you got off him and found a place next to him. He wrapped an arm around your waist and had your head on his shoulder. You felt his heartbeat starting to slow down after coming down from the incredible high.

“That’s what that’s supposed to feel like,” you sighed, which was followed by a chuckle from the both of you.

“You lied about the train tomorrow morning, didn't you?” You could tell he was smirking by the tone of his voice.

“I may have.”

“You should cancel the remaining days at your hotel and come live here. I don’t want us to be strangers,” said Max.

“Sure, why not?” You snuggled into his nape and closed your eyes.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep. Let’s get you all cleaned up first.” You realized that Max was no stranger at all. You had a feeling that he’d stick around for a long long time. At least you wanted him to, and it seemed like he wanted that too.

“Okay, stranger.” You got up and saw the smile on his face. He was cuter than you initially thought.

“Perhaps I could take this stranger out on a date tomorrow? I know of a great coffee shop nearby,” Max suggested and got up as well. You nodded and smiled, the two of you both leaving for the lavender-scented bathroom.

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻...

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗱𝗮𝗽𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝘆, 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗲, 𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺— 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻.

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sjsmith56 · 3 months

Text

The Way Station

Summary: Bucky waits out a heavy fog at gas station restaurant where he is confronted by a man with an agenda.

Length: 3.5 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Dorothy (OFC server), Red (OMC trucker), assorted bystanders.

Warnings: Implied homophobic and racist slurs by one character, bullying, supernatural vibes.

Author's notes: Something a little spooky. I've been fooling around with the idea behind the Way Station, as an original short story, for some time but was never satisfied with it. Thought it might fit with Bucky Barnes as the main character, so I adapted it and changed it to fit him. A way station typically referred to a station on the railroad where a slower train could pull off to allow a faster train to pass, or was at a junction where transfers of passenger or freight could be made. Image of Bucky on a motorcycle was created by the author on Microsoft Copilot app in Designer mode.

🌫️ 🏍️ 🥧

At the time Bucky thought it was a good idea to ride his motorcycle from New York to Delacroix. Hitting the open road, going at his own pace and stopping where he wanted, when he wanted, sounded like a recipe for an enjoyable time. He could listen to his favourite music playlist without anyone (Sam) asking why it always had to be 1940s music. Now on the third day, it was getting close to sunset, and he still had an hour before his destination. After texting Sam with his ETA, he knew a cold beer would be waiting and probably some jambalaya. Then the fog drifted in, accumulating in some of the lower marshy areas and ditches at first. Slowly it spread its tentacles across the road, making it harder and harder to see. Not only that but there had been a few close calls with vehicles going the other way passing others in his lane, and barely missing him, even though he steered his motorcycle as far to the right as he dared. When the last pass got too close for comfort Bucky decided that enough was enough and he pulled in at the next rest stop, a gas station with a small restaurant attached in a place called False River.

Pulling up to the restaurant, he parked his motorcycle, took off his helmet and looked at where he was before taking his cell phone to text Sam that he was going to be late. Noting the no cell service message, he sighed then stepped inside the restaurant, to ask if they had a pay phone. They did, but it was out of order. He asked to use their business phone but when he called Sam, the connection was poor, and he gave up in frustration.

The waitress, sorry, they were called servers now, a matronly woman with dyed hair and a name tag on her uniform that said Dorothy, looked at him with sympathy.

"It gets like that sometimes," she drawled, in a thick southern accent. "Especially when the fog comes in. Don't know why it does that honey, but it does. So, sit a spell, have some coffee and a piece of pie. You'll feel better."

With a nod, Bucky sat at the counter, ordered a black coffee and a piece of apple pie. It arrived in moments, and he took the first bite, then smiled at Dorothy.

"That's good pie," he stated.

"I know, honey, that's why I recommended it," she replied. "Where you headed?"

"Delacroix. Staying with a friend for a while."

"If he's a good friend he'll understand. I'm sure they get their share of fog there as well."

The door opened to a senior citizen couple, who commented about the thick fog and almost getting sideswiped by a semi. Dorothy was just as sympathetic to them as she was to Bucky and offered them the same thing, coffee and pie, before asking where their destination was. As more people came in to wait out the fog, Bucky began wondering how many apple pies she had in the back. They all came out warm and tasty, while the coffee was hot and plentiful, as she continually topped up the cups. After about an hour, the number of people entering seemed to slow down, until a woman and her young daughter arrived, followed by a trucker with a company shirt on and the embroidered name tag "Red" prominently displayed over the left front pocket of his shirt. No one came in after him. He took his hat off when he sat at the counter.

