#whoops i got angsty with this one lol

[hannahmanderr]

for the ship scene ask thing have you done Savant Par yet?

(TechHunter AU: a spin on a No One Knows AU in which Tucker takes up a role much like Valerie's and begins to hunt ghosts - only he doesn't know that one of those ghosts happens to be his best friend)

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Danny thought that staring down the end of an ecto-blaster held by his parents was one of the worst feelings in the world.

Turns out, staring down the end of an ecto-blaster held by his best friend was the worst feeling in the world.

He could barely control his panicked breathing as he pressed his back further and further into the brick wall, frozen in fear. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice yelled at him to just phase through the wall you idiot! But it was drowned out by the other, louder voices telling him that this was capital-B Bad and just how screwed he was.

"W-what do you want?" he asked. Hopefully the waver in his voice was more imagined than anything, but he doubted it was true.

The blaster didn't move an inch. "You've gotten away with this far too long, Phantom," the figure on the other end of the gun said. His voice was distorted by the voice modulator in his helmet.

Danny knew it was Tucker. Had known it was Tucker. He'd recognized the voice back before the modulator had been installed.

Now though, it sounded nothing like his lifelong friend. It only made the situation that much more terrifying, especially when compounded with the fact that he couldn't see Tucker's face through the tinted visor he wore.

He swallowed. "Gotten away with what?"

Apparently that had been the exact wrong thing to say. He grunted as the blaster was jabbed straight into his chest.

"Don't play dumb with me! You know exactly what you've been doing!" Tucker yelled. "It ends tonight. I'm here to make sure of that."

Danny's heart and core both began to race. Flashes of all the opportunities he'd had to tell Tucker and Sam of his secret began to flood his mind's eye, but he shoved them to the back of his mind as far as he could. "L-listen! Can't you - can't we talk about this for a minute?"

"Why should I? You don't deserve it. Not after what you've been doing to Danny."

Well now that caught his attention.

"I haven't been doing anything to Danny," he said quietly. Did it count as the truth if he was Danny? And he wasn't doing anything to himself?

The blaster was pushed even farther into his chest. "You might as well just drop the act, I already know your dirty little secret!"

Danny's stomach dropped. "You - you do?"

"Of course I do! You don't think I've seen how tired he is all the time? The bags under his eyes? And how he keeps getting all those random bruises and stuff? It's so obvious, I can't believe I didn't figure it out before."

"Please, Tucker, I can expl-"

"What did you just call me?"

Danny froze again. "I - Tucker, you have to let me explain, I swear I didn't mean to hurt you!"

"No, no." Tucker shook his head. "You've known? This whole time? Who I am?"

The danger in the question was palpable. Tread carefully, Fenton. "I mean... yes? I, uh... saw you take your helmet off once?" Yeah, that seemed mostly plausible. Especially if there was any shot his own secret was safe.

Tucker stayed quiet for a long moment. Danny wished he could see past the visor. It was unbearable, not being able to see his face.

"Danny found out," he finally whispered. "He found out and he told you, didn't he?"

"Um..."

"No, wait. Wait. You forced him to tell you, didn't you?"

"What?" Danny yelped as Tucker's other hand slammed into the wall, right next to his face.

"Because that's all he is to you, isn't he?" Tucker growled. "He's just some puny little human that you can mess with because you're the big, bad ghost boy."

Well, if there was a plus side to this, it was that his secret was safe after all. "It's not like that at all! He's - I'm not messing with him!"

"Well let me tell you something," Tucker continued, as if Danny hadn't spoken. "That boy you think is your personal plaything? That you think you can do whatever you want with? He's worth way more than you could even dream of."

Danny found himself at a loss for words. His heart and core continued to thud frantically and disjointedly. "What do you mean?" was all he could bring himself to say.

"I love him is what I mean!"

Time stood still around them. The full force of Tucker's words hit Danny like the brick wall behind him. The kind of love Tucker had to be talking about...

... it wasn't just brotherly friend love, wasn't it?

His heart broke into a million pieces.

Tucker's breaths were uneven and shallow. "I love him," he repeated, quieter this time. "And... and if you think you can keep hurting him like this..."

The blaster whined, and an uncomfortable heat built up against Danny's chest.

"... then let's just say the only way you'll get to him is over my dead body."

For some reason, the words finally kickstarted his brain into gear. Barely giving himself the time to consider whether it was a smart choice or not, Danny turned himself intangible and fell through the wall behind him. He scrambled to his feet and emerged on the other side of the wall before taking off into the sky at top speed.

Only the wind and the fading echoes of Tucker's furious shouts rang in his ears.

He didn't stop flying until he was on the other side of the city. He didn't even bother to check where he was before collapsing onto the roof of one of the buildings, curling into himself and letting his tears flow freely down his face.

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~~Send me a ship and I'll send you the first scene that comes to mind with them!

[artficlly]

me & the devil (one-shot)

Wild West Marvel AU

outlaw!bucky x saloon girl!reader

The Diamondback Saloon and Hotel has always attracted bad men, and Bucky Barnes happens to be one of them.

Warnings: violence, death, wound descriptions, lots of blood and gore, mention of guns, swearing, sex worker reader, lots of talk of sex work, vague mentions of past non-con and abuse, lots of angst, sexual tension, breaking law, bank robbery, lmk if anything needs to be added.

Word Count: 11.2k (whoops)

A/N: hi! this is a pretty angsty/gorey fic I've been working on. i started this a month back while watching west world. i love westerns, rdr and all thinsg cowboy so this was so fun to write. i was thinking of maybe a part two just due to how long this got lol. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

It was still morning when trouble walked in. In the two months you had been working at The Diamondback Saloon and Hotel, it had taken you only days to figure out who was trouble and who wasn’t. There was an energy to them, something more clinging to their bodies than the grime and grit of the wilds. The saloon would fall into a hush, an unspoken knowing between all within. It wasn't just the guns on their person, but the way they held themselves. A swagger and a smirk, bruises on their knuckles, a twisted nose from a fight long forgotten An essence of something deeper, a whisper that hissed in warning. 

That intensity screamed danger, and all those inside knew to obey it or face its wrath. 

“Them boys look like trouble.” Charlotte hummed, echoing your thoughts entirely. The two of you stood leaning back against the bar, examining your new patrons. There were three of them, young and deadly. They had that energy and that intensity. With just a flick of your eyes, you could read it – fatality written into the dirt under their nails to the subtle splatter of blood along the cuff of a shirt. 

“Maybe that’s reason to steer clear for once.” You muttered back to the woman, your fan fluttering as you eyed her with a frown. “The last lot didn’t even pay you.”

Danger didn’t often walk into Silverton, but when it did, it always stopped by The Diamondback for one final drink and fuck before facing the open wilds. Danger had different faces; some returned, some didn’t. The three men who now took up a table in the back were certainly new to you. 

“The ride was payment enough.” Charlotte giggled as she batted her lashes. “Them boys always have a lot packing.”

You rolled your eyes with a huff. "Yeah, and half of em’ don’t even know how to use it.” 

“I’ll take my chances.” Charlotte announced with one of her coy smiles you had grown to know so well. She strutted off in the direction of the group of men, hand dragging across shoulders and cleavage pronounced in her posture. The men looked at her up and down like a meal – predators and prey. You often couldn’t tell the difference between the two – who was prey and who was predator. Considering how much coin Charlotte would often fish from her corset after a day’s work, maybe she was the predator. You had learned a lot from her in your short time at The Diamondback. 

After a moment of consideration, you turned to face the bar. The barkeep, Crowley, had his eyes fixed on the trio. With a tut, he returned to cleaning the glasses lined along the bar. You were barely able to hear his low voice over the piano. “I swear that girl ain’t got no fear.”

“I guess that’s what comes from workin’ in a job like this long enough.” You replied simply, abandoning your fan on the bar as you snatched up one of the clean glasses. 

“I swear I seen them boys' faces on a poster up north in Rustler’s Grove.” Crowley muttered, eyeing you disapprovingly as you slid the glass in his direction. “You drinkin’ this early already?”

“Be a gentleman, won’t you?” You replied with a beam, elbows propped onto the bar. “Whiskey. The stuff from the back, not that watered-down shit for the guests.” 

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Crowley grumbled, abandoning his post to rummage around for your request. You took the brief moment to cast a glance back across the room. 

Charlotte was now perched on one of the men’s laps; he had a darker complexion, and curls of dark hair were escaping from under his hat. You noted how one of his hands gripped Charlotte’s upper thigh, squeezing the exposed flesh. Her hand explored his chest as he whispered in her ear. Across the table, his two companions seemed deep in a hushed conversation, completely oblivious to the table of men eyeing them suspiciously nearby. 

You ripped your eyes away, instead putting your focus on your hands, which you had clasped tightly together. You never wanted this life; you assumed no whore truly wanted this life. Instead, you all stumbled into it one way or another. A broken family, a dead husband, a lost soul – each of you had a story that led you down this path. All you could do was put on a smile and tell yourself that you liked it, pretending that you had some kind of freedom or power over your situation. 

Your eyes fluttered upwards, watching Crowley through your lashes as he returned and poured the liquor into the glass. “You’re thinking too much again; all you’re gonna end up in is a whole world of pain.”

You considered his words, turning them over in your mind before speaking. “That’s what the drinks for.” You hummed with a weak smile. “No thinking if the whiskey drowns it all out.”

Crowley offered you a hollow smile, more of a grimace, as his weathered skin pulled tightly at the corners. “Damn right.” 

You shot the whiskey back in one swallow, with a moment of silence following as you allowed yourself to feel the burn in your chest. It was a familiar sensation, one you had relied heavily on to get through the past two months. 

“Whiskey this early? A woman after my own heart.” A deep, husky voice spoke from beside you. Trouble. There he stood. It seemed one of the trio had escaped Charlotte’s clutches; if it had been to talk to you or simply drink at the bar, you could not know. You couldn't help but notice the intensity of his gaze as it bore into you. He was taller than the other two and broader, with large shoulders and a chest that seemed to fill out his shirt in all the right places.

Your eyes quickly swept back across the room, seeing Charlotte still occupied. A few of the other girls circled nearby like vultures, searching for the coin they knew was just under their nose. 

“Buy me another one, then we can talk.” You replied easily, plastering on a sickly-sweet smile. You wondered if he saw through it and whether he knew how much you hated yourself. You knew it was foolish to think so.

The man silently motioned two fingers at Crowley, and your glass was quickly refilled. You swirled the amber liquid, eyeing the man as he examined you in return. He seemed to live a rough lifestyle, with skin weathered from the sun, sand and dirt clinging to flesh and clothes alike. His knuckles were bruised and swollen, and there was a scar above his left eyebrow. Strings of brunet hair poked out from beneath his hat, paired with piercing blue eyes that seemed to penetrate your soul. The muscles in his chiseled jawline flexed as he swallowed back the liquor with a stoic look. Your tongue ran over your bottom lip as you watched his adam’s apple bob. He had a rough, handsome charm to him, despite everything telling you to run. It always seemed to be that way with troublemakers. 

“How’d a girl like you end up in a place like this?” He hummed, placing his glass back on the bar. You smile at him from behind your own glass, keeping eye contact as you finish the liquor with ease. Whiskey made you comfortable, and whiskey made you fun. Most of all, it made you forget. 

“How do you think most girls end up in this place, hm?” You reply boldly, watching as Charlotte ascends the stairs with her new client in tow. “Sad stories, bad stories. Every whore has a sob story; do ya really want to hear a sob story?”

“You’re new here; ‘least you weren’t around when I was last in these parts,” he chuckled in response. Another round of liquor was poured into your glass with a quick flick of the man's callused fingers. 

“New…” You hum, your fingers tracing along the sticky, dark wood of the bar. The man’s attention was fixed on your every movement. “How new do you consider... new?”  

“I was ‘round here about a year ago now.” His gravelly voice replied, and another shot of liquor was swallowed. Your eyes briefly danced back across the room, a table of patrons shouting over a game of poker stirring your attention. The man next to you didn’t even flinch as a glass was shattered and chairs screeched as they tumbled to the ground. 

“I guess I am new.” You finally spoke, sending another perfectly empty smile in his direction. He ran his tongue over his teeth with a chuckle. “What’s your name?” You ask.

“James. But most people just call me Bucky.”

“Bucky.” You hum in thought, drinking yet another shot of the amber liquor. 

“You wanna head upstairs, sweetheart?” He asks, watching as Crowley abandons his post behind the bar to clear out the poker table, the group having resorted to whipping out their guns. You ignore the chaos, shrugging with a simple smile.

“Sure thing, cowboy.” You say as you hook your arm around the back of the bar, stealing the bottle of whiskey while Crowley was distracted. Bucky followed your movements with a grin, following you up the stairs wordlessly. 

—

Finding an empty room was easy; most of the girls had unspokenly claimed a room they reused throughout the day. The rooms in the Diamondback were modest, as expected for a small town. A double bed with fresh sheets, a chair next to an unused fireplace, and a dresser near the door with a bowl and pitcher of water placed atop it. 

