#it's me so road tripping is involved

[lookingstunning]

I have an idea for a super long Jem fanfic. I wanna write it so bad. It would be so fun...

[boyswanna-be-her]

every time you make a post about going to austin i misread it as autism. every time. and every time i'm like why only a trip move in we're happy to have you. anyway have a great time in austin

get in bitches, i got us all one-way tickets to autism!!!

[inutaffy]

"i didn't want to talk in front of archie and the others .... as it turns out, peabody had a lot to say. the bounty on your pal Archie, it's not just on him. it's on anyone who's with him or is helping him. which means there is a target on your back now too jughead. it's the same if he goes back to riverdale. archie's dad, archie's friends, everyone is at risk. which is why you got to cut him loose."

"im not just gonna ditch archie, mom! he's my best friend."

here's how j/archie can still win

[seoulmatez]

𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝒶 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉

suna has been acting a bit strange and you're determined to find out why.

suna rintaro x reader ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ♡

“Where are you going?”

The unexpected voice makes your shoulders jump in surprise. When you turn around in the direction that it came from, the bathroom door that was closed just minutes ago is now open, steam from the shower seeping out. Suna stands with a towel wrapped around his hips, patiently awaiting your answer.

He’s been doing this a lot the past few days—catching you when you’re on your way out the door and insisting he tag along. You thought you might be able to sneak past him while he was in the shower. Seems like he has some sort of sixth sense that allows him to tell when you’re on the move. “Just to the convenience store down the road.”

You have an idea what his next question will be.

With water dripping from the ends of his dark hair, he asks, “Should I come with you?”

Just as you thought.

“To buy a coffee to bring right back here?” You grin at his implied loyalty. Accompanying you on a fifteen minute trip is a sweet gesture but far from necessary—especially when he was planning on calling it a night. “No, that’s okay. Besides, you’re not even dressed.”

You gesture to his practically naked body and Suna looks down, as if he forgot that he had just stepped out of the shower only a minute ago. When he looks back up at you, there’s determination glowing in his light eyes. “I can get dressed. Two minutes—max.”

He starts on the short path to your shared bedroom but you stop him, resting your hand on his shoulder. His skin is soft and warm beneath yours—a far cry from his usual temperature. 

“What's up with you lately?” you ask.

Suna shakes his head. “Nothing.”

You snort at that. What a lousy liar. “You’ve been clinging onto me like a koala. Waking up earlier so we can have breakfast together, joining me on trips to get groceries. You even went to the gym with me yesterday—after you already trained for the day. Since when do you ever do that stuff?”

Having been presented with your evidence, Suna has no defense. His silence makes you tilt your head. “So?”

Suna's lips poke out in a pout. It’s almost as if he thought you wouldn’t notice how different he’s been acting the past few days. “I can’t tell—it’s my new year’s resolution and a secret. It won’t happen if I spill.”

“You do that with wishes, not resolutions,” you explain, though a smile pulls at your lips with his misunderstanding. But, even if you had let it slide, you’re still more than curious about what he has committed to for the new year that so heavily involves you. “And either way, I think I have a right to know when it’s directly impacting me.”

Suna frowns at that. An uncomfortable silence fills the hallway for a moment. “Am I bothering you?”

“What?” You find yourself frowning too. Did he think you were accusing him of being overbearing? Your eyes widen as you consider the possibility and you shake your head frantically. “No! I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

Relief washes over Suna’s features but he still seems apprehensive.

You let your hands slide down his bare arms, hoping the touch is gentle, encouraging. “Tell me—please.”

He bites the inside of his cheek. He planned on carrying this out silently without you knowing but he supposes he came on a bit strong. It’s not that it’s anything to be ashamed of—far from it, really—though, admitting it out loud strikes Suna as the tiniest bit embarrassing. If his actions haven’t turned you away, hopefully, neither will his words.

“I just want to spend more time with you,” he admits.

That’s all?

How innocent. And cute. And totally not worth keeping a secret over.

You don’t tell him any of that though (he’s bashful enough as is, if his rosy cheeks are any indication), just silently take it in and let it warm your heart. Something about his slip-up earlier is even cuter now—him wanting to ensure that he’d be able to spend as much time with you as possible by keeping his intentions a secret.

“Well, get dressed then.” You jerk your head in the direction of your room with a smile. “You have two minutes before I leave you.”

Suna rushes away to put on some clothes. You giggle at his sense of urgency but lean against the wall, not bothering to keep track of time. You’ll wait for him regardless.

sua here ( ≧ᗜ≦) thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[redflagshipwriter]

Ghost Driver 6

Masterpost

His body was shaking. Jason came back to himself in fits and starts, mind suffering through the sludge of a concussion and heavy duty pain medication. His ears had finally stopped ringing after the explosion. He was aware enough to know that he had been in and out of it for what must have been hours.

He checked in with himself: he hurt. His body hurt, like he had hit a wall at high speed because of the uh, the explosion. His eye ached obnoxiously, and he had a crick in his neck. Jason rolled it cautiously. “This is not my beautiful sofa,” he said. Where was he? He should be sleeping off his injuries in a shitty cold apartment in downtown Gotham. The world rumbled around him like he was on top of an old water heater, or traveling at high speed.

“Definitely not,” said Dickie.

Oh. It was another dream. He closed his eyes. There was no scenario in which Batman took him back to the cave that didn’t involve waking up on a bed in a room with no shoelaces. He was scrunched into the front seat of a vehicle– that was the source of the shaking. A motor. He peeled open one eye to reconfirm that the world outside was wavy and green.

“This is different.” He didn’t feel much of anything when he looked at it. It was kinda dumb. He deserved a more substantial hallucinatory sequence after the new worst day of his life “Hey, was I really fuckin annoying when I was little? Is that why you didn’t like me? Because I dreamed I was on a road trip with little me and I gotta say, he didn’t deserve to have his head beat in with a crowbar, but he was truly obnoxious.” He grimaced. So sincere. Christ. He was an idiot and he always had been. Of course Bruce would never choose his son over his morals.

“Not a dream,” said a new voice. “Sorry.” They coughed.

Wait. Jason struggled to put it together. He did know that voice, but the guy it came out of was all wrong. “You look like a space mermaid,” he told Danny Fenton disapprovingly. “I am not a pirate. What are you doing? There’s no coherency in this dream.” He waved a hand around and immediately regretted it. “Go back to your other face.”

“Uh.” Danny sounded nervous. “This is just what I look like, all the time.” He gave a very bad fake laugh.

That was suspicious. Jason considered this. Fuck, his head was pounding. He sat up and fought past nausea to assess what was going on around him better.

Dick was staring at him inside the cockpit of an unidentified vehicle. He was aiming for a cheerfully detached mien, but Jason saw right through it. Dick was stressed out of his big dumb pumpkin head. Next to him was a Robin.

Jason narrowed his eyes. That wasn’t a ghost or vision. That was the new kid, upgraded uniform and all. “You lack panache,” he told Tim Drake disdainfully. He skimmed over the techno mermaid version of the incredibly hot getaway driver he had promised to protect from Batman and had the dim suspicion that he had fucked that up. He nodded at the vampire who was driving their spaceship through green air. “Hey, man.”

“...Hello,” said the vampire.

“Ignore him,” Danny hastily said. He gave Jason a queasy smile and twisted his fingers together. “You’re up up now? Sorry, you missed kiiiind of a lot. When you didn’t come back I decided to figure out what happened to you and I did kidnap a guy, so we have to fix that with paperwork.” He paused. “Also I did kidnap Robin a little bit. But that was an honest mistake! I thought he was dead.”

Jason watched this babbling, perplexed but charmed. “Who else did you kidnap?” His voice was a little choked up. He had kidnapped Robin? Batman must be losing his mind. He fought down a hysterical giggle. Dickie was here too, hell. The Bat-aneurism would be blinding.

The vampire heaved a massively put-upon sigh. “Some ruffian styling himself as a Joker,” he drawled. He was so powerfully unimpressed that his words took a moment to penetrate Jason’s brain.

He froze.

“So dear Phantom here gifted him to Skulker.” He pronounced ‘Skulker’ like the name might leave mud in his mouth if he wasn’t careful with it. “Skulker is disinterested in giving up his toy, so we are now in a very exciting chase.” The vampire sneered.

Jason hauled himself upwards with difficulty. His body felt so heavy. Every muscle hurt. “We are chasing him?”

“No, he is chasing us.” Dick pointed a thumb towards the back. “We’re, uh.” His whole face twitched. “We’re towing the Joker behind us. Skulker keeps trying to harpoon him to get him back.”

The ship jerked violently. Jason looked over to the vampire pilot, who was serenely unaffected by the violent subject matter.

He took a moment to experience childlike wonder. What had Danny done while he was unconscious? How had he pulled this off? Was it an elaborate proposal? If so, he didn’t need to try that hard, goddamn. Jason had an empty ring finger.

Jason considered all of this and tried to be cool about it. “What’s the end goal?”

Dickie leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and make deadpan eye contact. “We are going to take the Joker to a private prison in the Infinite Realms run by a cowboy ghost named Walker, and I am going to oversee transfer paperwork to give to Inspector Gordon.” He said it all like it made some sense. “Can’t have the Joker disappear without a record.”

“...Right,” Jason said, remembering that bit of information. He inserted as much disdain as possible into his voice for the sheer fun of it. “You’re a fucking cop.”

Dickie flinched.

“That’s right,” Danny said, pleased and impressed. “How did you know that? I found him at the police station and he said he would help out. This is my estranged godfather vampire, Vlad.” He gestured at the driver. “And I’m Phantom,” he said, despite being obviously Danny Fenton in a superhero transformation.

“...I’m Jason, but you can call me honey,” he said.

Dick choked on air.

Phantom flushed a very pleasing teal.

Jason flung an arm over Danny’s shoulder and reeled him in. He might have also leaned on him a bit, but that was the blood loss talking. He wasn’t swooning. “Tell me about this prison and how you feel about gold versus silver.”

Drake made a gagging sound.

“No, shh,” Dickie said quietly. “I want to see where this is going.”

[niiwa-angel]

I can't stop thinking about how Stan Pines, a man who was kicked out of his home at a young age by his abusive father, turned his own home into such a safe space for not just the twins, but his employees and the kids friends as well.

First of all, we know Wendy frequently slacks off on her shifts, she has her roof top hideaway but she also reads magazines and flat out refuses to do certain tasks. Like when Stan asked her to put up a sign and she just said she couldn't reach it, or telling Stan "absolutely not" when he asked her and Soos to clean the bathrooms. Not only could Stan fire her, he could take away her magazines or stop her from going on the roof. We see that Stan is more observant than he lets on, you're telling me he didn't notice her dragging a cooler and a lawn chair up there? And she's either bringing her own pop and ice to fill that cooler or she's taking his.

And then there's Soos, who Stan cares about so much he got himself on the no-fly list trying to get his birthday removed from calendars, just because it made him upset. We know Soos cares about the Mystery Shack, he feels comfortable there, and he respects and adores Stan. Soos also volunteered to DJ for free at Stans summer party.

We also frequently see Soos and Wendy hanging out with the twins, so either they're slacking off during working hours or they're coming over after their shifts just to hang out. In an after credits scene, we see Mabel and Dipper turn Soos into a disco ball and they're clearly in the residential part of the shack. So either Soos buggered off during working hours to hang out with the twins or he's off shift just chilling. Either way, Stan is fine with him being in the actual house part of the shack.

Wendy also helps Mabel try and make Stan more 'desirable' to Lazy Susan, which I'll get into later, but she's not working and she also in the house part of the shack. We also see Soos and Wendy watching television with Stan, Mabel, and Dipper during the Summerween episode. They aren't on shift! They're just chilling. Wendy hits Stan in the face with a water balloon while working as a lifeguard. She's comfortable teasing him.

Soos tags along with Stan, Dipper, and Mabel when they break into the golf course after hours. He brings his shirts to cut Ws into. He doesn't have to be there, he just is. Wendy goes hunting with Mabel and her friends for unicorns. Mabel wins a pig at the fair and Stan lets her keep it, the pig needs food, who do you think is footing that bill?

Now let's talk about friends. Mabel often has Candy and Grenda over, we know she has loud sleepover with them. Do you think Mabel would bring her friends over if she wasn't comfortable in the house? Do you think Candy and Grenda would keep coming over if they didn't feel safe? Not to mention, they literally ambush Stan in the bathroom and give him a make over. Which he allows, we see him fight off the undead, punch bald eagles, and catch the twins when they fell from the nose of that monument. The man is strong, he could get three preteen girls off him if he wanted to, he was 100% playing along.

Candy and Grenda also invite themselves along on their road trip. And Stan lets them come!! Mr cheap stake agrees to feed and care for two extra kids who aren't his family.

Dipper sneaks around trying to see his tattoo, he feels safe enough with Stan to push those boundaries. He literally pulled the Memory Gun on Ford during the basement scene, if he wasn't comfortable with Stan, he wouldn't try to get that close to him. He calls Stan when he and Mabel are trapped in a haunted convenience store (he doesn't answer but still, he called him).

Now let's talk about Gideon, because I will stand by the Stan had some fondness for the kid. We know Stan has been annoyed with Gideon for a while, we know Gideon has been gunning for Stan for a while. And Stan just... Keeps letting this happen. He never involves the police, he plays along with Gideons attempts, even when Gideon is laughing uncontrollably, Stan just assured him that "you'll get me one day kid". Even when Gideon climbs in THROUGH THE WINDOW all Stan does is aggressively sweep at his feet. Correct me if I'm wrong, but Stan never gets rough with Gideon.

I'm just, I'm weeping over the knowledge that Stan Pines, who wasn't safe in his own home, made his home a safe place for kids as an adult.

[gilbertscurls]

Heyy can you do a matt x reader one where reader is filming a car video with the triplets and they told people to send in questions for her some one put” give me a chance y/n I’ll treat youill treat way better than Matt” replies with “hit me up yk my insta” Matt gets mad for rest of the video and when they arrive at their shared home with the trips they make up and cuddle

hope you like it!! <3

Hit Me Up ➵ Matt Sturniolo

The car was filled with its usual lively energy, the kind of banter that made the Sturniolo Triplets’ videos so entertaining. You were sitting in the backseat, right next to Nick, with Chris and Matt in the front. The camera propped up in the front caught everyone’s reactions, as usual. Today was special, though. They had asked their fans to send in questions for you.

As someone who had appeared on their channel here and there over the years, people were always curious about you—how you fit in with the triplets and, more specifically, about your relationship with Matt. Today’s video was meant to be light and fun, a chance for you to answer some of the silly and random questions their followers had sent in.

The laughter came easily as Chris read the first few questions, and you answered, giving playful responses while Nick threw in his sarcastic commentary. Everything was going fine, until Chris’s voice trailed off as he read one of the questions that had come in.

“Oh, okay, we’ve got a spicy one,” he said, holding back a laugh as his eyes darted from the screen to you and Matt. “‘Give me a chance, Y/N, I’ll treat you way better than Matt.’”

Your stomach dropped, and for a split second, the air in the car felt heavier. You could feel Matt tense in the front seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. The joking atmosphere shifted.

Instead of brushing it off, you felt a mischievous grin tug at your lips. You looked straight into the camera and, with a playful tone, replied, “Hit me up, you know my Insta.”

You could hear Nick and Chris laugh at your response, but Matt… Matt didn’t say anything. His jaw clenched ever so slightly, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. You could feel his mood darken from where you sat, and the lighthearted energy in the car shifted awkwardly as the conversation moved on.

The rest of the video felt different. Whenever someone tried to involve Matt in the conversation, he gave short, clipped answers, his usually playful tone replaced with something colder. You glanced at him through the rearview mirror a few times, but he avoided your gaze, his eyes glued to the road or the questions on his phone.

It wasn’t long before Nick noticed Matt’s shift in mood. “What’s with you, Matt? You good, bro?” Nick asked, eyeing him curiously.

“Yeah,” Matt muttered, his voice tight, “just tired.”

That was a lie. Everyone in the car knew it. You tried to shake off the sinking feeling in your chest as you realized he was actually mad about your joke, and though you wanted to say something, you knew this wasn’t the time or place. Not on camera.

The rest of the video dragged on, Matt growing more and more snappy with each passing minute. When it was finally over, Nick turned off the camera, and you all sat in silence for a moment before heading back home. The tension between you and Matt was palpable.

When you arrived at the house you shared with the triplets, Matt was out of the car as soon as it was parked, muttering something about going to his room. He didn’t wait for anyone, didn’t say a word to you. The door slammed behind him, leaving you standing there with Nick and Chris.