"Dorothy," he said curtly. "Got any apple pie left?"

"You know it, Red," she replied, her usual cheerfulness dimmed a bit. "Coffee, too?"

"Yup. Going to be a long night. Haven't seen fog this thick in a while. I'm sure by morning we'll be hearing of a few accidents."

"Well, we'll see," she replied, looking out the window in a worried manner. "Hope it's not too many."

"You know how it is, Dorothy," answered Red, sipping his coffee first. "People in a hurry never seem to watch where they're going."

She didn't look convinced. Bucky finished his apple pie, then looked up at Dorothy as she approached with a coffee pot.

"How much do I owe you?" he asked politely.

"$5 but why don't you keep your tab open in case you get hungry? You could be here for a while."

"I like to pay my debts," he smiled. "It's just the way I am."

"Fair enough," she winked back.

Taking the twenty he gave her; she rang it up on the till and brought back $15. In his wallet, Bucky had a dollar bill, and he gave her that for a tip, earning himself another wink, as she tucked it down the front of her uniform and into her bra. Several other people asked to pay, and she said the same thing to them. About half decided not to pay until later, ordering some French fries or beignets, with a refill of their coffee for the latter. Someone put some money in the jukebox and some lively Cajun music started playing.

Red, the trucker, finished his apple pie and carefully wiped his mouth with a napkin, looking all around at the various people before settling on Bucky.

"I know your face," he said. "You're that fellow that helped Captain America in New York with those Flag Smashers. What's your name, son?"

Sighing, Bucky answered, keeping his voice lowered so as not to attract attention.

"Bucky Barnes."

"You used to be that Winter Soldier, too, didn't you?"

He could feel the warmth on his face, when several others looked at him, feeling their eyes assessing him, perhaps passing judgement on him.

"Yes, but I'm not him anymore. I'm James "Bucky" Barnes and I received a pardon, plus I made amends to the families of my victims. I don't kill anymore."

"Hmph," grunted Red. "How do we know you're telling the truth? Why, I bet if you wanted, you could kill everyone of these fine people without building up a sweat."

"Red, leave the man alone," warned Dorothy. "He hasn't done anything untoward since he got here. He paid for his actions."

Smiling slightly at Dorothy for her intervention, Bucky turned his attention back to Red.

"I don't kill anymore. I never wanted to be that person. It was forced on me."

"So, you say. How many of you good people in here believe that?" Several people raised their hands. "Hmph. Looks like you have fans."

"Red, I'm warning you. Play nice or you're out the door." Dorothy frowned at him, as she poured Bucky another coffee. "Pay him no mind. He's always been grumpy, for as long as I've known him."

Red raised his hands in surrender and turned his attention away from Bucky. The wife of the senior couple had pulled some cards out of her purse and was dealing the cards for some game, Hearts maybe. Red watched them for a while, making a suggestion or two. But the couple ignored him, and he got bored, and moved along, looking at what others were doing. Another woman was playing solitaire and he made suggestions again which earned him a frown. Once again, he put his hands up in supplication. Bucky didn't turn to watch him, but he was listening, and he made himself very aware of where the man was, wondering what his problem was.

"Damn," muttered Dorothy, shaking her head. "He's bothering that lady with the little girl now."

"Well, sweetheart, what might your name be?" he asked, in a syrupy sweet voice that set Bucky's nerves on edge.

"Pansy," she replied, in a shy voice.

"Like the flower?" he asked. "Or like the little boys that were scared of their shadows?"

"Hey, don't say that to my daughter," responded her mother. Bucky turned around, ready to intervene. "She's named after my grandmother, okay? I happen to like pansies. They're happy flowers."

"If you say so," answered Red, stepping back with his hands up again.

Bucky looked the man in the eye. "Hey mister, why don't you leave people alone?"

"Or what, you'll go all Winter Soldier on me?" joked Red. "I'm sure all these people would like to see that."

"No, but I will pick you up and take you outside. No one's bothering you but you sure seem intent on bothering them."

"Oooh, I'm scared. I'm just bored, Soldier Boy. Speaking of boys ...." Red turned to see an Afro American family sitting together in a booth. "Why don't you give us a little song and dance while we're waiting."