Your back was turned to Bucky, and you could hear the creak of the bed as he sat down. You dared to look up through your lashes, meeting his eye through the mirror that sat atop the dresser. Bottle of whiskey forgotten, you turn to face the rugged man. You can't help but feel a little weak in the knees under his intense gaze. A hand runs over his stubbled chin briefly before removing the worn leather hat from his head. His hair, a rich, dark brown, emerges from beneath, his hand running through the messy strands.

You step forward, carefully taking the hat from his large hands. The remnants of sand and dirt prickle your fingers as you brush the pads over the fabric. You had come to learn how much the men who frequented the Diamondback valued their hats; there was an unspoken lore or story attached to each one. With his hat delicately placed on the bedside table, you return to Bucky’s side. 

With the whiskey doing its work, you smooth your hands over the dark fabric of his shirt. Your hands looked so small, delicate, and clean next to him. You found him handsome; if you were younger, you probably would’ve been intrigued or charmed by his looks as well. You knew to avoid trouble like him, but under different circumstances, at a different time?

The thoughts bubble in your mind as you seat yourself close next to him, breath fanning across his skin as you lean in. Your movements are slow and deliberate. You test his response with a quick peck of your soft lips against his before quickly closing the distance. He was so rough in comparison to you; his body was sturdy as a rock. His lips were chapped from days spent in the sun, and his stubble was coarse against your smooth skin. 

His hands gripped your waist tightly, pulling you closer as you licked into his mouth. A breathless chuckle rumbled in his chest, his lips hungrily consuming yours. Your hands explored lower, feeling the defined muscles beneath the dark fabric. Your hands wrapped around his suspenders and guided them over his broad shoulders. 

Bucky pulled away, his mouth instead traveling towards your neck. You tilted your head, feeling his hot breath across your skin. Squirming in his hold, your eyes fluttered shut as his lips met your ear.

“As much as I appreciate it, sweetheart, I’m just lookin’ to chat.” He breathed. You were so concentrated on his hot breath and his squeezing hands that you could not understand what he had said. You opened your eyes, heavy lidded as you gazed at him in confusion. 

“To chat?” You question, your faces still pulled closely together. 

“Maybe I do wanna hear your sob story, darlin’.” He hummed through a smirk. You felt heat rise in your cheeks, embarrassment flooding your system as you realized he was laughing at you. With one strong push, you wrenched yourself from his grasp with a huff.

“Don’t waste my time.” You hiss at him with a scowl, shooting to your feet. 

“I’ll pay you for your time; don’t worry. I ain’t lookin’ to put you out of business.” Bucky defended himself, raising his hands in the air as if in surrender. You hesitate near the dresser.

“You want to pay to talk to me?” You question him, your skepticism clear in your tone. There were always men trying to get out of paying what they fucked; you’d seen all the different types of scams. Some would run, some would get violent, and some would promise to ‘save’ the girl from this place. You could imagine trouble like Bucky running that type of scheme, saying it was just a chat to get out of payment. 

“I ain’t got many other people to talk to; why not a pretty lady?” He hummed, leaning back onto his muscled arms to view you properly. 

“If you’re messin’ with me–” You began to grumble.

“I ain’t, darling. Just wanna talk.” 

You stared at him for a beat, weighing your choices. Go downstairs and let another grubby man get his hands on you, or stay up here and chat with a handsome troublemaker who may or may not pay you. With a sharp exhale, you retrieve the bottle of whiskey and take a swig from it. “Fine. Alright then.”

Bucky watched your actions with an amused expression, his body language cool and collected against your outward annoyance. He reached over to his leather coat, which he had abandoned next to him on the bed, retrieving a box of cigarettes and matches. 

“You have a real sad look to you.” He commented as he placed a cigarette between his lips. “Standing down by that bar like you don’t wanna be here, I bet it attracts a certain type.”

“What do you mean?” You question him as he strikes the match, taking a long drag once the cigarette is lit. 

“The type of men you attract,” he begins to explain. “Type’a of men who want a girl who don’t want it. Cruel bastards, you know.”

You pause at his words, recounting all of the men you had serviced. Charlotte usually attracted the young ones, the boys who wanted a story to brag about to their friends. The men you attracted were older and quiet. They came to you, drawn in by your melancholy. The whiskey burned your chest as you took yet another swig. Memories best left buried. “And are you a cruel man?” 

“No, well, some might say, but not in that way. I ain’t a mean bastard with a fantasy of being with a girl who don’t want it.” 

“What type of man are you?” Your voice is low, a sense of unease crawls under your skin at his words. 

“What do you think?” He asks, his body growing still. Predator and prey. A part of you enjoyed the thrill of watching him assess your every move. Another part of you was terrified, screaming that you knew trouble and should know better than to get tangled up in it. 

“A dangerous one. An outlaw.” When you say those things, you mentally brace yourself for him to take offense and respond badly. Instead, to your surprise, he chuckles, eyebrows raising in delight as if you had hit the bullseye. 

A gleam tugs at his lips, the chuckle catching in his chest as he takes another drag. “An outlaw, eh? What do you know about outlaws?”

“I know the type.”

“Hah. I suppose you do, workin’ in a place like this.” He comments, hands gesturing to the room around you, the cheap linen and scratched wooden floors. Somewhere down the hall, you could hear Charlotte putting on one of her shows, the paper-thin walls barely covering the moans. “Places like this breed evil; I suppose that’s why I frequent them so often.”

Your back met the dresser as Bucky stood, his frame towering above you even from a few steps away. It only took a couple strides for him to be in front of you, plucking the cigarette from his lips as he took the whiskey from your hand. Smoke engulfed your senses, and the sense of danger grew with his closeness. 

Whoring was a risky line of work; like he said, saloons often bred evil. You weren’t a stranger to a man who got too aggressive, leaving bruises and blood in his wake. Bucky didn’t seem angry; he seemed amused by you, if anything. But you had to remind yourself that he was an outlaw, and most outlaws weren’t strangers to bloodshed. 

“Are you… Are you gonna hurt me?” You asked, your voice weak as you pressed yourself harder into the dresser. He gave you a look and coughed a little, as if bothered by your assumption, as he downed the whiskey. 

“What? No. I just wanna talk. I might be a bad man, but I ain’t the type to hurt a defenseless girl.” 

You visibility deflated as he backed off a few paces, placing the whiskey next to his hat as he ran a hand through his hair with a tense expression. You exhaled a sharp breath, watching the conflict cross his face. Maybe he didn’t mean to scare you; maybe he just needed someone to talk to. You’d heard of big, bad men who couldn’t be vulnerable to anyone. They were so afraid of betrayal that they ended up isolated in a room full of people. 

You could imagine Bucky like that; you almost felt sorry for the handsome man. He just wanted to talk; that couldn’t hurt, right? Your skirts swept across the creaky wood floors as you strode beside him, seating yourself between him and the bottle of whiskey. His azure eyes assessed you with a look of mild surprise.

“What… What do you want to talk about?” You finally cut into the silence. 

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself? How you ended up in a place like this?” He questioned, taking a seat beside you. Your thighs bumped together through the fabric, yet you didn’t lean away. “I always see girls like you in these places – gentle women who fell off at some point. Most of the time, it ain’t even their fault. I guess that’s what happened to you, sweetheart.”

You contemplate his words, plucking the still-smoking cigarette from his lips. He doesn’t protest as you inhale the smoke, tilting your head in thought. “It ain’t a happy story.” You confess.

“Don’t need to be. Sometimes I just need a reminder that whatever god is watching over us is just as cruel as us men can be.” His arms brushed yours as he leant over, retrieving the whiskey from beside you. Careful not to exhale smoke directly in his face, you turn your head to watch out the window as you wonder where to start. The sky was so blue outside, just as blue as Bucky’s eyes. It was alluring in a deceptive way; the summer heat beat down on Silverton relentlessly. Sometimes you were glad to work inside instead of out in that brutality. 

“My momma died when I was young. Cholera.” You begin, “Broke my daddy’s heart. He was a doctor, good one before momma died. I guess not being able to save her broke him. He fell into drink, gamblin', and whorin’. Barely made his appointments, so I had to help him run the office, cleanin’ up and sometimes stitchin’ up the fools that came in when he was too drunk to do it himself. Eventually he couldn’t afford to feed me no more; he could barely care for himself, let alone a child.” You pause to extinguish the last of the cigarette on the bedside table, the scorch mark joining a collection of older ones. Ghosts and memories of the place you sat in.

“So, my daddy, he sent me away to live with my uncle and aunt. They had a homestead not too far from here; my uncle and cousin were ranchers and moved cattle mostly. I liked it out there in the open; I would go ridin’ and watch the sun rise and set. My aunt would worry I would get robbed or worse, ridin’ alone out there. I was still a girl, really. I didn’t care nor really know how evil this place could be.” Bucky hummed in acknowledgement as you spoke, fingers brushing off some ash that had fallen onto your skirt. 

“I would help out on the ranch too; I liked that work. It felt like real work. Good, rewarding work. I liked the animals, playing with the dogs and ridin’ the horses to move the cattle.” Your gaze pulled away from the window, instead turning your head to watch as Bucky took another long drink from the whiskey.

“Then, my uncle died. Gored by his own bull one morning, I tried to save him, but he lost too much blood. It was all so sudden, weren’t nothing we could do. My aunt, she couldn’t bear to live there no more, decided to sell the place. She said she couldn’t take me wherever she was going with my cousin. They were using the money to buy a new ranch back east and couldn’t afford to keep me on no more. She said to write to my daddy and continue working as his assistant until I found a man to marry.” 

“What happened to your pa?” Bucky asked, the liquid sloshing in the bottle as he swirled it in his hands. You took a moment to shamelessly stare at the way the veins bulge over the muscles and tendons. 

“Don’t know.” You finally admit with a sigh. “Never replied to my letter. Either didn’t want me back or is buried somewhere and no one thought to tell me. So I went to the nearest town to find a job; ain’t no one want to hire a woman ‘cept for in this place. I decided whorin’ was better than starvin’.”

“Real shame. I bet a sweet girl like you could’ve made it in one of those cities back east. Married some big shot, lived life comfortably in one of those fancy city manors.” Bucky hummed. You knew the type of places he was talking about – massive manors filled with staff and shiny, expensive things. Hell, you could imagine Bucky having robbed a place like that while the inhabitants were out at social evenings with the rest of the upper class. 

“Maybe. I don’t think I could ever live in a city.” You confess with a shrug. “I like the open air, the emptiness of it all. I don’t get to see it much in this place, but I remember what it was like when I used to go ridin’ all those years ago.”

Bucky’s eyes trailed across your face. “I understand what you mean. I don’t stay in places long, get cold feet. I live in the open; I like traveling without being stuck in one spot.” 

“How did you end up livin’ the way you do?” You ask hesitantly, watching his thoughtful expression flicker into a more somber one. 

“It ain’t much of a clear story like yours. Absent pa, my momma had it rough raising us kids by herself. I got caught up in bad business, thievin’, killin’ and such. Once I got into it, I didn’t know how to get out. I made friends with similar stories; we all wanted to stay doing what we do so we could look out for each other. All of us just wanna stay out in that open; just keep headin’ west, knowin’ we’ll be buried in a place civilization has yet to meet.” His words were brief, and it was obvious to you that he had more of a connection to the outlaws he surrounded himself with than he did with his own blood. 

“Don’t you ever want to settle down some day?” You ask.

“Nah. Once you got the west in your bones, you’re lost to that life.”

You consider his words in silence, drowning out the sounds of other girls working in the surrounding rooms. You understood what he meant; it felt like you hadn’t left those open plains since you first discovered them. You missed riding without a care, the wind tangling your hair as you navigated the emptiness of it all. 

“Well. When you’re out there ridin’ in the empty, you’ll think of me? Some sad saloon girl who just wanted to ride out in the open?” You ask, eyes dipping behind your lashes as Bucky flashes you a genuine smile. 

“‘Course, sweetheart.”

—

Bucky and his friends hung around longer than both you and the other girls expected. Men like them usually only hung around for a few days or less. From Crowley’s muttering, it seemed the law didn’t show interest in them. Either that or the boys were keeping their heads down. 

Most mornings Bucky would come visit you, his two friends switching between drinking and sampling the other girls. Bucky’s eyes never seemed to stray from you, always finding you at the bar with a ‘hey sweetheart’ muttered with the scent of whiskey and leather. You started to enjoy his company, the stories and thoughts the both of you shared. 

Every time he visited, he would pay, neatly stacking the coins on the dresser. He always gave double your rate, a rugged smirk and wink sent your way as he slipped out the door. You found yourself waiting and looking for him each day, lingering near the bar until he and his friends sauntered in. 

Today was no different than any of your other meetings. Half a bottle of whiskey down, the two of you were talking about thoughts and worries you’d never thought to voice. The summer heat was worse than usual, and the saloon was crowded with working men slick with sweat and tempers to match the scorch outside. 

