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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

Text

spiral

— Honestly, what could go wrong when you’re lusting over your close friend and you’re locked in a box with only one way to get out? Well, not a lot, honestly.

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pairing: kaibara sen x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, gloryhole, dirty talk, praise, fingering, sexual tension, reader is a pervert, quirk use during sex (spinning cock lol)

word count: 2,695

a/n: this is the second gloryhole fic ive written, but its completely different from the last time because its like not a cult fic LMAO!!! anyways, I think yall basic shouto and bakugou stans could do well to stan this class 1-b man because when I tell you he is another deviation of the two of them personality wise.... I mean it!

day 5 main kink: gloryhole

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If you had known precisely what you had just gotten yourself into right now three hours ago, you would have laughed at yourself. Without a doubt, there was no questioning that the predicament you had concealed yourself in was one that would bring you great shame once this wall was gone, but for now, you would deal with it.

At the bitter age of twenty, having graduated from the hero department over in Shiketsu High, you had been almost shocked when you were reached out upon by the graduating class over at Yuuei, to come and join their agency. You had accepted it with caution, unsure if you could live a life paycheck to paycheck that was as new as they come. But, it was a decision you would come to never regret.

Or at least, not until right now.

You had been on patrol with your coworker turned friend, Kaibara Sen, hero name: Spiral.

His quirk was an interesting one. A quirk that allowed him to gyrate -- spin -- every limb and ligament on his body. It caused some pretty asshole moves in close combat that not only stung with the piercing metal on his gloves but also sent you flying away. Countless amounts of times, you had pinned him only to spun around like a spinning top and slammed back into the practice mats.

You hated it.

Or well, you hated his quirk in a sensical way (note: do not attempt to beat him through a crowd, he always wins). In the nonsensical, coming of age brain of yours that had been for the most part silenced due to Shiketsu’s no-dating-policy, but as you grew fond of your coworker, frequent workout buddy and sparring partner, you couldn’t help but wonder just if… well… if he could spin his cock.

You would be lying if you said you had never imagined what it could feel like. You wondered if his cock was curved, or if it was straight. Would the veins be prominent? Too many times, when watching quirk-plot porn videos, you found your mind lingering onto his ability, which leads you to scream into a pillow, your hormones both skyrocketing and plummeting in your horror.

You weren’t a perv, you like to remind yourself as you changed into your hero costume. It was merely a rational, human thought! Humans were curious beings, after all! Sure, Kaibara was attractive, and his voice was… so low, deep, and raspy that sometimes you would try to – NOPE NOT A PERV!

Blazing hot cheeks drummed in time with your hammering heart as you finished dressing, hoping to get out and clear your mind with helping out the community as a hero! You were a hero!

Not a perv!

Nodding to yourself in the mirror located in your designated locker, you slammed it close and left.

Unfortunately for you, or fortunately, Kaibara was already dressed in his costume and waved at you in greeting as you approached him.

“Afternoon.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up!” you flustered, your back stiffening as you continued to stomp ahead, readying to leave the stupid agency and get your afternoon rounds done.

You weren’t a pervert!

With three years since graduating from high school, three years of this agency having been founded, and three years of becoming friends with the esteemed and infamous class 1-A and 1-B from Yuuei, you had learned one thing for sure. This group of Yuuei students seemed to attract the worse kind of trouble like a moth to a lamp.

Without a doubt, you knew that was the reason why you had Kaibara somehow ended up in this horrible, ridiculous quirk from a child that just so happened to manifest their quirk out in the open. And of course, it would be the most humiliating shit to ever happen in the entire world of quirk apparitions.

“Uh, the mother said it’s probably the father’s quirk!” came the apologetic, nearing frantic voice of Deku from outside the steel box both you and Kaibara were trapped in.

You couldn’t even see Kaibara’s face, and the perv in you screamed over the lack of even having his body pressed against yours! No! Nothing! As a matter of fact, there was a divider between you and Kaibara, a giant wall with a hole near your crotch area.

“I can’t believe you idiots got yourselves trapped in this!” came the amused, annoyed, and somehow antagonizing voice of Ground Zero.

“Shut up!” you screamed back. “They looked at us, and it happened! It’s not like we touched the kid!”

“Y/h/n,” Kaibara’s voice sighed, and you felt your face ignite at the sighful tone on his raspy, deep voice. You pouted at the slight scold in his manner and felt yourself looking down in shame as he continued. “Don’t argue with Ground Zero. Hey, Deku, how we get out of this?”

The both of you were silent for some time, the outside world quiet as you waited for an answer.

“Oh, um, I don’t think you’re going to like it…” Deku’s voice laughed awkwardly from outside the box, and you frowned.

“Just tell us.”

“I-It’s uh… it’s a quirk called Gloryhole!” Deku squeaked, and just as you knew the successful and well-recognized pro hero outside of this box was undoubtedly red in the face, you felt your already warm face turn into an inferno. “I-I-It’s exactly… ohmygod!”

“The shitnerd is apparently a fucking perv and can’t finish his stupid sentence. Anyways, this quirk only works on shits like you with unresolved sexual tension and only removes after you use it,” Ground Zero’s voice barked from outside the walls.

“KACCHAN!”

“Shut up, Deku!” Ground Zero fired right back, and you could feel your body trembling at the news. Oh no, your perverted mind finally caught up to you in the worst of ways?! Although he did say unresolved sexual tension, that could totally be onesided, right? “We’ll be back in an hour, get it done, or fucking else.”

They left you, and you realized that despite your panicking pitched breathes, there was no noise coming from Kaibara’s side.

Oh no, this was all your fault!

Oh no, oh no, oh no!

“You, uh,” Kaibara spoke softly, and you felt your hands clutch onto the fabric above your breasts. “You have unresolved sexual tension with me?”

“No,” you denied immediately, your forehead crashing against the barrier between you and Kaibara at the blatant, stupid lie. “Yes. Ugh, I do, but that wasn’t something I was planning on telling you!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s embarrassing? What was I supposed to say when you pin me against mats during sparring sessions? ‘Hey, Kaibara, does your cock also spin? If so, can you fuck me with it?’”

You slap your hand across your mouth, eyes going wide in your panicked embarrassment. That mouth of yours was genuinely going to get your tongue cut off or lips sewn together one day.

It’s silent for a bit, but there’s a sound of clothes ruffling. The rate of your heartbeat seemed to increase exponentially as you saw something shift from the view you had of the Gloryhole. “Well, if you want to find out, I’ll be more than willing to give you a demonstration.”

The pervert you may or not be did not hesitate to respond back.

“Please?”

And you watched as his shadowed figure approached the hole, and a pink-headed cock pushed through the hole into your side. You watched with a gaping jaw at the still-growing cock before you. Without a doubt, it was more than seven inches and was glorious, gravity defyingly curved upwards. It was proud as it was thick, and you watched as the underneath of his cock scraped across the bottom.

A soft grunt strangled in his throat at the cold, rough sensation, and you watched a small, glistening bead of pre-cum appear from the slit on his head. You’re not sure how quickly you dropped to your knees, but you did know that your mouth took him on completely. Within the first drop of your mouth on his cock, you enveloped at least half of his cock in your mouth. A loud bang hit the wall, and you felt a warmth in your chest, knowing that you had already affected him.

Your lips and mouth glided against his length, your tongue pressing and lapping at the underneath of the head of his cock, trying to cock to become as hard as it could be, because it was still growing. A particular needy, near sloppy suck of yours, sent a loud, dizzying guttural noise from Kaibara’s side. A noise that sent liquid heat spilling into your cunt as your hand gripped the base of his cock, bobbing your head slowly, as leisurely as you would allow yourself.

His taste was indescribable, faint yet had you licking his length for more, trying to cover your tongue in his pre-cum.

But the issue with a proud curving upwards cock, was that you found it awkward to choke yourself down his impossibly stubborn curve as he began to thrust his hips to meet your mouth and travel into your throat. Grunt, gasps, and growls seemed to be growing in volume and repetition on his side of the wall as you relaxed your throat, chokes, and gags sounding wet and sloppy on your side.

“Fuck, just like that, wait up,” Kaibara moaned, a thud coming straight above your own head, letting you know that he had pressed his head against the wall. The thumping of his hips on the wall was slowly becoming musical, white noise as you bobbed your head further along his length, throat vibrating with your need to make him feel good. And the weirdest, most surprised splutter came from your throat as his cock spun in direction.

Once curved upwards, making it nearly impossible in the space to take his cock all the way down your throat, was now downcurved. It stretched your jaw out entirely as he didn’t bother to pull away to do it, and your throat stretched out in a way you had never experienced before as you coughed and staggered against his length. But, it was a pain that made your clit throb and allowed his cock to go even further down your throat.

You did what you could only do once your throat stopped hurting, and the sheer pleasure of having your throat stretched out in a more desirably wait set in: you moaned.

It was a long, pitchy noise that you swore you could feel against the steel wall that your free hand supported you against. Your toes curled at the way his intensely thrusting hips faltered for a moment, undoubtedly turned on by your noise if the twitch in his cock said anything about it. You moaned again, and again, and again. You continued to do so against his snapping hips until Kaibara was practically snarling your name with the intention and muttered promises of what he would do to you once the barrier was gone.

Your mind was gone at the point, the promises of fucking you against the window of his apartment that overlooked the Tokyo skyline had you shoving the pants off your hero costume down. Your hand on his cock tightening in its grip, but the one manipulating your pants off, sunk into your cunt, thumb on your clit.

A mewl left your lips as you began to play with your wet heat, and you drove your mouth and head closer to the hole, enthusiastically taking him in further and further.

“Imma fuck you so good when we get fucking out of here,” Kaibara promised, teeth undoubtedly pulled into a snarl, his thrusting in bizarre speeds as you tried to keep some piece of sanity as you continued to finger fuck yourself, all too pleased with him absolutely using your mouth. But, you registered his words just well enough to respond back, choking an agreeing noise as you bobbed your head enthusiastically. “Had I known you just wanted that slutty pussy of yours to be fucked, I would’ve done this with you ages ago. Would’ve pinned you down on that mat, and claimed your cunt as my prize.” Your eyes rolling back in your hormone-induced euphoria, your own dirty fantasies having played that scene in your mind countless times. “I want to hear you choke on my cock more, I want to hear the saliva and drool leaving your mouth. I know you’re fucking your cunt, so do it well enough you’re moaning like a paid prostitute. I promise you, I’ll make sure you never want to see another cock again that isn’t mine!”

A choking, hiccuped, and wet breath expelled from your mouth, and you hadn’t even realized you were crying at the moment. But, you agreed, head bobbing in your agreement.

And so, it continued.

You pushed forward, his length reaching new depths of your throat until you had your nose smashed against the metal, cold wall. Your throat manipulatively squeezing and milking his throbbing cock, tongue, and teeth rubbing against his protruding veins until Kaibara was stuttering out your broken first name.

The wet noises of his saliva drenched cock meeting your drooling throat and mouth grew louder with every slap, and you wanted more. You needed more.

“Fuck, y/n, you take me s-so fucking good. I think you have me entirely in your mouth like the fucking little pervert you are,” Kaibara hotly laughed, a soft thudding from near your chin sending your mind in a feral daze of how it was probably his balls. “Doing so well with my directions, you really do deserve to be fucked properly after this.”

A low, lewd whine strangled from your throat, your hot, swollen lips sucking harshly against the base of his cock as he continues drilling, and the melodic moans from his mouth made it all worth the fact your lips and nose are starting to tingle from the sufficient lack of oxygen. But it’s also your curling, pumping fingers in your cunt that add onto the headrush you get, the slick and essence coating and dripping from your pounding fingers send you into a series of keen and mewls against his cock. And you can perfectly find each sweet little pleasure spot.

You were close, and by the consistent twitching and throbbing of his cock and the thick coating of precum on your tongue, Kaibara was too.

With your impending orgasm, you felt your body begin to tense up, shaking, and moaning with the tipping sensation you loved. And Kaibara, entirely lost in his own passionate, horny endeavors, shook as he slammed into you again, again, and again.

With a fiery determination, your cheeks hollowed out on his length as he pulled out, a resonating “fuck!” screamed from his lips as your tongue swiped at the salty silt on his cock, and it was all over.

You came on your fingers with a loud, pitchy scream, and thick, hot ropes of cum spurted from his cock onto your awaiting mouth, dirtying your face slightly in his heavy ejaculation. Swallowing the cum, a shiver ran down your spine as you quickly cleaned the remaining cum on his cock. Slowly, you removed the fingers in your cunt, and you shuddered at the pulsating heat form your core as you dropped to the floor as his soft cock disappeared from the hole.

Laughing softly, you looked up at the ceiling of the box that was slowly disappearing, allowing fresh air to enter the sex smelling box.

“So, how about dinner?” Kaibara asked, and you chuckled, running a hand through your abused face.

“I don’t think I’m hungry.”

“No?”

“You might’ve proved you can spiral your cock,” you began, turning your head to look at Kaibara, who was collapsed on the floor, barely put together as the two of you locked eyes. “But I still would like to try it out for real while you properly fuck me. After that, if I’m hungry for food, I’d love to go for dinner.”

He laughed, his hand running through his sweaty locks.

“Sounds like a deal to me.”

#kaibara sen x reader #kaibara x reader #kaibara smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #bbs kinktober 2020

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mandelene · 3 years

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Hi, I’m a big fan of the FACE family, especially the father/son interaction between America and England. I don’t know if you’re taking drabble prompts right now but if you are could you do one with Alfred seriously hurt/sick and Arthur doing the comforting? The setting is not important it can be nation-verse or not, I just really need some Arthur and Alfred hurt/comfort in these trying times. Thanks so much and cheers from Poland!! <3

I hope this suffices, and sorry for taking so long to get to it! 💕

Just a Little Banged Up

Word Count: 921

He wakes to the feeling of someone petting his head—it’s warm and protective. The rest of his body feels sore and achy, like he’s been repeatedly hit with a hammer, so the soothing fingers against his scalp are a welcome distraction.

When Alfred cautiously opens his eyes, he squints against the bright lights in the ceiling, and it takes him several exhausting seconds to realize where he is. He’s in bed. In a hospital. The comforting hand belongs to Dad, who is sitting at the bedside, looking like someone has just died.

What the hell happened?

“There you are, love,” Dad says as Alfred blinks through the double vision distorting the world. “It’s all right—you’re all right.”

He tries to speak, but even his throat hurts. He reaches up a hand to massage his neck, but that’s when he realizes he’s in a neck brace. “...What’s going on?”

“You were in a car accident. You’ve been admitted to the hospital...We’ve all been very worried about you—Matthew and Papa just left to get some food, but they’ll be back soon,” Dad says, keeping his voice low and quiet. His hand continues its gentle strokes against Alfred’s hair.

He remembers now, but it’s a bit of a blur. He was on his way home from the gym, and a black Jeep ran a stop sign. The guy hit the driver’s side of his car, and the last thing he recalls is the sensation of being thrown to the right and feeling a giant, crushing weight on his chest.

“You’re going to recover,” Dad assures as he leans forward and presses a worried kiss against his brow.

Alfred swallows hard and grimaces against the pain. “…How bad?”

“Two broken ribs, a concussion, whiplash, a compound fracture of your fibula in your left leg, and a myriad of bruises. You were conscious for quite some time before being taken for surgery for your leg. Do you remember any of that?”

“I don’t think so…I had surgery? Oh, man…Ughhh, my head really hurts.”

Dad pats the knee of his uninjured leg and says, “You’re due for another dose of pain medication. Your nurse should be here any moment…It’s good to see you awake and able to hold a conversation.”

Alfred squeezes his eyes shut and can’t help but let a small groan escape him. “What happened to the car?”

“Don’t worry about that, poppet. What’s most important is that you’re going to be okay with rest and physical therapy.”

“So, I’m guessing that means it was totaled?”

Dad sighs, and Alfred can see that he’s trying his absolute hardest not to be emotional. “Yes. To be frank, it’s a miracle you weren’t gravely injured, Alfred. You could’ve…You could’ve been killed.”

Please, don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry, especially over me, Alfred thinks. He tries to move his neck so he can look Dad in the eyes and shoot him a dumb smile, but the brace has him completely immobilized.

“I’m okay,” Alfred tells him, fighting against his own tears now. “I’m sorry for scaring everyone like that.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m just so relieved...”

Oh, no, he can feel it coming. He’s a grown adult! He’s not going to cry. No, sir! Not today!

He bursts into tears against his will a moment later, and poor Dad tries his best to be comforting by offering him the gentlest hug possible, mindful of his ribs, neck, and head.

“It’s okay now, my dear boy,” Dad whispers, carding a hand through his hair again. “Don’t worry about a thing. Matthew, your papa, and I are going to take good care of you once you’re able to be discharged. We’re here for you.”

“Yikes,” Alfred jokes, swiping at his tears with his right hand and then regretting it upon realizing he’s tugging on his IV. “Then, I’m definitely in big trouble.”

Dad very lightly slaps his left shoulder to chide him. “Ungrateful brat.”

Alfred manages a raspy laugh. “You’d know better than anyone else.”

His nurse then comes in with his pain medication, and within just a few minutes, Alfred begins to feel a difference. The pain slowly ebbs away bit by bit, and suddenly, a feeling of intense lethargy washes over him. His eyelids flutter, and Dad gives his hand a little squeeze.

“Sleepy?” Dad asks.

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Good—that’s from the medication. Your body needs sleep to heal, so try to rest.”

“No, I’ve gotta stay awake now that I know you let them do surgery on me. Clearly, I can’t trust you,” Alfred teases.

Dad scoffs. “It’s not like there was a choice in the matter unless you wanted to wake up to a bone protruding from your leg!”

“Ouch. It was that bad?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Gross…But kinda gnarly. Do you have pictures?”

“Alfred!”

“What? I’m curious. It must have looked naaasty.”

“Go to sleep. I don’t know why I was so concerned about you,” Dad huffs, but Alfred knows he’s not actually irritated. That’s just Dad-talk for “I love you, and I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Okay, goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight, poppet. I’ll be right here should you need anything...And no more surgeries for now.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay...Just one more thing—if I do end up spontaneously dying, tell Mattie he can’t have my PlayStation 5 because I’m taking that thing to the grave with me. Do you know how long it took me to get my hands on one? I basically had to sell my soul.”

“Alfred!”

“Fine, fine. I’m going to sleep.”

#hetalia #aph america #aph england #aph face family #drabbles #hurt/comfort #car accident #hws america #hws england #not taking drabbles right now but tackling the ones in my inbox

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hollabackholmes · 5 years

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THINGS IN ENDGAME (SPOILERS!!!)

-Jesus Christ that first scene with Clint punched me in the throat

-how aggressive nebula was playing games with tony

- The way nebula helped tony up into his seat :,)

- “only a little bit sadistic”

- the cinematography in the moment where Tony lays down and the galaxy is behind him my god

- “I lost the kid” STOP IT RIGHT NOW

- rocket?? Or Build a bear???