Nick gave you a look, his eyebrows raised. “What the hell was that about?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off even though your heart was sinking. “I think he’s mad about that question.”

Nick chuckled. “You’re kidding, right? It was obviously a joke.”

“Yeah, well, Matt’s being Matt,” Chris said, his voice a little softer. “Maybe you should go talk to him?”

You nodded, already dreading the conversation that was about to come. You made your way inside and up to Matt’s room. The door was closed, and you hesitated for a moment before knocking gently.

“What?” His voice was sharp, but you could tell he was trying to keep it in check.

You slowly opened the door, peeking inside. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor. His usual laid-back expression was replaced with a frown, his whole body tense.

“Can I come in?” you asked, your voice soft.

He didn’t look at you, but he gave a small nod. You stepped inside and closed the door behind you, walking over to sit beside him on the bed.

There was a beat of silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you.

“You’re mad,” you finally said, though it wasn’t really a question.

Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Of course I’m mad, Y/N. How am I supposed to feel when you joke about that?”

You frowned, the confusion and frustration starting to bubble up inside you. “It was a joke, Matt. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, well, it didn’t feel like one.” His voice was tight, the hurt seeping through despite his attempt to keep it at bay. “It’s not funny to hear someone say they’d treat you better than me, and then for you to play along with it? What was I supposed to think?”

You stared at him, your heart sinking further as you realized how deeply it had affected him. “Matt, I didn’t mean it. You know that I’d never actually—”

He cut you off, finally looking up at you, his eyes filled with frustration. “But you said it. You said, ‘Hit me up, you know my Insta,’ like… like it wouldn’t bother me at all. Do you have any idea how that made me feel? Like I’m not enough.”

His words hit you hard, guilt settling in as you realized how much your thoughtless comment had hurt him. You reached out, placing a hand on his knee. “I’m sorry, Matt. I didn’t think… I didn’t realize it would hurt you like that. It was stupid. I shouldn’t have said it.”

He let out a slow breath, his shoulders sagging as some of the tension left his body. “I just… I don’t like the idea of anyone thinking they could take you away from me.”

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability in his voice, and you moved closer, wrapping your arms around him. He tensed for a moment before finally relaxing into your embrace, resting his head on your shoulder.

“No one could ever take me away from you,” you whispered, your voice soft and full of reassurance. “I’m with you because I want to be. I love you, Matt. You’re more than enough for me.”

He didn’t say anything at first, but you felt his arms slowly wrap around you, holding you close. The warmth of his body against yours made the tension in the room start to melt away, replaced by the comfort of being together.

“I love you too,” he mumbled, his voice quieter now, more gentle. “I’m sorry for snapping at you… I just— I don’t know, sometimes I get insecure.”

You pulled back slightly to look at him, brushing a hand through his hair. “You don’t need to be insecure. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Matt gave a small nod, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Okay.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, and he closed his eyes, letting out a content sigh as he leaned into your touch. For a moment, you both just sat there, the weight of the argument fading away as you held each other.

“Come on,” you said after a while, your voice soft and teasing. “Let’s go lay down.”

Matt nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips as he followed you to the bed. You curled up together, his arms wrapped securely around you as you rested your head on his chest. The warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart beneath you was all the reassurance you needed.

“I’m really sorry,” you whispered again, tracing small patterns on his chest.

He kissed the top of your head, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back. “It’s okay. I just… I love you so much. It freaks me out sometimes.”

You smiled against his chest, your heart swelling with affection for him. “I love you too, Matt. Always.”

And with that, the last remnants of the argument dissolved, replaced by the comforting quiet of being in each other’s arms. The world outside didn’t matter anymore — it was just you and Matt, together, as it had always been.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274

[astralikacastle]

Also occurs to me that soda fountains might not be a common thing internationally! You see them in fast food restaurants too but in gas stations they are often bigger/more. (This is three standard machines side to side to accommodate multiple flavors/types of drink)

And depending on how large your gas station is (usually the ones this big are at stops where it's Just a gas station/rest stop) they can be much bigger.

And in that first shot you can see the price listing for a 52-ounce, which isn't common but does exist, and again, is a drink that's supposed to last you a while.

Do you guys have lorge drinks? Or is that really only an American thing?

Define lorge

[viceroywrites]

deja vu - part 2

planning out your road trip through the pacific northwest, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the town of gravity falls.

little did you know that this town held more memories than you could have possibly imagined.

too bad you didn't remember any of them.

stan x fem!reader/ford x fem!reader

choose your own ending / contains fluff and angst (w/ happy ending)

(if you would like a link to the playlist i created for this series, lmk!)

part one | part three

tag list: @awitchersbard / @theilluminatidragonqueen / @jazzypop-op/ @maryclanders/ @chaimshelii/@starship606/ @swimmingrascalbatdragon / @stanfordsbaby / @gxstiess / @skrunkle11 / @valinbean / @funkyenby / @therealgoofygoober69 / @theblueraven / @adrian920155 / @im-kinda-bored / @miarabanana / @uwauiss / @leo4242564 / @doggosnoodles12 / @soupieoopieisloopie / @zhungxi / @bandaids-n-porcelain / @marvelous-maniac / @opossumclown

It was a tense interaction following your question. 

Ford’s eyebrows raised in alarm and he carefully approached you, “Of course, we’ve met before, it’s me, Stanford.”

You pause, glancing between Stanley and his twin before replying hesitantly, “Sorry, the name doesn’t ring a bell. I just learned your name a few seconds ago from your brother.”

Ford’s lips narrow into a thin line, vexation written all over his face, “I know we parted ways on less than ideal terms, Y/N, but there’s no reason to pretend like you don’t recognize me.”

Your eyebrow raised at Ford’s firm stance, crossing your arms, “I’m sorry to say but I truly don’t. Maybe you have me mistaken for someone else perhaps?” You can’t help but get defensive, feeling accused that you were blowing off this complete stranger.

“Oh, I’m not mistaken. I know you very well, Y/N. I know that you got your Masters in Geology at Backupsmore. I know that ammolite is your favorite gemstone. I know that you learned hamboning from Fiddleford just to get on my nerves.” Ford counters you with facts, his own stubbornness coming through as you stare each other down.

Your eyes widen at the amount of detail Ford seems to know about you, “How do you know all these things about me? How do you know Fiddleford? Did you help him with his research out here?”

Ford sighs heavily, “I know I messed up back then and I know you must hate me but can you please drop this childish charade?” His low voice raises slightly in volume as his frustration mounts as he finally snaps at you. 

“Ford!” Stan cuts in between the two of you, catching both of you off guard, “Lay off her… I genuinely think she doesn’t… remember.” He sighs, putting the pieces together surprisingly quickly compared to his brother. He grabs his twin by the arm, pulling him off to the side, “Give us a second, we’ll be right back.” Stan says to you, giving you an apologetic stare.

You nod slowly as you decide to take a seat on the steps, watching as the sun slowly begins to set in the horizon. This new information perplexes you as you try to wrack your brain if Fiddleford had ever mentioned working with someone during his time in Gravity Falls. 

Meanwhile, the Pines twins walk off into the distance, just out of ear shot. “So who is she?” Stan questions, needing answers from his brother before he can present his finding. Ford bristles at  the question, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he looks off into the distance before answering, “Remember when we were out at sea commiserating on past romances… and I told you how I had met someone during my time in college but she left after I had gotten too deep into my involvement with Bill.”

“Yeah, vaguely, I thought you were just making that up to try and relate to my stories about my ex-wives. You never were smooth with the ladies.” Stan admits with a shrug to which Ford rolls his eyes at. “Well, that’s her. The age old cliche of the one that got away.” Ford summarizes, “But she was never this petty before. I know I hurt her immensely but…”

“She’s not being petty, poindexter. Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Stan sighs, running a hand over his face in exasperation. Ford stares back blankly at him, unsure how to respond. “God, you’re supposed to be the smart one here. Remember your old friend McGucket’s invention? You know the one that can literally erase memories? The one that erased all my memories?” Stan spells it out for his brother.

It all clicks in Ford’s head, “You don’t think… Fiddleford wiped her memory, do you?” 

“Ding, ding, we got a winner!” Stan says sardonically, “Took ya long enough.”

“Why would he do that? I need to get to the bottom of this, Stanley…” Ford looks over his brother’s shoulder, staring at you. Despite the time that has passed, you look just as vibrant as he remembered you, your features highlighted in the orange glow of the sunset. 

Stan notices the longing look on his brother’s face and places a hand on his shoulder, “You know she’s supposed to head out tomorrow morning? Got a whole road trip planned ahead.”

“Well, let’s see if she’d at least be willing to stick around to talk to Fiddleford.” Ford says with steely determination as he begins to walk back towards you, Stan following at his heels.

You look up as the pair walk up to you, able to see them side by side. There were distinct differences in terms of style but they were nearly identical, only just now picking up the cleft in Stanford’s chin and their different glasses. 

Ford mulls over his choice of words. Despite being the more logical twin, Ford had to admit he was perhaps just as stubborn as his brother. “My apologies for my directness. I know you may not remember me, but please trust me when I say that we have an extensive history together. What if we were to visit Fiddleford tomorrow to perhaps quell your doubts and clarify some things?” He offers, hoping in the back of his mind that you’ll say yes.

You pause at the offer, thinking it through. You had the urge to decline, still on the defense. After all, this man pretty much accused you of acting like a child when you didn’t recognize him.

However, you did wish to see Fiddleford again, so curious about what happened to him after all these years. 

“Alright, I’ll stay another day in Gravity Falls to see Fiddleford. But I want to know a little bit more about you.” Your eyes narrow in on Ford. Stan clears his throat, very aware of the tension between the two of you. “Well, I’m gonna go take care of… the broken thing inside...” He grumbles out the last part, making an awkward escape as he walks past you up the steps before pausing at the door to address you, “Come back inside whenever you and Sixer are done talking, I’ll clear out one of the rooms so you can stay for the night.”

Before you can protest, Stan closes the screen door behind him, giving you and Ford some privacy.

“So you had some questions for me?” Ford sighs, deciding to take a seat next to you. It felt so strange to be so close to you physically after all this time yet so distant due to your loss of memories, wishing that he could pull you into a tight embrace and apologize for everything that happened in the past. 

“Well, I’m assuming if you know Fiddleford and somehow know that I got my Masters in Geology that you went to Backupsmore as well.” You start there, knowing the common thread that connects the two of you is the university you all attended, “That’s correct, not my first choice obviously.” Ford replies with a nod.

“Is it anyone’s first choice?” You comment which pulls a chuckle from Ford who shakes his head. “Very true, I know it wasn’t either of ours. Fiddleford was just elated to be the first in his family to even go.”

“So what did you major in?” You ask with a tilt of your head, “And how did you meet Fiddleford?”

“What didn’t I major in is the better question. I technically have 12 PhDs but my main focuses were Physics and Molecular Biology.”  Ford admitted with a sense of pride, your jaw almost dropping at this information. ”As for how I met Fiddleford, I had proposed a theory in class one time that immediately got shot down by my professor. But Fiddleford shared my passion for pushing boundaries of existing theories and knowledge and we spent the whole night trying to prove it had validity.” Ford said, smiling at that particular memory. 

You note the admiration in Ford’s voice as he speaks of Fiddleford, knowing that their relationship must be close. “I’m so confused… how do I not remember you if you and Fiddleford have such a close relationship?” You sigh, second guessing your own memories at this point. All this information felt like it made sense logically but it was difficult to suspend your disbelief. You hesitate to ask the question, “How... did we meet?”

Ford pauses, staring out into the forest, unable to meet your gaze as he recounts your first meeting. It seems so distant but it was a simple time before life got complicated. 

Before he made your lives complicated. 

Before he can reply, you cut him off, seeing the pained look in his eyes and realizing you may have gone too far. Whoever you were to him, something must have happened between the two of you that led to this reaction. “Actually, don’t answer that… It's getting late and I know we’ll have all of tomorrow to go over this with Fiddleford.” 

“Right… we should probably call it for the evening.” Ford lets out a sigh of relief, getting up from his spot on the steps. He offers his hand, your eyes flicking towards it and noting the six fingers that were facing towards you. Realizing what you’re staring at, he is about to withdraw his hand, an embarrassed flush to his cheeks, but you take it, your warm fingers wrapping around his palm, as you stand up. 

“Are you heading inside?” You ask, still holding into his hand. He realizes you have yet to let go and basks in the moment, fighting the urge to intertwine his fingers with yours. “I’m going to stay out here for a bit longer. I should probably fix that invention that I was working on before…” Ford admits, almost waiting for you to scold him like you would in the past.

But you don’t.

Instead, you nod in understanding, squeezing Ford’s hand one final time before letting go. “Alright, I’m gonna head inside and see where I’m sleeping for the night…” You begin to walk towards the doorway before pausing at the door. 

“Hey… I’m sorry I don’t remember you. I really hope tomorrow something sparks my memory.” You say, “Good night, Stanford.” You disappear behind the doorway, not waiting for him to respond.

Ford stares as he watches your frame retreat from behind the door, “Good night, Y/N… my dear.” The old pet name feeling heavy on his tongue but he can’t help but let it out.

-

As you stare up at the ceiling, you wonder how you even ended up in a storage room inside a tourist trap, laying on an air mattress.

Your trip - at least for the next day or so - is derailed. You’re thankful that Stan had offered to let you stay in the Mystery Shack as you were planning on sleeping in your car underneath the stars, drained from today’s turns of events and too tired to drive into town to try and find some sort of accommodation.

Yet your trip isn’t even the most pressing thing on your mind.

Who is Stanford Pines?

Your eyes shut tightly, trying to mull over the potential possibilities of how you might know this man who vehemently claims to know you. You knew you were getting older but there’s no way your memory was this shot, especially considering the fact that Ford had shared that he and Fiddleford were close friends and went to Backupsmore.

Your mind continued to draw blanks, unable to pinpoint a single memory that involved him.

Yet something about him was so familiar. Maybe that’s why a sense of deja vu had hit you the moment you met his brother and walked through the Mystery Shack.

Finally, fatigue hits you and you are able to fall asleep, slipping into a new dream.

You find yourself back at Backupsmore, walking through the quad and making your way to the library. The campus is decorated in hues of orange and yellow, autumn leaves scattered across the grass. Your boots crunching against the leaves as you weave through the bodies that mill around to and from class.

A gust of wind hits your face, wincing as the harshness against your skin as you had forgotten to bring a scarf on your trek. You finally make it to the library, opening the heavy doors to be greeted to the warmth and scent of old paperback books. 

You walk past the front desk, making your way directly to the back of the library to the stacks. You pass the mostly empty study carrels one by one, looking for someone specific.

You get to the very end of what seemed like a never ending maze and see a table tucked into the corner, surrounded by bookshelves. A broad-shouldered figure, wearing a sweater vest, sits facing away from you, their head buried in the pile of books around them. 

Your lips begin to move, calling out a name to address the person before you.

Stanford.

You wake up in a startle, your heartbeat pounding in your ears as you feel a sudden pressure on your chest. Your eyes adjust to the sight in front of you, seeing a blur of pink, thinking you’re still dreaming. Rubbing your eyes vigorously, you realize there’s a pig sniffing your face in curiosity.

“God, what have I gotten myself into?” You groan out groggily, laying back in defeat as Waddles begins to lick your cheek.

-

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Ford sits awkwardly in front of an audience of his great nephew and niece who are gaping at him in awe, just having explained the whole situation to them as they questioned who’s car was parked in the front of the Mystery Shack.

Stan sips from a mug that spells ‘World’s Greatest Grunkle’ that Mabel made him, a slightly amused grin spreading across his face. The look on their faces was priceless, he thinks to himself, wishing he could take a photo of it. Though, he was in their shoes just last night, still processing that his poindexter brother actually landed someone after all those years of fearing girls and that she somehow ended up stranded on the side of the road just as he was driving back home.

He was just grateful though that his brother wasn’t around for the parts where he was clearly smooth talking to you, unaware that you were his twin’s ex-lover.

“Oh my god, Grunkle Ford, this is amazing!” Mabel exclaims, her eyes sparkling with excitement and mischief, “See, I’ve been trying to figure who the ideal candidate would be to match you with but I couldn’t think of anyone in Gravity Falls. Maybe you two can rekindle your romance! We just need to do what we did with Grunkle Stan and show her things to remind her of your time together!” 

“Or maybe her memories are stored where the Society of the Blind Eye held Old Man McGucket’s memories? There were a ton of Gravity Falls citizens’ names in there, I’m sure she’s somewhere in that pile.” Dipper offers as a suggestion, more invested in understanding how to restore memory loss from the Memory Gun than Mabel’s romantic plans for her uncle. 