You sat now perched on the windowsill; the window cracked open despite the lack of wind. With your skirts and petticoat bunched up to your thighs to fight the heat, you dangled your legs through the air nonchalantly. A cigarette hanging from your lips as you carelessly stared out at the stretch of blue skies beyond. Bucky had carefully placed his hat on the dresser; his coat peeled off as he watched you from across the room. 

“Do you know what time the law go on their lunch break?” Bucky asked into the silence. Often, when a lull presented itself, the outlaw would break the quiet by questioning you about your clients or the townspeople of Sliverton.

“One o’clock, sometimes two if they’re dealin’ with trouble.” You respond easily, exhaling smoke out the window. It took you a beat to think about his question, your eyebrows drawing together. “Why?” You question.

It was an obvious conclusion to be suspicious: why was an outlaw asking about the law’s schedule? You’d noticed how Bucky’s interest often peaked at the mention of the law, the bank tellers, and sometimes even the gunsmith. You had mentioned how the manager of the bank was a cruel man, often leaving the girls with bruises. The group of you would draw lots when he came in, that or hope he would get too drunk to perform. 

As for the law, they often mixed business with pleasure. During their lunch break, they would often call down the girls to the sheriff’s office to work while they drank over a game of poker. You had been invited a couple times and mentioned it to Bucky off-hand a few days ago. 

“I heard some rumors about a bounty in this area, wanted to stop by when they weren’t… busy.” Bucky replied, a small amount of guilt growing in your chest at your unspoken accusation. The two of you had been open with each other these past weeks. 

“A bounty?” You question. “What are you doing gettin’ involved in that business?” You look over at him. The outlaw chuckles under his breath, his callused hand sweeping through his hair as he leans back further in his seat. 

“Takes an outlaw to catch an outlaw sometimes, sweetheart.” 

You chew on his words for a moment, shrugging with acceptance after not much thought. You could see what he meant; only outlaws were generally cocky enough to risk their lives for coin. That, and they would probably know where another might hide, having lived in their shoes. 

“You do that work often?” 

“Sometimes,” he hums in reply. “Only when we’re tight for coin.”

You swing your feet down to the wooden floors, your bare skin sticky against the warm wood. Once more, heat envelops your figure as your skirts descend to your shins. Bucky watches with interest as you put out your cigarette, stalking towards where he sits. 

“If you’re short, why are you out here spendin’ double on me?” You ask softly, pausing in front of him. His eyes dart upwards, examining your face with a gentle look.

“Sometimes you gotta make sacrifices for a pretty lady.”

You feel your cheeks flush at his words. Normally compliments made your skin crawl and your mouth turn sour, but Bucky had grown on you. Your hand moves towards him before you can think, resting gently on his shoulder. 

“I might regret sayin’ this but… I ain’t worried about the money. I do like our chats for other reasons than the coin.” You stumble over your words, a smug smirk growing on Bucky’s face. 

“Now, sweetheart, I don’t wanna be putin’ ya out of business talking to a fool like me–” Bucky doesn’t get to finish his words, much to your disappointment. Instead, you jerk back in surprise as the door is thrown open. 

In the doorway stands one of Bucky’s friends; you recognized him from his time in the saloon. His face was pink from the heat, and messy blond hair poked out from under his hat. A boyish grin spread across his cracked lips. You noted how large his stature was, nearly taking up the entire door frame. His chest must have been muscled beneath his dirt-stained shirt, his forearms bulging where the fabric had been pulled back to his elbows to combat the heat. 

“I see why you spend so much time here, Buck. She’s a pretty little thing, ain’t she?” Steve comments. You swallow thickly, glancing at Bucky, who sighs through his nose in annoyance. Any tenderness has left his expression, replaced with cold annoyance. 

“This is Steve.” The outlaw explains to you, getting to his feet. “What is it?” 

You recognized that name; Bucky had mentioned Steve over the past weeks. Steve had been one of his childhood friends who had followed him down the path of an outlaw. Bucky had told you how the two would pickpocket so they would have enough to eat. They had robbed and shot their way west; they fucked their way too, apparently. Bucky had mentioned how the two of them enjoyed their ladies, sometimes taking them at the same time in the same room. 

You couldn’t help but let your mind linger on that thought as you studied the blond man. His eyes were looking you up and down eagerly, lingering on your pronounced breasts due to your corset.

“Sam… er, Sam needs to talk.” Steve finally responds, hesitant and careful with his words, as if he didn’t want you to know the true meaning behind his interruption. As you look back over at Bucky, who has crossed over to the dresser, he nods at Steve in silent understanding. 

You bite your tongue as the two outlaws share an unspoken conversation, Bucky returning his precious hat to his head. As usual, you watch as he stacks double your rate on the end of the dresser, a secret, cocky smirk sent in your direction as he slips into the hallway.

“Why is he payin’ you that much? You got gold between your legs or somethin’?” Steve questions, having glanced at the pile left behind. You simply huff at him, slamming the door shut in his face. Through the door, you can hear him bellow out a laugh. 

—

It was a lazy Thursday afternoon when the first shots were heard. Silverton was not unfamiliar with a bit of violence; the occasional exchange of bullets was easy to grow accustomed to. That Thursday was no different, you’d thought, that was until the bullets grew more frequent. Shots rang through the town, sending people scattering into nearby buildings or braving the streets with revolvers in hand. 

That increase in sound blasting through the swelteringly hot afternoon was what made you pause. You were upstairs fixing your updo after a client. Placing the last pin between your strands, you moved to walk cautiously into the hallway. Glancing over the staircase railing, you look into the main bar area. Silence had fallen over the saloon, with chairs and tables empty as if the last patrons had fled. 

Your eyes land on Charlotte, who stood next to the bar, exchanging a worried conversation with Crowley. Quickly, you glance back down the hallway, noting the girls and guests who peeked their heads from their rooms in similar morbid curiosity. 

It felt wrong to linger upstairs listening to the massacre below; instead, you found yourself opting to join Charlotte and Crowley. As you descend the stairs, carefully lifting your skirts so as not to trip on them, Charlotte peaks up at you. 

“Somebody’s robbin’ the bank.” She quickly explains, catching your nervous expression. A bit of relief floods your veins. As loud and violent as that could be, the robbers weren’t likely to hang around for a drink. 

“Sounds like a slaughter out there.” You grumble in reply, finding your usual spot by the bar. Crowley looked mostly unphased, shining his glasses with a faint shake of his head. “You think they’re gonna get away with it?”

“Old man Billy ran by and said they ambushed the sheriff's office before they headed to the bank.” Crowley cuts in, placing the now-clean glass down. “Guessin’ there's still a few of them alive if they’re still shootin’. Pretty smart of them robbers to get them while they were on lunch break.”

A pit of dread grows in your stomach, your eyes glancing to the clock above the bar. Quarter past one. 

“Were any of our girls down that way?” Charlotte asks with worry, but your focus was instead turned to the dusty road outside. You hoped, if not prayed, that if you caught a glimpse of those robbers, it would not be Bucky and his friends. You couldn’t help but feel a crawling guilt, the possibility that maybe you had been duped into giving an outlaw information. You could not handle the deaths of so many on your shoulders. You knew if your careless words had caused it, it would be squarely your fault. 

“No, thank God. Law sent word they didn’t want girls today. Maybe they knew somethin’ was up.” Crowley replies, but you are hardly present in the conversation, instead shifting closer towards the window. You knew it was dangerous, but the pit of worry and guilt was growing in your stomach; you just needed confirmation.

Charlotte let out a sudden and piercing scream as one of the saloon’s windows shattered, a stray bullet richoeing and landing in one of the tables with a thud. “Get away from the windows!” she shrieks at you. 

Only as your brain recognizes the danger do you move away, rigidly walking to Charlotte’s side once more. The woman grabs at your arm, beginning to tug you behind the bar as you cast one last glance out the windows. 

Nausea crawls in your stomach, and bile rises in your throat as Charlotte tugs you to the floor behind the bar. Amongst the gunshots and dead bodies, you saw the group of masked figures emerge from the bank onto the streets. Just a brief moment, a glance, and your world was left spiraling as your breathing grew faster and ragged. Any other person may have looked at those figures and been oblivious, but you had spent weeks tucked away in the upstairs room with Bucky. You could recognize him even with a mask on, with his muscled form and leather hat. Bucky was out there, standing over dead bodies with a shotgun in hand. And it was all your fault. 

Conversations long past swirl in your mind; how many times had Bucky shifted the topic to be about the law, the bank tellers, or the townsfolk of Silverton? How many times had he tricked you into revealing information that wasn’t supposed to go beyond your ears? So many times clients had confided in you, and you had just passed on the information like it were some inside joke between the two of you. 

Charlotte flinched and trembled beside you as the gunshots and shouting grew louder. You could only stare at the clock above and spiral. Crowley remained in place, cleaning glasses with a cold expression as if he alone could ward off any evil. 

Outside, the voices grew louder and angrier. 

“Well, it ain’t me who shot the doctor!”

“He can’t ride like this!”

“You better be fuckin’ right about this Barnes or we’re all dead!” 

Charlotte's hands dug into your arms, pulling you closer as the wooden planks of the boardwalk outside grew alive with the sound of stomping boots. Crowley’s glass cleaning paused as the saloon doors were slammed open in a hurry. Crowley’s mouth opened, meaning to speak to the men who had just stormed in. No words came out; instead, the spray of blood, chunks of flesh, and skull decorated the surrounding area as a bullet was fired directly into his skull.

Beside you, Charlotte shrieks once more as Crowley's body slumped to the floor with a hollow thud. You clamp your hand over her mouth, shushing her as you pull her closer. Your body is trembling, and bile is still stuck in your throat. You try not to focus on the way that Crowley’s brain matter had sprayed across your skin, dewy drops of crimson like a mist. You could feel the moisture, smell and taste the copper in the air. All you could do was try to keep as quiet as possible as the armed outlaws prowled only feet away. 

The next thing to catch your attention is the sound of groaning and hissing, the unmistakable sound of someone in pain. Chairs and tables screech as if they are being pulled together while bullets still rain outside. You try to blindly piece the scene together in your mind, trying to understand why the outlaws had gathered here with lawmen so closely on their tail.

“They can’t hold them off for long out there. One of the law got away; we reckon he’s headed up Deadwood way to get back up.” A woman's voice shouts over the chaos. 

“Where’s your girl then, Barnes? Better be worth it.” A male voice snaps. Through Charlotte's panting and the gunshots, you can hear the thunder of boots storming up the stairs. 

“Someone get me some fuckin’ whiskey.” The injured man speaks through gritted teeth. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, hoping whoever goes to retrieve the liquor doesn’t spot both you and Charlotte quivering in the corner. You press your back harder against the bar, pulling Charlotte closer into your side as she lays her head across your chest while silent sobs shake her body. 

“Barnes! Hurry up!” The woman shouts up the stairs in annoyance, only to be met with no reply. The gunshots outside began to slow, the law seemed to be losing this shootout. 

Heavy boots fall closer, a large figure rounds the corner of the bar. To your horror, he spots the two of you immediately, and even worse, it’s Steve. You recognize him quickly, with his sunburnt cheeks and blond hair and a mask still tied around his neck. His expression was one of relief but also of worry. When you last saw him, he was all smirks and flirting. You imagined it was probably a sight to see both you and Charlotte trembling behind the bar, covered in the contents of Crowley’s skull. 

“She’s here, Buck.” Steve called out, your blood turning to ice. 

A few days ago, you wouldn’t have been afraid of Steve or Bucky. Foolish, you now realize. It was foolish to get so close to danger and not feel her power. You didn’t know what these outlaws wanted from you, but you weren’t going to give it easily.

Steve stepped over Crowley’s body, and you shake your head. Beside you, Charlotte began to sob loudly, her nails digging into your skin. Between her panicked breathing, you could’ve sworn she was chanting, ‘Please God, I don’t want to die.’ under her breath. The woman you had once known was gone, in complete submission to fear. No more coy smiles and soft touches; no more fearlessness in the face of dangerous men. Charlotte was terrified, and so were you. 

“Don’t touch me.” You warn Steve, but he ignores your request. His large hands wrap around Charlotte’s waist, tugging her away. She let out a terrified scream, grabbing and scratching at your arms in an attempt to hold on. Steve’s arms proved stronger, finally wrenching Charlotte away and ushering her away. 

Steve’s attention now turned to you, a gruff sigh leaving his nose as he noticed your defiant look. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, pretty girl.” 

You shove his hands away, the two of you briefly struggling before Steve finally finds a grip around your waist and hoists you to your feet. 

“I said don’t fuckin’ touch me!” You shout at the blond, shoving and hitting at his chest. He grumbles in annoyance, trying to grasp your arms to stop the movement. Behind you, Charlotte is making a noise somewhere behind a sob and a scream as one of the unfamiliar men drags her out from behind the bar. 

You back away further from Steve, still shoving and pushing him away. Only when your back meets something warm and solid does he stop his advance. Spinning around, you stand face-to-face with Bucky. His scent is the same: leather, but this time with a dash of gunpowder. Small blood splatters decorate his skin and clothing. As he grasps your wrists to stop your struggle, you unconsciously note how his knuckles are bruised and split. 