- did rdj lose weight for that first section of the film or am I just tripping?

-anyone else find it funny that thanos suddenly became a cook with a nice little home and garden????

- the rest of this list will definitely be all over the place because I can’t remember the order of things happening #soz

-I really liked how they included that LGBTQ+ relationship in that support group that Steve was in.

-Steve saying something really sweet (can’t remember the exact words but it was something along the lines of ‘you took the jump not knowing how far you’d fall’??? Or something??? Sorry I’m awful)

-Clint really does own my ass

-That scene where he was in Tokyo holy shit I would die for him

-“don’t give me hope” “I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to you sooner”

-Natasha crying after cutting a peanut butter sandwich is a MOOD

-NATASHA DOESNT GIVE UP STEVE OFCOURSE IT NEEDS TO BE DONE

- !!make that rat president 2020!!

-Scott is a cutie until you realise how much those past five years (hours for him) must’ve screwed with his mind.

-The way he searches the plaques 😥😥😥😥

- Time machine jokes

-Back to the future jokes

-Scott rushing to eat Nats sandwich

-CLINT LEANING AGAINST THE DOOR, FUCK ME WITH A RAKE

-HIS TATTOOS. I WANT THAT SHOT TO BE TATTOOED ON MY FACE

- Bruce the celeb

-“SAY GREEN! GREEN! Did you get that?” MY FUCKING GOD I LOVE HIM

-Scott feeling embarrassed that the kids don’t know who he is

- “look he’s even shaking his head” SCOTT

-I love this so much

-THOR🤯PLAYS🤯FORTNITE🤯

-ngl I’m Thor. I love beer. But shit...that belly.

-props to the prosthetics team for making that body suit look so realistic

-The way he walks into the avengers headquarters with his sunglasses on hahahaha

-HULK EATING BEN AND JERRIES IS ALSO A MOOD

-Scott being the test run for the whole time travelling stuff was such a good scene

-and then when Scott’s taco gets blown away:( but then Bruce gives him another one :,)

-“is he asleep?” “No, he’s dead” HAHA

-That scene with them all walking together big oof vibe

-Oh I forgot to say how amazing both Carols and Natasha’s hair is like damn ladies

-SEEING THE FIRST AVENGERS ASSEMBLE SEQUENCE OH MY GOD I SOBBED

-hulk being embarrassed

-hulk trying to get angry

-nebula and Rhodes watching Quill dance

-“this is the part where blades come out with skeletons on the end”

-nebula sacrificing her hand to get the stone :,) character development

-Thanos has a small dick for hurting nebula in both versions of her

-Felt weird seeing Gamora from before she became good??

-Bruce and the ancient one talking, I just really like that whole dynamic

-Tony as the security guard omfg

-LOKI BABY

-HAIL FUCKING HYDRA BABY

-STEVE VS STEVE BABYYYYY

-AMERICAS ASS BABYYYYYYYYY 😏😏😏

-Steve And tony going back in time again

-Tony and his dad. So sweet. Him talking about Morgan with him

-OH MY GODNI MISSED OUT A POINT ABOUT MORGAN

-SO BASICALLY IM IN LOVE WITH DAD!TONY AND I LOOOOVEEE YOUUUU 3000 IS THE CUTEST SHIT IVE EVER HEARD

-Steve seeing Peggy :((

-I’m here for the whole ‘Judging-Tony’s-Beard’ thing

-Clint and Natasha.... I don’t wanna talk about this yet :(

-Thor and his mums interaction. Cute. The whole thing about being a failure and feeling like you need to be more is super super relatable idk I just felt very much like Thor in that scene

-okay I’m ready to talk about Clint and Natasha now. So basically I think Natasha died a heroes death. She was so ready to sacrifice herself for the greater good. What made it fuckin hurt though was the fact that Clint was ready to die because he didn’t want to see Natasha go through that death. He wanted to protect her. He even says later on ‘it should have been me’. So I think Natasha would be proud, but Clints gonna have to live with the memory of seeing his best friend die without being able to do anything about it.

- That whole thing about making sure her death was worth it uGH

-also Thor’s denial.... yeah. Same here bud.

-Thor begging Tony to let him do this one good thing :( I was sad :( super sad yall

-genuinely thought Bruce was about to die when he put the glove on

-THANOS IS A GIANT TWAT

-HULK ROCKET AND RHODES ALL HELPING EACHOTHER OUT

-Scott being the real hero out here again

-the fight

-holy shit the fight

-StEVE BEING ABLE TO USE THORS HAMMER

-“I knew it!!!”

-That whole sequence of him using the shield and the hammer. My thighs were trembling bitch.

-THEN WHEN YOU HEAR SAM AND THEN THE YELLOW RING AND EVERYONE FUCKING ARRIVES

-PETER MY BABY BOY YOU DID SO GOOD SWOOPING IN THEN

-DOCTOR STRANGE U HOT STUFF

-PEPPER HOLY SHIT

-EVERYTHING HAPPENED SO FAST

-BUCKY

-THE WASP

-VALKYRIE

-EVERYONEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!

-OMG WANDA WAS SUCH A BADASS

-THE TRANSFER OF THE GLOVE WAS SO GOOD AND THE WAY PETERS INSTANT KILL THING HAPPENED UGH SO GOOD

-DOCTOR STRANGE CONTROLLING THAT WATER DAMNNN

-THE FUCKING HUG BETWEEN PETER AND TONY DESTROYED ME. I LEGIT SOBBED OUT LOUD.

-“Hey Peter Parker. You got something for me?”

-THE GIRLS LINING UP SENT CHILLS DOWN MY SPINE

-and now for the sad part my dudes

-doctor strange pointing one finger up. Tony knew. He just knew what he had to do.

-“I am iron man” YES YOU ARE.

-Peter sobbing “we won. Mr stark. We won. I’m sorry”

-Pepper coming to comfort Tony oh fuck i cried

-THE TAPE

-“I LOVE YOU 3000” IS WHAT IM GONNA GET TATTOOED ON ME OK

-“proof that Tony Stark has a heart” wow okay. Hit me deep then why don’t u

-the one shot of everyone at the funeral was so beautiful I loved it

-“your dad used to love cheeseburgers.... I’m gonna buy you all the cheeseburgers in the world” oh my god

-the goodbye between Steve and Bucky was perfect. I don’t care what you say. Bucky knew what was going to happen. And he allowed it because he knew Steve would be happy for a very long time.

-HOWEVER I felt like Bucky had so little screen time and the entire history between Steve and him felt so dead throughout the movie compared to how strong it has been over the past 11 years :(

-Sams panic because he thought he wouldn’t see Steve again :(

-Sam being given the shield :D

-Damn the CGI is so good in this film. Like Steve looked old but you could still see it was him. Which sounds dumb but so often, movies make it way too unrealistic to prove someone has aged. This did it just right.

-The ending scene wow. Beautiful.

-THE CREDITS WITH THE ORIGINALS AND THEIR SIGNATURES OOF!!!

-we all waited til the end of the credits just to be hit in the heart with the sound of Tony building his iron man suit.

-well thanks for going through this list :))

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ladybugsfanfics · 4 years

Text

(red flags look like normal flags when you’re wearing) rose-tinted glasses

pairing: Tom Hiddleston x platonic!reader

style: one shot

WC: 2.7k

summary: requested by anonymous on tumblr: “Reader is small and have an Danish Dog, thats actually an giant drool dog. While she's taking the dog to the park he start running with Bob while on the tab and he keeps pulling her until Tom saves her. Then Bobby start growling at her, and they think that is bcs he's jealous...”

warnings: angst, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIPS, ABUSE, PHYSICAL ABUSE, EMOTIONAL ABUSE, ANIMAL ABUSE, please note the abuse, this fic contains it

A/N: this was really hard to write and i want it to be clear that ive never been in an abusive relationship so ive done my best to portray it and how hard it is to break out of it, but i dont have firsthand information. please let me know if something seems unrealistic or weird. i want you all to know that there are explicit abuse, but that it's not very violent but it still has an emotional impact. please don't read if you know it won't be good for you, and there is a happy ending even tho ive made the relationship between reader and tom platonic (that's more for realistic purposes).

The tall man startles as the bark sounds through the park. You widen your eyes at the sight of the little brown the male walks with.

No, no, no , you think.

Your dog, or actually your boyfriend’s dog, is rather big. The giant of a dog also barks whenever he sees brown dogs (as if the dog can be racist, honestly you have no idea how it works, but there are many things that can be the reason), and the dog that man walks with―

You don’t want to think about it.

Nor do you get the chance as your tight grip on the leash seems to be your downfall. The dog has almost leapt into the air as the barks rip through the quiet silence of the park.

“Yoshi! Stop!” you yell, but to no avail. He keeps running, stronger than you even as you put your heels down on the ground and try to brake.

The tall male has turned around. You send him a pleading look as your dog, almost literally, attacks his little one. In the sudden change of speed, where Yoshi goes from running and barking to hopping around and barking, you trip over your own feet and find yourself on your way to face planting with the ground below.

A pair of strong arms around your hips keep you from falling and you’re put back up on your feet with your back pressed to a muscular chest. As you regain your balance, the arms fall away. They don’t go far, only to grip the leash of your dog in an attempt to help your arm not dislocate.

“Thank you,” you say as you crouch down to keep Yoshi under control. He’s stopped barking, and with your soft strokes along his neck, he stops hopping, too.

“You’re welcome,” replies your saviour.

Standing up, you find a handsome male looking at you. Curly ginger hair, the most reassuring smile you have ever seen, and gentle blue-green eyes that makes you feel at ease. The way his eyes trace over you make you drag down the sleeve of your jacket slightly, and then you return his smile to the best of your abilities.

“He can be a little unruly at times, I’m so sorry.” You press your lips together in a tight lipped smile, shaking your head to let your hair come back to the front and cover your neck where your scarf fails. “I think something might’ve happened when he was a puppy because he only reacts to brown dogs.”

The stranger’s smile crinkles his eyes and he lets out a slight chuckle. Your heart beats faster at the sound. You will it to shut up. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’m Tom, by the way.”

“I’m Y/N.” You swallow the lump in your throat. Throat dry and heart steadily beating faster, the pounding like a drum inside your head. “I’m sorry, again. For the whole… thing. But I should get going now.”

With a little tug of Yoshi’s leash you turn to continue down the path you were headed. A wait from Tom has you turn back around. He steps closer to you, tugging with him his own dog that so far seems rather docile and that you find super cute.

“Could I possibly get your number?” he asks.

If your heart hadn’t already lodged itself in your throat from talking to him, it definitely shot there now. With a steady breath (as steady as you can) you nod. “Yeah, sure.” And you take the phone Tom hands you.

It takes no time typing in your number, but you nearly drop the phone when Tom’s dog starts barking at you. Big dog eyes that look at you, nose high in the air and the barking growing steadily louder as he continues.

Tom frowns at his dog as he accepts his phone. He shakes his head and tugs at the leash, telling ‘Bobby’ to quiet and that there’s nothing to bark about. “I’m sorry,” he says. “He’s probably a little jealous.”

You try for a smile and a soft laugh but it comes out more strained. “Yes, jealous. Makes sense, I guess.” With a deep sigh, you turn to look at Tom again. “Again, so sorry. I guess I’ll hear from you. Bye.”

And now you leave with Yoshi in tow before Tom can stop you.

You wonder what he’ll do if he finds out you won’t answer his messages. Wonder if he’ll do the same as your boyfriend does whenever you forget to answer or don’t do something as he wants.

After all, fear was the only reason you did give Tom your phone number. That reassuring smile fools no one, and those gentle eyes are the same gentle ones he uses in front of others.

Sorry, Tom, but I won’t exchange him for someone worse . Even if I might deserve it .

---

The door is unlocked when you get home. The shoe rack kicked over and the few sets of jackets that hung in the closet have found their way to the floor. Your heart stops beating as fear settles in your gut.

This is never good, but neither is cleaning it up before he allows you to, so you kick off your own shoes and let your jacket fall to the floor instead of hanging it up. You unclasp Yoshi’s leash and let him pad into the living room and greet his owner.

Clenching your eyes shut, you regret letting the dog go in before you. The whimper has tears forming in your eyes. You will them back. You can’t cry. Crying just leads to a worse… you don’t know exactly what to call it.

“Babe?” you call as you take the steps in after the dog.

Your boyfriend’s rage filled face meets you. He’s locked the dog in its too small cage, and he hits Yoshi on the snout rather hard as the dog lets out another whimper.

“Babe, huh?” The retort has your gut churn, nervousness courses through your veins. “What the fuck took you so long?!”

There goes the level voice. You keep from closing your eyes, embracing for impact. He likes it more when you face him head on, as if it’s some kind of challenge. Pressing your lips closed, you let your eyes wander over his face.

You note the down-tug of his lips, the anger boiling like a hot fire in his eyes, and the flare of his nose as his form towers over you. “Bitch, I asked you a fucking question! What the fuck took you so long?!”

“Yo-Yoshi saw a… a dog. I-I couldn’t hold him back and we-we went on a detour.” God, you sound weak. I am weak , you think, too weak .

“Couldn’t hold him back, my ass.” He takes a step closer to you. Your body moves on its own when it takes a step back. It continues until your back collides with the wall and he locks you in. “Give me your phone!”

You fish your phone out of your pocket and pray to God Tom hasn’t texted you. You haven’t gotten the chance to block his number yet and if he has texted you, well, life for the next three days will be even worse than usual. You’d deserve it, too, probably.

Fear the only thing holding your body up, you hold your breath as he checks. First when he throws it away with a silent grunt and it lands on the couch, and he doesn’t yell, do you let yourself breathe again.

“Fucking good for you there was nothing there.” His voice is a rough whisper, hoarse and with an underlying tone of want. He doesn’t say more before he presses his lips to yours, pinning your arms to the wall and pressing your head against it.

When one of his hands falls to your hip, pressing you close to him, pressing you close to the growing bulge in his pants, you know it’ll bruise. Just like you know the grip on your wrist will bruise and that you won’t be able to walk in the next twenty four to thirty six hours.

You know because that’s how it always is.

How it always has been.

---

[07.47] Unknown number Hi, this is Tom. I didn’t have time to send a text yesterday, but I still wanted to tell you that I would like to meet you again. Hope that’s possible. - Tom

[08.29] Unknown number I know you haven’t replied yet, and it’s probably because you have yet to wake up, but when you do, would you be up for a cup of coffee? Either lunch or breakfast, whatever sounds best for you? - Tom

[11.32] you Hi, Tom. This is Y/N. Very sorry, but I can’t meet with you. I have plans all week and the next months. Work is taking my time, so is having a boyfriend and friends. Very sorry about my dog, again, but thank you for saving me from the ground. Have a lovely life.

🛇 Blocked

To move this conversation out of Archived and get messages again, unblock xxxxx-xxxxx

Unblock

---

You’re unsure what it is that has you think the thought. It pops up from nowhere, really, but it still sounds… reasonable.

With aching moves, you pack your things. A suitcase is more than enough for everything you own (your boyfriend keeping your hobbies to a fair minimum), and everything for Yoshi.

As you pack the bare essentials, your body shakes. Every few pieces of clothing thrown into the suitcase lands outside on the floor and your heart hammers in your chest. In the bathroom, finding your toothbrush, you hear a noise from the hallway and your heart shoots into your chest. Rushing out and to the living room, you only find Yoshi with one of his toys.

Tears prick at the back of your eyes. Fear an ever lurking presence. Putting the leash on Yoshi, you hope he isn’t close. You fumble with the clasp and use far longer than you would have liked to put it on, but thankfully, the dog’s big eyes and somewhat smile and the wagging of his tail, helps put you at ease.

His work day still has three more hours, meaning he won’t be here for another four. That should be enough time, right? More than enough time…

You leave the door unlocked, having left the key to the apartment on the kitchen counter. If anyone robs it… you fear the repercussions, but by the time he comes home, he shouldn’t be able to find you.

Even as you walk with Yoshi and the suitcase down the street, finding a taxi and asking him to take you to the police station, you don’t know what has settled in you. You don’t know where this is coming from. This… courage.

You’re unsure whether it was the show you saw last night where the relationship between the two romantic leads, even when they were alone, never had any hitting or bruising or anger in the same way he shows. Or if it was Tom, and the way his face still sits at the back of your mind. How you’d compared his gentle eyes and reassuring smile to his fake mask in front of others.

Has it really taken you so long to see the difference? To see that Tom’s, despite how instilled with fear you were, actually showed genuine compassion and care, and his is always with an extra layer that it takes a lot of study to see (but what else do you use your time on when you can’t look at others when you’re out?).

You pay the cab driver as he drops you off and you find your way into the police station. It takes a long half hour before you walk out again and sit down on the curb. It takes another three hours to stop crying and shaking. In those three hours, Yoshi lies his head in your lap and lets the weight of him being close reassure you. A man who tries to help and ask what’s wrong is quickly barked away by the dog guarding you.

It warms your heart.

A police officer on her way home asks you what’s wrong, and, as you don’t tell, she tells you to contact someone. She also leads you into the waiting room and tells you to sit there until you find help, even if help doesn’t come from the police. In the hour you sit there, you delete the find my phone app and you block him and everyone associated with him on everything you can remember you share. You wish you’d done it sooner.

In your phone, you’re left with few options.

The unblock button is easy to press. The text is everything but easy to send. Your fingers shake as you type, and there are countless spelling mistakes. Finding them all takes a few minutes, and even after telling yourself you’ll send it, your finger hovers over the send button.

Exactly seven minutes and thirty-eight seconds later (you counted), your finger falls down and you press the send button. Watching it turn blue has your heart beat faster and faster, and you press back the tears pricking at your eyes. Swallowing hurts as your throat is unbearably dry.

The reply comes a lot faster than you would expect, and it helps ease some of the fear lodged in your body. The tears that fall now are a mixture of relief and fear, and Yoshi lying his head down in your lap again helps you regain your composure.

Tom picks you and Yoshi up at the police station half an hour later. He offers up his guest bedroom, but you refuse, saying you’ll stay at a hotel until you can find something. You don’t refuse his offer of going somewhere to talk over a cup of coffee.

He helps you find a hotel that allows dogs, helps you check in (unlisted) and joins you for a walk with Yoshi before you find a quiet cafe to sit down at. You sit outside, Yoshi quiet by your feet, but regarding everyone who passes by with a steady look. Being a big dog, you see more than one person a little frightened. It warms your heart.

And the coffee in front of you warms your hands.

“Thank you, Tom,” you say, after the silence becomes too much. “I haven’t told you anything about why but you’re still willing to help. Thank you.”

Tom smiles. One of his hands leaves his cup and when it comes close to yours, you instinctively flinch―though you don’t move it (that has never gone over well in the past). Tom’s hand hovers over yours and his eyes study you as his brows crease into a frown. Your heart pounds in your chest. “I won’t ask, but I hope I can help. However you need.”