Though he had to admit that there was a sliver of him that was rooting for his Grunkle Ford in the romance department.

“Those are excellent suggestions, kids. I’m hoping perhaps talking to Fiddleford today will be one of the first steps into getting her memory back. There is one issue though with your suggestion, Mabel.” Ford admits, slightly crestfallen, “I don’t really have anything left from our time we were together. When she left, she took all remnants of her, photos of us together, letters she wrote to me. What I do have left I’m not sure if it will be effective in bringing those memories back.”

“What is it, Grunkle Ford? Maybe we can still use it, you never know if you don’t try!” Mabel said in reassurance.

Ford hesitated, feeling Dipper, Mabel and Stan’s eyes trained on him, waiting for a response. 

Thankfully, your presence saved him in the nick of time, clearing your throat awkwardly. This catches everyone’s attention, Dipper and Mabel’s head whipping around. You stand in the entrance to the kitchen, still clad in your pajamas and your hair tousled from sleep, holding Waddles in your arms.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting, I just wanted to make sure this pig is supposed to be in here. He somehow got into my room.” You say, noticing how Waddles squirms now in your arms as he sees Mabel. You put him down and watch him scurry to Mabel who eagerly scoops him into her arms, nuzzling his pink cheek. 

“You’re all good, we were just having breakfast. Need a cup of coffee?” Stan says nonchalantly, grabbing the coffee pot that was by his elbow. You nod eagerly, walking towards him and taking the mug that he poured you. “These are me and Ford’s grandniece and nephew, by the way, since you didn’t get to meet them last night. They’re staying here for the summer.” Stan gestures to the two twins that are staring at you like you had a second head.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Mabel! Sorry about Waddles, he kinda wanders around the house if I’m not awake yet.” The energetic brunette introduces herself. “No need to apologize, he was very sweet. If anything, he got me out of bed to get my day started. I’m Y/N, by the way.” You say with a relaxed smile.

“I’m Dipper, nice to meet you. Grunkle Stan was just telling us how you ended up staying here.” The more relaxed male counterpart to Mabel chimed in, trying to move the conversation away from the topic discussed prior to you entering the room. Ford let out a slight sigh of relief, grateful that he was no longer in the hot seat.

“Well, your Grunkle Stan saved me from having to spend a pretty penny on a tow truck and a place to stay so I’m very grateful for that.” You chuckle, getting used to the term ‘Grunkle’.

“Sooo, Y/N, mind if I do a little Q&A with you? Since you’ll be staying here, I wanna get to know you better!” Mabel said eagerly, mentally mapping out her questions already. You blink owlishly before your eyes flick between Stan and Ford in amusement, “Fire away, Mabel. Though I hope your Grunkles didn’t put you up to this as a little payback for when I interrogated them yesterday?”

“She questioned you too?” Ford says in surprise to his brother who scratches chin mindlessly. “A little bit after finishing up the tour I gave her of the Mystery Shack. This one’s ruthless, no wonder she works for the government!” Stan taunts, causing you to roll your eyes. 

“Wait, you work for the government?” Dipper asks, his eyes slightly narrowing in skepticism. You blink at his almost defensive reaction before elbowing Stan in the side who almost chokes on his coffee, “I literally asked you three questions. Don’t listen to him, I work for the National Parks, not the CIA.” 

Dipper visibly relaxes and Mabel’s eyes linger on where you elbowed Grunkle Stan, picking up on how relaxed you seemed around him compared to Grunkle Ford. In fact, you had barely acknowledged Ford this morning, standing by the counter next to Stan. Mabel decides to take matters into her own hands, playing matchmaker as she gets up from her chair. 

“Well that answers one of my questions. By the way, take a seat, Y/N! You’re our guest and I’m finished with my pancakes!” She walks over to you, pulling you by the hand as you plop onto the chair that is coincidentally right next to Ford. “Thanks Mabel..” You roll with the situation before looking over at Ford who stares at you with what seems to be pride.

“You really made it to the National Parks, huh? That was your dream since freshman year…” Ford says though immediately regrets it as you stare back at him in surprise. “Yeah.. I did. No one really knew about that.. Not even Fiddleford.” You reply, running your thumb over the print on the mug bashfully. “Well, um... I’m really happy for you. I know you must have worked hard to get there.” Ford offers, not sure how else to respond.

You smile warmly, taking a sip from your coffee, “Thanks, I appreciate it. It means a lot coming from someone with 12 PhDs.” You tease at the end to which Ford’s cheeks redden in embarrassment and flattery.

Mabel hops up on the counter next to her Grunkle Stan who mutters under his breath, “Smooth move, kid.” 

You turn to look back at Mabel, “Any more questions for me?” 

Mabel taps her chin, deep in thought. Her eyes flicker over to great-uncle Ford who continues to stare at you in admiration. She snaps her fingers, putting her match-making skills to use once again, “What would you say is your type in a partner?”

“Mabel! What kinda question is that?” Dipper groans, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

“Wow, we’re getting to the real hard-hitting questions.” You say in amusement, slightly caught off guard but amused. You ponder the answer yourself, wondering if the kids would understand what you mean by this.

“Well, does your generation know what a silver fox is?” You ask with a sheepish grin and a flush to your cheeks, rubbing the back of your neck.

Your answer causes a chain reaction of different responses.

Mabel squeals with an eager nod, looking over hopefully at her Grunkle Ford.

Dipper and Stan both end up spitting out their milk and coffee respectively.

Ford sits at the table, blinking in confusion.

“What’s a silver fox? Is that a new type of species?”

-

After cleaning up the mess that Stan and Dipper had made, you finally start getting ready to head out with Ford to visit your old friend. You stand in front of the bathroom mirror, fixing your outfit before reaching to grab the hairbrush Mabel graciously lets you borrow after you realize that you had forgotten yours in the car.

Stan walks down the stairs, having changed out of his white tank-top and pajama pants into clothes more suitable for going out. He pauses at the open bathroom door, leaning against the door frame, “Hey, while you and Poindexter catch up with McGucket, I’m gonna swing into town later tonight to get you a replacement battery for your car.”

Placing the brush down, you address Stan, “You sure? I can always ask Ford if we could stop by the auto shop on the way back to pick it up.”

Stan scoffs, “Please, my brother’s smart and knows a ton about science-y stuff but he’s hopeless when it comes to cars. Besides, I know a guy, I’ll get you a discount.”

“Alright.. Just let me know how much I owe you, I’m for sure paying you back.” You say hesitantly as you make your way towards the door. Stan steps aside to let you through, “Yeah, yeah,” he says dismissively.

Technically, that guy was Bud Gleeful and that discount was five-fingered but you didn’t have to know that.

“You found your way around the Mystery Shack pretty easily, by the way. Didn’t even have to show you where the bathroom was, I sometimes have a hard time finding it and I’ve lived here for over 30 years.” Stan comments. You realize that even this morning, you walked directly to the kitchen, almost like your feet knew where to go through pure muscle memory.

“Are you ready, Y/N?” Ford’s deep voice calls out, walking down the hallway to approach you and Stan. 

“Yeah, as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” You say, slightly nervous to see Fiddleford again. What if he didn’t want to see you? What if he didn’t even remember you just like you couldn’t remember Ford?

Ford could see the furrow in your brow, a sign he had picked up through the years you had been together that you were overthinking. He hesitates for a second but places a hand on your arm, snapping you out of your rumination. “He’ll be elated to see you, Y/N. Though to give you a fair warning, he looks a lot different than how he did during our college days.” He says reassuringly.

You nod, smiling up at him, your nerves calmed down for now. “Thanks, Ford. I’m gonna go grab my bag and I’ll meet you outside.” You make your way back down the hallway, leaving the twins by themselves.

“Think she might already be starting to getting some of her memories back just by being here…” Stan muttered, following his brother outside. Ford’s eyebrow raises in confusion, “What makes you say that, Stanley?”

“She knows how to get around the house without even thinking about it. I know I gave her a tour but that was just the showroom and the gift shop.” Stan shares his observation, holding the door open for Ford as they step out into the front yard where Stan’s car is parked.

“Fascinating… maybe her memories may come back more organically than we had thought.” Ford muses before placing his hand out, “The keys, Stanley?”

Stan sighs, rummaging through his jacket before placing his keys in his brother’s hand, “You know I could have just driven you two up to the mansion but someone insisted I give you two alone time to bond.”

Ford squeezes the keys in his hand before smiling at his brother, “I should probably say thank you to Mabel then… and thanks Stanley for bringing her here.”

Stan punches his twin in the arm affectionately, “Whatever, I just better not see a scratch on El Diablo when you two get back.” Ford winces but grins, rubbing the spot on his arm.

Right on cue, you close the creaky door behind you, bag slung over your shoulder as you walk over to the pair, “Alright, I’m ready to go! Sorry, Mabel stopped me on the way out to ask my opinion on what sweater she should wear to the roller rink. Apparently, none of you guys have the taste to give her a valid opinion.” You chuckle.

“Roller rink? I swear these kids turn thirteen and think they can just go around without telling their Grunkle where they’re going.” Stan sighs in exasperation, calling out Mabel’s name as he walks back inside. You follow Ford to the car, sliding into the passenger side. “Sorry if my driving is a bit rusty, Stanley’s usually the one that drives us around when we’re in Oregon for the summer.” Ford apologizes in advance, pulling out of Mystery Shack and onto the open road.

“I mean as long we come out unscathed, I’m not complaining.” You say nonchalantly, taking in the sight of the massive trees that tower over the two way road in front of you. 

The two of you sit in silence for a bit, neither one of you knowing how to spark conversation. There lingered an unspoken heaviness, mostly due in part the intensity of your exchange the previous night. Ford desperately wanted to talk to you and yet he was drawing a blank on what to even talk about. 

As you make your way up the winding hills, Ford finally speaks up, deciding to ask you more about your work, “So you work for the National Parks? Are you a research scientist or did you go the natural resource conservation route?” He asks, remembering how you were torn between pursuing further research or honing in on your love of preserving nature.

“You’re pretty well-informed about the geoscience field. I just tell most people I look at rocks all day.” You admit, toying with the necklace that you had tucked into your shirt, “I started off in research but I realized that most of my time was spent in labs and studying specimens rather than actually out in the field. I love the parks so much, I was itching to get back out there so I switched to conservation.” 

“Makes sense, just studying concepts and theories in a controlled environment isn’t nearly as fun as getting hands-on experience.” Ford chuckles. His eyes flick over to see your fingers rolling around the vibrant orange gemstone attached to your necklace, almost choking on his spit. Your eyes meet his and your eyebrow raises as Ford’s expression is like he’s seen a ghost.

“You okay? Do I have something on my face?” You question, pulling down the sun visor to check your appearance in the mirror. Ford shakes his head vigorously, clearing his throat, “No… I… do you remember where you got that necklace?”

You pause at his query, putting the sun visor back into its original position and glancing down at the sunstone that dangles from the simple gold chain. “Oh this? I honestly don’t remember, I’ve had it for quite some time. Why do you ask?”

Ford takes a deep breath before looking back onto the road, “I… well… gave it to you. We drove up here from Backupsmore to start my grant research. Along the way, we stopped near one of the parks and you found that piece of sunstone. You carried it around everywhere so one night, I took the time to fashion it into a necklace so you’d never lose it.” 

There’s a pause before you speak. That pause felt like eternity to Ford.

“You know…I think you were in my dream last night...” You say, staring at the necklace with a newfound understanding. “I was back at Backupsmore and walking to the library. I ended up walking up to someone with their head buried in the books and I called out your name but I woke up after that.”

Ford was not expecting that response, looking over at you in alarm, “This may be a stretch but was there indication in your dream that it was fall?” You nod slowly.

“That was the first time we met. You were struggling with the section on seismic refractions in a physics course that I had taken a semester prior. Our professor recommended me as a tutor.” Ford recounts, his fingers gripping the wheel slightly tighter.

“Jeez… could all my dreams… just be memories?” You mutter to yourself but loud enough for Ford to hear it. “You’ve had other dreams….?” Ford questioned, his mind reeling with this discovery. “Yeah, I’ve had them for years. There’s always someone else in them… but before I can figure out or discern who it might be, my body wakes up.” You admit, rifling through your bag before pulling out a small leather bound journal.

“This is a bit embarrassing to admit but I’ve been keeping track of them here.” You say hesitantly as you hold up the leather bound journal. Ford stared between you and the journal in awe. He had always found preparation attractive and he thinks he may have fallen in love with you all over again.

“Perhaps we can go through some of them and see if it correlates to any memories I have.” Ford attempts to say with a steady voice but there’s a hint of excitement in his proposition. “I honestly would love that… I feel like I’ve been trying to crack the code of these dreams without any key.” You reply eagerly.

Ford makes the final turn up the hill, approaching the massive gates to what was formerly the Northwest Manor. Your eyes widen, staring at the impressive estate before you. You watch as Ford presses on the intercom, “Fiddleford, we’re here.” before the gates open to let you in.

“This.. is where Fiddleford lives? Did he make a breakthrough with his personal computers or something?” You question to which Ford chuckles nervously. “You could say that. Honestly, it’s quite a long story that we can talk about inside.” After parking the car in front of the fountain, Ford gets out of the car before opening the door for you.

You two make your way to the wooden front door, which bursts open soon after Ford raps his knuckles against it. You’re greeted by your friend, who looks considerably older despite being the same age as you and Stanford that you almost didn’t recognize him. Fiddleford embraces Ford first before stepping back to assess you. You gulp, anxiety filling up your system once again.

You’re quickly enveloped into a tight hug by Fiddleford, which you return. “My god, Fiddleford, it’s been too long. I thought you disappeared off the face of the Earth.” You said shakily. You two pull apart as Fiddleford grasps your arms, “Sweet sarsaparilla, look at you, Y/N! You make me and Ford look like old geezers! I’m real sorry I hadn’t reached out until now…”

“There’s no need to apologize, Fiddleford… I’m just glad we reconnected.” You say, a wave of nostalgia hitting you. “Come on in, you two! We got a lot of catching up to do!” Fiddleford says, ushering you into the massive home with his arm before closing the door.

[thatdisasterauthor]

Okay, let's talk federal jobs for a minute here. Because if we are going to bring up things like the FAA being understaffed and how it may have effected what happened with the crash in DC, we need to have an accurate picture of what is going on.

It is not Trump's fault (yet) that the FAA is understaffed. Yeah, it has been a chaotic as fuck week to work in any sort of federal job, yeah a lot of new hiring has been screwed up and a lot of scary things have been hurled at current federal workers. But we haven't actually seen the results of that yet. It JUST started.

Federal positions have been understaffed, in the FAA and otherwise, for AWHILE. There are tons of reasons behind those issues, but a big, big one is that getting hired to work ANY federal job takes fucking FOREVER and involves jumping through SO MANY hoops.

My basic, zero security clearance wildland forest dispatcher job with the forest service involved applying in October (with a 25 page resume that basically outlines everything I have ever done since I was born), a background check that took three days for me to fill out and involved contacting people I hadn't spoken to in YEARS (almost had to contact my mother who I am no contact with too), a drug test that I had to do at the drop of the hat ON THE DAY AFTER THE ELECTION, getting fingerprints done, and taking a two-hour road trip to a tiny little town because that was the only "local" place that had someone authorized to make my work ID for me (which involved ANOTHER set of fingerprints). Then I had to wait until January to know if I even might have gotten the job, and that was earlier than usual because they were scrambling to get people through the hiring system after the election. Then my actual start date isn't until MARCH.

So it will have been a nearly six month process for a BASIC job. And I'm lucky in that I don't have to move for the job because that would be a whole pile of nonsense. Other people spend a year or more going through the process of getting a federal job.

There's a lot of other reasons places are understaffed, but this stupidly long hiring process plays a big damn role. And it is only going to get longer as the various departments that handle hiring get gutted along with everything else.

[hees-mine]

DESTROYED - L. HEESEUNG

Pairing: heeseung ⚥ reader

Warnings: smut, oral female receiving, mentions of violence, not proofread

Genre: 18+, smut, minors do not interact!

WC: 2,332k

⟱⟱⟱

“If he puts his hands on you again, you have to let me know, you promise?” He holds his mother by the shoulders, looking at her with eyes full of seriousness, and she nods softly.

“Promise.” She stood on her toes, placing a kiss on his forehead.

With one last reassuring pat on her back, he heads towards the sofa, grabbing his backpack and putting it on his shoulders before leaving for the day.

As he exits, he locked the door, making his way down the steps and taking the sidewalk to school.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thinking about his last encounter with you.