“No...” is all you manage to utter, Bucky tilting his head with a frown as tears begin to streak down your face. You had been foolish enough to trust him and his rugged, handsome looks. You had blindly answered his questions without a care for the consequences because he had been kind and mysterious. He had told you himself he was an outlaw, a bad man. Now how many lives weighed on you too? Even Crowley’s blood was on your hands, literally and metaphorically. 

Bucky’s hand reached up tenderly to wipe the tears from your cheek, his frown only deepening as you flinched away from his touch. 

“As touchin’ as this is, we don’t have the time for this, Barnes.” The woman’s voice from earlier spoke up. Now that you are standing, you could look over to see her. She had a wicked look, messy red hair, and a cut across her cheek. A rifle slung across her shoulder, a revolver, and a knife at her hip. She assessed you with a look of annoyance, a scowl painted across her sharp lips. 

With an annoyed grunt, Bucky obliged the woman’s request. His hand wrapped around your wrist as he tugged you back onto the main floor. You tried to ignore the hole in Crowley’s face as you were forced to step over his body, your shoes slipping in the pool of slick blood gathering on the wood floors. 

“What do you want? You comin’ in here to kill us all too?” You ask, your voice raspy from the tears. Charlotte lingered near the staircase, still sobbing, as a younger man growled in annoyance at the sound. 

“You think I’m here to kill you after everythin’, sweetheart? No. I need your help with somethin’.” Bucky questions, sounding a bit dismayed at your sudden fear. You swallow hard, trying to contain the tears that continue to freely stream down your face. 

“Crowley is dead.”

“Yeah, well, that was unfortunate.” He grumbles, displeased. 

“You’re a bastard, you know that?” You snap at him.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I need ya to stitch up my friend here.” Bucky shrugs off your insult, instead tilting his head in the direction of a bloody sight. Your body shakes with each step, and you feel as if you are only held upright by Bucky’s firm grip, guiding you to a set of tables that have been pulled together. On top lies a man, older and with greasy black hair. Blood stains his shirt, and there is an obvious bullet wound in his lower abdomen. Sweat beads line his brow, his eyebrows drawn together as he battles the pain. You stare at him speechless, watching as Steve returns from behind the bar with a bottle of whiskey. 

“Here ya are, Stark.” The blond mutters, shaking his head, as the injured man eagerly chugs the liquor down. For the pain, you think. He’s drinking it for the pain. You try to attach yourself to thoughts and knowledge you recognize, distracting the noise in your brain in the hopes that your hands and legs will stop trembling. You can barely think, and Bucky wants you to stitch him up?

Charlotte’s wailing doesn’t help your case, nor does it seem to quell the tempers rising in the room. Stark speaks up between gulps of whiskey. “Someone, for the love of God, stop her wailing or shoot the damn woman!” 

The younger, twitchy man makes a loud noise of agreement, revolver in hand, as he points it directly at Charlotte’s forehead. Charlotte’s sobbing becomes uncontrollable, curling in on herself as she wraps her arms around her middle in defense. Your breath comes short, and your shaking hands grip Bucky’s bicep for comfort as you watch in horror.

“Her daddy was shot–” You suddenly blurt out, capturing the attention of the younger man. “He was shot in front of her; this type’a stuff upsets her. You understand?” Your tone was desperate, near begging. You don’t know why you said it, but you hoped maybe the man would have sympathy for her. Charlotte had confided in you about nightmares once; you didn’t know who else knew about the darkness in her life. The young man stares at you for a moment, his hand running over the non-existent stubble with an irritated sigh. 

“You women are so fragile.” He mutters, raising the gun and striking the metal across Charlotte’s face. You gasp involuntarily, ducking your head so your cheek is pressed against Bucky’s chest. Charlotte’s wailing finally comes to a stop; instead, she only sniffles quietly as she holds a hand to her face in shock. 

“Leave it, Parker.” Steve growls, prowling across the room, placing himself between Parker and Charlotte. Parker throws his hands up in surrender, instead stalking across the room to where some of the other nameless outlaws had gathered to keep watch. 

Stark growls in annoyance from the tables once more, the mixture of pain and whiskey elevating his rage. “Trust pretty boy Rogers to be a fuckin’ gentleman. I’ll shoot the bitch myself even with this bullet in me.”

“Barnes.” The red-headed woman warns, sensing the rising tension and passing time.

“What do you need to stitch him up?” Bucky pressed with questions more urgently; it was clear time was running out and stalling would end in bloodshed. 

“I can’t–” You mutter over your panicked breathing. 

“Your pa was a doctor.” Bucky interrupts. “You told me yourself that you used to stitch fools up when he was too drunk to do it himself.”

“It’s been years–”

“What do you need?” Bucky’s voice was more firm, demanding even. You note how the other outlaws lingered nearby, twitchy and ready to pull the trigger at any moment. If you continued to stall, you would surely die. So would Charlotte. You would just have to stitch Stark up as quickly as possible, and then danger would finally leave your home. 

“Clean water, cloth, and a sewing kit too.” You gasp out. “They’re upstairs in my room; the sewing kit is in the dresser.”

“Good girl.” Mumbles to you lowly, your stomach twisting as the gravelly sound. Bucky’s gaze raises to meet Steve, who quickly bounds up the stairs to retrieve the objects. 

“Must be the end of times if we’re trustin’ a whore to stitch me up.” Stark grumbles from below, you sigh heavily through your nose, trying to calm your shaking hands. Beside you, Bucky tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, as if trying to comfort you. Somehow, it gives you the courage to breathe again.

“You’re gonna want to lay off that whiskey.” You instruct Stark with a small sniff, fishing the bottle from his grip and wiping your tear-stained face. “You don’t wanna be chuckin’ that back up with a bullet in your gut, trust me.” 

Stark barks out a pained, drunken laugh in response. “Alright, little lady.” His eyes swept over to Bucky. “She always this commandin’? This why you like her in bed, Barnes?” 

Bucky lets out a sound resembling a snarl, but Steve's arrival bearing the requested items muffles any retaliation. You willed your hands to stay steady as you approached Stark, who was still writhing in pain on the table. Your father had called it ‘the calm’ or even ‘God's will’ when a doctor could quieten his worries to have a steady hand while stitching. You’d never believed in his spoutings until that moment, burying the anxiety of the situation as you instead focused your attention on the injury before you. 

With the bloodied shirt pulled up, you turned him slightly to inspect his back. No exit wound. A sharp sigh left your nose as you realized you’d have to dig around and find the bullet yourself and pray it hadn’t burst into more than one piece. Wetting some of the clean cloth, you use it to wipe away the blood from the skin, giving yourself a better view of the entry. Stark tenses and squirms involuntarily beneath your touch, hissing through clenched teeth. 

Your eyes flicker upward toward Bucky and Steve, catching their attention. “I need help holdin’ him down; he’s not gonna stay still even if he wants to.”

Stark seems irritated by your assumptions but keeps his mouth shut. The men are quick to assist you, with two men holding down his legs while Bucky and Steve take his arms and chest. You keep your eyes downcast as you easily unlatch Stark’s belt. 

“Bite.” You guide the injured man, placing the leather belt between his teeth. You’d heard stories of men biting through their own tongues, even shattering their teeth in the height of pain. Best not to take the risk. 

You take the bottle of whiskey, splashing the liquor over your hands before pausing before the wound. You glance over at Stark’s face; there is a look of determination in his eye as he nods for you to proceed. 

Stark’s body reacts instantly to the liquor, jerking against the hands that held him in place. His groans and screams are muffled through the belt as he bites down, his face growing red. Your hands are steady, and your fingers are nimble and quick as you blindly dig through the wound. Muscle constricts around your fingers, hot and sticky against your skin. 

Your heartbeat is in your ears as you search, drowning out the muffled screaming and the puffing of the men as they use all their might to restrain Stark’s squirming and jolts. Your fingers dig deeper, and a small worry grows in your gut that maybe you might not be able to locate the bullet. Blood spills from the wound, slippery copper sliding down his side and splashing onto the tables below. Your heart is in your mouth, the screams growing worse–

Your finger brushes something solid and hard; the object is slippery and small in comparison to the muscle and organ. It takes a few tries to grasp it between your fingers, with the sleek metal proving difficult to grip. 

A sharp sigh of relief leaves your body as you successfully fish it from the wound, the metal clattering to the table. Thankfully, you note that the bullet is also whole. Blood paints your skin; all you can do is wash it away with the water while Stark pants in relief. 

“How much longer?” The redhead woman asks; she has moved to linger near the doors. Outside, a few men hover with guns, as if expecting more law to turn up at any moment. 

“It is small; it won’t take long to stitch.” You explain, your hands remaining steady as you begin to thread one of the larger needles. 

The woman nods. “Make it quick.”

You follow her demands, quickly dousing the wound once more with whiskey. Stark groans, his head lulling from the mixture of drunkenness and exhaustion. If he were one of your father’s patients, maybe you would’ve comforted him and told him it was nearly over. But you were reminded of Charlotte still sniveling by the stairs, Crowley’s head blown open, and his body still slumped behind the bar. 

Empathy evades you as you dig the needle into his flesh, your mouth set into a line as you easily pull the skin together with each stitch. Stark continues to jerk and shake, his body still held steady by the outlaws who watch your movements with interest. 

Within minutes, you have tied off the thread, successfully putting Stark back together again. The outlaws seem silently relieved, if not surprised, by your efficiency as you wrap one of the clean strips of cloth around his middle like a bandage. 

“He will be able to ride?” Bucky asks as you turn back to the bowl of water, cleaning your bloodied hands. 

“The stitches will hold as long as you don’t ride too hard.” You respond, not quite meeting his eye. “If the wound keeps bleedin’ or starts festerin’ don’t give him whiskey. You can find yarrow and greasewood herbs out in the wild; they’ll help him best.”

The redhead woman makes a sound at your words, swinging around to face you. “What does a whore know about herbs? Your doctor daddy taught you that, or ya tryna poison us?”  

You pause your movements, biting your tongue at her harsh tone. “I read it in a book.” You admit sheepishly. 

The room is silent before Stark surprisingly roars with laughter, clutching his wound as he wheezes with pain at the sudden movement. “A whore that can read? Now that is a treat. What’s next? You can do arithmetic?” 

You ignore his quip, instead drying your hands on the remaining cloth. Your father had made sure you could read, though that was before he spiraled into an early grave. Your cousin had helped you as well, the older boy providing you with stories and adventures to consume. You missed the simplicity of those days, riding the horse and moving the cattle without a care for the real world. 

You were pulled away from your thoughts as Bucky gently touched your arm, seemingly having forgotten your new-found distaste for him. You flinch away from his touch like a skittish animal, sidestepping as you quickly depart his side in favor of Charlotte’s. The woman was still crouched near the staircase, shivering, with a large bruise developing across her cheek and her lip split and bloody. 

You can feel Steve hovering nearby, his expression cold as he watched you usher Charlotte to her feet. You knew his irritation wasn’t with you or Charlotte but rather with Parker, who had struck the woman. 

“Is she going to be–” Steve begins to question as you guide Charlotte up the first few steps. You look back, scowling over your shoulder at the outlaw. 

“Don’t.” You hiss at him, watching as he nods in meek surrender. 

Charlotte is slow to walk; her footsteps are clumsy as she shivers and whimpers in your arms. The redhead woman watches the both of you with an expression of distaste. Below the men gather their wits and guns, Stark teeters in place as he gets to his feet with a cocky expression. His gaze follows the woman's, dark eyes landing on the both of you, lingering a few steps up. 

“Hold on there, little lady!” Stark booms up, his words still slightly slurred from the liquor and exhaustion. Charlotte freezes in place, hands clasped rigidly on your arms. You glance back at Stark, hoping he means to just announce their departure instead of demanding your skills once more. 

“There ain't no doctors out in the wild; what am I supposed to do if this wound splits open? Get one of these fools to stitch it up?” He asks, his mouth curled into a cruel smile. The outlaws shift their weight, as if they are also unsure as to where this is going. 

“Find another town to terrorize?” You suggest tugging Charlotte so she is positioned behind you, hidden from their view. 

“Nah…” Stark drawls, staggering a few steps, a revolver swinging on his finger. “I think… it would be easier if you just came along with us.” 

“What?” Bucky and the redhead woman bark in unison before you can react. Your grip on Charlotte tightens, blocking out the bickering between the outlaws below as you tilt your head to whisper to her. 

“Run.” You mutter, dragging Charlotte up the stairs behind you. You had no plan other than to escape. There was no point in fighting out the front door, instead you would have to risk climbing out one of the upstairs windows–

A shot rings out behind you, and Charlotte's body suddenly becomes a dead weight. You can feel the spray of moisture across the back of your neck, but don’t dare turn to see the sight. 

“Did you really need to do that?” Steve shouts from somewhere below, the sound of unfamiliar, wicked laughter carrying up the stairs. Your heartbeat is so loud you can’t hear anything else, only the distorted voices of the outlaws below. Your mouth tastes like blood as you top the stairs, gripping the railing as you turn to race down the hallway.