Taking a deep breath, you bite your lower lip and look down at your hands. Both now clench around your coffee cup. The steam rises in the cool air and the smell stirs something in your gut, something that has tears prick at the back of your eyes. You let your hearts incessant pounding die down before you look up Tom.

“I could use a friend,” you say, eventually. The smile you try to show is crooked and unsure, and you know the fright is visible through it.

Tom still smiles. His eyes are gentle and reassuring, and it warms you that there actually does exist someone who doesn’t raise his voice at weakness and vulnerability. Someone who wants to help, and who doesn’t demand answers.

You could use a friend. A friend who lets you find your own way and lets you take your time.

“Anything you need, Y/N,” replies Tom. “Time, space, money, a hug, a friend . Anything.”

This time, when you smile, it crinkles by your eyes. It’s still crooked and unsure, but most of the fright is gone.

You’ve finally taken off the rose-tinted glasses.

A/N: you’ve reached the end so please let me know that you’re alright, i care!

permanent tags: @devilbat @adefectivedetective @gamillian @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @heartislubbingdubbing @wiczer @chillcan @geeksareunique @fandom-imagines1 @murdermornings

tom tags: @inlovewith3 @bookgirlunicorn @mindlesschicca @justawriterinprogress @wolfsmom1 @loser-alert @satanskatze @timetravelingsociopathicwalker

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whirlybirbs · 6 years

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PREVIOUSLY ON #BITTERCOFFEE | THE MASTERLIST | AO3

summary: #bittercoffee. some emotional comfort, some angst. shower and soup. rating: T for some sad shit i guess??? word count: 3k a/n: this chapter took me forever, so i apologize. i really wanted buck to feel the set backs of this. i hope you guys like it! it’s a bit more.... romantic than previous chapters, i think?

Bucky falls through the doorway of the bathroom in his quarters, gut lurching violently. His knees hit the tile, boots scuffling against the bathmat beneath him. Calloused fingers grip the edge of the toilet, kissing the porcelain, as he proceeds to vomit.

You wince from your spot in the doorway.

Steve, from his spot outside the hall, grimaces. He leans against the wall. The blonde blinks down at you as you sigh softly. Bucky, in the bathroom, groans.

“You want help with him?”

“I think I can handle it,” you say gently, peeking into the doorway. You spot Bucky push hair out of his face, fingers white as he grips the toilet bowl, “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

It’s a lie. You’ve never had to deal with the come down after a violent dissociative high, but you’ll be damned if anyone tries to take you away from Bucky right now.

Steve’s lip pull upwards. “If you need anything, you have my cell.”

A soft pause. You both share a smile.

“Thank you,” you reach out, squeezing his forearm, “You’re a good guy, Steve.”

“I try,” he chides, turning and tucking his hands in his pockets, “It’s part of the whole superhero gig, you know?”

You hear the Brooklyn accent lean into his words then. It makes you smile.

Steve gives a mock salute before starting down the hall. “For now, I’m going to play damage control... And I’m serious. If you need anything --”

He turns on his heel and begins walking backwards. His brows are raised, finger pointing at you.

You raise your hand. “I’ll call. I will. Can’t lie to Captain America. That’s… Un-American.”

Steve fights a laugh.

In the bathroom, Bucky pukes again.

Closing the door to his quarters behind you, you’re quick to carry yourself through the kitchenette and through the open door of the bathroom. Bucky’s settled onto the floor there with wild hair as his body lurches again.

You sigh, worry creasing your brows.

“Hi Buck,” it’s soft. Your nails dance against his shoulders through the red material of his long sleeve, “It’s me.”

His fingers lift in acknowledgement. He doesn’t lift his head. Instead, he gives a shaky exhale. You frown. Flattening your palm against his back, you rub a small circle there before yanking your hair down from it’s bun, carding fingers through his hair quickly to pull it back in a sloppy ponytail. He pukes again, this time dry and painful.

You slip to the floor beside him and move to work your fingers to push pieces of his shorter hair behind his ears. His skin is glossy with sweat, and his lashes are wet with tears from the pure hell the methoxetamine-ketamine IV drip withdrawals are putting him through. You can see the frustration tense his shoulders.

His head bobs. He’s hazy with vertigo.

In the mist of it, you’re there. You’re beautiful.

It takes a few minutes of quiet breathing, of your fingers working into the muscles of his shoulders, but finally, the rolling dizziness settles. He swipes at his mouth with his knuckles. You sigh, a bit relieved, and push the chrome handle down -- the flushing echoes off the quiet walls of his room.

“There we go.”

Rubbing his thigh, Bucky nods. His face is still pale. You pout, chest aching.

“Want me to run the shower?” your voice is quiet, fingers soothing a pattern into the material of his jeans, “It might help you feel better.”

A feeble nod.

Bucky feels pathetic.

After being rocketed back to this planet, realizing he’d nearly decapitated Tony and nearly woke up the Big Mean Giant, Bucky was socked in the face with the comedown off the sedatives they’d used on him. The nerve endings in his arm are on fire -- the last part of the job hadn’t been gentle.

Metal fingers twitch.

Guilt is settled neatly into the pit of his stomach.

He thought he was getting better, he thought that control was something he’d regained and proudly adapted to. But now? Now he’s scared. It’s worse than before. There’s something inside of him that he doesn’t know - something that could snap and maim or kill you like it’s the easiest thing to do. Swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, Bucky spits, swiping at his mouth.

Bucky Barnes hates himself.

You stand, pulling yourself from the bathroom floor, and quickly starting the shower.

He winces; the movement is too quick and with the fading haze of vertigo still lingering in the back of his head, Bucky can feel his sense of control dissipate. It scares him. His fingers push at his scalp.

With your back turned, Bucky rubs his face, pawing at his eyes and trying to hide the shudder of a sob threatening to bubble back up. He fails, muscles tensing as he locks his arms around himself.

You hear it.

“Buck.”

It’s soft, spoken with a gentle realization. You slip back down to your knees, hands fitting on either side of his face as he swipes at the hot tears spilling over his lashes. Your heart hurts.

“No,” you say, “No crying, Buck. Everything’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” he croaks, “I’m… I’m not fine.”

“I know.”

It’s a breathless murmur, arms slipping around his neck as he clings desperately to your waist. His tears are hot against the shoulder of your sweater. He chokes, fingers curling into the fabric there as he pulls you closer.

You let him, fingers knotting into his hair.

It takes him a while, but as the steam starts to feel more palpable in the air of the bathroom and his sobs settle, you feel him relax a bit in your arms.

“What can I do?” it’s gentle, lips pressed to the shell of his ear as your pepper quick pecks to his temple, “You name it and I’ll do it. For you.”

His words are muffled into your shoulder.

“Just…” he pulls his head up, eyes red and nose raw, “Don’t leave.”

It’s spoken with such disparity you feel your heartstring snap. It hurts, and it aches. Bucky’s gaze meets yours, blurred and red with tears as he hiccups to muffle another sob. You feel something stir in the pit of your stomach, fingers pushing through his hair.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, voice so tender it’s nearly a whisper, “Not when my best guy needs me.”

Bucky chokes, chest jumping with a sob. In seconds, he’s falling apart before you, head ducked in shame as he does. His fingers tighten into your sweater, twisting and knotting. He clings to you, like a raft in the middle of a tumultuous ocean and it hurts. The ache in your chest cements itself there, weighing your ribs down with the pressure of heartbreak.

You try and shush his cries, to calm him down.

It doesn’t work, not until he’s cried all he can cry and finds himself drifting in and out of his own head on that bathroom floor. Behind him, the shower water thrums against the wall. When silence falls over the both of you, when Bucky’s eyes run dry, you speak. It’s slow, quiet.

“Come on, handsome,” you smooth a hand over the curve of his shoulder, “Let’s get you up. Showered.”

He nods. He stands.

Your fingers are quick, though, moving to rub his back as he stands. His hands pull at the hem of his shirt, movements slow, before discarding it on the ledge of the sink. Buck swallows, a spark of pain shooting up his arm as his shoulder rotates and shows on his face -- you frown, eyes glued onto the deep pink divots of scar tissues decorating the seam there.

“Sore?”

Another nod.

Bucky sees how your eyes zero in on his shoulder, how they dance down the metal seams. Vulnerability settles in his chest and he turns, moving to face the shower as he works at his belt buckle, kicking his jeans away as he does his boots and socks.

He doesn’t want to see the fear in your eyes.

You recoil slightly, hand left lingering in the air. You drop that hand, wringing it with anxious and stifling emotions.

“Buck.”

He pauses, fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers. Blue eyes catch you over his shoulder. Your eyes are sad.

“Don’t,” you say, head shaking softly, “Don’t shut me out.”

His eyes flutter shut, hands dropping as he turns, bare feet on the tile. His hand sweeps your cheek. Your fingers tighten their grip on his metal forearm. Bucky swallows.

“This doesn’t scare me. This doesn’t… change the way I feel about you,” you say, chin raised as you stare him down, “The arm, the shady past, the brainwashing. None of it.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

His voice is hoarse.

You laugh. He blinks.

“You’re right,” you hum, “You deserve so much better. You deserve the world.”

Bucky’s heartstrings pluck like the chord of a harp. His brows crease, blue eyes searching your own for some sense of sarcasm -- anything, really -- but he finds nothing. You just smile, soft and wonderful, and his heart hammers loud under the bare skin of his chest. Tired eyes fleet shut at your touch, fingertips meeting the joint of his arm. It soothes the burn. For a moment, the soreness fades.

“I don’t,” he breathes, “I’ve killed people --”

“That wasn’t you.”

“But I did it.”

“You didn’t have a choice,” your voice is strong with a stillness that quiets him, “You’re a good man, Bucky Barnes, and I’ll say it until the day I die.”

A good man. He doesn’t feel good. He feels worthless. Reused. Broken.

It shows.

His gaze hits the floor again.

You move, fingers tracing the scars along his chest.

“You should shower,” your voice is the one that pitches and breaks this time, “I’ll fix you something to eat, okay?”

Another nod.

And he ditches his boxers and you look away. The sound of the curtain being yanked back startles you a little, but you’re quick to gather his clothes into your arms and grab his boots. Closing the door to the bathroom over, you tiptoe out into the expanse of the rest of his room.

His bed is tucked into the far corner; it has a direct view of the door and the windows above the desk in the far end of the room. His nightstand is bare aside from one framed picture. It’s him, three girls and an older woman.

Dropping Bucky’s clothes onto the edge of his bed, you settle beside the pile and gently pick up the frame.

The bottom has a date scrawled - Christmas, 1933 - and you note the way Bucky’s smile livens the whole photo. The young girl on his lap is giggling up at him, and the warm hand on his shoulder speaks of a mother’s love. She looks like him. Her eyes are soft with wisdom and love, hair plaited, and her hands cradle another child. Not much younger than the other in Bucky’s arms. The oldest of the girls, gap toothed and bubbly, stands beside Bucky. Her fingers are twisted in his pant leg.

It’s his family.

You don’t realize you’re crying until the tears run down your chin.

Setting the frame down carefully, you stand and swipe at the stray tears wetting your cheeks before rounding the kitchen island and moving to the fridge.

It’s dark. Flicking a few switches, you finally get the kitchen illuminated.

The area is relatively bare save for a bowl of plums on the island. You notice a dirty bowl in the sink. The remnants of bran flakes cling to the ceramic.

Yanking open the fridge, you nearly laugh.

There’s nothing - save for a bottle of ketchup, some pickles, butter and a half-full gallon of milk - and you figure that’s fair. You can take the man out of the Great Depression, but old habits die hard. You remember your grandparents being the same way. Live simply, live frugally.

Tugging open the cabinets, you’re glad to find a can of tomato soup and some spices, so you settle on heating it up on the stove top. Thankfully, the supersoldier did have bread, so you make to toast some.

Ten minutes pass, you have the soup plated with buttered toast. Silence fills the kitchen.

The shower is still running.

Poking your head into the bathroom, you knock quietly before calling his name.

“Buck?”

You hear him sniffle, voice hoarse. “Be out in a second.”

The steam from the shower is warm. The white noise is soothing. Maybe he’s calmed down.

But he doesn’t move. The stream of the shower is steady. Your feet are rooted in that doorway for a blink. And then your heart tugs you into that bathroom, hands gentle as they pull back the curtain. He has his hands braced against the wall, shoulders quaking with quiet tears.

The cold air hits him, muscles tensing as your gaze lands on him again.

Raw eyes find yours through damp hair and he sees you sag. You say his name again.

He feels pitiful.

And then you kick your shoes off and you climb across the threshold of the shower edge.

Your hands are on the planes of his waist, fingers mingling with the kiss of the hot water. It’s grounding, a reminder that he’s here and you’re here and he’s okay. You’re not scared of him, you’re not mad, you’re… you’re here. His chest lurches, an angry sob leaving his throat as you curl around him so willingly.

“I’m not a good man,” he chokes, “I’m not.”

The water spills across his back, the hot stream of the shower drenching your through your sweater and your jeans. Your hair clings to your face. The curve of his back is solid against your fingers. Your palms scale the scars where his arm meets his torso. They’re angry. You make work at soothing them.

“I think you are,” you say, “Maybe a little broken, a little hurt inside, but good. Good men aren’t perfect.”

That settles him.

Your touch settles him.

And for a while, you both stand there. You hold him, lips pressed against slick skin and hot metal. Bucky’s fingers find yours. He grips them like a prayer. Finally, when the water runs cold and your fingers prune, he turns the knob and silence washes over you both. He pushes his hands through his hair. It’s slicked back with water. He looks like the boy in the picture beside his bed.

The air isn’t as thick as it was before.

He’s quick to tie a towel low around his waist as he steps from the shower. Your socks slap against the floor. Bucky makes a face.

“Wet socks.”

“Anything for you.”

His smile is only a quirked corner of his mouth, but you’ll take it.

“Gimme a second,” he says, voice quiet, “I’ll get you something to change into.”

You nod. You settle against the sink.

Sure enough, he returns with a long sleeve and a pair of athletic shorts emblazoned with the Avengers logo. His face is apologetic.

“Thank you,” you smile, taking the pile of clothes, “I’ll be out in a second. Your soup is ready when you are. Might need to be nuked a little.”

He doesn’t know what ‘nuked’ means, but Bucky closes the door to the bathroom anyways. He throws on sweats and a t-shirt, too tired to think of pulling on jeans and something nicer. Normally he would. You deserved the courtesy. He tugs his hair back. He itches the heavy stubble along his jaw.

He settles at the counter, calloused fingers curled around the cold bowl of soup. It smells good. The bread is buttered. His spoon tinkers against the plate.

You step out of the bathroom, having tossed damp clothes over the shower rod. The shorts are huge on you and you’ve rolled the waistband three times, but still they sag on your hips and swim around your thighs. The shirt is no better. The sleeves pool around your wrists.

Your hair is tugged into a wet bun. Your mascara is smudged under your eyes.

Bucky thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

His spoon clinks against his bowl, maybe a little too loud, and blue eyes follow you across the kitchen.

“Soup’s good.”

“I woulda made something with a bit more stock,” you say, rounding the counter to lean against the marble beside him, “But you have nothing in your fridge.”

“I have plenty.”

His mouth is full when he says it. You smile.

“Mm,” you nod, rolling your eyes, “Do you live off pickles exclusively, or…?”

“Don’t knock the pickles.”

He says it with such seriousness you have to laugh, eyes bright with affection. Your fingers reach out, curling into the back of his t-shirt. Bucky chews his toast. He watches you, face warm.

He’s okay. He’s fine. He’s not perfect. And that’s okay. If you think so, then maybe he should too.

“You sure are something, Bucky Barnes.”

“Says you.”

You kiss him then.

It’s tentative.

It’s all he needs.

His fingers curl along your jaw, cradling your face as he ignores your breathy laughter against his lips. It’s a slow kiss, laden with appreciation and affection and something sad. You tug on his shirt, enjoying the warmth of his skin through the cotton. He towers over you and your bare feet mingle with the white of his socks against the cool tile of the kitchen.

It feels domestic and it feels right.

He tastes like tomato soup in the light of the kitchenette.

You pull yourself back, back to earth, back to the man before you.

“I don't deserve you,” you mumble, thumb skirting over the dimple in his chin, “I don’t.”

“You’re right,” he croaks, “You deserve the world.”

TAG LIST:

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#bittercoffee #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier imagine #bucky barnes imagine

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rosey-writes · 6 years

Text

Shocking Revelations

((Hello everyone! This is my first story I’m posting on this Tumblr, and I am so excited! Avery is brought to us via the amazing writer @slashesotron for the @badthingshappenbingo space, electrocution. Warning ahead of time for electrocution, bone breaking, and general uncomfortable sexually charged torture, though no penetration happens.))

Synopsis: Eliot, a Brooklyn street rat with more moxie than muscle mass, finds himself far from his usual healthcare facility after his last streetfight. With a EMT he’s rather sure is more of a danger than the stab wound

He heard the thrum of electricity before he felt it.

“Fuck!”

It hurt. Fuck, it hurt, the sparks traveled around every pore as he arched off the metal table. What the fuck, what the- what?! What was happen-

Then, like bubble pricking a needle, it stopped.

His vision was basically a cotton candy mush of colors and vague shapes. His glasses were AWOL apparently, not that it mattered much when he could feel his heart stuttering in his ears. Where was he? What, what, happened?

He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breath as he heard footsteps putter around him. It was far from a unique situation for him. Being five zero in Brooklyn, with a high propensity for sarcasm and a low bar of self control, meant getting into a lot of fights. And, once again, being five o’, in Brooklyn, meant losing a lot of fights.

He couldn’t remember much about it, but, he hoped at least the other guy got it as bad.

“Ugh…” He went to reach his arms up, hissing in pain from the ache in his bones, but found his wrist was bound down to the table. Huh? What? That...that was new. Maybe they were just pissed cause last time he woke up he may have accidentally punched the nurse...personally, he’d find that stupid. He did more damage to his own fist than his face, but whatever.

The smell of antiseptic was stained into the room, which helped to ground him where he was. Just another day at Long Island Central, he guessed.

“Ellen, is Axel here yet?” he groaned, trying to roll over on his side, but the wrist locks kept that from happening. Same old routine: Eliot gets into the fight, they ship him to Long Island central, they give poor overworked Ellen to him because she’s the only one who could deal with his temper tantrums, Axel runs out from work at the skateshop and coos over him and plays him my little pony because he’s still convinced he’s five, Bravon comes over next and slaps him so hard on the back it breaks his IVs, and Achilles comes in last to pick them all up a couple hours later. Wash, rinse, repeat.

“It’s okay, A Stór.” He felt the soft ridges of fingerprints glide on his cheek, before he felt a prick in his neck. “You won’t need him to make you feel better now.”

What?