But it didn’t matter anyway. He had more important things to think about than some stupid girl.

That being said, it didn’t stop him from watching you all day.

Literally, all day.

Were you really that scared of him? Was he really like his father? Did he really even care?

He thought he didn’t, but wondering ate him up for the rest of the day, especially when you did your very best to avoid him by any means possible.

It bothered him because he never wanted to be a person to be avoided, but alas, he is, and what can he do about it?

He wishes he could go back to that day and just leave you alone.

Sure, it was quick, easy sex, but he gained absolutely nothing from it.

He knows he’s fucked up. He knows better than to get involved with others because he can’t regulate his emotions. He can only suppress them, and he hasn’t been able to do much of that lately.

So why he suddenly slipped up so easily was beyond him.

The thing he fears the most happening happened.

You were scared because of him.

He only knows two ways to deal with any situation, and that’s violence or anger.

It’s funny because only now did he realize how flawed that was. How could he deal with every situation with rage and expect people not to be scared of him?

But his past molded who he is today and instead of trying to change he just distanced himself from people cause he thought he was doing everyone around him a favor.

Who’d want to befriend a person with trauma?

When you first looked at him that day for a second, his curiosity was piqued cause you had been the first and only person to acknowledge him.

Of course, that’s his fault as well. He kept a low profile on purpose, so no one would try to get to know him.

But after years of being invisible out of seemingly nowhere on a random day, something about him apparently caught your eye, and you couldn’t stop staring.

What you wanted, he doesn’t even know, but he didn’t want to know because if you tried to get close to him, it’d only be bad for you.

Cause he was bad.

In his mission to protect his loved ones, he became a person who you needed protection from.

It started on a Sunday afternoon. He clearly remembers his dad always had that day off, a day that was meant for rest, and spending time with family turned into a never-ending shouting match with his mom's bruises and broken glass.

He was just ten at the time, a little too young to understand the gravity of it all, but by the age of sixteen, he was well aware because he was now a part of the Sunday shouting matches, the endless screams and cries that went on till late at night.

It wasn’t just yelling either as bad as yelling was he wished that was the only thing that happened.

But it was physical, too, which is no surprise because of the type of man his father was.

Tending wounds and cuts quickly became a nightly routine for the pair.

A time of bonding for him and his mother, the most important woman in his life.

But Instead of bonding over family vacations and road trips, they were bonding over their shared suffering.

Come eighteen it was just a staple in the household every night he’d prepare for it counting down the hours until a fight would ensue and pray it ended as soon as possible.

Six years later, he went from a cheerful kid with a bright future to someone who didn’t even know the meaning of bright.

All he saw was darkness, despair, rage resentment.

He doesn’t know why his mom stayed, but if she stayed, he stayed.

There’s no way he could leave her alone with that monster.

Unfortunately the situation and his lack of ability to direct his emotions elsewhere turned him into a person he had no control over.

He was angry at the world, angry at his dad, angry at his situation.

Why couldn’t his family be happy? Why couldn’t they have dinner and talk about their day like normal? Why couldn’t his father love him? Was he just that fucked up? Was all of this his fault?

He hates that he even questions himself for being at fault, but it’s hard not to when he was treated like trash by his own dad.

But deep down somewhere, he knows it’s not his fault, or at least he tries to reassure himself of that, but it was easier said than done.

So now he sits staring mindlessly out the library window, his face solemn, features tired and hardened.

An expression that never seemed to leave his face.

He doesn’t like feeling upset, but he just is. He always is, and yeah, he knows that’s a problem that needs to be fixed.

But who is he kidding? He’s a lost cause. He can’t be fixed.

Hell, he doesn’t even know if he deserves to be fixed at this point.

After what he’s done to you, to his father, to anyone that’s forced to be around him.

Sometimes he felt as if he was exaggerating because he knows people have it worse so what did he have to complain about.

He doesn’t know anymore. He’s just moving through life day by day without any regard for anyone who crosses his path, and that’s how it is going to stay.

He was set on that but as quick as his mind was made up it was changed as he saw you leaving the library the one where you first met.

Despite his better judgment and the anxiety he feels in his racing heart, he packs up and follows you out.

He stays on your trail, walking a good distance behind you so you won’t notice him.

Somewhere in him, he wished you did.

Maybe hoping that since you’re the first person to show him any interest that maybe you could bring something out of him that he couldn’t pull out of himself.

He knows it’s stupid, really, but he just wanted to be normal for once, have a girlfriend, go out on dates, make friends, and be a regular college student.

But that was buried so deep down that he knows it exists. He just doesn’t feel like it could reached.

Just like you couldn’t be reached as he watched you from afar, twisting your door open and going into your home.

-

The whole week went on like that, him following you, watching you.

It’s weird he gets that, but that's the closest he’s ever gonna be with you.

Maybe he wanted to apologize at least he thought about it but the last time a sincere apology came from his mouth was so long ago he couldn’t remember.

Would you forgive him? Probably not.

That fact made him sa-

He didn’t care one way or the other.

Yet after taking a one-day break from practically stalking you, he was at it again.

This time, doing something that probably wasn’t his best idea.

He quickly closed in behind you, catching you completely off guard.

“Shh shh,” he shushed you while covering your mouth and quickly opening the door to the dreadful classroom that you have been stuck in with him one too many times.

Before the panic could settle in your veins, he gently kissed your forehead. “I'm not gonna hurt you, y/n,” he breathed out, dropping to his knees before you and putting his hands on your thighs, stroking them up and down softly.

Shocked by the suddenness of his actions, your body grows weak at the sight of him kneeling down before you.

He grips your thighs, making you gasp softly, his hands bunching up your skirt. “I promise.” he draws his face closer to between your legs, peering up at you with his big round eyes.

You know you should say no, push him off, curse him out, and leave, but you were weak for him. Even after everything, you were still oddly drawn to him, so you stayed still, waiting for his next move.

“Let me make it up to you” he looked forward, his face leveled with your core, the outline of your pussy lips being shaped by the tight cotton material of your underwear.

He leans in, kissing you there softly and inhaling your scent, his cock growing embarrassingly hard in a matter of seconds.

Then his tongue falls from his mouth, slowly lapping at your core. “Heeseung,” you breathe out quietly, head resting on the door as you feel the familiar heat between your legs.

He listens to the sounds of pleasure that come from you, his eyes closing shut as he gets into it, his tongue sliding back and forth until your panties are damp with more than just your arousal. His hot tongue feels even better now that you can feel him through your soaked clothing.

He tugged your underwear down, revealing your perfectly shaven cunt. He licked his lips at the sight licking all over your smooth vulva, groaning at the softness as it met his tongue. You taste, sound, and look so good.

He uses his cold fingers to spread your lips apart and slide his tongue back and forth through your engorged folds.

Your hand finds his hair, fingers instinctively running through it, tugging at the roots, causing him to furrow his brows in pain, but he likes that cause pain is all he knows.

The pointed tip of his nose rubs your clit, and you whimper in pleasure cause it felt so so good.

He used his right hand, sticking two thick fingers in your aroused cunt, working you open on them as your knees buckled.

After filling you up, he removes his finger from inside you and stands up so he can take you somewhere more comfortable. He lays you on an empty desk, setting you down gently as he takes his rightful place on the ground on his knees, eating you out for forgiveness.

At least, that’s what this was in his head. In some way, this was easier than saying it out loud. He could only hope that you somehow understood him since sex was the only positive experience you had with him thus far.

His fingers slip back inside, prodding at your hole, his fingers curling up and rubbing that one special spot in you.

You gripped the desk, head thrown back as you moaned and whined at the sensation. He was so good with his tongue that you couldn’t even think about anything he’d done up to this moment.

Sucking on your clit he releases it with a lewd pop looking up from between your legs, loving the raw reaction you give him.

Chest heaving, mouth parted open, and your pussy squeezing on his fingers almost too tight he can barely push in, but he forces his way past your tight walls fucking you faster with his digits, your delicate body squirming on the desk.

He gulps down the juices that he collected on his tongue, sucking on your nub again, and you squeeze your eyes shut as your orgasm quickly builds.

“Fuck” you say breathlessly, and the soft curse that leaves your lips makes him go even harder fucking his fingers into you at a rapid pace, his lips wrapped securely around your clit, sucking an orgasm out of you.

Both your hands find his hair, this time tugging and pulling at it as you bite your lip and roll your hips into his face.

He moans against your heat as you yank on his hair. “Heeseung,” you say, blissed out, shaking before him, and the tight clench around his fingers is all he needs to confirm you’re feeling good.

He groaned, eyes rolling back in his head at your taste as he rode out your high, slowly rubbing your walls, giving you the most pleasure you’ve ever felt.

He licks your clit gently, careful not to over-stimulate you as you welcome every single last one of his touches.

You huff out a heavy breath, your heart pounding in your rib cage. As you catch your bearings, your hearing still sounds muffled due to the sheer intensity of what he’s done to you.

When you’ve settled enough, his fingers slip out of you, and he doesn’t hesitate to suck them clean.

He licks off the remainder of your cum and then kisses your clit.

He slipped your panties back up and helped you stand, his fingers lingering on you just a little longer than they needed to.

His eyes shifted, and he almost looked nervous as his eyes darted to your lips but shifted away even quicker.

You two shared eye contact for a few seconds, both of you searching for words, but coming up with nothing, he turned away and disappeared out of the classroom before the silence became too much.

A faint smile reaches your lips until you make a face of realization, finally registering what just happened.

Even when you come to and fully understood what just took place you didn’t regret a second of it.

⟱⟱⟱

Thanks for reading please reblog and leave feedback.

[fuctacles]

someone (thank you) has paid for my bday cake before i could share the link, but if you want, you can pitch in for new headphones for me as a gift ofc no pressure, you being here is a gift enough <3

<< ten | 😺 | twelve >>

To say Eddie is nervous would be an understatement of the century. His soul is one bump in the road away from skipping out of his body, leaving him alone to deal with whatever is happening inside his brain. Which is a lot on a regular day, but today, all his synapses and wires and whatever the fuck are screaming at him, you kissed Steph oh my gods, this is real, this is happening, oh no, Wayne is gonna be so smug about this!!!

No party hook up or any of his short-term girlfriends has made him this nervous. Because no offense to them, but they were young and simple and easy to understand. Steph, he might get to some extent—trans woman rejected by her family, feeling alone despite having a group of devoted friends, all of them scattered through states—but what she wants from life is surely different from finishing college and going on a summer trip. Right?

"Would you want to do it again?" he asks, hands shifting on the wheel. It's a good place to start.

"Your hair?" She gives him a fleeting glance. "Of course, it's nice to work with."

Eddie purses his lips. 

"Kiss. I meant the kiss," he clarifies. "Well, and anything that... might come with it." He winces at his own wording.

Steph murmurs something that sounds like "oh god" under her breath.

"Listen..." She drums her fingers against the bag in her lap. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Anything that involved you has been a good idea so far," he counters lightly. When she turns to look at him, he gives her a soft smile.

She nods slowly. 

"Okay, and how do you imagine that? You fuck me and then we awkwardly pass each other on the stairs? How do I look Wayne in the eye?"

Eddie winces. In his ideal fantasy, Wayne doesn't know until the wedding invitations get send out. 

"Well, unless I do something mortally embarrassing, I can't imagine an outcome where I wouldn't want to at least stay friendly and talk to you." He finally turns into their parking lot and goes silent as he looks for an empty space. Once parked, he kills the engine and turns to properly look at Steph. "What are you really worried about?"

She sighs, and when she looks up, her eyes are big and open, striking him right into his heart. 

"So many things," she admits.

"Tell me one of them," Eddie prompts. 

Steph quickly opens her mouth, almost aggressively, but clamps it shut just as fast. Her thoughtful frown tells him she's looking for something different to share. 

"I don't want to be a conquest, a one night stand. I don't do that, I don't do hook ups, to be honest I haven't had—" she cuts herself off abruptly, and her cheeks turn pink. 

Eddie tries to push down the sympathy from showing on his face, but it's hard to do. In his perfect world, he'd give her all the orgasms she deserves and then some. 

"And I don't want to be someone you can fuck whenever you visit Hawkins," she adds abruptly, rushing it out of her mouth like another forbidden thought. 

Eddie raises his eyebrows in surprise. 

"Do you think I'm so swarmed with opportunities in Indy that I can't pause my libido for a week?" he asks, almost amused by the idea.

"I don't know, Eddie!" She throws her hands up angrily. "I don't know you! And you don't know me."

"I know some of you," he insists. "I know your cats are Garfield, Dart, and Arwen. Your best friend is a lesbian named Robin, I know you're still friends with nerds you used to babysit, and that you like Star Wars. I know what kind of beer you buy, and that your couch is ridiculously soft. I know that you want to give your salon to Joyce and open a new one in Indy," he lists off. "And I'd like to know more." 

"No you don't."

Eddie holds himself back from throwing hands up in frustration as well. Maybe he didn't kiss her hard enough. 

"Well, you don't know me, so how would you know?" He never means to get irritated by her, but she's just so—ugh.

Steph presses her mouth into a thin line. 

"Let's just go in," she says, opening her door to leave the van.

Eddie curses under his breath, scrambling to gather his things and follow her. They don't talk, ruminating in their conversation (argument?), but she walks the stairs slowly, so his smoker lungs and barely used joints can keep up. It gives him hope that she's not really mad, and he could kiss her again in the near future. 

She stops on his floor, where they are meant to part.

"Do you want that conditioner?" she asks. 

For a second, his brain struggles to catch up, but he's nodding before it even clicks. Anything to keep her coming back. 

"Yeah, that would be great, thank you." He smiles, only slightly embarrassed by how out of breath he sounds. 

Steph nods, turning to the next flight of stairs, leading up towards her floor. 

"I'll call you when I find it. Thank you for today." And she smiles, finally, even if it's not as joyful as he'd like. 

"Thank you." He smiles more freely, fighting the instinct to nonchalantly lean against the handrail. It's not an ending of a date, after all. "And I was being serious, earlier. With—"

"I know," she interrupts him. "I know." She puts her feet on the first step, not looking at him. "I'll see you later."

"Will you think about it?" he asks before she can disappear, her pace much faster now that she doesn't have an Eddie-shaped ball chained to her ankle. Damn jock blood. 

Steph stops mid-way, turning to him with a slightly pitying smile that makes his insides churn. 

"Oh, Eddie," she sighs. "I think about it all the time."

For a while longer, he stays rooted to the spot, in the middle of his landing. Hopeful, turned on, but most of all, confused, listening to her steps fade out. 

When he finally turns back into their apartment, Wayne must sense something, because for once he doesn't bother him with questions and teasing remarks. Instead, he does something much, much worse, while he's pulling on the soft ends of Eddie's conditioned hair.

"You're going back next week, right?"

Because Eddie kind of forgot about that. That it's not some liminal time vacuum when he's just his uncle's kid again, driving through familiar streets, seeing faces that have known him since he was a young teen. He tends to do that, whenever visiting Wayne. Life in Indianapolis is great, but it's fast, loud and busy, so the contrast always make him feel like he's in a hazy dream. Like his life is on pause. 

Wayne is heartless in reminding him about the, so called, real life. Eddie sighs. 

"When is the appointment again? Wednesday?" He looks at the calendar on the fridge.

"Thursday," Wayne corrects him. "At 11." 

Eddie nods slowly, humming to himself. 

"We should stock up on the way back. So you don't have to strain your leg while I'm not here." He pats his uncle's knee, swiftly avoiding a kick with the cast after he does it. "How long until you can go back to work?"

"Two weeks, probably." Wayne shrugs. "Depends on what the doctor says. But I'm so ready to leave the house," he groans. "I'm bored out of my mind. Is this how you feel all the time?"

Eddie laughs. 

"Pretty much," he grins. "Should we grab some movies before I leave, too?"

"Please."

It's hours before the phone rings, and he's put it out of his mind, assuming Steph would want a break from him. But as soon as he hears it, he's up and walking towards the kitchen.

"Ed!" his uncle calls from the couch.

"On it!" he yells back before picking up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, I found the conditioner. Do you want to come up or should I drop it on my way to work tomorrow?" Steph sounds normal, like nothing weird has happened between them. He's not sure is a good or bad sign for him. 

"I'll come up, no problem," he answers quickly. "Is right now okay?"

"Yeah, I'm not doing anything."

"Okay, see you in ten."

When he puts down the phone, he can hear his heart pounding in his chest. He turns to the mirror hanging in the dark corridor and fixes what he can see, any stray hair or weirdly shifted clothes. But upon further consideration, he goes to the bathroom, where he can check his face and teeth under better light.