A pair of hands grasp around your middle, tugging you backward. A scream, louder and more violent than any of Charlotte's, leaves your throat as you thrash in the grip, scratching and kicking as the chuckling man carries you down the stairs. 

“You sure you want her, Stark? She seems like a handful.” The unfamiliar outlaw carrying you asks. 

“Don’t look so pressed, Barnes. My aim’s good enough not to shoot your girl. You got a real thing for her, haven’t ya?” Parker remarks with a grin. 

Sobs escape you as you struggle in the crushing grip of the outlaw, any sense of your father’s mythical ‘calm’ or ‘Gods will’ leaving your body. Animal instinct takes over; Charlotte was dead. Crowley was dead. In a blind panic, you bite down on the arm of your captor, the man yelping in pain and dropping you instantly. 

Your knees bite with pain as you slam into the hard, wooden floors. After stumbling to your feet, you turn to resume your escape. Your attempt is short-lived, as you are stopped by a familiar body. Leather and gunpowder. You bury your head into his chest, exhaustion and fear taking over as you silently beg Bucky to protect you.

“See! She’s got the spirit. We’ll make an outlaw out of you yet.” Stark remarks with another cruel laugh. “And if your stitching proves useless, you can always prove your worth with what's between your legs.” 

The redhead woman lets out an annoyed grumble at that, and over the cackling of the men, you hear her march out of the saloon to ready the horses. 

“Come on,” Bucky mutters to you, guiding you towards the door. You dig in your feet, nausea rising as you watch the men mount their horses through the windows. 

“I don’t want to.” You sobbed quietly. The brunet outlaw sighs, his movements hesitating as if he were conflicted. 

“I can’t do anything to change Stark’s mind–”

“And when you deem me useless? Are you going to shoot me like Crowley, like… like Charlotte?” Your voice quivers and shakes; your vision blurred from the tears streaming down your face. You had hated this place; you had felt its evilness and oppression. But it was your home; it held your friends. You weren’t ready to leap into the unknown or trust these men who had hurt you. To trust Bucky, who had tricked and betrayed you.

“This is not how this was supposed to go.” Bucky mutters under his breath, then, without asking, scoops you over his shoulder to forcefully carry you from the building. Through sobs, you squirm, his shoulder digging into your stomach as you watch the saloon slowly be ripped away from you with each step. 

“Put me down.” You gasp at him as he finally exits the building. “Bucky– Bucky please just put me down–” 

The outlaw obliges, dumping you on your feet next to a horse. “Get on.” He instructs. 

You shake your head, pushing at his chest. “No.”

“Get on the horse.” He demands once more, guiding you towards the horse’s side. 

You begin to push him away harder, with the other outlaws watching as you sob between hitting and struggling as Bucky tries to persuade you to get on the horse. His patience seems to quickly grow thin, and the watchful eyes of his peers grow equally impatient with hateful sneers. 

His hands move quickly, grasping your wrists and tugging you closer to his chest. You freeze as he lowers his head, his hat brushing your hair as he whispers in your ear. 

“If you don’t get on, these boys are gonna tie you up and drag you behind. We don’t want that, do we now? So what is it, all tied up or sitting pretty, sweetheart?” His gravelly, low voice sends a shudder down your spine, your eyelids fluttering shut briefly. 

“I’ll get on.” You mutter back quietly, pulling back. Bucky nods, pleased, his thumb brushing away the tears on your cheek. 

“Good choice.” 

With a shuddering breath, you grip the horn of the saddle, swinging your legs over to mount the horse. It had been months since you last rode, but the muscle memory remained embedded deep in your mind. Bucky was quick to mount up too, his body sliding in behind you while one of his hands lazily wrapped around your waist, reins in the other. 

The band of outlaws were quick to move once everyone was situated, with fearful townsfolk peering out their windows as the herd moved past in a cloud of dust. You tried to ignore the dead bodies that lined the street, their blood staining the loose dirt. You couldn’t let your brain slip into a dark place, thinking of Crowley and Charlotte still warm in the saloon. A nauseous feeling of dread consumed your being as you noted the blood still splattering up your arms and dress, the rocking motion of the cantering horse beneath you not helping. 

You found yourself leaning back into Bucky, the only sturdy thing nearby. Your head lay back against his shoulder as you looked up at the blue skies above, the heat beating down on your exposed skin. 

The pace only slowed as the outlaws felt they had traveled far enough to evade any lawmen acting as backup. The heat had grown unbearable the further you drew from civilization; these wilds were not the ones you had frequented as a teen. There were no rivers, forests, or grass. There was only dirt, sand, and heat. These were what men meant when they spoke of the west, pure, untamed country. 

Bucky had hardly spoken, leaving you alone in your grief and sickness. He held you steady as you silently cried. Even when you could cry no more and your eyes rolled back from the heat, he continued to hold you steady, ensuring his horse kept an even gait. 

The silence was finally broken as Steve slowed his horse, falling in step with the two of you at the back of the party. 

“She ain’t looking too great, Buck.” The blond commented, leaning in his saddle to inspect you closer. You shied away from his eyes, pressing closer to Bucky. 

“It’s the heat.” Bucky murmured in response, his gaze fixed ahead. The redhead woman had slowed her own horse, glancing back at the interaction with interest. 

“Here.” Steve says, retrieving a waterskin from the pack on his saddle. Unscrewing the top, he passes it to Bucky, who in turn offers it to you. You groan, pushing the offer away. At that moment, you’d have rather become one with the bleached bones of the desert. 

Bucky huffs sharply, lifting the waterskin to your lips. 

“Drink,” he commands. “You lost too much energy crying and wailing back there.”

As soon as the earthy, warm water graces your lips, a survival instinct kicks in, and you greedily take a few gulps before finding the strength to push the waterskin away. Bucky seems happy enough with the amount you have taken, passing it back to Steve. 

The blond man shakes his head while screwing the top back on. “I don’t know what Stark was thinkin’ Buck; I don’t think she’s gonna make it out here.” 

Bucky seems to sigh at that, giving Steve a sidelong look. “She’ll be fine.”

Steve shrugs, nudging his horse forward to catch up with the redhead woman. Through your squinted eyes, you make out the two of them exchanging some hushed words. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Steve don’t know what he’s talking about.” Bucky reassures you, one of his large hands patting your thigh. 

“What if he’s right?” You question, your voice cracked and raspy. 

“There’s no need to worry.” He says it with a hum, accompanied by a small squeeze of your thigh. “I’ll look after you, pretty lady.”

[scoonsalicious]

Hi besties!

I think it's time for a check-in!

Things have finally started looking up; I got myself a fancy new job that starts in the middle of next month! I won't be a librarian anymore, which, I won't lie to you, makes me kind of sad, because it's a job I love with my whole heart, but I will be making $20k more a year, so I'm not too terribly broken up about it, lol. Here I come, Lower-Middle Class! Whoop!

With Friends Like These... is officially on hiatus, with no set schedule for a return at this time. It will get finished at some point, but the muse for it has left me. I think I was struggling so hard to make sure the dynamic was fundamentally different from Unwanted that I was sucking the joy out of it for myself. Hopefully, after some time and distance from the "love triangle" element of Unwanted, the excitement I had for the story will come back.

Speaking of Pocket, I've been cheering myself up with Unwanted Unoshots (I have a theme, and I have to stick with it, okay?). I have a few more of those planned. My problem is I always want to turn them into something bigger than just a drabble and I have to reel myself in and keep them at actual one-shots. I'm hoping they'll be a nice, fluffy blanket we can all wrap ourselves in before we get to the heartbreak that will be Unbroken.

I'm currently wrist-deep into writing Hunted. The entire plot is mapped out, and it shouldn't be too difficult, seeing as how it's essentially only Bucky and Reader (who we're calling Princess - a nickname Bucky gives her, though not for nice reasons) as characters, and we'll get shared POVs. I'm not planning on making it a terribly long fic. Maybe 10-15 chapters in total, but Unwanted was only supposed to be about that long, too, and look where we went with that. ::shrug:: I'm thinking about posting a teaser of the first part of chapter one, just to get a feel for what ya'll think of it; let me know if that's something you'd be interested in.

Finally, I'm also working on a collab with @mrsbuckybarnes1917 that I'm very excited about. I won't say much on it, because it's still very much a work in progress, but I think you'll all enjoy it. It's got some sci-fi elements and will have some heavily angsty parts! You know I eat angst for breakfast!

Anywho, that's what's going on. I miss interacting with all of you, and the shenanigans. I'm off to write, but I hope to talk to you all soon! Love you oodles!

Scoons

[unclewaynemunson]

hi i just found your blog and i’m in love with ur writing<3 imma stalk it, if that’s ok!! also, saw ppl can send writing ideas (u don’t have to do this it’s just something i like reading lol) and i see lots of angsty fics where steve is the one that fucks up and has to apologize but I also think eddie could fuck up too - so if you could right something angsty (with a happy ending obv lol i’m not made of stone) where eddie fucks up and has to figure out how to apologize to steve :) but like i said no pressure if it’s not something you want to do <333

keep up with your writing, it’s beautiful <33

Ohmygod this is such a lovely message, thank you so much <333 Seriously this really means sooo much! I hope you're having a good day, lots of love!

And YESSS i love this prompt! I started writing something and it completely got away from me so now it's getting waaayyy longer than i planned it to be, whoops. I'll give you the first part already and I hope to have the second (longer) part ready soon.

(also, i wrote this post a while ago which also has angst and eddie being kind of a dick so you might like that one, too)

XXXXX

'Do you know what day it is tomorrow?'

They're on Eddie's bed together, the two of them, not doing much – or rather, Steve's not doing much. Eddie, however, is tirelessly scribbling down ideas in his notepad to prepare for the next Hellfire meeting.

He looks up from his notes to look at Steve in disbelief, wondering if he's for real with that question.

'Friday,' he answers in the most scathing tone he can muster.

'C'mon Eddie, don't be a dick,' says Steve, but a small smile is playing around his lips. 'Can I take you out tomorrow night?'

'I have band practice on Fridays. You know that.'

'Yeah, but I talked to the guys. They're okay with skipping it one time.'

'Dude, I'm not gonna miss my band practice for fucking Valentine's Day.'

Steve frowns. 'You don't have to say it like it's a gross word, you know.'

'But it is a gross word, Stevie!' Eddie exclaims dramatically. 'Come on, you know just as well as I do that it's not for people like us.'

'Seriously?'

Eddie doesn't understand why Steve is acting so surprised. Honestly, what did he expect from dating a non-conformist queer metalhead, exactly?

'It's not even about romance, man! It's a conspiracy of the big corporations so they can capitalize off their ridiculous made-up heterosexual ideas of what relationships should be like. Nothing romantic about it, it's all bullshit.'

Something shifts in Steve's gaze. 'It's all bullshit?' he repeats, eyebrows arched into a frown.

There's something in his tone and in his pose, his arms crossed in front of his chest, like he's challenging Eddie, that makes Eddie feel like he can only double down on this now.

'Yeah. Complete bullshit.'

'Okay.' Steve nods, opens his mouth, then closes it again – seems to swallow his own words, before he continues: 'Okay, good to know. I won't keep you away from your band practice, then. Um, you know what, I should be heading home now.'

'I thought you were staying here for the night?'

'No, I changed my mind.' Steve doesn't look him quite in his eyes. 'I think I just wanna be alone. Get a good night's sleep.'

Eddie squints at Steve as he gets up from his lazy position on the bed to grab his shoes.

'Are you angry?'

'No, I'm just – you're probably right, I don't know why I even thought – never mind.'

But Eddie can't see Steve's face as he's ducked down to tie his shoelaces, and his voice sounds oddly strained. Steve leaves Eddie's room without so much as a kiss on Eddie's cheek and only stops in the living room to say goodbye to Wayne before he heads out into the cold evening.

'You and Steve okay?' Wayne asks after the sound of Steve's car has faded away. Eddie is still standing in the middle of the living room, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

'I... don't know,' he answers his uncle's question. 'He was being all weird about fucking Valentine's Day, can you believe that?' He lets himself fall onto the couch. 'What about this –' he makes a vague gesture at both himself and the room around them – 'could have ever given him the idea that I'd care about Valentine's Day?' It's impossible for him to keep the disgust out of his voice.

Wayne sighs. 'And did it ever occur to you that maybe he cares 'bout Valentine's Day?'

Eddie scoffs. 'Of course he doesn't care about Valentine's Day, he's –' Shit. The horrifying realization dawns over him and it makes so much sense that he wonders how he didn't see it right away. How could he have been so stupid? Of course Steve Harrington cares about Valentine's Day. And he probably planned some big romantic surprise date for Eddie and all Eddie said was that it was bullshit.

He groans and lets himself fall further into the worn-out couch cushions.

'That's what I thought,' Wayne comments dryly.

'Shit! Shit, shit, shit, I fucked up so bad, Wayne! How could I have known?! He's a fucking badass, I didn't think – Ah, damnit, I'm such an idiot!'