Alright, now, now he was confused. He wished he had his contacts so damn badly, why didn’t he just stick with them instead of wearing his stupid glasses. Something about all this was starting to feel...off. Really, really off. There was the sound of dripping water somewhere in the distance, the room didn’t have the same chill to it all those white-walled hospital rooms did. The walls weren’t even white here he realized, they were soft pinks. The sweet smell of antiseptic wasn’t from cleaning product, well, it was, but it wasn’t cleaning the room, it was mixed with the mint of toothpaste, softer scent of detergent. The antiseptic was on the fringes like an afterthought, something clinging.

So then, what was the blue he was seeing? And why did he feel so...heavy. So, so heavy...

He woke up again an hour later. He could see. Not too well, but there were contacts in his eyes. Probably not his exact prescription, which made the headache worse, but, whatever, it was better than nothing.

The room was pink, little hearts and flowers woven on in a lighter shade. There was a matching pink ceiling fan whirring overhead, his eyes naturally tracing the blades round and round. He tried to lift his arm again, but...nothing happened. His eyes flicked over to the wrist, still above his head, but, there was no restraint holding him down. Why couldn’t he move it?

Alright, stay calm. Maybe he just broke that one. Woudn’t be the first time. He was so hopped up on painkillers he couldn’t feel it, maybe. So he tried the other one. And his leg, his other leg, his torso, anything, but nothing would budge.

Fuck.

His heart was beating, at least. He could hear the steady thump in his ears, the only sound in the room until he heard a door slide open, but, since he couldn’t move his head to check where it came from, he had zero clue where.

“Eliot Santana Swift,” he heard a heavy irish accent read off behind him, in a calm, terrifyingly calm voice. In the hospital all the nurses, doctors, EMTs, everyone, had the same drawling tone, the mix of bordedom and forced hospitality, even with the ones who truly cared, it was a soft, mothering tone. This wasn’t that. This was...excited. This was the kid on his way to Disney world, playing their music with their earbuds in, tapping his foot as he watched the Mickey Mouse Ear electric pole pass. “Age: 22. Race: Mixed. Height: Five Foot. Weight: Ninety Three. Allergic to shellfish. This sound about right?”

“Who the fuck are you?! Where am I?! Where’s Axel?”

“Oh, right, you probably don’t remember me. I’m Sebastian, but please, call me Avery. I promise, I’m just here to take care of you.”

That was when he knew where the blue came from.

The guy was tall. Really really tall, and that was coming from a family of giants. Limbs long and gangly, neck thin, and eyes icy cotton candy baby blue, in a shade that made his stomach turn, as the hearts on the walls reflected into the black of his pupil, burning down onto him. His breath was sweet, colorform sweet, and he was pretty sure if his stomach wasn’t dead as the rest of him at the moment he would have hurled. He stood at the edge of the hospital bed, head tilted just so the glare of his glasses shone across his freckled face.

As he felt his throat dry up, It wasn’t hard to figure out what was happening now.

“Sorry about the restraints earlier.” The man took a seat, baby blue as well, sliding next to it and brushing back a lock of Eliot’s hair. “I didn’t know you were allergic to the muscle relaxant I had, so I had to run out to get more. Since you didn’t react so good with the last one, we had to give your heart a little start.”

He booped his nose. This six-something psychopath just booped his nose.

“You reacted so well though, you’re such a good boy. Just a little bit more and you’ll be ready.”

He shouldn’t get angry. When he got angry, he did really stupid things. Stupid things like insult the guy with a knife. “Just let me go you fucking freak, my family will come after me, Bravon’s a streetfighter, he’ll kick your-”

“And if they do, they’ll see I’m just helping you.” The man, monster, whatever, kissed his forehead. “I saw you on the floor, Eliot, I saw you bleeding there. They stabbed you, and you were yelling at them to come back and fight you like a real man. You wouldn’t let me hold you, you were coughing up blood but you didn’t want anyone touching you.” Eliot wanted to say something, to scream, but he felt his muscles freeze and voice go dry. “I talked with your brothers, they were the ones to call. They told me all about you, just how strong you were when your mommy died and daddy left. You wouldn’t let anyone else help you, even though you were the baby of the family you insisted on taking over everything.”

“What are you, a stalk-”

“Now you don’t have to.” He stood, now, and it hit him just again just how screwed he was in this situation. “I’ll take good care of you, I promise. No more twisted ankles from twenty hour shifts, no more broken noses from fights, no more burns, I’ll keep you safe.”

“...how...how did you know all this-”

“They’re in your medical file, silly.” He laughed a little, as he reached behind him, out of view. “And Ellen talks about you a lot around the breakroom. She showed me the picture of you in that Izaya cosplay once, it was cute.”

Please don’t please don’t please don’t-

“On a more serious note though,” he said, as he started to stick little band aids attached to wires onto his legs and arms. “I also saw the suicide attempt report. I’m letting you know right now, you’re not doing that while you’re here, okay? We’ll talk through whatever you’re going through. I wish I was there when you did it, I would have helped you then, but good thing fate brought us together now, hm?”

This was it. He was going to die. He finally started giving a shit about his own life and he was going to die.

“Before we do anything though, there is something we need to take care of.”

That. Was a hammer. And he was going to be sick. A bit, thick, heavy hammer that he lifted like it was a soda can, which Eliot couldn’t even open himself oh god, what was he going to do with a-

“Wait please no-” Black. He couldn't hear anything. If sound had a color, it would be blinding, bottomless black as he screamed and screamed louder than he ever had. He’d been hurt before, badly, but not like this, not- he couldn’t hear anything but his own screaming and sobbing, as the hammer slammed down again on the other ankle, then the knees. He tried to squirm away, tried to move, get away, fight back, something, but all he got back with the crack of bones.

“...oh dear…” he heard, with the shuffling of fabric, barely, under the sound of his own sobbing, the gravely irish from his side. “I didn’t think it’d happen this soon...you have a pretty voice you know. Really, really pretty.”

“Y-You f-fucking l-lunati- oh fuck.” The pain kept throbbing, both his legs.

“We’re going to need to work on that language of yours.” That was when he saw it from the corner of his eyes, the large wet spot at the crotch of the other man’s pants.

“You get off on this you sick fucking freak, oh fuck, let me the fu-”

With a long, drawn out sigh, Eliot saw a large, big knuckled hand descend on his face, covering his mouth. “Since you’re going to be living here now, I want you to call me my name, okay? Avery. I want you to say it.” He pulled off his hand.

Eliot spit. “You psycho-”

Sighing again, the monster pressed a button on the table. Like that, Eliot’s world went white. Searing pain rocketed through him as he whimpered, screaming out again, tears slipping down his cheeks.

“Please say it,” Avery cooed softly.

“A-A-” the electricity turned up higher. “Avery! Avery okay Avery please stop please-”

The relief he felt when the shocks cut may be the best high he’d ever had. He was breathing hard, wheezing really, closing his eyes to try and block away the goofy smile, the dick leaking precome all over the tiled floor. The pants were off now, he saw it bobbing from the corner of his vision. It wasn’t small.

“You’re being so good, now. See. Doesn’t that feel good?” A hand was massaging his shoulder now, slick from sweat and tears, before he felt his hand be lifted, wrist pressed to Avery’s lips. “You feel that, Mo Cuishle? It’s your heart, it’s my heart too, ours. I’ll do anything to keep it beating.”

Let me go let me go let me-

“Alright, you’re so strong, I think we can go again, okay? Just a little bit longer, I promise, then I’ll make you feel so so good. You’re making me feel so good, can you see it?”

He kept his eyes shut.

“Eli, please, I need you to look at me.”

“I don’t want to.” His voice was soft, it sounded pathetic, he knew it sounded pathetic as hell but for once he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Please, for me?”

With a stuttering breath, little hiccups coming out against his will, he managed to pry them open, blurry eyes focusing on the icy ones above him. “See, I knew you could do it. Just one last thing for now, I promise.” There was come now. He could see it, dripping down his thighs. Avery was coming off this. Off his tears.

The knife dug into his thigh. Not too hard. Somewhere deep in the repressed recesses of his mind, he felt a little warm giggle bubble up, knowing he had to be going this soft because Eliot was still healing from the stab wound. He forced eye contact the entire time, a hand gripping his chin and keeping it locked. Avery’s eyes didn’t even move from his own, trained instead on the dip of his lips from the whimper, crease of his eyes from the cringe at the sound of squelching blood, warm and thick, dripping between his legs and pooling on the metal floor below him, before the eye contact finally broke, and Avery’s head moved, laying a soft kiss where the wound lie, looking back up at him with painted red lips.

“I know you’d be the one.” He traced the wound mark, which now he realized was three letters carved. S.A.W. “I promise, I won’t let anyone else ever hurt you again.”

Somehow, despite being a cynic his entire freaking life, he believed him. And nothing ever scared him more.

#dubcon #badthingshappenbingo #Eliot Swift #original writing #electrocution #torture #Writing Challenge #Request Game

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katherine-rambles · 6 years

Text

so this morning was The Worst, basically? probably the least fun CT in the world.

i woke up with a migraine at like... 8. and then proceeded to barf... a lot more than normal. but i had to be at the place at 10:30, and they said don’t eat or drink anything beforehand. so... no water, no acetometaphine. no crackers.

thankfully dad drives me there. so we get there and i’m told i have to drink this GIANT WATERBOTTLE of nasty-tasting contrast water over the next hour. (seriously: it’s like stale water with a hint of rust.) so i start that, and basically i want to vomit the whole time, and there’s like... two screaming children... probably not actually screaming, but at this point regular conversation is like nails hammering into my head. i take my earbuds out and start playin’ my calm playlist, use my petticoat as a pillow, and shove as much of me under a chair in the corner as possible in between cups of this water that makes me wanna vomit every moment it goes down.

so i manage (after getting approval to take anti-nausea meds i have with me) to keep that down. i go in, and they need to put an iv thing in for the procedure, right?

the lady tries TWICE on my normally very-easy-to-hit veins, before we determine that I’m So Dehydrated that my veins are being Funky and she figures out how to do it. so glad i’m not afraid of needles; woulda sure been even more shitty otherwise.

thankfully, they dim the lights for me in the room, n’ i’m able to sing a bit to help manage the nausea. it goes better than i expect, in that i’m able to spend the time in there without vomiting.

so i get out n’ i am changing back into my clothes and i am like “oh no here it comes” and i jet to the restroom... and out comes no less than 80% of the terrible stuff i drank earlier, plus lime green bile. great! i’m feeling SO GREAT!

anyway long story short i have to cancel Two plans i had for the evening/afternoon to take a migraine sleep. and now i’m awake and probably going to be for a while....

but in good news? POKEMON SWITCH GAMES. TWO. one now (pokemon quest) and one later (pokemon let’s go; i’m team pika).

i’ve got a ton of stuff to do so.... we’ll.... see.... how that all goes....

#upset tummy #present #irritation #headache #text #media

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naturepointstheway · 6 years

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“Of Ghosts and Carols” Chapter 6: Stave IV: The Ghost of Christmas Future

For those who would rather read/comment on Archive of Our Own, the latest chapter is up. And this chapter is LONG AS HELL at just a tadge over 7800 words. Make sure you have oodles of spare time! As always, a wonderful thank you to @tinydooms for her great beta-ing.

Oh and also, now there remains just two chapters to go--both most certainly going to be shorter, and possibly even put up within a week’s breadth. We’re on the home-stretch, everyone.

Previous chapters: 1 2 3 4 5

@insectoid5 @chooseandact @greensearcher @emeraldcitynative @sweetfayetanner @tinydooms @batbobsession @lumiereswig

Stave IV: The Ghost of Christmas Future

The countless hours of missed slumber was finally catching up to Adam. It was barely ten at night now, and his eyes threatened to droop shut in desperately desired slumber. But he knew he had to stay up until one in the morning. At the very least, it would be the last time he would have to force himself to stay up so late.

Traversing hallways festooned with decorations, Adam came across more than a few servants, including Plumette and Lumiere, all excited for the big day. No doubt, somewhere in the heart of the servants’ quarters, Chip lay awake in the dark, eyes wide open with pure excitement, wild guesses as to what kind of presents awaited him under the tree running through his head.

The minutes staggered on in a languorous manner; Adam could sense the passing minutes around him, catching in the candle light, flames guttering with the passing seconds. He looked out a window, staring at the stars burning bright in the night sky. The space between the stars seemed infused with the hidden shadows of what was to be revealed in a matter of hours. Far, far below, the wind swept upward from the snow, snuffing out a torch bracketed to one of the walls.

Now it was nearing midnight. He could hear Plumette and Lumiere giggling in the ballroom as he neared it. He cast a glance in as he passed it and saw them sneaking each other a present under the giant Christmas tree. He hung back just out of sight by the doorframe, hardly daring to breathe as another memory burned as bright as the lonely moon in the sky. Once, when he was five or six, he had followed the couple in and watched them pass a present to each other as was their Christmas Eve tradition. On seeing this, he had asked if he could open one of his presents too with them. They had laughed in good nature, and, after much begging on the boy’s part, they had relented, passing a present they both had chosen for him to him.

Why can’t things be the way they were before?

Seconds fell away into whole minutes, but slowly, slowly, the hour hands of all the castle’s clocks began to depart the twelfth hour, brushing up against one in the morning.

For the third night in a row, his footsteps retraced a sorely trodden path back to the study room with its closed door. He stared at the door handle, hands clenching at his sides in his anticipation, and, before he could hesitate any longer, he quickly reached out and opened the door. He peered into the room, expecting to find something there in the darkness, but as far as he could see, there was nothing. But surely, once his eyes adjusted to the dark, he would turn around and see the Ghost of Christmas Future waiting for him.

Edging a foot inside, he opened the door as wide as it would go, heart pounding as he searched the darkened study for the faintest sign of his third ghostly companion. The clock’s ticking behind him seemed to grow louder at an exponential rate. His shoulders tensed, his breathing hitched, and –

Chime.

One chime.

Any time now.

Adam turned on the spot, ready for this third and final apparition whoever it—or he—or she—might be.

“Adam!”

Adam flinched at the voice, deep, commanding, and severe.

Father.

He backed away into the dark, until he hit the desk behind him, his breath shallow and fast.

“Where are you?”

For, try as he might, he could not locate the voice anywhere in the room. And yet, it seemed to have come from right next to him, as though his father had yelled his name into his ear inches away.

“I am here.”

“Where?!”

“I am here always.”

Oh God, what am I to do!

He felt like he was ten years old again, his father chasing after him from some unknown direction. The same sweat on his palms, the constriction of his lungs, the strange feeling like he wanted to cry, but couldn’t, lest he got a beating for being so weak. Yet, somehow, he managed to pull together enough courage to speak, though not bolder than a croak.

“Where are you? Sh—show yourself!”

The unlit candle on his desk suddenly burst into life, Adam snapping his attention to it. Turning around, he observed how his shadow was thrown over the floor and the wall, towering over him. Staring at his shadow, he had a premonition of what was about to happen. He wanted to look away from his shadow, but found he couldn’t, unable even to back away in horror as it moved of its own accord.

The shadow stretched a hand to him, Adam staring at the long, spindly fingers and the animalistic way the hand clawed for his wrist. He tried to back away from it, but the shadow’s hand clamped on his wrist, Adam flinching on instinct, expecting to feel pain from the inescapable grasp. There was no pain, not even the pain of nails digging into his flesh, as his father would have done in life. But he knew he could not escape if he tried, and he did not bother to struggle.

“Where are you taking me?”

Silence from this apparition, its only answer being to raise its other arm in the direction of the door. With a sharp, silent snap of the fingers, the door flung open, bouncing off the wall. Outside, he could hear Plumette and Lumiere passing through another corridor, presumably off to bed again, though their voices betrayed no signs of being any wearier than they were before. The spectre sniffed as if in disdain at such folly, and Adam felt a stab of indignation at this. How dare the ghost be so dismissive of Plumette and Lumiere’s happiness!

“Leave them alone,” Adam found himself saying between gritted teeth.

No answer from the ghost, but somehow Adam felt he didn’t care any more than he did before. Instead, he tugged Adam along still farther until the prince once again found himself standing just inside an entrance into the ballroom, now completely empty of people, dancing couples or otherwise. Only the prince and the ghost were its guests.

He looked around for his shadowy companion, but he was no longer there at his side. Half thinking he might have imagined his own shadow pulling him along, he was about to dismiss it as some strange side effect of sleeplessness when the two grand candle stands near the empty golden throne burst into life. He whipped around to see the throne was not empty after all.

For, reclining on that throne was someone who looked exactly like him, but his features echoed his father’s, right down to the cold, hard blue eyes. In contrast to the pleasant ghost who had guided him last night, he had the appearance of a man who had spent his life being spoilt, selfish, and unkind. It chilled the prince to see such distaste and contempt twisting his own features. His clothes were so dark a shade of blue they might as well have been black, an unsettling contrast to the sky-blue outfit of the ghost from the night before.

He is me.

Adam jumped when the ghost suddenly snapped his fingers in the air, eyes boring into him, a silent command for Adam to approach at once. Against his will, Adam’s legs began moving him toward the throne, heart hammering, sweat beading on his forehead as if he were approaching his own father himself, even though the man was long dead. The ghost’s hand whipped up from the wrist in a sharp gesture for him to stop where he was. Adam halted, his knees nearly buckling under him.

I will not let him see I fear him. I will be brave. I will be strong. Like my mother.

“Yes?”

Silence.

“You spoke before, and I wish—command—you to speak again.”

The ghost’s lips twisted in the hint of a sneer, tilting his head back so he looked down his nose at the prince.

“I will speak when I wish, Prince Adam,” the ghost told him, “You cannot command me.”

Words his own father would have said to him. And Adam was no longer at the age when he would have submitted to everything his father told him. Terror coursed through him, and yet, that little whisper of bravery struggled through.

“Then I ask you, what do you wish to show me?”

The ghost frowned, nose wrinkling in annoyance that the prince had chosen to speak back in such a manner to him.

“When I raise myself from this throne, you will see for yourself what may come in future Christmases.”

With that, the ghost raised itself on its feet, Adam staring as he turned back into what appeared exactly like his shadow—or the shadow of his father—the throne empty once again. He cast around in a panic to see if he still had his shadow, and there it was, on the floor, flickering with the candlelight. He let out a breath of relief. Then this was the ghost, and not his own actual shadow somehow becoming unattached from his body of its own will.

Adam could not tear his eyes away from the shadow of Christmas Future as it walked—no, glided—down from the throne to the centre of the ballroom, the prince following after him. No more than nine or ten paces and then the ghost again gestured for him to stop.

A click of the ghost’s fingers and the ballroom was suddenly filled to the brim with women dressed in their finest, dancing for a night with the prince. On the other side of the ballroom, Adam spotted someone who looked like an opera singer decked in the finest jewellery and costume, and beside her, a man in a wild white wig playing a harpsichord with great passion. The ghost stretched a hand out, pointing over the prince’s shoulder. Adam took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever he was about to see. He did not trust that it would be anything good.

And there on the throne was—himself. Slightly older, his eyes shadowed by feather-like make-up around the eyes. The prince kept watching closely, waiting to see what would happen next as the visage of him stood up from the throne, eyes roaming over the spinning, smiling women.