"I'm going out," he informs his uncle as he slides on his shoes. 

Wayne shifts to look at him, eyebrows raised curiously.  

"To where?"

"Steph's, I need to pick something up. I'll be back in fifteen minutes, don't trip until then."

"Come closer so I can hit you with the crutch," Wayne glowers at him. "I'll handle a walk to the bathroom, you keep the lady some company." He waves him off, turning back to the TV. "Before she goes mad talking to her cats all the time."

Eddie rolls his eyes. 

"Well, in that case, I'll be back when I'm back." He grins. "Later! And goodnight, possibly. Maybe, I don't know." Eddie loses steam by the end of it, but his uncle believes in him. The kid always had a talent for being charming when he wanted to. 

He settles comfortably in his seat. 

"Goodnight, lover boy," he chuckles.

tagsies:

@wheneverfeasible @steddieinthesun @hattsy-likes-pretty-stuff @bumblebeecuttlefishes @phantomcat94

@tartarusknight  @tinyplanet95 @steddiefication @estrellami-1 @disrespectedgoatman

@madigoround @tartarusknight @blasvemous @cryptid-system @hiei-harringtonmunson

@hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere @dreamercec @manliest-of-muppets

@bookbinderbitch @marklee-blackmore @icecat

[not-neverland06]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝙲𝚊𝚐𝚎

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

A/N: Sexually mature themes, no graphic or explicitly detailed smut

Summary: Even as a socialite, you've never had the honor of attending a mobster's party. Now, you get to say you've done it all. Tensions seem to ease with Arthur as you both relax into your roles. But things can never stay easy for long, can they?

Arthur had a fence in the city that could loan him a carriage in exchange for a favor down the road. You didn’t ask what the favor was and you weren’t interested in knowing. You’d offered to ride in the front with him but he’d just made a vague excuse of not wanting to dirty your new dress. 

He was lying, it was clear as day that he didn’t give a damn about the state of your dress, but you weren’t going to push him. If he didn’t want to speak, then fine. The entire ride back to camp could be spent in silence for all you care. Though, it seems like he’s purposely trying to hit every damn rock he can. You’ve never had such a horribly bumpy ride as this one.

You can tell when you get closer to camp as the wheels struggle to slough through all the mud. A moment later the carriage comes to a halt and Sean’s muffled voice slinks through the thick wood of the walls. “Arthur,” the H slips through the vowels of his accent and it sounds like he’s saying Artur. “What the hell is that?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Arthur’s low voice calls back. The carriage rocks as Arthur climbs off the front bench and you slip forward, reaching for the door. It swings open before you can grab the handle. Arthur doesn’t look at you as he holds his hand out for you, just waits expectantly. 

You roll your eyes at his stubbornness but take the help anyway. This dress is far too tight for you to shuffle down the steps on your own. Arthur guides you out and releases you the moment you’re standing on steady feet. 

“Oh, be still my flutterin’ heart,” Sean calls out as he eyes you up in the dress. 

Arthur grimaces, lip curling in distaste. “Shuddup, Sean.”

“What?” He asks, voice full of all the innocence in the world as he sends you a brief wink. “I’m not allowed to compliment the lady? You’d have to be one sour bastard not to tell the lady how beautiful she looks.” 

The carriage being driven into camp has drawn the attention of a few others. They slowly move towards you and Arthur, eyeing you both with curiosity in their gazes. The door to Shady Belle flies open and Dutch stands in the doorway. “Now, what is this?”

He, fortunately, doesn’t make you walk to him. You’re standing on a slat of wood now, but one step forward and you’ll be ankle-deep in muck. “I think I might have gotten a lead while we were in the city. An Italian man invited me to a party tonight full of ‘influential’ people as he put it.”

Dutch’s brows raise in surprise, as though he hadn’t expected anything useful to come out of your trip. You’re not sure if he was just doubting you or the possibility of ever finding Jack, but you take his astonishment in offense. 

“Italian?” Dutch questions and his eyes dart toward Arthur. You and Sadie have been on the receiving end of that look quite a lot these past few weeks. The both of you arguing for more involvement in the gang’s activities. And every time you’d receive placating words and a dismissive glance that meant you really shouldn’t bring it up again.

Arthur nods at Dutch, he barely spares you a glance as they both walk back into the house. You feel like a fool, standing in the middle of camp all dolled up and terrified of dirtying the hem of your dress with mud. You don’t feel like the woman you’ve become over the past few months, it’s as though you’ve turned into that cowering girl once more. 

 “You look pretty,” a deep voice interrupts your spiraling thoughts. Glancing over your shoulder, you see Charles approaching you. He looks you up and down, not admiring, simply observing. 

“Oh,” you say, caught off guard. He said it so bluntly. There was no smooth delivery of a line. Instead, it felt like he was stating a cold hard fact rather than a sugary compliment . You were pretty, and he wasn’t trying to earn anything from you by saying that. “Thank you-”

“But this doesn’t suit you.” You clamp your mouth shut, lips thinning as your eyes narrow into slits. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” You grit out, arms crossed tightly across your chest. His lips curl up slightly, laughing at your soured expression. 

“It just doesn’t look like you. It’s like trying to force a bison into a herd of doe.”

Your jaw drops and you gape, stamping your foot at him, “I am in a corset! ” You’re halfway to outraged and it’s only making you angrier that he looks like he’s trying not to laugh. 

His nose scrunches slightly but he just shrugs. “There might have been a kinder way to put it, but that doesn’t change that it’s the truth.”

“What?” You snap, “That I’m a giant lumbering beast?” You throw your arms out, irritated by his insistence on this ridiculous metaphor. 

“That you’re trying to fit into a role you don’t belong in. You’re not a lady anymore, and you’re no outlaw. You can’t force yourself to be either of those things.” You hadn’t expected Charles, of all the people in this damn camp, to be the one to point out how you don’t belong. Not just among them, but in society in general. There’s no place anywhere for you anymore, not even here. 

“Well then, what’s a bison supposed to do?” You snap, looking away as you wipe away the warmth trickling down your cheeks. 

“I don’t know,” he says simply, his voice softer when he sees the glassiness in your eyes. You look back at him and he reaches forward, surprisingly gentle as he brushes away a tear. “That’s for you to figure out. But you’ll never be happy stuck standing between two worlds, especially when you don’t like either of them.” He smiles at you and places his hand on your shoulder, squeezing slightly. “But you look pretty,” he amends, as though that will undo the hurt he’s just caused.

“Thank you,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. He shrugs, eyes drifting over your shoulder. You turn, following his gaze, and smile as you see Mary-Beth and Tilly approaching. Charles walks off, not looking to get caught up in whatever it is the girls look so excited about. You can’t say you blame him, if you weren’t stuck in the only mudless spot here, you might try and make a run for it too. 

They look far too eager for you not to be suspicious. “Are you really goin’ to a party?” Tilly rushes out, cornering you against the carriage alongside Mary-Beth. 

“I don’t really have a choice, I’m the one who got the invitation.”

Mary-Beth gasps dramatically and swats at your shoulder. “Oh, I’m so jealous. What I would give to be able to look like a lady for once and get the hell out of this camp.” You’d switch places with her if you could. The laces of this dress are so tight you’re starting to feel lightheaded. 

“You have to let us do your hair,” Tilly suddenly blurts out, hands already darting towards the leather strap tying your hair up. You duck out of the way of her wandering hands and she shoots you a firm glare. 

“Well, I don’t know-”

“No arguing,” Mary-Beth snaps. She loops her arm through yours and Tilly takes the other. “We’ll get you looking prim and proper in no time,” you really don’t have the heart to argue when you see the dreamy smile on her face. You know it’s not often any of the women get to escape camp. Especially not for something as glamorous as a party in the city. 

If they want to live vicariously through you for a night, who are you to deny them the pleasure?

“Alright, fine,” you acquiesce with a reluctant smile. “But you’re gonna have to help me through all this mud.” Tilly and Mary-Beth shoot each other giddy smiles, dragging you along behind them towards the women’s tent. 

“Oh, Tilly, we should do her makeup too.”

Your eyes widen and you grimace. There’s a limited cache of rouge and lipstick hidden somewhere in camp. You know it’s only dragged out for special occasions. But it’s been so long since you’ve worn any that you’ve forgotten just how much you hate it. You’re remembering now, as you look upon their mischievous faces. 

“Hold on now-”

“I’ll get the vanity case of it from Mrs. Grimshaw,” Tilly interrupts, rushing off before you can stop her. You sink into Mary-Beth’s side, letting out a heavy sigh as you relinquish yourself into her care for the next hour. You pass by Charles and glare at the slight smirk on his lips as he shakes his head at you. Smug bastard. 

Arthur and Dutch finish up their talk while Mary-Beth and Tilly are still fussing over you. You manage to peek an eye open as Mary-Beth is slapping your cheeks with a powder puff. Arthur walks up to Hosea, sparing you a slight glance as he places his hand on the old man’s shoulder. He leans in close and you narrow your eyes, trying to decipher what he’s whispering to him. 

“Straighten up,” Tilly snaps, the hot tongs in her hand getting dangerously close to the nape of your neck. The smell of smoke drifts around you and your nose scrunches in distaste. 

“You’re not burning my hair off, are you?” You try to turn your head slightly to get a good look at her, but she nudges your face back around to a disgruntled Mary-Beth. Lipstick hovers over your face as Mary-Beth scrubs roughly at the smudged red on your cheek. 

“Relax, I know how to use these better than any of the other women in camp,” Tilly assures you. There’s a release of tension as she lets the strand of hair out of the tongs and pins it up. The last time you had your hair curled like this, it had been a much gentler experience. You feel as though you’re being punished for your reluctance to get dolled up. 

Here you sit, the opportunity they’ve always wanted landing right in your lap, and you want nothing to do with it. You suppose they might be bitter. The only times they’ve been allowed out of camp they’ve had to pose as whores or damsels in distress. You just get to be a lady. Letting out a heavy sigh, you force yourself to relax in their hold. 

“Alright,” Mary-Beth’s tongue pokes from the corner of her lips as she tilts her head, examining your face. You try not to have your nose scrunch so you don’t wrinkle the powder. “I’m done,” she says, stepping back from you like an artist scrutinizing their latest painting. “It would help if you didn’t have that sour expression.”

You roll your eyes but Tilly releases you before you can say anything rude. She places one last pin in your hair and rounds the chair you sit on. “Oh, some of my finest work, if you don’t mind me sayin’.” Mary-Beth nods her approval and they both share a smile as they ogle down at you. 

“We’re done?” You grouse, tired from sitting under their nagging hands for so long. 

Tilly throws her hands up and narrows her eyes at you, “A thank you would be lovely. Ain’t they teach you manners in that fancy school of yours?” 

You suppose you could be a bit more gracious. Swallowing your pride you nod in appreciation, “Thank you, ladies.” Mary-Beth rushes off and digs around in one of the crates beside the tent. She returns and thrusts a rusted silver mirror in your hand. The glass is slightly cracked but you can still see your reflection well enough. 

Mary-Beth certainly doesn’t hold as heavy a hand as your old maids. You don’t despise the way your face looks with makeup, but it doesn’t feel natural. And you can already start to feel the powder itching on your skin. Still, you force a smile, pretending to be awed by your appearance. 

Tilly certainly did better with your hair than you would have. You honestly hadn’t thought about attempting hair or makeup tonight. It’s been so long since you’ve been in polite society that you’ve forgotten all the work that goes into presenting yourself. Still, the updo looks pretty and the curled ringlets draped over your shoulder are a nice touch. 

You can’t help the disappointment festering in your stomach. It feels as though you should be more excited to see yourself all prettied up. It’s been months since you’ve been in a dress or put any thought into how you look. In your old estates, you were surrounded by mirrors and scrutinizing faces. The only thing you could think about was your presentation and how others viewed you. You’ve grown so used to not giving it any thought that it weighs heavier on your shoulders than you’d expected. 

“It looks wonderful,” you tell them with a strained smile, placing the mirror down by your side. Tilly and Mary-Beth nod, looking properly excited as they whisper to themselves about all the handsome men you’ll see at the party. You chuckle a little, they don’t know that you won’t meet any decent men where you’re going. Mary-Beth’s tales of whirlwind romance and being swept off your feet have ingrained themselves into the less jaded minds of camp. There’s no need to ruin their rose-tinted view of fine society. 

You get to your feet, taking light steps as you skirt around the deeper piles of mud. You just manage to stay on the firmer parts of the land, dress lifted above your ankles. Someone whistles and you grimace, prepared for Micah to be shouting something nasty out to you. 

Instead, a husky feminine voice calls out, “Lookin’ mighty fine, Lady Rowe.” You chuckle, turning to glare at Sadie. She stands a few feet away, lingering by the door of Shady Belle, likely trying to eavesdrop on the men’s conversation as she normally does. Her hand lingers on the revolver by her hip and she sends you a wink. 

“You’re ridiculous, Sadie,” you admonish. 

She shrugs and walks towards you, “Just the truth.”

“Well, did you have to tell it like a man?” You grouch, tugging the neckline of your dress up. 

She smiles at you, walking with you towards the carriage. “Men always seem to have more fun.” You suppose that’s true. They don’t have to spend an hour and a half primping and prepping for something as ridiculous as a party. All they need to do is lick their hands, slick back their hair, and throw on a suit. Lucky bastards. 

“I feel like a clown under all this makeup,” you resist the urge to claw at the skin of your face. It feels as though ants crawl under your flesh, it makes you antsy to just strip everything off. 

She narrows her eyes at you, smile giving way to something more calculating. “It is odd, seeing you like this again. I remember when you used to leave for dinners or parties all dolled up. You never really looked happy then, you were always fussin’.”

“I’m still fussin’,” you admit, tugging at one of the ringlets draped over your shoulder. She swats your hand away and laughs at your aggrieved expression. 

“It’s only one night. Then you can get back to pants and shootin’ at any bastard that pisses you off.” You relax slightly and send her a grateful smile. It’s nice that at least one of the women here recognizes just how constricting this role is. 

Sadie used to have to take orders from you. She’d even had to stomach you cutting her pay when your husband gambled too much. You were the face telling her she was gonna have to scrape for extra money and figure out a new way to feed herself and her husband. Still, she remains the only one who understands just how unfulfilling the life of the rich is.

The front door of Shady Belle swings open and Dutch comes striding out in a suit, Hosea, Arthur, and one very angry-looking Bill not far behind. “Don’t you look fancy?” Sadie calls out, scoffing as she takes in the men. 

“Why, thank you, Mrs. Adler,” Dutch bows his head towards her and she rolls her eyes. You share a brief glance before she walks off. Dutch comes to stand beside you at the carriage, the rest of the men following suit. Arthur opens up the door for you and gives you a hand up the steps. You squeeze his palm once, holding your breath until you feel him return it. Letting go of his hand, you settle yourself on the bench, smoothing out the wrinkles of your dress. 

Dutch has nearly made it inside when Abigail comes rushing up to you all, John not far behind. Letting out a weary sigh, Dutch holds his hands up, shaking his head before Abigail even has a chance to say anything. 

“I already told you, Abigail, it’s too much of a risk having you come with us. I can’t trust you’ll be able to keep your temper.”

Abigail shakes her head and glares at him, lips curled back like she wants to lunge at him. “It is my son that you are lookin’ for, Dutch. I’m not leavin’ him.”

“No,” Dutch assures her, voice calm and gentle in a way you’ve heard so many times before. You’re unsure where he’s learned the skills he has. But the way he puppeteers these people is near magic. “You’re trusting us,” he nods towards the men, “to take care of him for you. That boy is like family to me, Abigail, I’m not going to let anything happen to him.”

Every ounce of restraint is used not to mutter, you already have. Still, you know that won’t do anything but make Abigail fret even more. A little bit of petty satisfaction isn’t worth putting an already nervous mother on edge. 

She takes a step back from him and John reaches for her but she skirts out of his grasp. Things were already tense between them, you’re not sure they’re going to be able to recover from this. Everyone can plainly see that she blames him for her child going missing. Even though you all know there was nothing he could have done to stop it. 

John looks at her, face pinched with concern. He turns towards Dutch, something determined settling along his shoulders. “I’ll ride behind you.” He cuts Dutch off before the man can weasel his way out of anything. “I ain’t goin’ into the party, but if you’re going to be lookin’ for my son, then I’m goin’ to be there.” 

Dutch lets out a heavy sigh, you know he wants to argue, but there’s no point. John’s been butting heads with him more and more, he’s beginning to lose faith in Dutch just as much as you are. “Fine,” Dutch relents. “But you’re not to get involved in any way.”