"Say what?" asked the man who was obviously the father. "You're way out of line, mister."

Red mimicked the man, looking like a spoiled child as he did it, while Dorothy shook her head in disgust.

"If you want to bully someone, bully me," said Bucky, standing up now, and looking directly at Red. "Don't pick on kids or anyone else. Give it your best shot."

The man grinned and came over to Bucky looking up at him as he was several inches shorter.

"You couldn't take what I want to say to you."

"Try me."

"Okay." Red put his hands on his hips. "I think you liked killing. How many people did they say?"

"They didn't because even I don't know for sure. At least 60 that I do remember."

The trucker nodded. "Kids, too?"

"Sometimes, and women. I couldn't disobey. Not proud of it, but I'm trying to reconcile it and several of my victim's families have forgiven me."

"But not all of them. Tell me how you did it."

"No, not to you, not to anyone. That's my horror to live and I'll take that to my grave."

"Coward."

"If that's what you believe, nothing I say will change your mind. I'm no coward. I'll help anyone who needs it, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else."

"You try to help those Flag Smasher people?"

"I tried to talk them out of it, but their leader had already gone too far and wasn't ready to turn away from what she started. She made her decision, and it killed her."

"Well, I think you're a liar," sneered Red. "I think you should be shot for what you did."

"You're entitled to your opinion," answered Bucky. "The people that decide those things disagree."

"And what do you think, really, deep down? You think you deserve that pardon? You think you deserve to live? All those innocent people that you killed, with their blood on your hands, you think you're better than them?"

Bucky looked at Red for a long time, not feeling angry or disgusted really by his line of questioning. The man's hate oozed out of him like sludge, and it seemed like everything he was saying was meant for Bucky to react in a negative way, tempting him to lash out. The thing was, that Bucky had already gone through that process. How many walls had he punched in despair? How many times had he woken up screaming in the night after a nightmare? How often had he had a flashback in the middle of a happy occasion, because some small detail reminded him of one of the victims?

"I'm no better than anyone else." His voice was calm. "I was captured by HYDRA, tortured until I didn't know who I was, and forced to be their killer. Since I broke away from them, I haven't killed anyone because it's not in my nature. Everything HYDRA did to me was undone, except for the deaths that they were responsible for, their targets. I will never forget the people I killed and even if they had no one else to remember them, they have me."

The man scowled and turned away. Bucky glanced at the people around him, seeing respect in their eyes as he returned to the counter. Dorothy smiled at him and topped up his coffee. Red was looking outside, then came over to the counter and threw some money on it. Taking his cap, he jammed it on his head and headed for the door.

"The fog is letting up and I've got a shipment that has to be in New Orleans in an hour. If anyone wants to convoy with me, you're welcome to do it."

Then he was out the door. Several people got up and came to pay their tab. Dorothy tried to caution them about listening to Red but none of them hesitated and after paying her, they headed out the door. It was definitely quieter in there after the man and the others left. After almost an hour, someone else stepped outside and came back in.

"Sky's visible," he said. "Looks like the fog has moved on."

The people lined up to pay their bill. The woman with the little girl spoke up.

"My car broke down a bit north of here. Can anyone help?"

"I can," said Bucky. "If you're okay with it."

She smiled and he waited for her to pay her bill. They headed towards the door, but Dorothy called out to him.

"You're a good man, Bucky Barnes," she pronounced. "Don't let anyone say otherwise. Red's always itching for a fight, and you stood up to his nonsense very well."

With a wave, Bucky, the woman and her daughter headed out into the dark together and walked north.

"Thank you for standing up to that man," she said, along the way. "He gave off a lot of bad energy." She looked at Bucky. "You don't."

"Thanks," he replied. "I don't like bullies. My friend had to deal with them as a kid and I always backed him up."

"You mean Captain America?" she asked. "We saw the display at the Smithsonian."

"Yeah? They changed my part, now that they know I'm alive."

"I'm glad you are," she said. "To come through what you suffered is a testament to your real character. That's how I see it."

"Thank you."

They arrived at the car, and she popped the hood, both of them activating the flashlights on their cell phones. Bucky checked all the connecting wires, then saw her one battery connection was loose. Using his metal hand, he tightened it, ignoring the strong electrical shock he could feel.

"Try it now," he said, stepping back.

She got in, put the key in the slot and turned it, smiling as it started right away.