It occurred to him that the servants were strangely absent, and Adam turned his head to look for them, turning around until he finally located them, standing back in the shadows, barely moving, as though they had become as inanimate as the statues in the room. It was unsettling to see Lumiere so quiet and unmoving beside Cogsworth, Plumette, and Chapeau.

“Why are they hiding back there?”

The ghost did not answer, but only fixed him with a stare until a thunderclap outside made the prince flinch, heart thudding in his chest from the fright. Everyone in the ballroom gasped; even his future self swung around to see what was going on. Adam leaped back as Lumiere squeezed past the terrified dancers to hand future-Adam a candlestick. To Adam’s surprise, his future self just snatched the candlestick out of the man’s hand without a thank you or even a glance up at him.

But it wasn’t the candlestick or Adam that grabbed the prince’s attention now; it was the figure at the door, which had wrenched open with the mysterious visitor’s entrance. A gnarled hand gripped a cane, the robed figure shuffling in, its other hand clutching something to its robes. Adam knew before his future self did it that he would turn the old woman away—and he was ashamed to know that it was exactly what he would have done. Turned away an old woman into the cold, force her back into the arms of Death, on the basis of her ugliness.

The laughter that issued from his future self was echoed by the lady dancers’ own cold mirth. Adam turned his head quickly to see how the servants reacted to this, and still they had not moved from their stations.

Stop me, Adam found himself begging them, stop me, do something!

But they did nothing; even Lumiere had retreated back to stand with the others, disappearing again into the shadows. It seemed to Adam somehow symbolic, how all the servants were cast into shadows, while the dancers and the prince all took centre stage.

Do something!

He swung back to watch as his older self dropped the rose in contempt—did his face really twist so unpleasantly when he was displeased?—the beggar woman flinching at the action.

Why does she seem familiar?

And then the woman began to transform right before everyone’s eyes, and a jolt of familiarity went through him as he caught a glimpse of her face, her eyes never leaving the guests even as they began to turn tail and flee; only the servants stayed right where they were, their own terror registering in their faces.

And Adam’s jaw dropped open on seeing the Enchantress emerging from her old hag disguise, floating gold hair and all. He recognised the cool blue eyes, her long fingers, and the way she floated above the ground.

Good God. It’s her.

And then the screams began. Terrible screams, howls of such torture that even the servants hanging back in the shadows flinched at the sound. Adam’s eyes widened as he observed his future self’s shadow becoming less of a man and more something...grotesque, with horns erupting from his skull and a voice that rapidly devolved into a low, guttural growl.

Dazzling golden light exploded in the ballroom, Adam instinctively raising a hand to shield his eyes, breathing fast from the intensity of the experience. When the light dimmed enough that he could open his eyes again, he stumbled back in shock as he beheld the Beast cowering on the ground, shuddering in the agony of his transformation, bathed in the light coming off the Enchantress. From here, Adam could still hear the sickening cracks and snaps as his future self’s bones rearranged themselves into their new formations.

He shook his head as he gaped at the creature with its horns and thick fur, all alone and cold in the middle of the dark room, the Enchantress still hovering over the Beast.

The Beast that once had been him.

“What—” Adam rasped to the ghost.

Punishment for what you have become.

Though her lips had not moved, the Enchantress’s words rung loud and clear, an owl shrieking in through the still-open door, landing on top of the throne.

You are exposed as the monster you are in your heart.

The Beast made a muffled noise that sounded like a cross between a whimper and a groan.

Your servants, too, have been transformed.

“What?!” Adam shouted, whirling on the ghost before he could stop himself, “What have they done, ghost?! Why turn them—”

For they have been worth less than objects to you— the Enchantress continued, her words echoing eerily, as though they were in the bowels of a cave and not in a fancy ballroom.

Adam hissed in indignation.

They have done nothing for you.

Despite his surge of defensiveness on the servants’ behalf, Adam came up with nothing to counteract the Enchantress’s words, even if no one but the ghost could see or hear him.

“What has she done to them, Ghost?”

The ghost didn’t dignify the prince with an answer, instead shaking its head, pointing a finger back at the Beast and the Enchantress.

“If she has hurt them in any way…”

The rose will bloom until the last petal falls, the Enchantress’s words streamed voiceless into his consciousness again, and then it will be too late, unless you learn to love, and find someone who will love you in return.

Adam twitched at the ghost’s harsh laugh, hollow in its humour. “Who could ever learn to love a Beast?”

He glared over at the ghost, wishing he could just strangle the wretched spirit and be done with it. But before he could give this fantasy any further thought, the ballroom suddenly became drenched in darkness once more, the Enchantress gone with a flash of lightning, leaving the Beast panting from fear, agony, and loneliness in the middle of an empty ballroom.

“Anything else you want to show me, Ghost?”

The ghost snapped his fingers, and they found themselves at the edge of the darkened forest. Adam jumped as two glowing eyes and the breeze from a pair of soundless wings swooped over him with a sharp hoot.

There was no moon to flood the world with light, which made the unsettlingly close, piercing howls of a wolf pack even more frightening than it ordinarily would have been. Adam squinted in order that he might locate the wolves’ silhouettes camouflaged against night-shrouded tree trunks.

The nature of the ghost’s appearance meant he, too, was hidden in the dark. The idea of being unable to find a silhouette of a spectre among the disembodied howls of wolves and the floating, glowing eyes of the owl made Adam feel even more frightened, like a child alone in the dark with no-one to turn to but a cold-hearted father.

“Where are you, Ghost?”

When spindly fingers gripped his wrist again, Adam was shocked his heart did not fail him from the fright.

“Don’t scare me like that!”

He let the ghost tug him forward, his feet never catching on hidden tree roots or suddenly disappearing down unseen holes; indeed, it was like he was floating over the earth, for surely his feet would have caught on something by now.

How big is this forest?

Had the forest surrounding his castle always been this giant? It had always seemed so small in the daytime, though he had found it too enormous and frightening as a child. But surely it shouldn’t be this huge. Or perhaps, it was the night that played tricks on his mind, pretending that the acres of trees yawned without end into the night, stretching out to meet the curiously blurry stars on the distant horizon.

“Where are you taking me?”

He didn’t know if the ghost spoke aloud, but he heard his words all the same.

Look at the stars.

Adam’s words died in his throat as he saw what was now happening to the stars. For they were blurring, their points of light streaking over the sky until they looked like concentric circles patterning the heavens.

“I don’t understand.”

Years are passing by for the castle. Elsewhere, time is—

On their emergence from the forest’s edge, the stars snapped back to their original seats in the sky.

—normal.

“And what happens to me back there?”

The ghost declined to speak again.

“Speak to me!”

A snap of fingers and Adam found himself blinking in broad morning daylight, right on time to hear a clock in a tower chiming the eighth hour. He recognised this village as Villeneuve, its houses and streets decked in thick swaths of fresh overnight snow. In the distance, he spotted a chimney sweep standing precariously on a roof, trying to do his job even despite his life-threatening position high above the ground. Specks of soot peppered the snow around the chimney’s perimeter. Adam sucked in an apprehensive breath as the boy slid on his bottom off the roof; only when the child landed safe on his feet did the prince breathe easy again.

“Why Villeneuve again?” he asked, staring around, spotting another couple of people resting up against a run-down house, eyes hollow, hands clutching frozen cups of once-hot tea. The presence of wreaths and other ornamentation told him that it was, again, Christmas Day, or thereabouts.

The ghost simply gestured for him to follow.

Adam went and followed him up the trail, a sense of deja vu coursing through him from having gone up this same path the night before with the Ghost of Christmas Present. Eventually, the ghost led him to the front door of a modest house.

“Who’s in here?” Adam asked the spectre.

The ghost regarded him with a haughty look, simply inclining its head, a white, bony finger unfolding in the door’s direction. A snap of spindly fingers and the door flung open, letting a gust of wind into the room. Adam followed the ghost inside, half expecting to see the house’s inhabitants looking in concern at the door, but no one had seemed to notice; as a matter of fact, there was no one there as far as Adam could tell.

The ghost snapped his fingers in the direction of the door and it snapped shut against the howling wind that pummelled against it outside.

Why here? Adam wondered, staring around at the empty room.

Noticing his ghostly compatriot ascending the stairs, Adam quickly followed, stepping over blankets tossed on the floor. And as he approached the foot of the stairs, he heard something that sounded like sobbing coming from upstairs. Staring up at the top of the staircase, he couldn’t see much beyond the top step but for a dimmed hallway, a solitary candle in a jar burning on a small table.

“What’s up there?”

Adam flinched when the ghost cast him a belligerent look that looked exactly like his father’s, down to the crinkle at the bridge of the nose. Swallowing, he tiptoed up the stairs behind the spectre without another word, his apprehension growing with each step. He did not like the grim atmosphere, grey and bleak, awaiting him at the top of the bare staircase leading to a hallway with a worn, holey carpet.

Once at the top of the stairs, the ghost swept his shadowy robes in a dramatic fashion, pointing down to the end of a hallway where a woman sat on a chair, rocking, her head in her hands. Adam’s heart jumped in his throat when he heard her strangled sobs, a hand dropping down to fumble for a large kerchief from her pocket.

“My darling!” she wailed from down the hall. “Oh, my darling girl!”

Though he had seen her only once before, Adam recognised the woman immediately.

“That’s the woman I saw in the church last night!” Adam whispered, but the ghost didn’t react, “The one with—oh god.”

Her daughter didn’t die...did she?

Adam’s blood ran cold when a door swung open, revealing a doctor carrying a large leather bag, his glasses on a golden chain around his neck. He looked to the woman and shuffled his feet, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort, as though he wasn’t sure quite how to console the mother. After a few moments of this hesitation, he cleared his throat, but the woman continued to rock in her chair, arms now wrapped around her waist, tears dripping onto her dress.

“My sweet, my little darling…”

The doctor put out a plump hand and patted the woman’s shoulder, but she jerked away from his gesture of condolence. Seeming to understand the mother desired to be left alone, the doctor bowed respectfully and carried on down the hallway, past the ghost and Adam, his footsteps regular and precise as he made his way back down the stairs. Adam stared after the doctor, eyes staring through the top stair. Only the sound of the door shutting tight downstairs jerked his attention back to the present.

Turning around to face the scene of lamentation, Adam saw that the father had come out with his son to join the mourning woman. The father placed a hand on his son’s head when the latter whispered worriedly to his mother.

“Leave her be, son,” the father said in a gentle, low voice. “Go back downstairs and I’ll join you soon and we’ll talk.”

“But maman—”

“I know, I know. But your mother wants to be alone now, understand?”

The boy sniffled, wiping his sleeve over his eyes, the fresh tear stains and red eyes striking an ache in Adam’s heart.

The poor boy…

After his father had given his hair one last quick ruffle, the boy shuffled off down the hallway toward the stairs, his head low and shoulders slumped. Watching him, Adam could imagine that boy as himself, leaving his mother’s side after she had died.

Looking back at the ghost, he muffled a yell when he saw his features had become like his father’s again, though with a hint of his own somewhere in there too. The same sneer in the twist of his lips, the jerk of his head to the side in some truncated shake of the head in disapproval.

“They are strangers to you. Why weep at all?”

A blink and Adam reeled as the ghost suddenly became enshrouded in shadows again, the features barely visible. As though nothing had happened, the ghost wafted to the open bedroom door, pausing there as he waited for Adam to catch up to him. Next to the ghost, the father knelt down next to his wife’s chair, pulling her into a tight embrace, rocking with her in their grief.

Adam didn’t want to look in, how could he think anything good would come of this but terrible news of death. And yet, the shadow reached back, grasping his hand, pulling him inside so the prince was now completely in the room, dark for the closed curtains. He could see the shapes of various vials on the dressing table, the discarded damp cloths to try to keep at bay raging fevers, and the silhouette of a girl in bed. She looked fast asleep, but Adam didn’t need to hear the absence of breathing to know. The girl who had the beautiful book was dead.

Because of me.

“No, no, no,” Adam found himself moaning in disbelief, shaking with the recognition of it all, “She’s dead, she’s dead.”

She is just a peasant, the ghost whispered into his thoughts.

“She’s not just a peasant,” Adam whispered, no energy in him to feel more than a modicum of indignation at the spirit’s apathy to the loss of a sweet little girl, “She’s a girl who—who had hopes and dreams like—”

Like he had. Like Chip did. Like, he was certain of it, every little boy and girl did before they grew up and found the heavy responsibilities of adulthood laid upon their shoulders and minds.

It happens in the world every day, his ghostly companion said without voice.

Again, exactly something his own father would have said.

And the more he stayed here, the more he yearned to leave, to get back to his own world where he had already been striving to make a change.

What if that change would be for naught? he wondered in great fear, unable to tear his eyes away from the bed, What if I am too old to change? Is twenty too late?

“Why are you showing me this?” Adam asked in a croaky voice, “This is all too terrible a vision!”

No words from the ghost, leaving Adam alone with his own wordless haze as he finally tore his gaze away from the dead girl in her bed, turning around to face the dim hallway again.

“What a terrible Christmas Day for them,” Adam whispered, a shiver going through his very soul at the idea, “To lose their girl today.”

The ghost flicked a hand in the hallway’s direction.

“Where are you taking me now?”

He hated the ghost’s silence, haughty and frustrating in its nature all at once. But Adam followed nevertheless, past the grieving couple, down the hall with its single, lonely candle, down the creaking, splintery steps, and past the boy sobbing at the table for his sister, back to the front door. Adam cast one last glance back at the boy, his heart going out to him again.

I’ll see to it that the girl gets the money needed. I’ll give it to the family myself if I have to.

He certainly was not going to let a little boy be all alone without his dearest sister and playmate. He couldn’t imagine how devastated he would have been had he lost Plumette at the boy’s age too. For, while she was not of his blood, she had been as close to a sister as he ever could have hoped for nevertheless. Even today, he would be devastated to lose her.

The ghost clicked his fingers, the door swinging open on its hinges—the boy at the table didn’t seem to notice a thing—and strode out into a gathering blizzard, Adam following a few steps after.

“Are we still staying in Villeneuve?”

The spectre, a smudge of charcoal against the aggressive blizzard, stilled at the question. Adam didn’t bother hoping that he would get an answer out of him, at least not verbally.

The ghost raised his hands, the blizzard swirling around him, sweeping up his cloak-like figure so that he resembled some bat in the night. Adam looked over behind him, back at the house they had just left, a watercolour behind the swipes of howling wind that should have nipped at his nose and encrusted his eyelashes, but there was none of these usual sensations.

The world beyond the blizzard blurred, fading away until Adam found himself standing in the middle of the road of yet another town. Was it another he had visited the night before with the Ghost of Christmas Present, or a new town?

“Where are we?”

He had no idea why he even bothered to ask the ghost anything as the spectre reached for his arm and pulled him forward, so he strode beside him down the street. The blizzard seemed to have followed too, as it still howled and moaned around them. Adam could see shop signs swinging and creaking against the powerful wind, and he flinched away when a cart began to tilt dangerously to one side, a few rotten vegetables spilling out onto the road, quickly snapped up by some stray dogs scavenging for anything to eat in the horrid winter weather.

Adam wrapped his arms around himself as if to protect against the cold as they rounded a corner, the prince stopping short when he saw the beggars and homeless once again lining the street. He instinctively knew he had been down here before with the Ghost of Christmas Present.

The orphanage!

“The orphanage is closed now isn’t it,” Adam said in a flat voice. “All those poor children out in the snow.”

The ghost sniffed, his only words being since the New Year.

“So it’s Christmas?”

Christmas in the future.

“The same Christmas as...as back in Villeneuve?” Adam couldn’t bear to think about that poor little girl dead in that bed with the curtains closed and her family lamenting outside.

Maybe.

Maybe. So this could have been the Christmas of the same year the orphanage closed, or it could have been a Christmas two or three years down the road.

Either way, it was clear that whatever he would find of the orphanage, he would not like. He ran ahead of the ghost, a great sense of apprehension already swelling in him, a rising nausea twisting his stomach at the thought of all those children being cast out into the harsh winter. He ignored the ghost’s surprise from behind him, trying to get him to come back, but he had to see for himself what had become of the orphanage.

Racing past sickly old men and women huddling together with their families and friends, their backs pressed against the cold stone walls of the buildings, Adam stumbled to a halt before the grand orphanage, now derelict and abandoned. He could see the sign had already become rusted, creaking and groaning like an old person in the high, frozen wind. The windows were dim, and he could make nothing of what was inside. But the emptiness of the place still keened from within. The absence of merry laughter and singing, the shouts and shrieks of boys and girls at play, and the raised voices of adults trying and failing to call orders to their charges.

He scaled the steps to try to wrench open the door, and stumbled backwards when it gave away without a protest in his hand. It creaked open, all cracking wood and splinters, and at the same time he sensed the ghost behind him, waiting without words.

Turning around on the top step, the door open behind him, he looked the spectre in its hooded eyes.

“They’re gone.”

The ghost didn’t move or speak.

“The boys are out on the streets, as are the girls.”

The smallest of nods from the ghost.

“My high taxes did this.”

I’m surprised you care so much, the ghost’s voiceless words taunted, Why? Is this what your father would have wanted?

And from deep within him, he didn’t quite understand from where it had come from, a surge of courage burst in his heart.

“My father is no longer alive, and what he would have wanted—”

Does his shadow still haunt you?

“I—”

And it hit him then why the ghost was a shadow, looming large over him, a vice grip in its spindly fingers and a haughty air about its wrinkled nose and sneering lips. How it had appeared so much like his father.

It’s the shadow of my father’s influence.

The shadow of his father’s influence and what it would bring upon future Christmases for his people should he not try to change and make a better difference. Back at the castle in this...vision or whatever it was, he was a Beast, doomed to live out the rest of his days in isolation, forgotten by everybody, unloved by all.

“What happened to the children in this orphanage?”

The ghost swept an arm out at the street, nodding over at the huddled masses. Adam’s breath hitched when he saw, indeed, there were many more little girls and boys on this street than there had been the last time he’d been here.

“Oh…”

He looked back at the orphanage, squinting up at the abandoned room. The windows had been boarded by planks of wood, there was a jagged hole in another window, and a huge spider skittered past Adam’s feet. The prince, suddenly aware of a huge cobweb right next to his head, ducked out of the doorway in haste.

Looking around, he saw rows and rows of abandoned tables and chairs, and he wondered how long they had stayed undisturbed by anyone. He imagined the only living things feasting in this forsaken place were rodents huddling around under tables and nesting under the windows. And there, on the windowsill of another broken window, he saw what looked to be an empty pigeon’s nest, sticks blowing idly in the wind.

It made him shiver to see it so empty and devoid of life, without the noise and clamour of dozens of happy little girls and boys oblivious that their days in the orphanage were limited.

No wonder the Enchantress turned me into a Beast.