John nods, already heading towards his horse. Abigail follows along behind him, something stunned painted across her face. Dutch finally makes it into the carriage, taking a seat beside you as Hosea sits across from you both. Arthur closes the door and climbs atop the carriage with Bill. 

“It’s gonna be suspicious,” you tell Dutch and Hosea as the horses start moving. “Walking in surrounded by so many men,” you clarify. Hosea nods and Dutch looks like he’s thinking about it as you continue. “Suppose you ought to be my father,” you tell Dutch. 

He scoffs, shaking his head, “I ain’t that much older than you, sweetheart.” Your skin crawls at the pet name. It sounds so much sweeter when Arthur says it. You just feel like an idiot child when Dutch calls you sweetheart. 

“You had me young,” you snap, glaring at him. His brows raise at the attitude and you suck in a deep breath, trying to keep your tone in check. “Look, the man we’re going to meet invited me to be his date. The fastest way to get to him is you present yourself as my father and ask for a meeting with him.”

Dutch sucks on his teeth, looking towards Hosea. “She’s got a good point,” the old man agrees, sending you a brief smile.

Dutch shrugs, “Alright then. I’m honored to escort my darling daughter,” he pats your hand and you screw your face up, jerking your arm away from him. Petulantly, you turn towards the window of the carriage, not wanting to be so close to him. He chuckles under his breath, talking to Hosea like you’re not even there. 

He’s already doing such a wonderful job playing the part of your father. 

Dutch files out of the carriage, Hosea following behind him. Arthur peers his head around the door, helping you out. You struggle a bit in the heels the girl’s had loaned you that are just a size too small. He places a steadying hand on your lower back and leads you around the side of the carriage to where the other’s wait. 

You feel a little of the tension from before ease as he doesn’t immediately pull his hand away from you. The whole argument feels ridiculous, but now isn’t the time to dwell on it. 

Still, you can’t shake how he'd made you feel when you were so vulnerable in front of him at the tailor’s, and the worry that the two of you might be too different to make this work. 

He’s an outlaw through and through, and you know it’s why his last relationship fell apart. But you’re not trying to change who he is—you just want him to be safe. And he, ever stubborn, just wants to keep you far away from the gang’s dangerous business.

“Mrs. Rowe, Mr. Willamison, Mr. Morgan, and Mr. Matthews, don’t you all just look fine,” Dutch admires as you all stand before him. 

“Almost look like we’ve got the same stick up our ass as the rest of them,” Bill snorts, tugging at the neck of his suit. 

Dutch shoots Bill a sharp look before addressing the rest of you. “Remember, we’re here for information on Jack. But,” he adds with a smile, “let us take advantage of the wonderful opportunity the lady provided for us.” He nods at you and you offer him a pinched look. “Mingle, see if you can’t find something to get us to Tahiti,” he instructs with insincere cheer.  

You shake your head at the mention of Tahiti. Dutch couldn’t point it out on a map if he tried. There’s never going to be an escape for these people, he’ll make sure of it. As Dutch is talking, Arthur slowly slips away from you, moving to stand beside Bill. 

Hosea notices, eyes narrowing in on the space between the both of you. “Arthur,” he calls out, stopping Dutch from spewing any more half-baked lies. Arthur turns towards him and Hosea nods to your side. “Take the lady's arm,” he instructs. 

Arthur’s brows furrow and he shakes his head. “The man in there thinks I’m just a half-wit chauffeur. Ain’t no fool holdin’ a lady’s arm,” he grouses, glancing over at you. 

“Arthur,” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What did you-”

“Arthur,” Hosea interrupts, voice firm as he nods once more at you. “Take the lady's arm, I won’t say it again.” Arthur sighs but his face remains infuriatingly neutral as he comes to stand at your side. He slips his arm into yours without a word and it makes your chest clench. “Well,” Hosea prompts, “aren’t you gonna tell her she looks pretty?”

“Hosea, really-” you start, but Arthur cuts you off. 

“You look pretty.” You snap your mouth shut, eyes narrowing as Hosea gives a satisfied nod and saunters off after Dutch, probably grinning to himself. You glance up at Arthur, analyzing his face for any signs of deception or reluctance. He’s being genuine, you can tell that much. Leave it to Hosea to wring a compliment out of the man. 

Arthur starts walking you both forward, following Dutch and Hosea. Two armed guards stand before the entrance of the estate. They each step forward, holding their hands up and stopping you all from progressing any further. 

“No weapons, by request of Mr. Bronte.” Bill opens his mouth to protest but Dutch holds up a silencing hand. 

“Not a problem, gentlemen.” You step to the side, letting them empty their holsters. One of the guards glances towards you and the beaded purse on your arm. He eyes you warily and you scoff with feigned offense. 

“You think a lady like myself carries weapons? Really?” You shake your head and do your best to look outraged. “I suppose next you’ll be asking to look up my skirt too!” You can see the other's faces blanche but the guard backs off, hands raised as he lets you through. “I never,” you huff, glaring at him as you pass by. 

Dutch is the first to catch up to you. He steals Arthuir’s spot by your side and takes your elbow in his hand. He guides you up the front porch stairs and you resist the urge to jerk your arm out of his grip. “You play your role quite well,” he compliments.

You give him an appreciative smile and open the clasp of your purse for him. “I’ve got a conveniently sized companion in my purse if you get too familiar, Father,” you bite out, showing him the small gun hidden within the fabric. He only chuckles, tucking you back into his hold. 

The sounds of the party outside begin to leak through the extravagantly decorated halls of the estate and you feel your heart kick up. It’s been a long while since you’ve had to entertain one of these functions. You haven’t had the time to worry about your hair, or makeup, or how scandalous your dress was, in so long. You’ve forgotten how nerve-wracking it can be. 

You find yourself squeezing Dutch’s arm, desperate for something to ground you and finding no comfort in him. Your hand fists itself in the silk of your dress, wrinkling it and staining it with your sweaty palm. 

You step out onto the back terrace and stride towards the railing overlooking the vast garden. Below, a sea of socialites, businessmen, and politicians mills about, their laughter and pleasantries drowning out the quartet playing. Each of them mingles and laughs at each other’s jokes. But you know better, you see through the charade. They’re predators cloaked in silk, circling one another, each waiting for the faintest scent of weakness before they strike. There is no true friendship or kindness between people like this. 

“Alright—” Dutch begins, turning to address the group behind him, but a thick Italian accent cuts him off.

“Ah, my guest of honor.”

The man from the bar strides past Arthur, his attention fixed on you and Dutch.

Dutch’s face splits into a wide, practiced smile as he steps forward, extending his hand for a shake. “Sir, this is my father-” you begin to introduce but the man interrupts. 

He takes Dutch’s hand with a grin. “Dutch Van der Linde. And you,” he says, turning toward you with a gleam in his eye that makes your stomach twist, “the beautiful Mrs. Rowe.”

Arthur and Bill exchange a tense glance, their hands twitching instinctively for the guns they were forced to leave behind.

The man bursts into laughter, clapping his hands together at the sight of their wary expressions. “Please, gentlemen, do not insult me. I am no fool.” His gaze slides back to you, his grin widening. “But I do enjoy pretty things—like your charming companion here—putting on such delightful performances for me.”

You should have known better. Information shouldn’t have come so easily. Your grip on Dutch’s arm slackens, and without hesitation, you step toward Arthur. 

“Well, you seem to know us, sir,” Dutch interjects smoothly, attempting to reclaim control of the conversation. “I can’t say we share the honor.”

“Angelo Bronte,” he introduces himself smoothly, shaking Hosea’s hand before moving through the men one by one. Finally, he reaches you. With a practiced elegance, he takes your hand, his touch light as he bends to press a kiss to your knuckles.

His eyes lift to meet yours, dark and calculating, as his lips brush against your gloved fingers. “A pleasure,” he murmurs, his voice rich with charm. “I do hope you’ll save a dance for me.”

Your face screws up in distaste before you mask it with a practiced smile. Words fail you as you’re overcome with the urge to put as much distance between yourself and Angelo as possible. 

He lingers, his presence making your stomach twist with discomfort, for another moment before finally stepping back and releasing you. He turns towards Dutch and gives him a greasy smile. “I believe we have business to discuss,” he says smoothly, nodding toward Hosea. “If you and your companion would join me in my study.”  

It’s a demand, not an invitation, as Bronte steps back through the grand doors of the estate. His men move swiftly to escort Hosea and Dutch inside. Dutch pauses, turning to the rest of you. “Talk to everyone you can,” he instructs, his tone clipped and focused.

You scoff under your breath. Even faced with an Italian mobster, Dutch’s mind is fixed firmly on profit.

“I’m headin’ to the bar,” Bill grumbles, brushing past you and Arthur without a second glance.

You turn to your partner, offering him a faint, hesitant smile but avoiding his gaze. “Feel like dancing?”  You fear the same cruel rejection he’d given you earlier. 

Arthur glances at you with a shrug, already heading for the stairs. “Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his tone teasing, dry. “I might be a bit too dull-witted for a dance.”

You roll your eyes, trailing after him, his jab lingering between you like an unspoken challenge. You take his arm and he begins shouldering through all the nicely dressed people. They send him affronted looks but he pays no mind, heading toward the bar Bill isn’t standing at. “Don’t keep pretending I intentionally hurt your feelings,” you taunt.

He pauses at the bar, gently pushing you in front of him to create a buffer between you and the throng of people. His presence shields you like a wall. It doesn’t help the way the air feels more suffocating with every passing moment. You’re unsure if it’s the corset or the amount of people swarming you that makes it hard to breathe.

“’Course my feelings ain’t hurt,” he mutters, flashing a brief grin before waving down the bartender. Without needing to say much, the man places a glass of whiskey in front of him and moves on to the next person. “I know you had to lie,” Arthur continues, voice quieter now. “I just don’t like you being mixed up in all this, alright? You could-”

“What?” You interrupt, turning to face him, your chest pressing against his. The sight you make must be quite a spectacle for polite society- two people so intimately entwined, neither of you wearing rings. You take his hand in yours, “I could get hurt?”

You let out a self-deprecating laugh and shake your head. “I already have been hurt, Arthur. The O'Driscolls were what dragged me into this, not you. Just being in that camp puts me in danger.”

His brows furrow, something that looks startling like hurt playing across his face. “I can’t be responsible,” he utters, voice low and heavy, “for someone else I care about dyin’.”

You sigh, heart aching for him. “Arthur,” you say softly, hand drifting up to cup his jaw. He leans into your touch, and you practically melt at the sight. You wish you could just keep him locked away. Away from all his troubles and the pain he carries, but you know you can’t. 

“You can’t be responsible for everyone,” you tell him, voice low. “I make my own choices, I’m my own woman. If I choose to put myself in danger that’s my fault, not yours. You’re always gonna be worrying if you keep shouldering all this weight. Let some of it go. Please.”

He sighs heavily, and you know deep down he won’t listen to you, not about this. He’ll always blame himself for the gang’s troubles, and it eats you up inside. You wish he could see himself the way you see him, the way Hosea or Tilly or Sean sees him, not as the man Dutch created.

“Alright,” he whispers, an empty promise, and pulls your hand from his face, lacing his fingers through yours. Your throat tightens as you swallow hard. He’ll never let go. He’d give his dying breath to save someone else.

You blink rapidly, looking away from him as your gaze drifts toward the partygoers. Women in extravagant dresses pass by, on the arms of powerful men, nothing more than accessories to them. You find yourself reaching for the ring on your left hand, only to remember it's long gone.

You had hoped you’d never return to a place like this, to a life full of bad memories. But you should’ve known. No matter what, you always end up back here. It’s what you were raised for, trained for, to please men like Angelo Bronte.

“Can’t believe Hosea had to tell you to compliment me,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

He rolls his eyes with a small smile, “You look gorgeous, sweetheart,” he tells you, wholly earnest in his words. “But-”

You swear if he's about to call you a bison-

“Arthur!” A voice calls from above, cutting through the moment. You both frown and look up to see Dutch bent over the porch railing. He nods toward the door, then disappears back inside the estate.

“Alright,” Arthur mutters, pulling a key from inside his jacket and turning toward you. You raise an eyebrow, leaning against the bar,  and giving him a questioning look. “Take this and head to the hotel down the road,” he says, handing you the key. “I’ll meet you when this is all done.”

“What is it?” You gingerly take the key from his hand and turn it over. 

“A room key,” he deadpans and you roll your eyes. 

“I see that, but why did you get it?” You ask, but before he can answer, an impatient voice calls his name from above. You tuck the key into your bag, waving him off. “Go on. I need to get out of here before Bronte collects on that dance.”

He grumbles something under his breath and heads back toward the stairs. He’s nearly at the landing when he turns back toward you.“I’ll be with you soon,” he promises, then rushes the rest of the way up to meet Dutch.

You stare at the key in your purse, then glance back at the women around you. This will be the first party you’ve ever left under your own volition. And, without the looming proposal of twenty men you’ve never met. This will be the first party you’ve ever left by choice. If that’s the only win you have tonight, you’ll be happy. 

Saint Denis might be the most backward place you’ve encountered during your time with the gang. Perhaps not as stifling as Rhodes, but certainly no better.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the hotel clerk drawls, his tone dripping with false courtesy. “But we don’t allow women of your… caliber in our establishment.”

You glance down at your fine dress, the way Mary-Beth had carefully styled your hair, and try to reconcile his words with your polished appearance. For the life of you, you can’t fathom how this man sees anything but a proper lady.

“And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” you ask, your voice sharp.

The man sniffs, his expression folding into something both condescending and disdainful. “Well,” he says, as if speaking to a wayward child, “I happen to remember the gentleman who retained that room. He seems the type to… hire someone like you.”

It takes a moment for his words to land, but when they do, the whites of your eyes flash in disbelief. A whore. That’s what he’s implying you are. Just some woman off the street Arthur must have paid for companionship.

Your fingers twitch, the weight of the gun in your purse suddenly tempting, but you know better. Causing a scene here would accomplish nothing but attracting the attention of Saint Denis’ finest.

Instead, you step forward, your voice dropping into a low, icy drawl. “My husband is going to be quite upset by this treatment.”

He nods his head, lips tilted in faux pity, “I’m sure he will be,” he agrees, voice dripping with sarcasm. He doesn’t believe for one second that you’re married. And maybe you aren’t, but that doesn’t matter. You refuse to let him get away with treating you like this. 

“Oh,” you trail off into a bitter chuckle, the sound sharp and humorless as you glare at the smug little man behind the counter. “Alright. I see how it is.”

He has the audacity to feign innocence, shaking his head with wide, exaggerated eyes. “How what is, ma’am?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you nod to yourself, your decision made, and storm over to the bench by the entrance. Without hesitation, you plant yourself down, smoothing your dress as you settle in for the long haul. “I’ll stay here all damn night if I have to,” you declare, voice loud enough to draw a few curious glances from other patrons. “But I will not be leaving this spot until you apologize.”

The clerk’s smile widens, smug and condescending. “Well,” he says with mock cheer, “I hope you’re comfortable.”

It takes Arthur an hour and a half to finish whatever Dutch had needed him for. You don’t have a clue if it had to do with Jack, Tahiti, or who knows what else. All you know is that your legs are practically numb from the tight heels you’re wearing and the uncomfortable wooden bench beneath you. Still, that doesn’t stop you from leaping to your feet the second you see Arthur walk through the hotel door. 

His eyes narrow in confusion as you stride toward him. “What’re you still doin’ waitin’ out here?” 

You scoff, grabbing his wrist and storming back toward the little man behind the counter, whose wide eyes have already clocked Arthur’s imposing presence. “This little-” You bite your tongue, sucking in a deep breath to steady yourself. Arthur’s brows quirk in amusement as he watches you wrestle your temper into submission. 

“This man,” you start again, glaring at the clerk with barely restrained anger, “refused to let me into our room. Says he doesn’t think people like us belong in a place like this.”

Arthur’s expression hardens with interest, and the clerk quickly starts bumbling excuses, his words tripping over themselves in a frantic effort to backpedal. You plant a hand on your hip, your smile sharp and smug as you watch him squirm under the weight of Arthur’s silence.

“You left my wife,” Arthur says, his arm slipping around your waist as he pulls you close, “sittin’ out here. All night?” 

The word wife rolls off his tongue so easily it catches you off guard, but you don’t have time to dwell on it. The clerk pales, shaking his head as he stammers, “It was an innocent mistake, sir, I swear. I will happily take you up to your rooms now.”

“No,” you snap, stopping him before he can step away. His strained smile falters as he turns back to you. 