'Badass or not, if you didn't wanna be with some hopeless romantic, you been lookin' in the wrong place, boy,' Wayne says.

Eddie lifts his head up to take a look at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. It's almost eleven thirty. That leaves him with about eight hours until Steve wakes up on his own in that big empty house, on Valentine's Day, ready to start his day feeling completely miserable. It's time to switch into all-nighter mode.

XXXXX

(Update: read pt2 here)

[cementcornfield]

Is there any song/songs that make you think of Joe’marr? I keep thinking about them listening to Troye Sivans album 😊 (I’d also like to thank you for your Joe/Ja’marr/Joe’marr/bengals tags bc I’ve totally fallen in love with the team v v quickly 😅)

Hi! lol i've seen you in my notifs the past few days, i love when i can tell people are going through my tags! so glad you're joining the fandom just in time for all the content to start back up <3

and oh boy, okay, i'm the kind of person where once i get obsessed with a ship or character, EVERY song makes me think of them (even some that really don't work at all, whoops!) but here are some that get me particularly in my feelings about joe'marr

Sweet

King and Lionheart - Of Monsters And Men And as the world comes to an end I'll be here to hold your hand 'Cause you're my king and I'm your lionheart

Aquemini - Outkast Nothin' is for sure, nothin' is for certain, nothin' lasts forever But until they close the curtain (y'all know) It's him and I, Aquemini

1950 - King Princess So cold that your stare's 'bout to kill me I'm surprised when you kiss me So tell me why my gods look like you And tell me why it's wrong

Thinkin' Bout You - Frank Ocean Or do you not think so far ahead? Cause I been thinkin' 'bout forever

Bodyguard - Beyoncé Be your best friend I protect you in the mosh pit And I'll defend you in the gossip You know how people like to start shit and pop shit I don't like the way she's lookin' at you Someone better hold me back

Nineteen - Tegan and Sara I felt you in my life Before I ever thought to I felt the need to lay down Beside you And tell you I feel you in my heart And I don't even know you

Angsty

Fireproof - The National You're fireproof Nothing breaks your heart You're fireproof It's just the way you are You're fireproof It's what you always say You're fireproof I wish I was that way

Bad Religion - Frank Ocean If it brings me to my knees It's a bad religion This unrequited love To me, it's nothin' but a one-man cult And cyanide in my styrofoam cup I can never make him love me Never make him love me

Earfquake - Tyler the Creator I don't want no confrontation, no You don't want my conversation I just need some confirmation on how you feel, for real You don't want no complication, no

New Magic Wand - Tyler the Creator Can't be in the picture if it got no frame And let the world know 'cause I ain't got no shame Blow the whole spot up, 'cause I ain't— I wanna share last names, I wanna be your number one Not the other one, keep it on the low I'm in my right mind, keep it on a high

Secret Heart - Feist Why so mysterious? Why so sacred, why so serious? Maybe you're just acting tough Maybe you're just not man enough What's wrong?

Somewhere in Between

We Belong Together - Vampire Weekend We belong together Baby, there's no use in being clever Baby, it don't mean we'll stay together Hallelujah, you're still mine All I did was waste your time If there is not some grand design How'd this pair of stars align?

I Want to Know Your Plans - Say Anything I want to know your plans And how involved in them I am [...] I'll look out for you 'til I die, 'til I rot I'll remember you 'til I die, 'til I rot

Never Be Anyone Else But You - Emmylou Harris Cause I hope and pray the day will come when you belong to me Then I'm gonna prove to you how true my love can be There'll never be anyone else but you for me Never ever be, just couldn't be, anyone else but you

Vito's Ordination Song - Sufjan Stevens And when you write a poem I know the words, I know the sounds Before you write it down

Specialist - Interpol You make me lose my buttons oh yeah you make me spit I don't like my clothes anymore You take me to New Orleans where you put me to the test I know what my heart is for

Bedroom Hymns - Florence and the Machine Cause this is his body, this is his love Such selfish prayers and I can't get enough

[sweetdreamsofgelato]

about the kiss prompt 3, 7, or11 with either Sy, Walter, or August. or Charles if we are feeling Tudory. lol

The #7 “I’ve missed you” kiss screamed Walter to me. This is slightly angsty, but I hope you enjoy it!

(gif from google, if it's yours pls let me know so I can properly credit)

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Reader (You)

Rating: T for angst; hurt/comfort vibes

Word Count: 667

It was no secret that Walter was a gruff man. His oft-sullen and monosyllabic nature were rather notorious, and whilst no one ever appreciated being on the receiving end, most colleagues made allowances for something they deemed personally beneficial. His apparent ability to emotionally detach meant he was routinely saddled with the worst of the worst: the cases no one else wished to touch because of the inescapable knock-on effect on one’s mental health. Most assumed he was impervious to the foulest dregs of humanity and the horrific emotional gamut he ran each day. Believed that as if by some innate magic, he was able to simply absorb the repeated exposure to an endless parade of tragedy and defuse it all away into nothingness.

How wrong they were.

Walter felt everything and the trauma was acutely visceral. It lived in the permanent dark smudges under his haunted eyes, made its home in the unyielding tension in his every muscle, and burrowed into his soul where it inevitably metamorphosed into the existential exhaustion he continually suffered. His very essence was scarred, and it was a burden he bore without complaint so that the abysmal darkness never touched those closest to him.

His stoicism was how he survived and protected his peace.

It was how he protected you.

And whilst some took exception to his compartmentalisation by accusing him of being unnecessarily cold or distant, you understood and accepted it because you knew one thing with the utmost certainty:

No matter how far gone he may seem to be, Walter always came home.

It wasn’t easy, and the latest case had been particularly gruelling. Most evenings he stumbled in well past midnight and immediately collapsed on the sofa without touching the food you’d left wrapped on the kitchen worktop or taking a shower. Sometimes without even bothering to undress. After a paltry bit of sleep, he awoke before the sun and did it all over again. Days went by without seeing each other, let alone speaking, and it wasn’t for lack of wanting on his part. You knew it was because he was in the thick of it and processing that left him feeling tainted in many ways, and he never wanted that anywhere near you.

But you kept on making meals he could eat in passing and leaving extra cosy blankets and fresh clothes in the spaces he most frequently dropped. Held his hand in companionable silence when words were all but impossible. You continued to ease his burden the best ways you knew how because:

Walter always came home.

Just as he did that night. You were stretched out on the sofa enjoying a bit of television and a warm drink when Walter swept into the house on a wave of energy unseen in recent weeks.

You caught sight of his coat and hat flying through the corridor. His bag quickly followed, the lot chucked and forgotten at the bottom of the stairs. He finally came into view, hopping on one socked foot whilst desperately tugging at the boot on the other. He gave a triumphant whoop when he finally got it off. You made to rise, but he motioned for you to stay put and beelined for the sofa.

He collapsed into your open arms with a contented groan, and even though he was a beast of a man, you relished the weight of him. So solid and reassuring and real.

He enveloped your body with his and cradled your face in his hands. His fingertips sank into the soft column of your neck and yours dragged through his dark curls. Foreheads met, and in the barest moment of mingling sighs, his nose gently nudged yours before taking your mouth with his. His overgrown scruff scratched and stung with every drag of his lips but you cared nought. He was here, and that's all that mattered.

Neither desperate nor impatient, this kiss was slow and deliberate. By pouring himself into you and allowing you to return in kind, it was a recharging of the soul. Checking back in.

He reluctantly broke away, breathed into your neck and whispered, “God, I’ve missed you.”

“Welcome back, Walter.”

[lincolndjarin]

ro's very reasonable 2023 wrap up schedule.

hi lovelies!! (figured out how to do a color gradient, took me weeks, i'm fucking thrilled, expect more of that nonsense in this post lol)

it's mid november and as the year comes to a close i'd like to wrap up a lot of stuff so here's the plan :

NOV 12 : BKS 26 : crucifixion (currently being edited will be out by tonight.)

NOV 12-19 : BKS 27 : the apostate (will be released at some point here, it's gonna be on the shorter side so it shouldn't take too long

NOV 25 : Oh Honey, Chapter Four : painting the roses red (another long chap, gonna need some time to get this one out so at the latest it will be out on the 25th!!)

The First Week of December will be my 1,000 follower celebration, I'm going to be doing a week of Best Kept Secret content leading up to the final BKS chapter !! (this will include the release of my 500 follower celebration whoops)

Best Kept Secret Week :

DEC 1 : BKS 28 : a place for us (the technical final chapter of BKS)

DEC 2 : BKS Q&A (gonna ask for questions at some point here i'll make a post and answer any final questions about bks!!)

DEC 3 : Bound in Beskar - 500 follower celebration (a one off based on the book princess reads in bks)

DEC 4 : BKS what ifs (it's 8 days of stuff they can't all be hits. tbh i needed a day filler and i've got a lot of alternative story lines in bks so fuck it, i'll talk about those here)

DEC 5 : Best Kept Secret Art!! (i commissioned three artists to illustrate some of my favorite scenes bc i'm a sap so i will be posting all of that on this day and i'm so excited for y'all to see it!! they're wonderful artists and they've done wonderful work so far <3)

DEC 6 : Secrets Best Kept - 1,000 follower celebration (a one off where Din Djarin is the new reluctant ruler of Mandalore, a tutor is hired to help him during his early days as a ruler to learn proper etiquette for royalty)

DEC 7 : A love letter to Best Kept Secret. (pretty much just gonna be one last corny post to thank everyone for reading)

DEC 8 : BKS 29 : the best kept secret (epilogue) (corny ass name ik, anyhow, this will be it!! this will be the last main update of best kept secret!!)

DEC 16 : Oh Honey, Chapter Five : a very merry unbirthday (this will be the last chapter of oh honey!! i've always intended for this to be a short form story so it will be wrapped up at the latest by the 16th!!)

DEC 24 : Best Kept Christmas (gonna sneak one last good bye to bks in at the end of the month with a christmas special lol)

and then i will be taking the last week of december to write my next fics! rest!

so yeah lol, my goal is to wrap up all ongoing fics this year but but but if you made it this far (i love you *mwah*) here's some of the fics coming in 2024!! i won't be starting anything new this year but next year i've got big plans >:)

Then & Now (probs gonna change that title) - this will be my main fic for a bit, i've been itching to start this for so so long, f!reader x joel. definitely gonna be more on the angsty side

i'm participating in pmamc 2024 so there will be an Oberyn one off in January!!

Andromeda - this is gonna be my next din x reader !! i don't have much other than the base idea but im gonna keep that a surprise haha

And plenty of other stuff i'll figure out lol

[sapphosdickandballs]

heyyyy!!! i saw that you changed ur theme. just wanted to first of all say i loveeeee that shade of green omg. its so cool.

anyway also that ask you sent about reading kiss her once for me- ahhh. im stoked ur reading it!! ellie is such a loser and yeah. i need a jane su/jack (i forget her last name atm whoops) in my life. mostly jane aughhhh... sorry im noooot here to gush abt ols HOWEVER. i get it. 100%. idk i just like- loved them. they were cute and ughhh.

u got any updates w reading???

i just got done reading delilah green doesnt care and tbh. its not a rec from me. im gonna keep my thoughts to a minimum but it felt very bland and like a whole nothing burger with such a... paper thin character veil. i didnt care about the cast at all???? especially not the ship. i did like iris and astrid but damn it just was low key boring??? the sex scenes werent even hot 👎. like okay so not gonna rip on it TOO hard but it's got a cute cover but i didnt find it to be rec worthy nor is it even comparable to any of my other favs. it was mindless, but executed in a way that felt underwhelming. like a different book i read- mistakes were made. which is by an author you recommended a book from. thats a whole nother argument i had formed but that one wasn't good either 😭. sorry but that one suffered from the opposite problem of too much sex and the plot just WASNT compelling. also the characters were awful?? at least the daughter. i hate that she was written as some spoiled child when she was legitimatly a college student. anyway NOT recs. but im indeed interested in giving both of their other books a try??

anyway i really REALLY want to try this one eventually. it looks really good but my libby doesnt have ittttt :(

uhhh another thing is-

i ask of you now- to make a decision on which i start first since you recommended them both to me in that long ask. (thats mainly why im sending this lol i could go either way but would like ur silly input on to choose which path to take first.)

as for the ask you sent earlierrrrr- i might dm u later w a bunch of rambles bc im not gonna publicly ramble in case they ever find this acc but watch out!! i can yap. :3

anyway thats all!!