He was sure he’d have deserved it had he let this happen. But he was not so sure his servants ever deserved the same, or a similar, fate as he did. What, besides doing nothing to comfort him that he wasn’t alone, did they do to deserve any punishment?

Unable to stand being in the orphanage any longer, the prince turned his back on the empty chairs at empty tables, letting the wind shut the door behind him as he stepped back outside.

“Surely you have shown me enough?” he demanded of the ghost, more out of desperation that it be over sooner rather than later.

The ghost swiftly swung around to glide down the street again, past a man blowing desperately on black frost-bitten fingers, a couple snuggling together, eyes closed as if they were asleep though they shivered greatly in slumber, and a child building a very tiny snowman, using old, cast aside buttons for its eyes.

Terrible, such terrible sights! How can I survive more of this?!

If the ghost showed him one thing more, surely he would not survive to see another!

Can one die of seeing too many terrible sights?

He imagined it not impossible, for surely he would were he to see any more of awful, saddening moments such as this. To imagine all those poor people homeless in the cold on Christmas Day without any hope of a warm fire, a toasty dinner followed by spiced wine and dessert, and family and friends huddled around the hearth.

The ghost kept on going, his form a smudge of shadow against the grim weather, the sky overhead darkening with black clouds full of thunder and torrential rain ready to be spilt upon the earth. They kept going, trudging over broken wares in the streets, skirting broken carts abandoned in the snow, and the street fell away to a crossroads where he was now led to a quiet little cottage where, peering in, he once again saw the same brunette woman from the night before with her loving father. To Adam, it seemed they were the only figures in this entire town who had missed the grim tragedies that had befallen the others. The music box still tinkered from behind the window, but Adam fancied the melody to have a sadder harmony to it.

“They don’t seem any less happy than last night,” he observed, “Why?”

Why are you so interested in them?

“They seem to have escaped the ravages of what I have done.”

I cannot tell you more. Back to the castle.

The world swirled tight around them, colour melting into drab shades of grey and black, the blizzard pressing in upon them, clearing away abruptly, candles erupting into flame around them. The prince didn’t need to take more than a glance to see he was in the West Wing. He thought he might have come back into the real world, if it weren’t for the ghost at his side nor the Beast hunched over a table upon which sat a bell jar with a half-wilted floating rose inside. And, unlike his own room in his present, this West Wing was a mess to say the least. Oh! And the smell! Adam found the smell of past meaty meals, decay, and poor hygiene so offensive he began to breathe through his mouth rather than his nose, so that he might not be assailed so much by the odour.

“What on earth…”

He stared around the messy wing, the bed clearly not slept in for a very long time, if not since his future self had been transformed.

Another Christmas, the ghost whispered without moving his lips, Another lonely day for a Beast.

“He has still not found love?”

Who could ever love a beast? the ghost asked, his tone rhetorical.

And suddenly, from outside, the sounds of an angry mob, Adam running at once to see what the fervour was. The Beast, just as everyone else did in these strange visions, never noticed or reacted to their presence.

Adam gasped. Outside, snaking through the forest, their torches held aloft, he could see what looked to be a huge line of angry villagers sneaking their way up to the castle.

To kill the Beast, the ghost informed him.

A prickle of horror went down his spine.

“The servants! Have they abandoned him?”

Transformed.

Transformed. That’s right, they had been transformed for transgressions the Enchantress had claimed against them. Adam still did not see why they had to share in his Beast self’s misery; couldn’t they just have been let go? Or—

Or did they love him too much to go anyway, transformed or not?

Speaking of servants, Adam’s ears perked up when he caught the familiar sound of Cogsworth’s voice, trying to get the Beast’s attention about the mob.

“It doesn’t matter now,” the Beast form of him said, not bothering to hide his hopeless despair, “Let them come.”

Adam’s heart sunk to hear such empty hopelessness in his words, but it rose a little again when Cogsworth made it clear that he, and the other servants, refused to let the mob come and kill him, even if he was an unpleasant personality in the castle. The ghost remained suspiciously quiet on this front, his only reaction being to quickly gesture to the prince to follow him elsewhere in the castle.

It was strange, this, walking through the halls of his own castle with its familiar walls, floors, decorations, and all. He could have reached out and touched the walls and recall the familiar textures. He could imagine the portraits’ eyes following them in the dark from where they sat high upon their places on the walls. And somewhere in the distance, he heard what sounded like a dramatic fight, complete with yells and screams and shouts, from the front entrance.

“What’s going on?”

But the ghost snapped his fingers again, and the world shifted, blurring forward like time had been yanked ahead of itself until all was silent again, a silence that Adam did not like. Something was wrong. Horribly, deeply, terribly wrong.

Stay with me, the ghost commanded him as he led the prince through the ajar doors of the front entrance, down, down to the balcony where a candelabra was proclaiming joyous victory in—

That candelabra had Lumiere’s voice. And the feather-duster lying in his arms had to be Plumette; even in this strange transformation, Lumiere showed deep devotion.

Oh no…

The last petal has fallen, the ghost said in a flat monotone.

And, deep down, Adam knew exactly what that meant.

They were in this form for good.

Did they deserve that? Did I deserve that?

“Plumette? Plumette!”

Adam’s attention snapped back to the candelabra—Lumiere—who was now sagging with the weight of sorrow and despair as Plumette stiffened and became inanimate, a feather-duster with no soul or thoughts, forever.

“Oh my darling Plumette!”

Adam stared as the candelabra sank to his knees, laying the feather-duster on the snow, bowing over in devastation over his beloved Plumette.

Because of me.

He found himself reaching out to Lumiere—no, the candelabra—Lumiere and the feather-duster—Plumette—without realising, like he was trying to offer them some comfort or help. He drew his hand back in some self-consciousness, looking to see the ghost still nearby, looking for all the world unaffected by all that was going on.

“Chip! Have you seen Chip! He ran off!”

The British accent left no doubt as to who that was, even though she was now, Adam saw, a teapot atop a tea tray and cart. Both Lumiere and Cogsworth—the latter now a clock—turned with helpless expressions and motions in her direction.

And then—she was gone. Forever. Not even a hint of anything to suggest the teapot was once a beloved servant.

“MAMA!”

Adam flinched, looking up, as did Cogsworth and Lumiere, as a small teacup began to fall down to the ground, sure to shatter when he hit.

Chip?!

It was one thing that the Enchantress had turned Mrs Potts into a teapot, but a little boy into a teacup? A form even more fragile than that of Mrs Potts’!

He’s going to shatter.

He made to look away, but not before he caught sight of a coat hanger bending down to catch the teacup literally an inch away from smashing on the snow-laden stonework. Adam let out his breath, at the same time realising that the coat hanger, so quiet and modest in the heroic rescue, had to be Chapeau. Chapeau who straightened up and stiffened forever into the form of a coat hanger.

All that was left were Cogsworth and Lumiere, the former turning to Lumiere, choking on his words, trying to gasp out his last words to his old friend before too becoming inanimate.

“Lumiere…my friend…it was an honour to serve…with you.”

A final chime and Cogsworth was gone too. Adam’s breath hitched, eyes growing wide as Lumiere, who happened to be facing in the prince’s direction, gave his final little bow.

“The honour…was mine.”

And, with one last flourish, Lumiere’s form twisted around until he became a fully formed candelabra for good. Forever.

No!

“NO!”

Adam reeled back from the horror, stumbling backwards, his heel hitting the stonework, managed to steady himself on his feet in time, though his knees trembled with great horror from the scene.

Oh my son. They were only servants, the ghost taunted him.

Adam knew before turning around that the ghost would look, once again, just like his father. And—he was, but so much more terrible looking. So much older and more terrifying, eyes cold as blue marbles, his lips twisted into a sneer, looking almost…proud of him. And in that moment, somewhere deep inside him, something awakened in Adam. Something courageous, shaking in terror, but brave all the same like his mother had had to be, awakened in him. Straightening himself up, he looked the terrible ghost dead in the eye.

“They—are—my—family. More than you have ever been or ever will. And you? You are family in name only.”

The ghost snarled at him, and lunged, Adam flinching back on instinct, raising his arms as the ghost howled at him, twisting around him until Adam could see nothing but the blackness of the spectre, choking him, sending him to his knees in the snow, cold biting into his feet, soaking into his nightclothes, freezing his hands.

“In—name—only!”

And he broke down into sobs there in the snow, not caring what the ghost—now strangely absent—thought of him. He thought of the orphanage, of the dead girl, of the lost servants he’d come to see as family, of everything he had done that he had thought right, and now knew to be wrong. His fingers clawed into the snow, his shoulders shook, tears half-freezing as they dripped down his face.

It was only when he heard a familiar shout from the open entranceway did he realise he was back in the present day, and he was somehow out here in the very cold snow on a very cold Christmas morning in the small hours of night.

“Mon prince! Plumette! Get Mrs Potts!”

And he didn’t resist in the slightest when strong hands pulled him back to his feet, wrapping comforting arms around him in a tight hug, the likes of one he had not felt since he was a child.

#Of Ghosts and Carols #Beauty and the Beast #I'll probably reblog this again at a later hour #(it's like...less than an hour until 1am)#(and yet I feel wide awake)#(it's like I'm both a night owl AND an early bird at the same time)

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dearben · 4 years

Text

30.09.20

Dear Ben

i. My parents have a neighbour, this pension-aged divorcee who lives alone. She’s got two grown children, both in high-powered jet-setting careers, whom she doesn’t talk to a lot. She calls pretty much on the daily to talk to my mother, and the isolation hasn’t been kind to her because we get the sense that she’s losing the plot. She called the other night ranting and raving about how I’d screwed up her phone, but Dad’s convinced that it was because she refused to update her iOS.

(FTR, Dad used to try to get me to talk her through how to use her phone but three unsuccessful attempts convinced me that you can’t teach an idiot, so I try to refrain from talking to her where possible).

Mum and Dad have tried to convince her to seek help, but that suggestion hasn’t been taken very well.

(I wish you could talk back to me, but let’s be clear that you’re really a figment of my imagination, because I find it so much easier to talk to one, and part of me doesn’t want to scare you away even though there’s realistically close to zero chance that we’ll ever talk again.)

Anyhow the real reason I don’t like her is because she is essentially who I fear becoming in the future – alone and isolated both by volition and vocation.

ii. I just got into a fight with dad and my sister about what a failure I am. I’d seen this coming for a long time since moving back in – Dad even took me aside to warn me in advance not to be a pain in the arse before I came home. Dad told me that he’s essentially given up on nagging me and only keeps it up instinctively because I’m his progeny, which only hammers home that it’s no longer just in my head but in life that I might’ve failed.

I thought that this was going to be my year, the year that life was finally going to start behaving itself, and then a pandemic came along and gave it all a giant middle finger. It’s been over 6 months yet I still find myself yearning for what could have been. Everyone’s like, “maybe this is the year you strip it all back and regroup, and emerge from the other end like a butterfly”. Since then Operation Butterfly has become my obsession but part of me thinks it’s a distraction from the mess my life’s become.

This year has essentially just rammed home time and again what a failure I am. Crappy job, no social life or skills, and hardly any personality and generally a terrible excuse for a human being. I remember the darkness starting when I was finishing high school – it was like I knew uni was the peak and after that everything would start going downhill. I’m always terrified of the possibility that I peaked way too early, but Dad reckons (rightly so) that I have a complex where I’m unhappy if I’m not the centre of attention. How ironic then that I seemed to have developed a meta-complex about this, rather than behaving constructively about it.

iii. Then kids I’d grown up with are off conquering the world, getting high-powered jobs, getting married, buying houses and having children (or all at once). I can’t even hold down a boyfriend who doesn’t espouse right wing tendencies or isn’t a kidult. But then that opens a pot-kettle situation which I quite often run out of steam to cycle around.

Sarah’s said that anxiety does this – that it zaps the energy to give a fuck, resulting in one becoming an arse to the world because what’s remaining of that energy’s just directed towards keeping the basic systems running. I can’t even figure out how to format excel spreadsheets anymore. It’s super funny because I feel like I don’t have the patience to understand mental illness anymore, having fallen into that chasm despite once being so curious about it. I somehow manage to drown every day while decrying everyone else in the same boat for being a wimp. It’s days like these that I can’t picture the sun coming up tomorrow – or if it does, that the world will be in grayscale.

iv. Gabby’s just made us do a gratitude exercise. Truth be told I’ve always been skeptical of these because every time I do that, the rug gets pulled from under me and things on that list just mysteriously disappear. Mihika said that it was almost as if I was scared of being happy, which was pathological, but is it possible that I’m just too lazy to be?

I don’t know why I’m writing, when I haven’t in such a long time (I was afraid, I think, that my writing had become mediocre but I don’t care now because no one’ll read this…I think). I’ve always been a fast talker, fast thinker – maybe I just have too many thoughts in my head yelling over one another like inkblots and fireworks, and perhaps this might help me slow them down. I don’t need this to look pretty or aesthetic – I just need to figure a way out of the knots.

v. What I want to say to Dad and Mom and Ying (and the world) is that I wish I had the maturity to own a house, or have children, or even make things different for myself when I’m not happy about them, rather than make excuses all the time and wallow in self-pity. Or even, just to be happy with myself. Buying a car was terrifying enough, and that was with Ying and Dad there to do most of the legwork for me. Why the fuck am I licensed to perform surgery and give people life-changing medical advice, when I can’t even drive properly without thinking I’m going to die every time I step into a car?

All I can promise is that I will try, but that there will be days when I’ll fuck up again and again, even though that’s not an excuse to let things slide. I’m afraid to talk openly about this because it’ll force me to confront that deep dark chasm that is my anxiety about being a failure in life, and if I’m not careful I might finally fall in.

I know that I have so much growing up to do because I’ve spent too much time with my head in the clouds – mostly as a distraction because I’m fed up with life and humanity. I want to say that I care enough to not be a terrible person, but sometimes I find it hard to be 10/10. Dad keeps telling me to be introspective and self-reflective but sometimes I feel like time alone with my thoughts isn’t helpful but that’s mostly because I end up wallowing in cycles of despair. I know it’s a cop-out whenever I call myself a failure because it’s the easy way out, to fall with gravity, but my choices have consequences and I don’t like what’s on the other end of that alternative. But treading water is getting so tiring sometimes – I wish I could accept that this will be for life but I find it difficult sometimes to realise that there are ups and downs.

vi. I have found myself indulging, more and more, in thoughts of what we could’ve been. I find that they tend to be more salient whenever things and times get rough. Kit reckons that I do this to comfort myself with the memory of the closest I came to success but it always comes with that painful shock from your rejection. Even though rationally, you were reacting or behaving normally and were honest enough as to warn me ahead of time that you weren’t ready for a relationship and were even kind enough to check up on me despite my stupid faceplant, it only made you more irresistible. How I have tried time and again to be rational and stop thinking of you on a pedestal; once I even forced myself to read through your old messages talking about how you’d moved on. Oh god, I thought the pain would kill me but it didn’t and here I remain a strange shade holding onto regret. We only met twice and I was stupid at both, and clearly stupid enough to keep using you as the benchmark for what every subsequent partner should be. It’s been nearly 5 years. It nearly destroyed the one who came after you because he wasn’t you and despite both of us trying it wasn’t fair for him to be compared to a memory.

But then I’m starting to wonder if what I’m really finding alluring about you are your qualities and successes. I wonder if you were just another right-wing conservative social justice denier with stunted career prospects living with his parents, I would still be enamoured of you – and I’m starting to come to the realisation that perhaps I might not be. But you aren’t any of those things (particularly the right-wing conservative) – and here I’m falling into my own trap yet again.

I sometimes flirt (and come close to) with the idea of just asking you. Not flirtatiously with an emoticon in an unexpected text, but with raw honesty. Are you still with her? Are you happy? How is working from home, since you were already an expert before this shitstorm hit. How do you become an adult? And do you ever think of me as anyone aside from a fling?

But then that would utterly destroy the boundary I put up for my own good, by not replying to you the last time you asked me, and I know realistically I have destroyed any chance of that happening when you must’ve found me stalking your LinkedIn. More importantly it will make it blatantly obvious that beyond those two times, I wasn’t anything but a blip on your radar. Maybe I prefer this illusion of you, after all, and confronting you in life will eliminate him.

You’re not the only guy I’ve done this to. Most of the time, I embarrass myself enough in my delusions that I shudder at the mere thought of ever talking to them again. Once, it worked out, but then I ended up getting bored and breaking his heart years later. I often wonder if this is karmic payback for being so thoughtless but again the rational part of my brain realises that’s a cop-out.

vii. When I was thirteen my parents made me attend this motivational seminar over summer break, which famously (and sensationally) involved bullying us to study hard by visualising our parents on their deathbeds. They made us chant the line “Choices have consequences” on the hour and it has stuck. It’s wavered in my consciousness at times, particularly when I’m swimming in depression, and I often feel guilty coming out of the zenith when I realise that I’d just left it up to fate and faith to float me back to normality.

Every time I go back to Singapore and want to visit the places of my childhood, I find myself saddened by how things have changed and how my memories are disappearing. Again, there’s that tendency to comfort myself with memories to the extent of wishing them to reality, again an impossibility. Maybe that’s a good way to let your ghost rest, by realising that that is all you are – a memory, and a fleeting one at that. Again, I know it won’t happen overnight but it’s worth a try.

The other main strategy that everyone espouses to that end is trying to make myself the best possible version of myself I could be, almost to convince myself I deserve better than you. But why should I need to convince myself when I could just believe – but oh, that is still strangely counterintuitive.

What would giving in and talking to you achieve? Realistically, it’s been two years since that last message that I never answered, so quite possibly an unwelcome shock to you because why won’t I just rest and move on with life already? Awkward, almost immediately, because I’d been stalking your LinkedIn. You’d ask me how I was and I’d either a) launch into a diatribe about how I hate my life and existence and you’d be stuck at an awkward loss or b) I’d lie outlandishly about how my life is fucking awesome and you’d congratulate me and I’d struggle to fall asleep in self-loathing because my reality is anything but. So not a good outcome either way.

My choices have consequences, right? So talking to you, in both scenarios, would result in a negative, soul scorching outcome. I don’t ever want to have to endure that gutwrenching ache ever again, the choking sensation of my heart almost being hooked out of my chest. So rather than contemplate that today, let me figure out how I’m going to try and fix one broken part of my life, in planning out what to say to my family when I apologise for tonight’s outburst. Hopefully some of my earlier reflections will help.

And I know that this isn’t goodbye, not just yet. Perhaps I will one day be ready to finally lay you to rest. For now your phantom will just need to listen to my rambling emotions. For some reason or other I don’t think you’ll mind, so thank you for that. Maybe I’ll know you’re ready to go when I no longer have anything to say to you.

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eternalravendreamer · 7 years

Text

Lance in a coma (WIP)

The mission had seemed to be going fine at first - a small, seemingly uninhabited planet had been revealed to be a Galran Empire work camp, and they had to liberate it. Work camps were usually operated more by robots than actual Galran soldiers. Typically one flesh-and-bones soldier to every 20 robots, plus one commander. Sounds easy enough.