“Ma’am?” Both men look at you, but you’re too incensed to notice Arthur biting back his laughter. 

“I want a proper apology,” you demand. “I sat on that bench for near two hours and all it takes is one word from him,” you jab a finger in Arthur’s direction. He makes a noise somewhere between affronted and amused, but stays quiet.  “And suddenly everythings just fine and dandy?”

The clerk inhales deeply and forces the most half-hearted apologetic look you’ve ever seen. “I am truly sorry ma’am,” he says, tone clipped and mechanical. “Your dress had me mistaking you for someone of much less standing.”

Your jaw drops, and something between a squeak and a growl escapes you. Arthur swiftly snatches the room key back from the clerk and shoots him a glare.“We’ll find our own way to the room.” He tugs you along before you can lunge at the man, whose smug smirk makes your blood boil. Arthur steers you toward the stairs, pushing you gently ahead of him.

“He thought I was a whore, Arthur!” He chuckles and you gasp, whipping around and swatting at his arm. “Do I look like a whore to you?”

“Well, you’re pretty enough to be one—”

“Arthur!” you exclaim, smacking him harder as he laughs and ushers you down the hallway.

When you reach the door, your irritation fades. “Why’d you even get us a hotel room?”

“Well,” he says with a small smile, “I know Shady Belle ain’t up to your standards.”

Guilt twists at you and you shake your head. “Oh, Arthur, no-”

“It’s alright, sweetheart. It ain’t my house.” He takes your hand and leads you inside.

You have to admit, the second you see the clean walls of the room and the freshly-made bed, it’s like weight taken off your shoulders. You hadn’t realized just how much you’d been craving the cleanliness of your old life until now. The idea of a proper bath makes your heart ache with longing.

“How much did this cost you?”

Arthur quirks a brow, slowly sliding your purse off your arm. He frowns slightly at the weight of the gun inside, shooting you an odd look before continuing. “Is that any way to talk to a gentleman?”

“Oh,” you tease, grinning as you turn toward him, “I didn’t know I was talking to a gentleman.” He sets the purse on the table by the bed and closes the distance between you, his hands finding your waist as you loop your arms around his neck.

The conversation takes a more grave shift as you ask, “What did Dutch need?”

Arthur sighs, rolling his eyes. “That Bronte fella. He was the one who took Jack. Needed me and John to fetch some family heirloom. Still, robbin’ graves for an Italian mobster ain’t the oddest job I’ve worked.”

“So, Jack’s back?” you prod, intrigued by the grave-robbing but saving your questions for later.

He nods, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Back at camp. They’re probably celebratin’ by now.”

“And you didn’t want to celebrate with them?”

He shakes his head, his hands drifting to the laces of your dress. “Nowhere I’d rather be than right here.”

“Mr. Morgan,” you scold, your voice low and breathy as he leans closer. “What exactly are your intentions tonight?”

“To get you out of this damn dress,” he murmurs with a chuckle, plucking at a lace and loosening your corset. His eyes meet yours, warm and intent. “Feels like I’m holdin’ someone else’s woman. Wanna see you again.”

You can’t help but smile at the tenderness in his voice, though the words cut a little deeper than you expected. This dress, this persona, the polished veneer of a proper lady- it’s all a mask. And in Arthur’s arms, it feels like it’s already slipping away. 

You tilt your head up, eyes fluttering close in invitation. He doesn’t waste a second before he’s pressing his lips against yours, eager hands working on pushing the corset the rest of the way off. You stumble towards the bed, your fingers drifting down his neck to tug at the bowtie still knotted too tightly around his collar. 

Arthur seems to have better luck than you do with shedding your layers. He also seems to have more experience with ladies garments than he’s let on. You’d laugh at his eagerness if you weren’t just as desperate, fumbling at the buttons of his shirt with frustrated huffs. 

He gives you a gentle push, your legs hit the edge of the bed and you fall back with a soft gasp. You prop yourself on your elbows, looking up at him with a coy smile as your fingers toy with the neckline of your shift, sliding it a little lower. 

“Well, Mr. Morgan?” You tease, your voice low and inviting. “You really gonna keep a lady waiting?”

His lips quirk into a crooked smile, but he doesn’t bother with words. Instead, he leans down, his weight pressing into you as he captures your lips again. Your laughter melts into a quiet gasp as his hands find your waist, tugging you closer. 

The room grows warmer, the world outside fading to nothing as you lose yourself in him, in the way his hands and lips feel against your skin. Your dress slips further, pooling around you like a forgotten memory. Whatever unspoken words linger in the air are stolen away, replaced by breathless laughter and the sweet whispers of a night that belongs to you and Arthur alone. 

The ride back to camp is slow, neither of you in any rush to return to the chaos. Your conversation is devoid of your usual banter, instead you opt for soft glances and easy smiles. Thoughts of your intimate morning together, the way he’d brushed the hair off your bare shoulder, the two of you splashing out half the water figuring out if that bathtub was big enough for the both of you, it was all so perfect. Neither of you want to shatter the rare, fragile peace. Besides, what more is there to say after last night. 

It’s easy to forget why there had ever been tension between you, until you make it back to camp. The noise is overwhelming immediately, loud cheering and shouted questions that you can’t make out through the cacophony of voices. 

Arthur pulls Diablo to a stop, and you follow suit, hitching Lady beside him. He swings down from the saddle first, his eyes narrowing at the commotion around Dutch’s tent. Coming to your side, he offers a hand to help you down, his grip firm and steady. Without letting go, he threads your hand loosely through his,  guiding you through the small crowd gathering near Dutch.

You lift up the edge of your skirt and follow along after him. After last night, you’ve learned the dress can survive some wear and tear, you’re no longer worried about messing it up. The tight tendrils of the night before are loose waves around your shoulders and the flush on your cheeks can no longer be blamed on rouge. You glance over at Arthur and grin, the bowtie and the jacket abandoned back at the hotel, his hair fussed from your wandering hands.

Sean comes bounding up to you both, hollering a loud, “Arthur!” The over-excited redhead practically bounces on Arthur’s shoulders as a broad grin splits his face. Arthur grimaces, swatting Sean’s hands off.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?” Arthur snaps, already out of patience for Sean’s antics.

Sean grins even wider, “Oh, he’s done it, Arthur! We’re finally gonna get the hell outta here!” Arthur looks over his shoulder at you, wearing a confused expression that you share, just as lost as he is.  

“Arthur! Finally!” Dutch’s voice cuts through the noise, silencing the crowd. He strides over, smiling at Sean before nudging him aside with casual dismissal. Dutch’s sharp eyes flick to you, narrowing with suspicion. “I was wondering where you’d disappeared to,” he says smoothly, though there’s a pointed edge to his tone that makes your stomach twist. You stand straighter, unwilling to bend beneath his gaze.

“Dutch,” Arthur starts, his tone unsure. “What’s got everyone so worked up?”

“My dear boy, I have finally found our golden ticket out of here and onto a boat to Tahiti!” You can’t help but feel a spike of doubt. You rarely trust anything he says, but especially not when it comes to Tahiti. But what catches you off guard is the flicker of hesitation in Arthur’s expression.

“Really?” Arthur asks, his voice laced with skepticism as he eyes Dutch warily. If Dutch is surprised, he doesn’t let it show. 

His grin doesn’t falter as he steps closer, resting both hands on Arthur’s shoulders. There’s an air of practiced paternal affection about him. “Arthur,” he says warmly, his voice almost a purr, “have I ever given you reason to doubt me?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I can think of a few,” you mutter under your breath, your glare sharp as you meet Dutch’s gaze.

Dutch turns to you with a polished smile, laughing as if you’ve shared some inside joke. “Ah, that tongue of yours—always so sharp, my dear.” You roll your eyes at his patronizing tone, your irritation barely contained. Arthur shoots you a warning look, silently asking you to hold your temper. But you can’t help it. Every instinct in you rails against Dutch, every polished word and easy charm grating like nails on a chalkboard.

There’s no way that whatever Dutch has planned actually works, it never does. In fact, it seems every mission, robbery, or even shopping trip since the mountains has ended up with you being chased by Pinkertons or Cornwall. It’s almost as though someone is letting them know where you’re going to be. You linger on the thought, swirl it around before dismissing it. Dutch’s power comes from having control over the gang. He wouldn’t so foolishly give that away by letting in a rat. He’s a conman, but he’s no idiot.

“I’ve received a tip from our friend Mr. Bronte.” Dutch starts, turning towards the rest of the gang so they can hear him. Arthur watches him with narrowed eyes and a scowl. You observe, face pinched as you try and discern what he’s thinking. “If we want to finally get out of here,” a few whistles from the group and he grins, “our future lay in trains.” he laughs, clapping his hands together and shaking his head. “I don’t know how I never thought of it before, but if there was one place that’s going to have the most foot traffic and money, it’s going to be the train station.”

You walk up to Arthur, snagging the elbow of his jacket and tugging him towards you. He shoots you a bewildered look but you shake your head, urging him not to say anything. “Do you really think this is smart?” Your voice is hushed, one eye trained on Dutch to make sure he’s busy regaling everyone with his tall tales. “Following a tip he got from a mobster sounds risky, even by the gang’s standards.”

Arthur lets out a rough sigh and scrubs a hand down his weary face. You steel yourself for his usual defense of Dutch, instead he just looks like a man beaten down too many times. His shoulders sag in a weary gesture that you’ve seen one too many times. “What choice do I have?” He asks, already sounding resigned to the mission. “It doesn’t matter what I think, he’ll drag everyone else along on his scheme. Someone’s gotta make sure they don’t all get themselves killed.”

“Does it have to be you?” You snap, biting back your volume as your frustration threatens to boil over. Your eyes narrow into slits as you tilt your head, trying to catch his eye. “We’ve had this conversation before, Arthur. Last time you were nearly dead, I don’t much feel like having you come back to me in a casket this time around.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens as he meets your gaze, looking like a rough mix of guilt and anger. “We’re going to keep having this conversation until you just accept that this is who I am,” he says sharply. “This is what I have to do, if you can’t live with that then this is gonna end just like it did with Mary.”

It almost feels like he’s trying to hurt you, trying to push you away. With a pained scoff, you shake your head, “Dammit, Arthur, maybe she had a point,” you shoot back. “There’s nothing wrong with you being an outlaw, but there is everything wrong with always being the first to throw yourself in front of a bullet.”

He snatches his arm from your grip and your stomach drops to your feet. The emptiness of your hands feels like a physical blow. His expression softens, ever so slightly. “One last job,” the promise lingers heavy in the air between you. His face is a quiet plea but you  can only take a step back from him. Your heart is aching and he isn’t even gone yet. “I swear,” he adds.

“You’ve said that before,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “Go, Arthur. It doesn’t matter what I say, you’re never going to choose me.” He hesitates, his hand hovering near yours like he wants to reach for you. But before he can say anything, Hosea’s voice calls his name from the wagon, pulling him away. You watch him go, your chest tight and your vision blurring as the space between you grows. He doesn’t look back, and you don’t call after him.

This is who he is. And you? You’ll always be the one left behind.

You’re supposed to be packing Arthur’s things. After all, the miraculous Dutch Van der Linde is about to lead everyone out of the wetlands and onto a boat to paradise. You scoff at the thought, twirling a bottle of whiskey in your hand. The last time you drank this, you’d killed a man. You wonder what you’ll do this time. 

A commotion breaks out at the edge of camp, dragging you away from whatever foolishness you were about to get into. Frowning, you drop the bottle to the ground without a care for the way it shatters. You step over the shards of glass and run towards the horses, dread coiling in your stomach. The job was supposed to be quick, but an hour seems far too fast for you. 

Mrs. Grimshaw shouts at whoever’s parking their horse and you narrow your eyes in confusion when you see Charles struggling off Taima’s saddle, his movements sluggish and pained. Concern gnaws at your already frayed nerves when you realize he’s the only one to return. Your mind immediately follows the worst scenarios, Arthur thrown lifeless over a horse. Or, worse, never returning at all. 

Charles staggers to a stop in front of you and you’re forced out of your spiraling thoughts. His face is a mottled portrait of bruises, blood still leaking steadily from his nose. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him look out of sorts and it’s chilling. “They’re gone,” he croaks, hand clenched around his ribs. 

Your hands dart to his shoulders, steadying him. “Who is?” You ask, though you already have the sinking feeling you know the answer. 

“Hosea and Lenny,” he says, his voice cracking. “Dead. Cops got them. Sean and John, were dragged off to prison-”

“Arthur,” you interrupt him, voice short as you impatiently wait for his answer. He winces, from pain or the reluctance to tell you, you can’t tell. “What happened to Arthur?” you ask slowly, voice low and tense. You feel like the string of a bow, taut and pulled back, just waiting to be set free. 

“Got on a boat with Dutch and the others. A ferry, I don’t know where they are, but they’re gone.” He stumbles back from you, turning towards the rest of camp. The world seems to slip upside down. Your hands fall to your sides, grasping at nothing but empty air. 

“They left us,” you whisper, the weight of it sinking in like a blade to the chest. Arthur left you. All the warmth he’d given was stripped away and left you cold.

Your mind races, but it always lands on the same bleak truth: this isn’t the first time you’ve been abandoned. You’d been foolish enough to think it might be different with Arthur. Foolish enough to believe he might stay. 

Charles’s voice cuts through your haze. “The Pinkertons will be here soon,” he shouts, turning toward the rest of the camp. “We need to leave, now!”

You don’t move. Your feet are rooted in place, your mind screaming at you to react, but your body refuses to listen. You’re disgusted with yourself by how much this betrayal is surprising you.

Charles spins back to you, his hands gripping your shoulders with no care for gentleness. “We need to go,” he snaps, shaking you. “Now.”

His urgency finally breaks through, and you nod stiffly. 

Next part

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea @pokiona @fleouris @soupvender00

[wachtelspinat]

always wanted to post some australia photos so here they are before the year is coming to an end.

in order:

Mundi Mundi Lookout - Silverton, NSW

Hannans North Tourist Mine - Kalgoorlie-Boulder, WA

Tom's Opal Mine - Coober Pedy, SA

Karlkurla Bushland Park - Kalgoorlie-Boulder, WA

Kanku Breakaways - near Coober Pedy, SA

Rawnsley Bluff - Ikara-Flinders Ranges, SA

Echo Point - Blue Mountains, Katoomba, NSW

Head of Bight - Nullarbor Plain, Yalata, SA

Grand Canyon - Blue Mountains, Blackheath, NSW

also a little life update to anyone who's interested:

2024 has been a wild ride all around, and i feel a bit bad when i say that for me personally it had been a blast (except for today and this weekend: first my toilet flusher started being defect (ah yes, getting a mechanic the week before the holidays in germany, why would there be a problem), then a chunk of my phone screen stopped being touch sensitive, then half of my laptop's keyboard stopped working... and when i dared to ask what will break next... i landed a tremendous fall on my way to work today, with my bike and sudden glazed ice on the road, breaking my drawing elbow 👍).

BUT OTHER THAN THAT 2024 has been great in my books.

got laid off at work in march, which gave me the opportunity to do a roadtrip through australia, sth i would have never dreamed of doing on my own, of becoming true. this trip was life-changing y'all. it has altered my brain chemistry.

then i got back at work on part-time basis and holy shit, that was great. sadly i'm involved full-time again but this also made sth click in my head. and it gave me sth back that i've thought having lost last year: my will to draw. this sounds so overdramatic but some may remember my crisis in 2023 because i couldn't shake the thought of my drawing days being over due to work and life being so overwhelming? thank you so much again to each and everyone who left messages back then, it still means a lot, they really helped me to stay grounded during that time. but i'm also here to tell past-me "bitch! you thought you would never find fun and purpose in drawing again? think again!"

this also gave me the courage to apply for tabling again, something that i've long pushed away to the back of my mind bc i never felt confident enough. and what can i say, a friend of mine and me are gonna have a booth next year at leipzig bookfair <3

honourable mentions before it's getting too long: friends got the cutest new dog baby, iceland roadtrip with seeing polar lights for the first time, heidelberg zine fair with lots of crunch time beforehand but this also unlocked sth new in my brain, making zines is so much fun, lots of time again with friends and then... the last issue of the tf2 comic *bless.

thank you to everyone here who i met along the way, who interacts with my art and leaves incredible comments and tags, i love this site so much and its community, you all are wonderful people and i'm really happy that we all share this platform.

i'm wishing everyone who celebrates some nice holidays <333

[lavellaned]

Solavellan fic recs

If you're like me and was disappointed by veilguard, here are some of my favorite post-Inquisition solavellan fics that are *chef's kiss* in my opinion.