Oh that sucks about Delilah green doesn’t care. I think that was on my list but I hadn’t started it yet. But I trust your judgment so I’ll prolly take it off

By an author I recced or one of the books I recced? Just curiosu. If it’s an author I recced I’ll make a mental note not to read any more of them

I’ve read til the point they arrived at the mansion and she met boozy in kiss her once for me I’m easily distracted but I will read more soon! I have a bunch of stuff I have to do for uni so it might be a sec. But I will read more I do really like it

ughhhhh the falling in love montage is so. Aughhhh. I love that book. It sucks your library doesn’t have it I read it on Libby so that’s weird. I wish you luck in finding it tho it’s so good

Oh this is hard okay. So something to talk about is very angsty? Like I read it and was yelling at the characters the whole time to stop being stupid. But if you relate to feeling like a predatory lesbian (I do 🙌) then this book will hit. I ultimately really liked it and thought the angst and buildup was worth it

I also really like never ever getting back together it’s pretty fluffy and cute and makes fun of the bachelor type shows which I thoroughly enjoyed cause I watch those shows (guilty pleasure) and it’s dual perspective which I always be eating up. One of the main characters acts like an idiot for a while but then it gets really cute. And it’s not too sex heavy afaik. Neither is something to talk about except for the very ending

Both are good I can’t really recommend you one over the other, so I will just say are you in a more angsty mood or a more fluffy mood

That’s fine lmao that’s why I added the disclaimer of answer in an ask or a dm. I just hate saying you can dm me cause liek. The implications

[daisymae-12]

20 questions for fic writers

thanks for the tag @kiwiana-writes ❤️❤️❤️

I wasn't going to do this because a silly part of me was feeling some imposter syndrome - mostly because I haven't published a fic for RWRB yet, and that makes me feel like I'm not a 'real' fic writer (yes silly I know) 🙃 reminded myself that I have published stuff on ffn/ao3 before even though it was 6+ years ago 😅 ANYWAY filled this out so I can look back in a year or so and see what's changed 🌞

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

5 on my old AO3 account that I pretend doesn't exist 😂 1 on my new AO3 (though it's just a fic where I dump my drabbles)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

48k

3. What fandoms do you write for?

only RWRB now

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

lmao not going specifically name them because these days I like to pretend all my old fics don't exist but my fic with the most kudos (354) is a soulmate fic 😌

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Mostly! (I've tried to respond to all of them but I'm always fighting the procrastination monster)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? 7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Confession for these two questions - I've never actually finished writing a fic 💀 but! I don't think I could ever write an angsty ending - I need a happy ending 😂 I'm going to finish a fic one day, I swear (hilariously I think the first fic I'll ever finish will be the Vampire Henry fic at this rate LOL)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully no

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I've always planned to but I've never actually reached that part 💀 (see above confession about never having finished a fic lol)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Nope! Don't think it would be something I would do in the future either.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No and I don't think anyone would want to steal any of my half finished fics LOL

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Alex/Henry 🥺

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Ahh all the unfinished fics on my old AO3 account. Sometimes I still get comments on that soulmate fic asking if I'm ever going to update and while I'd love to finish it, I'm in a different headspace now from when I started it (10 years ago!)

16. What are your writing strengths?

Let me see if I've got an answer for this in a year because right now I genuinely don't know 😅

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Does being a slow writer count? Never finishing a fic? I'm working on it 😅 I have 6 (whoops) WIP's right now and there's two that are SO CLOSE to being done - I've just got to keep fighting my easily distracted brain 🥲 The day I finish writing a fic, I'll genuinely cry and probably buy myself a cake to celebrate 😂

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'd like to? I do love reading fics that include Spanish dialogue. But my second language (Tagalog) is kinda useless for this? 😂 You'd think it'd be helpful cause it uses a lot of Spanish words/phrases, but it's too much of a different language overall to be of any use. (lol I'll read fics with Spanish dialogue and randomly be amused when I recognize a word that's the same in Tagalog - "I know that word!!!")

19. First fandom you wrote for?

HP (hate what jkr has done to taint it tho 🙃)

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Since I've never finished a fic, my fave WIP's right now are my Fake Dating/College AU fic and my Vampire Henry fic 🥰

no pressure tags as always (sorry if you've already done this and I missed it 😅) @heybuddy-drabbles @affectionatelyrs @littlemisskittentoes @cultofsappho @happiness-of-the-pursuit @read-and-write- @14carrotghoul @inexplicablymine @suseagull04 +anyone who wants to do this

[ryansjane]

I’m so glad you summoned us to your ask box bc I agree that watching cooking crush is so lonely. I am constantly lurking in the tag and its so depressing compared to the energy ‘not me’ got every sunday. I am so happy that offgun are doing a romcom. I know that you like angsty offgun but I desperately needed an offgun show that is lighthearted and cc is serving. Gun is shining in this show and I love that he lives with his grandma and sister. I have always found that Gun bounces off of actresses really well, especially older women, and he makes dynamics with them seem really natural and comforting. And holy moly is Off Jumpol blessing my eyeballs. I find myself swooning every time he comes on screen and this character feels so soft. I love how gentle Ten is with Prem. The way he quietly accepted that Prem was willing to teach him despite Prem screwing with him earlier in the episode. And then reassuring Prem that he is a good cook. Ugh I am so living for this dynamic and can’t wait to see what offgun do with it further.

But gmmtv and I will have words about them not releasing the full versions on youtube. Like what more can they do to inhibit offgun?

yeah to be fair I never expected the fandom experience for cc to be anywhere near not me bc that kind of collective watching experience can never be matched, but I'm glad many people have taken up my open call to discuss cooking crush lol bc it was getting lonely!

honestly, while I do love my angst & deeper topics, I've been glad that cooking crush is a silly romcom since the first trailer dropped. as I said in my gmmtv 2022 reaction video, I think we do need a breather after how intense & life-changing not me was, and also offgun are just SO GOOD at romcoms bruh, it's the perfect genre for them (even though they've slayed every genre they've been in too!) also I have this theory that cooking crush was chosen for offgun specifically to bring them back to their "bankable" image that they lost due to not me being too political & half of the entertainment kinda blacklisting them, which while not me being censored is bullshit, I am glad that it's not gonna affect offgun's careers long term & they're now back to getting more events & ads together!

you're so right about gun bouncing off actresses & especially older ones very well, I 100% agree! prem's ama is my fave I love her, she's such a good supportive force in prem's life :))) as for ten being super gentle & soft, YES!!! I was told before the show aired that novel!ten is like the softest man in existence, yet off still managed to exceed my expectations! especially after sean who was his roughest character to date hahaha! ten just feels like a big teddy bear, every time he appears on screen I wanna squish his cheeks 🥺 ten is really as forgiving as sean was hahaha, whoops I think I found another favorite character! the tenprem dynamic is literal perfection, though. they match each other so well I think I might pass away once they get together 😭

gmmtv is so fucking weird, like they still stand behind offgun & give them shows & fanmeets, etc. but at the same time they often do a terrible job promoting them. here what upsets me the most is that gmmtv actually was promoting cooking crush pretty damn well, but they set up cooking crush with their contract with wetv. it's nice that wetv seems to have given cc a lot of funds, which is why it was their headlining thai show of the year at their event in september, but I think in exchange they refused to have gmmtv post the full uncut eps to make it a wetv exclusive, which is bullshit. while gmmtv couldn't do much against it, they couldn't have discussed other ways, like they've done for other shows. it just really sucks bc the uncut version is the only great way to watch the show, but I wanna support the show on gmmtv's channel too :(

xxx

[winter-doggo]

🦴for writer’s ask game!!!

🦴 ⇢ is there a piece of media that inspires your writing?

Ooh, boy, this might be a telling one. Answering this is tough because, while I've gathered sprinkles of inspiration from many sources over the years, I don't often consider them until I'm working on something it's particularly relevant to. It's not something I'm conscious about. I know I have *been* inspired by things, but it's more in relation to individual elements, for example, that have been soaked into my sponge brain. Like - they did X thing in X media, I want to do/put a twist on/consider that, that sort of thing.

Individual works I'm making might have different inspirations, too, that I may reference. Originally, I think this was gonna be a complicated way of saying "I don't", but I suppose that's not true - the answer is actually "I don't remember". I forget, so I need to keep reading to fill in the gaps again. Whoops!

Beyond canon material for any given fanfic, I guess there are a couple things that jump out. (Excuse me not being able to hyperlink right now lol)

In terms of fanworks:

The most honest answer would probably be pretty much any work by https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyraDoodles (particularly in terms of FF7). I've not got the braincells to explain it right now but their sort of writing, *chefs kiss*. When struggling to get into the writing brain, their stuff always helps

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47096407 Flying Home, a Madoka Magica fic by atamascolily - it's only 3000 words long, and seems like it fits into its trope (soulmate goose???) fairly neatly, but still twists it in its own angsty direction. I originally found it while writing my own goose-based fic I never finished, but it's something I keep coming back to for the way it executed itself. Very clean and effective! Helpful example for writing some fanfic trope

In terms of non-fanfic inspiration, I read a lot less original stuff than I used to, and I wouldn't call a lot of what I've read more recently inspiring to my own work. I have, however, almost finished reading Dracula, which I did not expect to be as impactful as it was. It's a very fun read, and gets the gears clicking. I can't tell you it's inspired any particular element or theme, but it does inspire me to write good!

...Man, I need to read Pratchett again. I haven't read any since I was like 12 and I think it would be good for me

I notice the question also calls it media, which includes stuff like movies and games, but I think a large amount of non-writing stuff fits into things I absorb but don't consciously remember. the closest it gets, I think, is listening to music while I write. In which case:

https://youtu.be/3pE2LwwzDeA This set of Monster Hunter music

The Heartwood from Pokémon Legends Arceus

I have a playlist of video game songs seperate from these

Ty for asking!! Hope this is interesting to you :]

[bloustorm]

tagged by @aobawilliams

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

just 4

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

9,731 words3,338

3. What fandoms do you write for?

AO3 I got My Hero Academia, Trash of the Count's Family and Kiss the Abyss, but I also got various wips for Naruto, DC, and some other fandoms or crossovers like DCxWC

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Woes of a Drunkard (341)

How about No (76)

Burned-in Fingerprints (24)

When did I lose you for real? (18)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yeah! I always try to respond to the immediately, I myself like when the author responds to something I wrote in a comment (though I also try to write longer comments) and I think it's nice if it just gets acknowledged that I saw that they took their time for it. Also comments give me live and kudos just do nothing for me.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

That would probably be "When did I lose you for real" if I ever manage to finish that fic whoops

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Uh hard to say actually, like Burned-In Fingerprints ends pretty positive if I remember right but like How about No doesn't even get angsty at all? but I would say it's a neutral ending so yeah. Fingerprints.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, but like my fics aren't that well known obviously or haven't really been written out enough to have anything offensive in it lol. I really need to finish my wips one day

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, that's a secret /j Idk what's meant here with what kind, anyway only a selected few are allowed to read that anyways

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Hmm haven't written anything just thought about it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don't think so (unless it was done without my knowledge)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, there's kind of an idea of doing it with @grolahvol and possible @fanfiction-artist-prototype but that's up in the air for if it ever happens

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

...yeah no idea right now, come ask me another time. (It tends to change on the day)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

*crying* all of them.

Would really love to actually finish the posted stories I have on ao3 but I am currently so OUT of the fandom that it will take a while before I can look at the again I guess, like I literally have the third chapter almost ready only needs simple edits but nope

16. What are your writing strengths?

I honestly got no idea? I probably got some I'm just not sure what it could be.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

word hard. Also no idea how grammar works beyond "whatever feels right to me".

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Eeh, I probably wouldn't do it because it's bothersome having to look up a translation while you're reading a fic, unless it's something that fits with the context or just a few words here and there. Also switching languages in the middle of thinking is so hard to do, why would you do this to me. + like it just feels awkward to write it in another language, at least to me. Or to read it, there are a few language that can make it work but like german is not one of them (at least to me)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Uhhh technically like the Ga'hoole movie or something mabye?? that was even before I knew about fandom.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

UGH, I like the Drunkard one but How about No is also really funny

tagging @fanfiction-artist-prototype @aro-aizawa @slagathorius-maximus and uhhh whoever else sees this and writes

[smol-bean-boi13]

OKAY I HAD THIS CRAZY 5 MIN DREAM LAST NIGHT ABT ECHO RAPH AND A BABY. CRAZY RIGHT? WANNA KNOWS WHATS EVEN CRAZIER? I WROTE A WHOLE ASS 19 PAGE STORY ABT IT FOR A DAY. I HAVE GONE PLACES.

Anyways here's the story lol. (It's is super long I am not joking) (super unrendered and angsty so read at your own risk)

Raph comes rushing into the lair one night, beaten and out of breath. Holding something making a lot of noise. Of course this wakes everyone up.

"Raph- What the hell-?!" a very drowsy Leo groans.

"Raph. What happened." Deadpans Donnie, straight to the point, as always. Mikey gasps when he sees the scrapes on his brothers body.

"Guys, guys! Give Raph some space! Jeez!" The turtle in question exclaims.

"Red? Is that... a baby?" splinter asks with a surprised look on his face.

Everyone in the room goes silent.

Except for Raph, he still breathing hard, but not dying so it's fine.

Raph lifts part of the dirty blanket holding the baby.

Everyone has their own reaction.

Leo's wasn't the best one.

"Raph!! Why the hell would you bring a baby to the sewers?!?" Leo whisper-yells.