However, only a few minutes into taking down robots and rescuing prisoners, Pidge got wind that their father might be among them. After that, everything kinda went to shit.

With Pidge acting on desperation rather than logic (and who wouldn’t?) Lance had volunteered to go with them to keep them safe and focused. That’s when it happened. The Galran commander in charge of the camp snuck up behind them while Pidge hacked a locked gate, and by the time Lance saw the giant charging towards them with some sort of weapon he couldn’t identify all he could do was protect his teammate.

He was knocked out on impact, blissfully unaware of the severe head and neck injuries he just took.

Luckily, the mission ended quickly after an enraged Hunk took on the commander one-on-one. All the prisoners were freed, all enemies either taken out or fled.

Sam Holt had been moved to a different camp the day prior. They had just barely missed him.

Pidge was frustrated and disappointed, but the more present worry that plagued them and the rest of Team Voltron was Lance. He had been rushed to the med bay along with a few of the freed prisoners, and shoved into a pod.

Wrong move.

“Thank you all for liberating us. Green Paladin, I am deeply sorry that your father was not there anymore, but fear not. He was moved because he was unusually strong and your kind seem to be immune to efirium gas poisoning, which is common in the mines the Empire harvests fuel from. He is as healthy as a captive of Zarkon can be.”

“...thanks. That’s good to know.”

“Will the Blue Paladin be okay? The camp commander’s muwuv baton has taken the lives of many workers, and even a few of his own droids in his moments of rage.”

“We’ve got Lance in a healing pod, it may take some time but he will be just fine.”

Nobody was there when Lance came out of the pod just one varga after all the prisoners were off the ship - he hadn’t been due out for another Earth week. He wasn’t supposed to be out. So when an alarm began to blare from the med bay, everyone rushed in, panic in their throats.

When they got there, the pod was deactivated, a red flashing alert notice in place of the glass door. Lance was unconscious on the floor in front of the pod, sprawled out and seemingly lifeless. Hunk was the first to rush to his side.

“LANCE! Oh god, buddy, please wake up!” He desperately attempted to wake his friend, but Lance remained unconscious. After shaking off their shock, Pidge rushed over next to Hunk, checking Lance for any changes.

“What happened?! Why did the pod deactivate early, what does the alert say?!” Coran fumbled with the screens popping up at the med bay computer, bringing up a larger version of the pod’s alert.

“By the Ancients...his concussion was worse than we thought! The healing pods induce a deep sleep in order to speed up the body’s natural healing, along with supplying restorative quintessence and medicine. But compounded with Lance’s concussive state and his injuries, that sleep became dangerous. He’s...he’s gone into a coma, and the pod had to release him to give him a chance of waking. He can hear us, possibly feel touch, but he cannot open his eyes, talk, or...anything else. He’s trapped in his own body.” Allura’s hands flew to her mouth to suppress a horrified gasp. Shiro’s face contorted with fear for his fellow Paladin as he joined Hunk and Pidge on the floor with Lance. Keith remained at the doorway, whole body still with shock, save for a trembling in his hands.

Finally, Allura spoke, “Is...is there any way to help him, Coran?”

“I don’t know, Princess. This has never happened before, as far as I’m aware.” Pidge broke down, sobbing and leaning on Lance’s all-too still chest.

“This is all my fault - I wasn’t paying attention and my dad wasn’t even there anymore, Lance got hurt for--for nothing!”

“That’s not true, Pidge. It’s not your fault, you didn’t know. Lance is fiercely protective of the team, and he sees us as family. He would be happy to know you weren’t hurt.”

“Since the pod spat him out early, he didn’t get all the healing he needed, right? So what do we do? We can’t put him back in the pods.”

“The Castle has a traditional hospital ward in case the pods are all full or can’t be used. There are beds and quintessence lamps, but I’m afraid all the medicine and supplies are probably ten thousand years expired. We’ll have to stop at one of our ally planets for supplies.”

“I’ll carry Lance if you show me the way. It looks like all the pods had time to do was stop the bleeding, his neck is still swollen. I’ll have to move slowly.” Hunk carefully maneuvered his hands under Lance’s knees and shoulders, and Shiro moved to steady the Blue Paladin’s neck. Unfortunately the med bay didn’t seem to have any neck braces, even on its hover-stretchers. Coran said it was because neck injuries don’t threaten the lives of Alteans as they do humans.

When Allura, Keith, and Shiro returned, Lance was fully set up in the hospital ward. He was breathing on his own, but an oxygen mask was on standby just in case. Same with what seemed to be an emergency defibrillator, in case his heart rate got too low or stopped entirely. Lance was laid in the bed, placed so he very slightly sat upright, to aid his respiration. A strange glowing panel hung on the ceiling above the bed - a quintessence lamp to heal him slowly, without the risk of sending him further into his coma. A large screen displayed his vitals, though all the lettering was in Altean. He was hooked up to an IV, and electrodes were attached to his chest and head. There were some other gizmos and tubes attached to the Blue Paladin that Keith couldn’t identify, but as long as they kept Lance alive, he didn’t care.

Shiro walked over to Hunk, who was sitting in a chair next to Lance’s bed, head in his hands. Shiro gently placed his hand on Hunk’s shoulder, causing him to look up. His eyes were red and irritated from crying.

“How is he?”

“A little better. His vitals are stable, at least. I suggested trying the mind meld helmets so Lance could...could communicate with us, but Coran says it would be too dangerous and might make him less likely to wake up.”

Allura took one Lance’s hands in both of hers and closed her eyes, trying to focus on their shared bond as pilots of the Blue Lion, “...Lance. You can hear us, can’t you? We’re all here, and Pidge is safe. They’re--they’re very worried about you, and they’re blaming themself.”

A slight beep on the monitor. Brain activity. He could hear them, and was trying to respond. But he couldn’t. Allura could sense something in her mind - a feeling of desperation. But was it from Lance, or Blue?

“Has Coran tested if Lance can sense touch?”

“Not yet! That’s what this is for, Number One!”

“Is that a...toy hammer?” Keith squinted at the...oddly simple tool.

“I think it’s one of those things doctors hit your knee with to test your reflexes.”

“Right-o, Hunk! Except the Altean version involves these sensors,” Coran pointed to several blue stick-on patches on Lance’s limbs and body, “I tap the sensor with this stick, and if it turns red it means Lance felt it. If it stays blue, he did not. And if it turns purple...they’re expired and this whole spiel is pointless.”

First, his right arm.

A tap on the wrist. Red sensor. A tap on the inner elbow. Red sensor. A tap on the bicep. Purple sensor. Quiznak.

Okay, left arm.

Tap on the wrist, red sensor. Tap on the inner elbow...blue sensor. Tap on the bicep, red sensor. That makes no sense but hey, better than all blue.

Right leg, all red. thank god.

Left leg...

...all blue.

Chest, over the heart and lungs, all red.

Stomach, mostly purple with some blue. Coran wasn’t sure if they should count those or not.

There, sitting before the deactivated Blue Lion...was a glowing blue lioness.

“Is...is that...”

“Are you...the spirit of the Blue Lion?”

The lioness opened her mouth and spoke, “I am.” her voice was deep as oceans and cool like a frost across your nose warning you that winter would soon arrive, yet it was familiar and safe and warm, like the affection of a mother. The Blue Lion spoke again, “My Paladin needs me, and I could not help him while still within my mechanical vessel. I needed to return to my Astral Spirit form in order to be by his side. Red will most likely grow tired of waiting and join me by his side soon, I know he did not make it obvious, but he grew attached to Lance while they were paired. But for now, I must go to Lance. Oh, and please, call me Azul. It is the word blue in Lance’s mother tongue. It is the name he calls me by when we speak in his mind.”

Shiro and Allura followed Blue...Azul through the Castleship in silent awe. She was definitely a lioness, large and strong-looking, a sense of purpose in her stop. On the way to the hospital wing, they happened upon Pidge, carrying a giant heap of wires and machine parts.

“Oh, Shiro. I was just--is that the Blue Lion?!”

“My poor cub...I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop this from happening. The moment I felt your mind slip away from me I knew something was wrong. I should have gone straight to your side, like Red does for her Paladin. I’m so sorry, Lance. I’m here now, I’m right here at your side.” Blue nudged her head beneath his hand, and Allura could feel her anguish coming off in waves.

“..on’t...a...rsel...”

“Did you guys hear that?!”

“Azul, could Lance...could Lance possibly communicate to us through you?”

“It is possible, yes. Having all Paladins present may be amplifying the power of the Paladin Bond, which also makes communication between Lion and Paladin easier.”

“Lance, try to say something. Anything.”

“...Which...is it? Some...or any..?”

“Goddammit Lance you make us think you died and then the first thing you say is a joke? Really?”

#langst #wip #coma tw #apparently the red lion is a boy? tbh don't know if i approve

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insomniasix · 7 years

Text

Chapter IV -Living Legend - Part III

Feedback is always appreciated!

“Titan.” The word left Six’s lips as a low whisper while she stared into the fiery eyes of her old friend, wondering why she couldn’t understand a word he said. She could only comprehend what the boys could. Gibberish sounds and a really angry glare. What was with him?

“Goddamn…” Noctis swore, getting back to his feet “This is the Archean?”

Six didn’t answer. She didn’t have anything to say about the giant in front of them that they didn’t already know.

“Seems we woke the big guy up.” Gladio thought out loud, gently getting hold of her hand and drawing her back with them “You alright?”

“He’s trying to tell us something.” Six flinched at the stinking pain she shared with Noctis “But what?”

“Noct!” Prompto’s voice was heard from above the fallen cliff “You okay?”

“Thank heavens you’re safe.” Ignis followed “Is there a way back up?” he asked, getting as close to the edge as he could, enough not to endanger himself or Prompto.

“Iggy? Prom? Stay away from the cliff!” Six ordered and they instantly took a step back “There’s a path.” She said once they stopped moving again “Gonna see where it leads.”

“You two try to get down.” Gladio yelled back at them and Ignis agreed with his plan.

“Very well. We’ll look for a way. Be careful, now!”

“You, too.” Noctis joined in the loud conversation.

“What?” they heard Prompto whine, almost in fear “We’re going where?”

“Don’t rush off on your own, huh?” Gladio turned his attention to Noctis, who was quickly stepping ahead of them.

“Don’t get left behind.” Noctis barked back, not changing his pace as Six rolled her eyes at their upcoming bickering.

“Wise guy.” Gladio continued before a pack of Dynoaevis flew above their heads “They’re on edge… let’s not ruffle their feathers any more.” He said and Six nodded in agreement, chuckling to herself as Noctis continued his little barbs.

“Um, try shutting your beak.” He said in a princely manner, moving his hand like a poncy brat.

“Just offering sound advice.” Gladio was starting to get pissed off and Six noticed. Shooting a glare at his direction as he squinted his eyes at the dark haired Prince while he continued with an exasperated sigh.

“Yeah, like a parrot in my ear.”

The three made quick work of the beasts. With Noctis and Six warping around in the air and Gladio striking the killing blow when the creatures were laying on the ground, the flying pack was out of the way faster than the lava around them burned the soles of their shoes.

“Here.” Six made her way to stand closer to Noctis, dematerializing her sword “You’re all dirty.” She said, whipping some of the ash on his cheeks as he frowned his brows at her sudden urge to mom him.

“Hey, over here.” Gladio pointed at a narrow passing at the edge of the mountain walls before making his way ahead “No room for error here.” He urged the two, plagued by headaches, to watch their step.

“No time to chill, either.” Noctis said, looking around nervously “Make it quick.”

“Hey.” Six grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and tugged him, making his attention dart back to her “Can you chill for five seconds? He’s doing the best he can to get both of our asses out of this hell hole.”

“Just want this to be over.” Noctis made a small pause at the end of every single word, moving through the broken road, his back stuck to the wall as the tips of his feet stuck out of the edge, making his footing unsteady as he moved in Gladio’s steps.

“I know, kid. You’re gonna make it.” Six reassured him, moving close behind him, one hand touching the stone behind her, steadying herself, while the other stood ready to catch Noctis if needed.

“Tremors… Hang on!” Gladio was quick to turn towards the two when yet another earthquake shook the ground underneath their feet, knowing that the aches usually hit right after.

“My head.” Noctis whined softly, grabbing his head while trying to keep going.

“Of all the times…” Six breathed, mirroring the Prince’s actions.

“You two need to be on steady ground.” Gladio sounded worried “Let’s hurry the hell across.”

Noctis tried to keep a steady pace, moving behind his towering friend while the Glaive tried to keep an eye on him, squeezing her eyes shut in pain every second step “Noct, you doing alright?” she grunted.

“No…” he answered, breath picking up as the pain hit harder. He felt as if someone was pounding his head with a hammer, the rising heat around him not helping one second.

That’s when he appeared again. Titan’s gigantic hand, moving to break through the mountain rocks to get to them.

“Hey, buddy! What’s the big idea?” Six yelled back at the giant as his hand moved to grab whatever –or whoever –he could.

“Save it, we’ve got to get across!” Gladio ordered, everyone starting to move again at the sound of his voice.

“Faster!” Noctis picked up his pace, not caring about his pounding headache.

“Calm down.” Gladio urged him, doing the same “I’m going as fast as I can!”

The pounding in their heads was strong enough for Six to start losing focus on the moving hand, just a few inches before her face. Knowing the same thing was happening to Noctis she turned toward him fast, warping and catching him just seconds before he fell to the abyss under them. She called upon her weapon, throwing it right under him and warping through him on the lower level of the mountain. Luckily it was an open space, so they didn’t hit on anything as they both found themselves on the floor. Six holding Noctis close to her, making sure he wasn’t hurt before Gladio jumped down next to them as the Titan’s hand destroyed the passage they were walking on.

“If that’s his welcome,” Gladio said giving a helping hand to both of them “hate to see how he treats intruders.”

“He’s not mean.” Six said, mostly to herself, as she tried to understand why the Astral acted that way. Trying to understand if that was his way of getting Noctis to prove his worth.

“You wanna talk?” Noctis asked, seemingly to both Gladio and the Titan “So do I.”

“Glad the feeling’s mutual.” Gladio answered “Let’s move.”

The three moved further away from the attacking hand of the Titan, following the trail deeper in while Noctis kicked every piece of small rock he could find and grunted “I’m sick of this endless walking!”

“And I’m sick of your endless whining!” Gladio was off the edge now, grabbing Noctis’ arm and making him turn to look at just how mad he made him “Calm the hell down.” He ordered, taking him by the collar and making Six jump at his sudden outburst.

She just stood there, ready to act if needed; having a small battle with herself as to what she was supposed to do. It wouldn’t come down to it; but in case it did, what was she going to do? It was time to face the question that haunted her since the start.

“Get off my back.” Noctis whined.

“Are you a man of royal blood or aren’t you?” Gladio asked in a serious tone. Fiery eyes looking straight into Noctis’.

“Of course I am!” Noctis ordered, pushing Gladio off him “I couldn’t forget it if I tried. What about it?” he demanded to know.

“I ain’t saying that you’ve forgotten,” the Shield was calmer after hearing his answer and Six realized what he was doing, relaxing her posture and standing straight again, waiting to see where he was going with it “but you gotta know something: You’re not the only one who’s having a tough time!” he said, eyes darting between the Prince and his Glaive a couple of times as she let her eyes fall to the ground, not liking the feeling of becoming a burden “We’re all on edge.”

Silence fell over them for a second, before Gladio continued his chain of thought “We Amicitia are the king’s sworn shields.” His sentence sending shivers down Six’s spine, her mind traveled back to Gladio’s father, Clarus; her friend. Noctis realized where this was going too. Lowering his head and listening carefully to his friend’s words, drawing strength from them. From him.

“Guard the king with our lives –that’s the way it’s always been. I’ve embraced my duty.” He looked up at Six, blessing her with a warm smile, knowing she understood the feeling “And I take pride in it.” Gladio turned his attention to Noctis once again, hitting his fist on his chest, giving power and meaning to his words.

“When you can’t focus, I focus for you. It’s my job, so let me do it, alright?” he turned to move ahead but Six stopped him, placing her hand on his lower back as he turned to look at her.

“I’m so proud of you.” she mouthed, silently and he graced her with one of her favorite side smiles before winking at her and moving ahead.

“Come on.” She moved her head for Noctis to start follow again and he was kind of surprised at how sweet her voice was, how calming and caring.

Gladio’s words and Six’s voice lit a fire in Noctis’ heart. He was once again focused on his task. Determent to fight, not only for himself, but for them as well.

“Sorry,” Gladio said after they were on their way again “but I had to get it out.”

“And remember, don’t rush ahead on your own.” Six momed him again.

“Hey, Gladio.” Noctis said “Your dad… I’m grateful to him.” He moved closer to Six, tugging her arm and making her look at him “To you too.” He smiled warmly.

“Just doing our job.” Six smiled back.

“Is that your phone?” Gladio asked, both him and Noctis turning towards her as she answered.

“Ignis?” she answered after looking at the name on the screen, almost wondering how it was still working.

“You’re safe.” She heard him let out a breath he was seemingly holding in, in between the static of the low signal “Good. Listen, imperial troops are near.”

“What is it?” Noctis asked.

“Got cut off.” She answered, pointing higher up at the Niflheim drop-ships “But I got the idea.”

“It’s about to get even hotter in here.” Gladio commented on the news, moving ahead through the burning surroundings to the clearing straight in front of the Archean “We finally made it.”

“I know.” Noctis said, swiping off some of the sweat building on his forehead.

That’s when they noticed them. Imperials assassins! Right in their way.

They never got the chance to deal with them; as Titan’s hand swiped from the sky and sent the MT’s flying through the air, crashing on each other when they hit the rocks and exploding.

“Hey! I’m here!” Noctis yelled at the Astral in a wave of bravery.

The Titan began his gibberish again, sending a wave of pain on both Noctis and Six’s brains “What the hell is it you want?” the prince mattered, mostly to himself before raising his voice against him again “Quit screwing with our heads!”

“NOCT!” Six screamed, opening her eyes right as the Titan had clenched his fist, aiming it at Noctis.

“You gotta be kidding me.” He breathed before he saw her materializing in front of him, taking most of the punch as her sword blocked the Astral’s attack; both of them sent flying into the air before warping on steady ground.

Noctis warped right on spot while Six lost her footing and hit the ground with a thud; Noctis run over her protectively.

“Are you serious?” She breathed, watching as the Titan raised his foot, ready to stomp on them both.

“Six!” Noctis called out, summoning his Mystic sword “Stay down. I’ve got you!” He covered her body with his, standing tall as he countered the Giant’s foot with all his strength; helping her on her feet before the Astral decided to make another attempt at attacking them.

As the Titan’s foot came down with might and both of them stood ready to deflect him, Gladio jumped for the rescue. Literally jumping through them, grabbing both and landing them on safe ground.

“Are you two alright?” Gladio asked in a panic, making his way close to them quickly before helping them up.