Little Arrow by playwithdinos - post trespasser solavellan kid fic that is very angsty with some sweet, sweet papae!solas

Everything Stays by beaubashley - domestic bliss, Solas and Lavellan living in a cottage. They adopt a cat. The coziest damn fic.

Vir'vhen'an by RogueLioness - post trespasser. Well of Sorrows has actual consequences and Solas fucks up big time. Almost like the da4 regret prison but actually good.

Verhas'alhan - To Yearn for Wilderness by RosemaryBagels - Veil came down, Lavellan hides from Solas and makes a life in a little village. Solas is in prime yearning, sad, wet cat mode here.

Memory (series) by MistressDragonFlame - pre trespasser. Pure angst, hurt no comfort. Lavellan forgets all the events of Inquisition and the anchor is killing her. Solas finds out, bad times ensue.

Love Is Not A Victory March by Myrime - post trespasser, Solas and his forces are winning. Solas and Lavellan have a meeting. Angsty. Like something that I had hoped we would've gotten in da4.

Barefaced by playwithdinos - post trespasser but also Arlathan AU. Some time travel stuff involved. Lavellan has amnesia, but Solas remembers everything. Not finished but what is there is worth the read. Lavellan is Ghilan'nain's slave. Andruil is also there.

but never doubt I love by cedarmoons - Jaws of Hakkon angst. Post Inquisition, pre trespasser but with moments during Inquisition as well. Lot of angst, hurt but with comfort this time.

the diver's wife by magesamell - Lavellan makes herself tranquil kind of Seeker-style in order to defeat Solas, then needs him to come back to herself. Angsty solavellan road trip.

Hobo Apostate by broomclosetkink - Lavellan shows up when Solas is about to tear the veil down. Points out the hilarity between hobo apostate Solas and ender-of-worlds dread wolf Solas.

It Is Not Enough by NamelessShe - This is a chonky fic but it is one of my favorite post trespasser ones. Very lore heavy, I recommend this one for anyone who laments the lost lore and story threads in da4.

sleep like this by mortaltemples - The most da4 relevant fic on this list. Lavellan is a ghost, 10/10.

I will make you whole again by amorficzna - Solas tears down the veil, kills everyone, goes back in time to the beginning of Inquisition to be with Lavellan as Solas (...as he wanted).

Between Heartbeats by houndinghell - Ameridian/Telana parallel lovers are eating so fucking good in this fic. Lavellan makes the ultimate sacrifice to stop Solas during his final veil dropping ritual. Hurts so good.

The Healer's Bloodied Hands by geekyjez - post trespasser sick-fic. Classic hurt/comfort.

i'd rather flail like a mortal (than flail like a god) by crossingwinter - post trespasser. Angsty but with a hopeful ending, more hurt/comfort, another instance of Solas coming face to face with his vhenan's mortality.

The One Where Lavellan is a Nug by Feynite - I think this is my favorite solavellan fic of all time. Just please read it if you haven't, and read it again if you have.

[booksandabeer]

Celebrating 10 Years of CA:TWS — A Stucky Rec List

Rec list for the CA:TWS 10th Anniversary Event @catws-anniversary (thank you so much for organizing this event! 💙) | Prompt: Memories

10 years, huh? 10 years of Captain America: The Winter Soldier. 10 years of what many—myself included—still consider to be the best MCU movie ever made.

But also 10 years of post-TWS fanfiction. 10 years of Bucky Barnes Recovering and Steve Rogers' Sadness Errands; of Up All Night to Get Bucky and Revenge Road Trips; of Winter Soldier Trauma Umbrellas and Everybody Needing A Goddamn Hug; of Good Bros and Soft Epilogues. 10 years and tens of thousands of Steve/Bucky fics later, here we are.

So, to mark the occasion, let's take a trip down memory lane and celebrate the movie and the stories it inspired: One fic from each year since it all began:

There's really only one rule here: All fics are set before, during, or after the events of CA:TWS and/or reimagine its plot in interesting ways. Naturally, many of the fics on this list are post-TWS canon divergent, but I tried to go for a nice variety of length, genre, and popularity to keep it interesting. Speaking of popularity, this is very much not intended as a round-up of ‘most popular fics of each year’ because—and I say this with all the love and respect in my heart for those stories and their authors—nobody needs a rec list for that, and I believe in spreading the love. Here we go:

Poltergeists by enemyofrome | 17K, T

Author's summary: When the helicarriers blow up and the Winter Soldier goes on the run, he takes Steve with him. He's got a name written in Morse code on the inside of his arm, a ton of questions he doesn't know how to ask, and now, a new handler with absolutely zero sense of self-preservation to contend with. Life is hard. In which Bucky tries to figure out whether he's a human being, Steve does everything he can to keep from losing him again, and there are lots of explosions.

Starting off with one of the best versions of the 'Bucky didn't leave Steve, he took him with him after the Potomac' fics that were (and still are!) so popular post-TWS. This one stands out because of its fantastic beginning, its interesting take on how Bucky was broken and remade into the Winter Soldier, and because it allows both characters to be messy. It's a popular fanon trope that it's Steve who brings out a ruthless, almost vicious streak in Bucky, but here it's emphasized that this is very much a mutual thing. Just like Bucky, who's often afforded the "excuse" of still figuring out how to be a person again, Steve gets to be difficult here—without ever turning him into a stubborn asshole. They're both traumatized, and they're both allowed to show it and to lash out, including at each other. Also, this fic will give you capital-F Feelings about morse codes and apples. Believe me.

sleepwalk back to the battle site by ftmsteverogers | 22K, T

Author's summary: “I’m going to track down every HYDRA agent that’s left,” Bucky says, buckling his gun deftly to his belt. “And then I’m going to kill them.” “Oh,” Steve says. “Come with me?” Bucky asks, dangerous hands tucked into his pockets.

A classic post-TWS fic that picks up right after the movie ends. Equal parts Revenge Roadtrip, Bucky Barnes recovering, and Steve Rogers being in urgent need of a good hug. This starts out intensely melancholic—Steve's despair and helplessness are palpable and there's a scene involving a drinking glass that still brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. Halfway through, the story changes pace and becomes much more action-heavy, but it still manages to allow space for the quiet, intimate moments between Steve and Bucky. They have both become sharp and deadly men, but they're also allowed to be soft with each other. Their coming together feels sweet and inevitable. I also really enjoyed the Steve characterization here. His absolute conviction that Bucky is still Bucky at his very core and always will be, but also his emotional and intellectual flexibility to adapt to this still-new-to-him, changed version of Bucky rang very true to me.   

Surveillance by Sproings, 7K in 2 parts, G

Author's summary: If there are ears everywhere, that means it's somebody's job to listen. I hate my job.

Do you ever think about how SHIELD bugged Steves DC apartment and how horrible that was, but also...you're kind of curious what they might have overheard? Do you ever wonder about the people who listened in on his sad, lonely life? Well, here you go. An outsider POV fic told "through the ears" of an unnamed SHIELD agent assigned to spy on the private life of a man who doesn't really have much of one. The story begins just before IM3 and takes us all the way through the events of CA:TWS and beyond. It's clever, original and told with great empathy for both the subject under surveillance and the person carrying out that surveillance—who increasingly questions its purpose. Here's a small snippet to give you an idea of the fic's style:

He got a phone call, once. He put it on speaker, too, which was very exciting for me at the time. It was from an archivist at the Smithsonian. They seemed really surprised that he answered his own phone calls. The two of them talked for a long time about an exhibit the museum was planning. A very long time. As if one of them was starstruck, and the other was desperate for any kind of human interaction.

What Gets You Through by velleities | 12K, M

Author's summary: For Steve, getting through each day is a process – one he’s currently failing at spectacularly. Feeling out of place in this brave new world, he hopes to find a home in Bucky, and looks for him with everything he’s got. But Bucky doesn’t want to be found, and when he does touch base with Steve, he never sticks around for long. Bucky has embraced the modern age, leaving Steve lagging behind – or so Steve believes, until Bucky shows him otherwise.

This post-TWS fic revolves around five encounters in liminal spaces, and each time Bucky has pieced himself back together again just a little more. Despite their increasingly longer and more honest conversations, and Bucky's incremental progress, he always disappears again, leaving Steve to grapple with his heartbreak. There are quietly gorgeous moments in this fic (the bus and the church in particular were my personal favorites) as well as wonderfully crafted characterizations. Bucky is initially portrayed as somewhat feral in some ways yet surprisingly well-adjusted in others, and I love that Steve can't help but be a little annoyed at that. However, it quickly becomes clear that, in good old Bucky Barnes fashion, much of it is really just a front put up for Steve's benefit...

A Real Boy by itsnotbleak | 5K, T

Author's summary: It took the Winter Soldier three weeks to remember that human beings needed to sleep and eat. It took Steve far too long to realise the Winter Soldier was sleeping in his bed.

A wonderful, short-but-doesn't-feel-like-it fic (in the very best way) set immediately after CA:TWS, in which Bucky secretly and then soon not so secretly visits Steve in his apartment. Follow along as Bucky Barnes argues with his brain about sandwich toppings, the importance of a good night's sleep, and the necessity of personal hygiene. Also: how to best go about becoming a real boy (again). And who the hell is that Bucky guy anway? This is as soft and sweet a Bucky recovery fic as you're ever going to find. It's funny but not silly; sad in a way that all of these stories inherently are—because, well, these are some tragic boys—but not super angsty or depressing. A beautiful story with a lovely, hopeful ending.

Savage God by PottersPink | 36K, M

Author's summary (abbr.): Past, present, future, Steve knows Bucky Barnes. It’s why he recognized him when he found him in that alley in April of 1942, even though Bucky was older, stronger, wearier; he called himself The Asset, and had a metal fucking arm. He flinched when Steve tried to touch him, and when Steve told him he loved him, his first response was to ask why. Seventy years later, Steve wakes up in the twenty-first century, and he doesn’t know whether to be heartbroken or hopeful when some of the things Bucky revealed to him in 1942 start falling into place.

An absolutely riveting AU that will have you on the edge of your seat the whole time. I'm itching to talk about it more but I cannot since it would mean spoiling the hell out of it. What I can say is that it's a very intriguing and clever exploration of what would happen if Steve knew about the future but without really knowing any of the details. How would it change the events of CA:TFA and CA:TWS, and how would it change Steve himself? I so very much appreciate this characterization of Steve as smart, competent, and unwavering with a hefty dose of no fucks left to give. This fic features some really nifty time travel and plotting, great action sequences and a very satisfying ending where certain people get their much-deserved comeuppance. Plus: Bonus Shrinkyclinks (kind of)!

Charlie Lock by seapigeon | 105K, M (hard M)

Author's summary (abbr.): The Winter Soldier knows that sometimes, in order to make the kill, you must destroy what the Target lives for. Steve Rogers knows that he can't fight his captors. If he fights, they'll kill Bucky. But the price of his life is steep. Tony Stark has nothing left to live for, but he's needed. So all these miserable motherfuckers better stay alive, too. Clint Barton never expected to be a leader. But a leader he is, and no one else is going to die on his watch. --- A story in which the first wave of Project Insight succeeds, and the Avengers must pick up the pieces and find a way to stop Hydra from completing its work with Zola's algorithm.

This is not only the longest fic on this list, but also the angstiest one—by a mile, so please heed the tags. It's dark, disturbing, and brutal. However, it is neither relentless misery porn nor is it shocking for shock's sake, where everything is magically forgotten and/or healed the moment Steve and Bucky start kissing. Instead, the author puts these characters into an absolutely horrifying situation and then slowly, gently guides them out of it and into the light.

It's a Stucky fic but it's also a multi-POV ensemble piece featuring all the Avengers and other familiar faces. If you are someone who'll always be a little bitter about the unfulfilled promise of an Avengers found family, then this is for you. In this AU, they do not only fight together, but grow together in every way. They truly become a team, not just co-workers barely tolerating each other. The story takes its time exploring the characters and the group dynamics. Steve and Bucky are definitely at the center of the narrative but there is space here for every member of the team to grieve and adjust to the new reality and to find at least some measure of healing. It's a story about the meaning and the consequences of revenge, about hope and resilience, and about love in all its many forms. It also has one of the most satisfying title drops that will have you pump your fist in triumph when it happens. It's a tough read, but ultimately a very rewarding one.

SPELEVINK by Ginny_Potter | 10K, G

Author's summary: Bucky’s back. He’s leaving me messages through IKEA plushies, Steve texts Sam. jesus christ, rogers, Sam texts back. Or, Bucky lives in an IKEA Tiny Apartment, Steve is a dancing monkey once again, and somehow they find their way back to each other.

This is an absolute DELIGHT of a fic that will have you alternately laughing out loud and crying quietly into your SVARTFIBBLA blanket (super-soft, recycled polyester, 47x63"). It's ‘crack treated seriously’ at its very best and a clear homage to the fandom classic Infinite Coffee… (that’s not a dig or a spoiler, the author says so in the author’s note).

Now if you know me, you’ll know that angst o’clock is my happy hour and I’m usually not very into these heavy-on the-humor quasi-absurdist fics (because I’m super special and not like all the other girls, obviously). But. I LOVED this story so, so much. It’s such a fun read—even when it makes you cry—and it really became one of those ‘huh, I guess I’m into this after all’ moments of joyful (self)discovery via fanfic for me. I never thought a pair of oven mitts could move me like that, and I'll never be able to walk into an IKEA again without muttering "F******!" under my breath (iykyk). Absolutely fantastic.

a handful of dust by RecoveringTheSatellites | 20K, M

Author's summary: Steve looks for Bucky for a long time. But the thing is that Bucky doesn't get found, Bucky finds. Bucky always finds Steve. This takes a hard left after the Potomac and stumbles through the dark a lot after. Take a bit of running, the occasional synaptic misfire, the resurfacing of old memories, a dash or two of PTSD, and (eventually) a nice dose of action, stir, and serve over some unresolved issues.

Honestly, the second paragraph up there perfectly sums up the story. It's a good ol' fashioned Bucky recovery fic with some angst, some action, and a whole lot of healing and devotion. Steve and Bucky get to be very sappy about each other, but also extremely Badass Battle Boyfriends™ when somebody threatens their hard-won happiness. Both are allowed to be messy, unstable, and very co-dependent.

This was the first time this author played in the Stucky sandbox and I mean it 100% as a compliment when I say that you can tell. This is someone with "fresh legs" diving headfirst and very deep into the Stucky trope pool and they're doing it with great relish and enthusiam. The result is a story that rejects some of the tried and true conventions of the post-TWS fanfic canon and lovingly embraces others, but that is definitely aware of and in dialogue with the body of work that came before it. Also, it's just a really fun read that gives these two the very soft ending they deserve.

Everybody is Supposed to be Dead by pollutedstar | 22K, M

Author's summary: In 1944, Bucky Barnes falls off a train into the Alps, missing and presumed dead. Months later, Steve Rogers nosedives a plane into the arctic. In 2010, the Winter Soldier project is uncovered by S.H.I.E.L.D., and Bucky Barnes is found alive. Three years later, Steve Rogers’ frozen body is found in the ocean.

A really interesting AU and a fascinating exploration of what could’ve been; the impact it would’ve had on the events and characters if Bucky had been the one to be “found” first. How would it affect Steve to come back into a world where he isn’t quite so lonely and adrift, and where he does have the relief and reassurance of having Bucky by his side and at his back? How would that have changed the way he acted and reacted to this strange new world and the people and organizations trying to recruit him to their cause even though the ice hasn't even completely melted off his body yet?

There are a lot of astute and precise observations about characters like Tony, Natasha, and Clint in this story, and on top of that, it offers up some very compelling insights into Steve's conflicted and difficult relationship with his role as Captain America.

it's never over (hey orpheus) by romcommie | 12K WIP, 2/?, M

Author's summary: He remembers a song first and then everything else follows, burying him below. Or, Bucky Barnes pieces a life back together with a few choice verses, some duct tape and seventy years worth of spite. Steve Rogers tries very hard to relearn there's a life to be lived in the first place.

Ok, listen up, people! This is a WIP and there are only 2 chapters posted so far, but I haven't felt this absolutely bonkers excited about a post-CA:TWS fic in a long while. We're talking frothing at the mouth here. I have such a massive crush on this fic, it's a bit embarrassing, really. It's one of those fics where you know after just a few paragraphs that you're in very good, very competent hands. The wealth of historical and cultural detail; the way the story shifts/flips/flickers back and forth between time, perspective and narrative levels; the Bucky voice—it's all so well done! I'm so insanely excited to see where the author takes this!

ENJOY!