"Thank you, I'll give you a ride back," she said, as she belted her daughter into the car seat in the back.

Sitting in the front with her, he buckled up and she drove towards False Creek, but it was gone. His motorcycle was on a bare patch of ground next to the road, but the gas station and restaurant weren't there. They both stepped out.

"Where did it go?" she asked. "You were parked right in front of the restaurant, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I was."

He walked past his motorcycle towards the bushes that were there, using the flashlight function on his cell phone to illuminate beyond them. There were only more bushes and trees. Scratching his head he turned back to her.

"Okay, that's spooky. Why don't you wait until I start up my bike and I'll tandem with you, just to make sure there's nothing else spooky going on."

She nodded, returning to her car and getting inside. When he pulled up behind her, she put her car into gear and led the way. About 10 minutes later they saw the tell-tale red and blue flashes of emergency lights as an accident had blocked the road. All of the cars of people who had just left from the restaurant were ahead of them, as they had been stopped by a deputy. Bucky stopped his motorcycle and put the kickstand down, then walked towards the lights, stopping at the car with the woman.

"Stay here," he advised, before moving on.

The next car's driver rolled his window down and stuck his head out.

"Looks like a bad one."

"Yeah," replied Bucky. "I'm going to check it out."

He got to the front of the line, recognizing every one of the drivers as patrons in the restaurant that waited. Approaching the deputy who kept them there he nodded towards the tangled mess.

"Looks bad. Anyone killed?"

"Most of them. Happened during the fog more than an hour ago. What they were doing driving is beyond me. This part of the highway is bad for it and most people just wait for it to pass but these guys must have been in a hurry to get to New Orleans, or something. It's going to be a while, so stay put and we'll let you through once we clear one side of the road."

Bucky nodded and headed back, telling everyone what he had found out. As he sat on his motorcycle he took his phone out and saw he had a signal. He dialled Sam.

"Well, we were wondering what happened to you," came his friend's response.

"Yeah, there's a big accident on the highway south of False River," said Bucky. "Waited out the fog in a restaurant there but several people headed out with a trucker to get to New Orleans. They didn't make it, although I didn't notice the truck, come to think of it. I don't know when I'm getting there."

There was silence on the other end for a while. "You said False River? Bucky, there hasn't been a town called False River since the 1850s. There's no restaurant near where it used to be, either. Are you sure of your location?"

"Hold on," said Bucky, as he checked his map app. There was no False River. "You know, it's the damnedest thing. A lady needed help getting her car started, a bit north of the restaurant. I left my motorcycle there while we walked to her car. When she brought me back, the gas station and restaurant were gone. It was just bush."

"Wait a second," said Sam. Bucky could hear a muffled conversation, presumably with Sarah. "Buck, was there a waitress there named Dorothy and the trucker was Red?"

"Yeah, those were their names," exclaimed Bucky. "She was nice but he was a major asshole. Tried to goad me into reacting but I kept my cool. That's when he convinced people to convoy with him to New Orleans."

Sam passed that on to Sarah, who shrieked in response.

"Damn, you were at the Way Station," said Sam. "It's a local legend, that says the Devil and one of God's angels have an encounter. People are brought in, including someone who will face judgement on the day of their death. If that person defends themself righteously, the Devil loses but it's said he often tries to convince people to trust him and leave with him, to make up for not getting the big fish. Those that do, don't make it. Those that don't leave, live and get to go on their way."

"And the person being judged?" asked Bucky.

"They'll go to heaven," stated Sam. "They'll be pronounced a good person who has earned the right to pass through the Pearly Gates. Sounds like you faced the Devil and won."

"You know I'm not a believer anymore."

"Doesn't matter. Someone up there believes in you. We'll talk tomorrow about it. I'll make sure the door is open. The couch is ready and waiting."

"Thanks, Sam. See you when I see you."

He hung up and sat there for the longest time, not noticing when the car ahead of him began to move until the vehicle behind beeped its horn. With a wave, he put his helmet on and started up his motorcycle for the final hour of his trip. Even with that time he found it hard to believe that he had faced the evil one himself. Yet, the proof was there. The restaurant and gas station had disappeared into thin air, followed by the fatal accident on the way to New Orleans, not 10 minutes away from where he sat out the fog. Then he thought of Dorothy's words that he was a good man. Maybe, just maybe there was something to the legend of the Way Station.

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