Raph's face turns sullen as he looks a the now sleeping baby in his arms.

"His mother was killed." He says as his brow furrows in sadness.

"Oh no..." Mikey whispers.

"She was on the way home, and some muggers tried to take her purse. Obviously she fought back. But It was already too late when I heard the gunshot." Raph continued.

"What the muggers didn't realize was that she was holding a baby and not a purse. I was... I was so angry!"

A pause.

"I beat them up. Then I took the baby and ran here." Raph finishes.

Everyones face has changed into one of horror and sadness.

Raph sniffles, "I... I didn't know what to do..."

Splinter is the one who speaks up first, "My son..." he holds his arms out and closes the distance between them.

Raph's lip quivers as he kneels down to be hugged by his father.

His brothers join the hug, Raph sobs quietly.

...

Echo creeps into the lair, just to check up on her family. And Raph, especially Raph.

She closes her hand around Raph's, and silently notices the bandages scattered on his body. She breaths in his familiar scent, and looks worriedly at his puffy eyes.

What happened to you? She thinks to herself.

Then they hear the faint sound of crying.

Raph starts to stir, but echo calms him back down, "shh, shh, it's okay baby. I've got it, go back to sleep."

He obliges and goes back to sleep.

Echo finds the source of the noise very quickly. And gasps when they realizes what it is.

"A baby..." they whisper.

She carefully picks up the crying child and brings it closer to her chest.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, it's okay. I'm here." She hums as she gazes into its soft green eyes.

The baby calms down a little, and Echo realizes it might be hungry. So she makes her way over to the kitchen to find some formula.

She soon returns to the crib she found the baby at, and thinking to herself wow that was easy, must've been a plot convenient time skip.

She shifted their weight from foot to foot in a swaying motion as the baby drank the formula. She gazed at its eyes once more, as their eyelids drooped closed.

"What are you doing."

Echo jumped at the accusation. She turned to look at Donnie.

"Oh Donnie, it's you" she said with a sigh of relief

"You didn't answer my question."

"Oh. right, right, right, sorry" Echo waves her open hand In a 'whoops my mistake' kind of gesture, "I just wanted to check on you guys"

"And Raph?"

"yeah, and Raph." Echo blushes.

The two of them stood in silence, the third was still drinking from their bottle.

"What happened?" Echo asks after a long enough minute.

Donnie looks away from echo for a moment then answerers her question.

"I'll let Raph explain it to you."

Echo turns around and looks at their bandaged and bruised boyfriend, staring back at her with an slightly open mouth.

They both stay like that, staring, each having their own reaction to the sight of one another.

Raph is the one to speak up first, "you look beautiful."

"And thats my cue to leave" Donnie turns on his heel and quicky heads back towards his lab.

Echo exhales through their nose and rolls her eyes. This gets a chuckle out of Raph.

"So, about the baby," Raph starts.

"Ohh yes about the baby, you better start explaining yourself mister Red Angel of Preventing Harm." Echo says sarcastically.

Raph brings the hastily made crib over to the couch so both turtles can watch the child but still talk. Echo lays the now sleeping baby down in the crib.

Once Raph and Echo sit down, Echo's expectant eyes stare deeply into Raph's waiting for an explanation.

"So I was on patrol-" Raph starts.

Jokes aside, Raph thoroughly explained the baby's story, and by the end of it Echo was being held by their partner as she stared at the baby with a newly found sorrow.

"That's what happened?" Echo croaked softly.

"Yeah..." Raph was involuntarily rubbing Echo's shoulder as a way of comforting both echo and himself.

Raph stayed silent as Echo was processing the new information he gave her.

"Are you guys keeping her?" Echo asked softly.

Raph's throat made a rumbling sound, "No, Donnie says she wouldn't be safe if she stayed with us."

Echo pressed closer to Raph's body, and squeezed his bicep has she turned her head away from the crib.

"I know, I know, baby" Raph solemnly soothes.

"I... why..." Echo didn't have the right words to express how she felt, so all she could do was cry into her boyfriend's bandaged bicep.

Raph pulls her closer to his body, so no one would see her weakness sadness.

...

They don't know how long they've been up talking untill Mikey walks into the room.

"Oh, you guys are up early" Mikey says, surprised.

Raph whips his head around to look at his younger brother, "it's morning already?!?" He exclaimes.

Echo and Raph were previously watching the baby and letting her explore Echo's various scars and markings. Enjoying the little baby noises she makes sometimes.

The baby squeals, mimicking Raph's outburst.

"And you too!" Mikey coos, walking over to the couch to play with the baby's fingers.

Mikey looks back at the two older turtles and asks, "long night?"

"Didn't feel like it" Echo replies with a weak shrug.

Mikey does a double take as his eyes land on the dark circles surrounding his siblings eyes.

"Uh huh, and I have three arms" Mikey says sarcastically.

Raph snorts.

"But seriously, you guys need sleep." He deadpans.

"Ok ok we will, Mr. Wakes up at ungodly hours of the morning" Raph shoots back.

Mikey sticks out his tounge and picks up the baby and walks away.

Echo tilts their head back and stares drowsily at Raph's eyes. Raph looks down to stare at hers in turn.

"Yeah we do need sleep." Echo chuckles and starts to get up when Raph stops them.

"Ah ah ah, you need more sleep than I do. Please, allow me, my queen." Raph humbles.

Echo giggles, "Pip pip good knight"

They both giggle at their sleepy roleplay. Mikey smiles and rolls his eyes in the other room.

Raph carries his larger partner to his room and jokingly drops her on his bed. Echo exclaimes joyfully as her boyfriend playfully growls and crawls into bed.

"What a terrible knight! 0 out of 5 stars" Echo exclaims in a posh accent.

"Well, perhaps my lady needed a different kind of service" Raph replies in a similar accent.

"And what kind of service is that?" Echo questions.

"The best kind" Raph smiles and churrs into her plastron.

Echo churrs back in response, sleep overtaking her eyelids.

"Mmmmh yes, the best kind..." Echo trails off.

They both fall asleep in each other's arms. cheesy, yes I know, but it's cute and I like it so there.

*The end*

Oh you made it to the end? Good for you buddy, I'm sorry that you had to go through that. (Lol thanks fr sticking w/ it)

[lunar-years]

🌧️ ☔️

If you’re still doing these :)

This is from the same fic as my earlier asks because I'm apparently only capable of actively working on one fic at a time whoops

WIP ask meme 🌨 (Angst):

When she came back downstairs an hour later, smelling of lavender bath salts and her citrusy shampoo, Roy still hadn’t come home, and Jamie was sitting miserably in front of the telly watching Sex and the City. It was definitely just what had been queued up for herself earlier, which meant he’d either been too lazy, or too distracted, to change it. She sighed and took a step towards him.

He looked up as she approached, face drooped. “I’ll apologize. Promise.” 

Keeley sat down on the sofa next to him and curled into his side, nodding. “Good,” she softly, pressing a kiss into his shoulder. 

Half an hour later, they got a text in their group chat with Roy: I’m staying at mine tonight. See you tomorrow. 

Jamie stiffened beside her, reading it over her shoulder. They all still had their own homes, obviously. There’d be too many questions if Roy Kent, Keeley Jones, and Jamie Tartt’s houses all went up on the market at the exact same time. And anyway, it was just good real estate wasn’t it? Jamie used his to host the other lads when he was next on the rotation for the monthly team FIFA night. Keeley sometimes slipped away to hers for a day or two when she needed total silence, although those days were increasingly few and far between lately. Roy never went to his.

“This is my fault,” Jamie said lowly. He sounded miserable. 

☔️(Percolating fic concept I may never write): There's several actually. Most of them are either ones that would require a lot of research (I'm lazy) or ones that involve a lot of smut (of which I read quite a lot of but never write because I feel like I'm bad at it. probably because I never write it, LOL). I've thought of doing a PWP addendum to my wholesome family holiday fic where the ot3 celebrate Sexy Christmas. I've also thought of doing a wholesome addendum to that fic where Roy surprises Phoebe with a trip to Austria to celebrate Perchtenlaufen properly. But that one requires a lot of research into Austria which I haven't been up for and may never be, lol. Thirdly, I've thought of a somewhat angsty spin-off to my holiday fic where I explore the ot3's different relationships with their parents, and it's the three of them suffering through bad/awkward family dinners with Roy's parents and then Keeley's parents (bad for different reasons) but ending with family fluff where they have a great time with Georgie and Simon, who adore them :)

[special-bc-ur-part-of-it]

fic writer 20 questions

thanks to @kurtsascot for the tag !!!

idk who has or hasn't been tagged yet, but imma tag @rockitmans @shame-is-a-wasted-emotion @thaliaisalesbian and anyone else who wants to play :)

how many works do you have on ao3?

22 :)

2. what's your ao3 word count

99,816

3. what fandoms do you write for?

glee <3

4. top 5 fics by kudos

3 a.m. (80 kudos)

Zip Tease (72 kudos)

Remote Learning (71 kudos)

New Adventures Summer Camp (58 kudos)

Running in Circles, Coming up Tails (56 kudos)

5. do you respond to comments? why or why not?

yes! i tend to respond to nearly every comment <3 bc i enjoy attention <3 and it's nice to talk to people <3

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i think it's probably knife with your heart up your sleeve. which still ends ambiguously but. i tend not to do the angsty ending lol

7. whats the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i'm gonna say Home for the Holidays because that fic is nothing but holiday fluff <3

8. do you get hate on fics?

thankfully no. i've seen a couple passive-agressive comments before, and @cerriddwenluna lovingly said "jail for iz" in a 'live-blog' comment on New Adventures Summer Camp once, but no actual hate yet <3

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

i tend not to. if i do, it'll probably end up pretty sappy romantic and non-explicit (see: run away to mars)

10. do you write crossovers? whats the craziest one youve ever written?

nah. AUs tho? heck yeah.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of!

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

not that i know of!

13. have you ever cowritten a fic before?

i started co-writing one with someone a while back, but then we both got busy and forgot about it whoops

i think it would be fun to co-write with someone tho, so uh. lmk <3

14. fave all time ship?

gotta be klaine <3 the brainrot is real <3

15. wip you want to finish but doubt you will?

sequel fic to Running in Circles, Coming up Tails

16. what are your writing strengths?

uhhh dialogue maybe? fluffy shit? idk, it's hard to name your own writing strengths

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

scene descriptions, smut, figuring out what happens in the middle part of multi-chapter fics, actually sticking with recurring underlying themes...

if i keep thinking about it, i'm gonna get real mean to myself so i'm gonna stop there

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

i don't usually do it because i only know english and like. half-spanish, but i like when people do it !!

19. first fandom you wrote for?

harry potter. i think i was somewhere between 10 and 13 years old. i used wattpad. i believe those fics no longer exist, or if they do, i sure as fuck haven't looked at them in years (and i think i deleted ye old wattpad account)

20. fave fic youve written?

hng most of them hold a special little place in my heart (or live rent free in my brain), but i think i gotta say New Adventures Summer Camp. i reread it every so often bc it makes me smile :) (for most of the fic at least)

[audweefics]

if you wanna write to fill the overwatch content gap, then i will make a humble request! i'd like to read your take on soldier 76's backstory, specifically when he was growing up on the farm. i often imagine him listening to ethel cain's 'American Teenager' in his bedroom and commenting "I was born in the wrong generation" as an angsty 16 year old lol. doesn't have to be long if you're not feeling it, but I feel like there's not a lot of 'non-shippy' fan content out there for my guy and it'd be awesome to see more. thank you!

ALRIGHT This is rly funny I love non-shippy content so I'll give it a shot! I'll do some headcanons because I have thoughts.

note post-writing: this came out way angstier then i imagined. whoops

-Jack Morrison was born kicking and screaming. That certainly didn't stop as he went through his teenage years.

-Once a fighter, always a fighter, as they say.

-I presumed he was homeschooled, as he was raised on a farm.

-Was a good-hearted kid, when people looked at him, they saw a strong-willed honor student with a fighting spirit.

-This was totally a front put on for the adults, at age 14, Morrison was often getting in fights and arguments with the local kids.

-One time one of his bullies was picking on a younger boy who was new in town, Morrison punched him straight across the face.

-It didn't go well. He got his ass handed to him. But the younger kid was left alone, and he was thankful he could help get them to pick a new target at the very least.

-His guardians were NOT happy about the constant fighting that happened after this. He kept putting himself in front of danger.

-In one instance, at age 16, a fight escalated to a knife fight.

-He was told off by his guardians about not caring about any of his work and was being reckless. They said this fighting wouldn't get him anywhere in the real world. That he was going to throw his life away for no good reason.

-He locked himself in his room, with the army magazines he would always look at. He could fight, and for a damn good reason. He put on "Amercian Teenager" and went to his punching bag and threw yet another punch.

-If he let out tears that night, no one would know except him. He thinks that if he was born earlier, he could fight for the country, and be the hero he wanted to be.

-And maybe someday in the future, his time will come to fight. But for now, he's just another teenager.

-At age 18, he enlists in the military. I suppose we know the story from this point on.