“We owe you one.” Noctis breathed, getting back on his own feet.

“This ain’t gonna work.” Gladio said, making sure Six was okay to follow his next order “We gotta run.”

“Best advice you’ve given all day.” Noctis commented, following the couple close as they all run to safety.

“Well, we can’t have you dying here. C’mon!” Gladio took the lead, blocking or jumping away from the incoming punches of the Astral as they kept on coming in a steady pace.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Six stared up at the Archean after deflecting his attack; clutching on her side and watching the way he looked at them. A mixed look of sadness and anger. ‘What’s going on, Arc?’ she wondered before Noctis made her run with him again.

“Over here!” Gladio showed the two a butte on their way, getting ready to give both a boost up and over it.

Six went first, stepping on Gladio’s hands and jumping up gracefully, turning around to help the boys. Noctis followed suit, landing on all fours while she helped Gladio push himself up and flinching in pain.

“You alright?” he asked, looking at her pained expression. She’d hurt her shoulder when deflecting the first punch the Archean had made against Noctis, using the same arm to counter the next once and helping Gladio’s muscled body up didn’t let her heal; the last action sending waves of pain through her body, as well as the her hurt ribs from Deadeye.

“Move!” she heard Noctis call out before she had the chance to answer. Darting her eyes up, she saw the Archean attacking again, not leaving any opening for them to catch their breath. Six pulled both the boys on her and jumped back and away from the incoming punch.

“Go, keep moving.” She ordered, shoving both of them ahead as she followed close behind “Don’t stop. Run!”

“I’ll hold him!” Gladio roared, summoning his great sword and stopping the Titan’s hand from moving any further, putting all his might in holding him in place after Noctis glided underneath the blade “Get clear!”

“Gladio?” Six breathed but he send her away.

“Hurry! I can’t keep this up!”

Six followed his order, running towards Noctis and pushing him down the cliff with her by his waist; keeping him close as she warped him away, on steady ground.

She cried out once her feet touched the ground, falling on one knee as she grabbed her shoulder in pain.

“Six?” Noctis run to her side.

“Look out!”

The Titan had left Gladio alone, turning his attention at the Prince in question, getting his fist up in the air before forcefully bringing it down upon him. Noctis stood protectively again, forcing the Archean away as Six got back up, placing her hand on his shoulder, nodding for him to attack instead of deflect, and he followed her lead.

Both throwing their swords directly at his fist before he punched them down to his feet “I’m not gonna take any more of this crap!” Noctis yelled in exasperation.

“I’m here. Let’s do this!” Six was slightly limping, moving to stand next to him as protectively as he had for her.

Both summoning their weapons, timed perfectly at his attack and hitting against him with everything they had left, one attacking from the right as the other attacked from the left, determent to bring him down.

“Did you miss us?” Prompto’s voice was heard from behind them, right before the loud bang of his gun.

Six stepped back at the noise, falling straight on Ignis who had just thrown a fire spell, catching her “Apologies.”

“Where’s Gladio?” she asked, eyes wide with worry.

Ignis shrugged before summoning his daggers, sharing her concern as they hadn’t seen any sign of him while making their way down to the Archean’s feet.

“Take him down!” she ordered, eyes darting between the Titan and the Imperial drop-ships, leaving MTs all around them.

“Think those imperial soldiers just wanna say hi?” Prompto laughed, changing his gun’s mag.

“Doubt it –look out!” she got him out of the way of the Astral’s attack just in time.

Six turned around towards the MTs. They were also trying to keep the Titan down. They wanted him defeated. Was this the reason Ardyn had helped them?

“Are we alright?” she felt his warm arms getting hold of her shoulders, drawing her back as she turned around to look at him. Gladio was safe! The company was whole again. It was time to put an end to this before it got out of hand.

She nodded before giving the situation a couple of seconds of thought, coming up with a plan.

“Noct!” she grabbed his attention “It’s time. Use your Armiger.”

Noctis didn’t even question how he was supposed to do it. He trusted her to be there and he instantly knew what to do. Using the power of the Kings he possessed as both their eyes glowed a bright red! Noctis attacked the Archean alongside Six, as she mirrored his movements while the others stayed there, looking in awe. It was like she shared his power, being able to possess the power of the Kings. When Noctis grabbed one of the Kings’ weapons, Six grabbed the other. Both attacking in perfect synchronization and bringing the Titan down hard.

“Ignis. Now!” Six ordered once she and Noctis were done and the Advisor knew exactly what needed to be done. He passed a Blizzara spell on both Gladio and Prompto and they all threw them at the Titan, freezing him instantly before Noctis and Six dealt the last blow at him.

“It’s over!” Noctis yelled, bringing his sword down with all his might. The Titan’s crystallized arm shattering at the heavy contact.

“We all still here?” Six asked after the attacks stopped, dematerializing her weapon and looking around at her people.

“Does this mean it’s over?” Prompto asked, taking in deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

As the words left the blond’s mouth, the Titan slowly stood tall again, winding up as the earth around him shook.

“What is he doing?” Ignis asked.

“He’s winding up!” Prompto voice reached a high pitch at the feelings overflowing him.

Six took a step forward, staring straight into the Astral’s eyes as her own glowed a faint red color, like they had before “He’s proven he’s worthy!” she yelled at him; the Titan’s attention seemingly being on her. He could understand her again. “You know what must be done!”

The Archean bowed his head, eyes moving to stare at Noctis before he screamed to the heavens as his body lit in flowing power. Noctis saw it clearly now. He knew what the Archean asked of him.

“That was…”

“Luna.” Six breathed, understanding as well. She had made a pact with the Astral, vouching for the Prince’s worth as it was the duty of the Oracle. His Oracle!

“You spoke with her?” Noctis looked straight at the Astral “That’s why…”

The ground shook again, stopping him on his tracks and making everyone fall to their knees as a huge wave of power released from the Archean’s body. Bringing down all the surrounding ships of the Empire and extra power in Lestallum.

He was gone!

The meteor had also fallen, unleashing all the heat, fire and lava the Titan was holding in place with his presence.

The company was in danger; with no obvious way of getting out and the fires getting higher around them.

But alas, the ‘man of no consequence’ blessed them with his presence and offering of assistance once more.

“Fancy meeting you here!” he smirked at their need once the doors to the Imperial drop-ship opened, revealing his grand posture.

“Of course.” Six breathed, finally connecting the dots.

“It occurs to me I never formally introduced myself.” Ardyn smiled, taking his sweet time making himself known to all of them “Izunia. Ardyn Izunia.”

“Imperial Chancellor Izunia?” Ignis asked as Six took a more protective stance over them. The heat of the surroundings taking its toll on all of them as her shoulder and ribs were still hurting in every bit of movement she tried to make.

“At your service.” Ardyn winked at her, smirking “And more importantly, to your aid. I guarantee your safe passage. Though you’re always welcome to take your chances down there. Buried among the rubble, is it?”

No one liked the idea of accepting his assistance again, especially now, knowing who he actually was. Knowing he’s working for the enemy. But there was no other way.

“Dying here is not an option.” Ignis spoke his mind and Six agreed in her way.

“I’d rather die than trust him.” She said, looking at his never fading smirk “But Ignis is right. We have no choice, Noct.”

“I know.” The prince said before they all made their way to the enemy drop-ship that would lead them to safety.

The trail was complete. Prince Noctis had won the Archean’s favor and Six’s friend was nowhere to be found –or heard.

It was time for the company to move on.

There was still too much to do.

#game rewrite #chapter 4 part 3 #ffxv fanfiction #ffxv game rewrite #gladiolus amicitia #gladio x oc #six ulric #gladio x six #noctis lucis caelum #ignis scientia #prompto argentum #astrals #ffxv titan #ardyn izunia #for hearth and home

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leonmckennedy · 7 years

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i’ve been working on this little thing for a lil bit and im somewhat confident that i’ll actually finish it so here’s the first part. it’s heavily unedited like almost everything ive posted here: later i’ll throw it all together all neat and pretty for ao3

so here’s the tentatively titled “the one where noct gets impaled and then other shit happens”

characters: prompto + noctis centered | ignis and gladio are gonna be around somewhere

warnings: uhhhhhh there’s blood and descriptive injuries yeah? this was an excuse to write injured noct what do you want from me

parts: one (here!) | two | three

frankly, none of them had expected their most recent dungeon to be so…. exhaustingly long. several hours and many long, daemon infested corridors later and the party is still trudging along, bodies battle-torn and sluggish. ignis had predicted they were halfway there four hours ago but they’re no closer to the end now than they were before; gladio’s patience has begun to run thin, and even prompto has gone quiet, his nervous jokes and chatter dying in the midst of a silent sort of paranoia. walk down a hall, navigate through rubble, fend off a surprise daemon attack. it’s a pattern that while familiar, still has them all on the balls of their feet.

“noct,” ignis says after a beat. they’ve all come to a stop at the end of one particularly long hallway, where a large door greets them. “i believe we need to consider turning back for now.” ignis sounds put-together as usually, but even his voice has a tired edge to it, like his even exhales are exasperated. “we are running dangerously low on supplies, and we don’t know how much longer this will take.”

“hate to admit it, but he’s probably right.” gladio is leaning against a wall, arms crossed tightly. “we’ve been up for how long? two days? we’re all starting to get sloppy.”

prompto, who had been staring rather blankly at the door in front of them, turns his head almost too quickly. “break time? we’re taking a break?”

“if the prince here agrees.”

noctis frowns. some part of him, some hidden well of pride, doesn’t want to quit. they’ve already spent so much time here that it’d almost feel like losing to turn back now. but there’s another part, the oh so tired part of him that just wants to flop down on a bed (or sleeping bag) and just pass out for ten or so hours tugs at the forefront of his mind, and the sigh tumbles out of him before he can stop it.

“yeah. maybe we should.”

the relief among the group is unanimous: prompto gives an excited “yesss!” which is the most energy noctis has heard from him since maybe five floors ago, while ignis and gladio give assenting noises dripping with relief.

noctis himself feels his own shoulders slump with just the idea of sleeping later. he isn’t sure about the rest of them, but he’s already hit his second, and third, and fourth wind while down here. there’s a deep exhaustion settled deep in his bones, and it’s been the thin hope of good treasure that’s been keeping his sword hand marginally steady. he’s tired, he’s dirty, and he’s ready for the no-dignity-required retreat to the exit.

“alright, let’s head back u—”

it really shouldn’t have been a surprise. they’ve barely turned on their heels when the garbled sound of a daemon forming assaults their ears. they all respond with varying degrees of frustration, summoning their weapons and taking admittedly weak stances before the thing has finished materializing.

but the thing that crawls its way out of the shadows isn’t a goblin or any small manner of daemon. not even an iron giant, who is threatening but big and easy to spot at any moment. instead, almost sauntering its way out from the far wall, is a threateningly human-like monster. with a sword. a very long sword. facing a newx probably very threatening enemy is usually a cause for concern, but it’s been such a long, arduous adventure that noctis can’t bring himself to care.

“ugh, every time!” noctis says, groaning as he brandishes his broadsword. He barely hears the response to his complaint — probably something from gladio telling him to pay attention — before he’s warping to the enemy, trying to get the edge on this fight.

the daemon meets him head on however, blocking his attack swiftly and pushing back enough to make him stumble. he dodges its attack, rolling just out of the way to avoid prompto’s covering fire for gladio’s eventual jump into the fray. the daemon takes the hit, stumbles, and counterattacks quickly, seemingly unfazed by gladio’s sword.

noctis goes for it again, only to be dodged and kicked into the wall, banging his shoulder. no sooner does he connect with the wall does the daemon head for him again, barely a second to spare for noct to phase through the attack. he jumps away, guard raised. “fuck, you’re fast.”

he can see bullets bouncing off the monster’s back, another attack seeming not to have any effect. noctis can’t see its eyes, but the way it turns to regard prompto seems calculating, and it takes noctis all of five seconds to realize what it’s next move is, and another half second afterwards to move himself.

it moves quickly. it avoids gladio and ignis’ joint attack effortlessly as it appears before prompto in the blink of an eye, sword raised. the gunman barely had time to scream proper, only a high-pitched squeal, almost a choke, rises above the chaos in the room. noctis doesn’t think twice about warping over, heart hammering against his chest as he thinks not prompto, no—

he almost doesn’t feel it at first, the sword through his gut. for a split second he only registers the coolness of the steel against his skin, and the way it takes his breath away. then it becomes a searing pain, the steel ripping its way through what is probably a lot of important organs, and in a literal breathless rush he cries out, desperate.

it hurts, it fucking hurts— the daemon doesn’t even make a sound, the bastard. he brings his hands up to the offending weapon, curling his fingers defensively around the sword and wound as if he could coax it to stop bleeding, to stop burning for just a moment. his fingers slip in his own blood as noctis can’t gather the breath to even scream again. slowly, ever so slowly, the daemon moves. and in a horrifying second that feels like an eternity, he feels his feet leave the ground. he’s been lifted, held up in mid air by the gut like he’s some macabre trophy to be shown off.

far away, he thinks hears his name. he hears bullet shots, yelling, the familiar chink of metal weapons. soon enough the daemon must tire of him, because it suddenly tosses him in the other direction. he slides off the sword — and it's not a perfect slide either, the metal widens the hole as it goes, catching on his skin as it exits — and lands in a heap somewhere on the side. noctis gasps, gets next to no air from the action so he gasps again, coughing.

soon, there’s a hand on his shoulder, shaky. “noct! noct, oh gods…. hold on!”

he’s turned onto his back. it doesn’t hurt because everything else already hurts too much, but he groans anyway, trying to blink the dark spots out of his vision. everything still comes out blurry.

“hey, hey— stay with me, okay? J-just… you’re gonna be okay, alright? noct...noct.” there’s a hand cradling the back of his head. noctis wouldn’t have noticed if not for it’s shaking. “noct, hey… shit—!”

what happens next is hard for noctis to discern. one moment he’s lying on a hard surface, trembling fingers raking desperately through his hair, and the next he’s falling, a muffled scream the last thing he hears before he succumbs to sleep, all numb pain and darkness.

#ffxv #final fantasy xv #prompto argentum #noctis lucis caelum #promptis #gladiolus amicitia #ignis scientia #fanfic #blood #injuries #once upon a time i saw a gifset of noct getting got by yojimbo and was like FUUUUCK DUDE #I GOTTA DO THAT #i think i was going through costlemark when i started this so that's probably a good reference point #not that yojimbos or any other daemons in that family were in costlemark from what i remember but setting wise def a reference point

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motleymoose · 7 years

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The Devil’s Backbone

Challenge: @sdavid09 ’s Tale Teller’s Winter Writing Challenge 2016

Prompt: Farm/Country AU & The Devil’s Backbone by the Civil Wars

Characters: Jody Mills x Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester x Donna Hanscum; mentions of Bobby Singer x Jody Mills, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Charlie Bradbury, Ellen and Jo Harvelle, Rufus Turner, OFC (Jax, Ben, Marlene)

Words: ~3,210

Warnings: Language, fluffy angst

Summary: Life had a way of providing Jody Mills with lemons, but she had always been too broke to make lemonade. Yet sometimes there are mistakes one can’t afford not to make.

A/N: I loved writing this. It just came out on its own. No beta, so all mistakes are my own. Feedback is appreciated! <3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Farming is a thankless job.

From sunup to sundown, Jody Mills worked. There wasn’t a day that went by when something didn’t break down or escape. If a day did happen to pass by with nothing springing a leak or tearing down a fence, Jody would find herself sitting at the local bar early on in the evening, enjoying a watery beer and rambunctious company.

Those days were few and far between.

And, damn, did she need a beer.

Driving in the last staple, Jody straightened up, stretching out her stiff back and sore shoulders. “Fuuuck me,” she groaned, gazing back at her handiwork. Fixing fence wasn’t something she enjoyed, but at least it would keep the cows in, if even for a short time. Tucking the hammer under her arm, she shook off a glove, letting it fall into the fresh snow, and pulled out her phone. It was late, judging by how fast the sun was disappearing on the horizon, but not late enough for her to pack up and head inside to the warmth.

Sighing, Jody pulled her glove back on, grabbed the bucket of staples and tools, and trudged back toward the four-wheeler. The cows were starting to gather up around the cattle guard, mooing plaintively. She knew it was a long shot, but she fiercely hoped the tractor would start despite the cold. If not, she knew she’d be out way past dark finishing up chores.

I’m getting too damn old for this, she grumbled internally as she revved the ATV and bounced across the frozen pasture, a tally of the next day’s work already forming in her mind. …………… “You really need to hire somebody, girl.” Donna handed Jody the corkscrew as she dug into the dishwasher for wine glasses. “You’re going kill yourself trying to run everything on your own.”

Popping the cork, Jody filled the glasses with Pinot Noir, handing one back to Donna. “I’ve been running it by myself since Bobby died. The only thing that’s changed is I’m getting older.”

Donna took a long sip of wine before biting into a chocolate chip cookie. “Yeah, well, everything else is getting older, too. You’ve spent half your time just trying to keep that old farm house from falling down around your ears!” She flicked crumbs off of her chest as they moved into the living room.

A fire was lit in the stove, and between the warmth and the wine, Jody could feel her defenses relaxing. She plopped into a recliner and pulled a brightly colored quilt over her lap. Donna’s dog Jude got up from the rug in front of the stove and climbed into her lap. Scratching Jude behind the ears, Jody sighed heavily. “Okay, fine. Let’s say I do need to hire someone.” She paused, ruminating. “I can’t pay much of anything, and I don’t have time to train them how to run a tractor or do anything else farm-related.”

Stretching her legs out on the couch, Donna nodded. “That knocks out teenagers and anyone from the city.” She took another drink of wine, her brow furrowed. “Maybe someone retired? I think Marlene was wanting to get Rufus out of the house. And Ellen was saying she was going stir-crazy being cooped up with Jo over the holiday break. Surely one of them could help?”

Jody shook her head as she talked around a mouthful of cookie. “Couldn’t pay either one of them enough. Besides, Ellen’s got the bar now, and Rufus just had his shoulder replaced.”

Rolling her eyes, Donna got up from the couch and went into the kitchen, returning with the bottle of wine and the plate of cookies. “You’re just too damn stubborn.” She topped off Jody’s glass and emptied the rest of the bottle into her own.

Jude’s head shot up when the backdoor banged open. “We’re home!”

A tall, handsomely scruffy man trundled in with a toddler asleep on his shoulder and another trying desperately to push past him.

“C'mon, Dad! I’m freezing!” the boy whined as he ducked under Dean’s arm and dashed into the living room. He launched himself at Donna, giggling as she blew a raspberry on his neck.

“Boots off the couch, Jax,” Dean admonished quietly as he shifted the sleeping Ben in order to kick off his boots. The wiry preschooler grumbled under his breath as he stomped back to the door to take off his winter gear. Dean arched an eyebrow, giving Donna a knowing look. She tightened her lips in an effort to suppress a grin. Rolling his eyes, Dean padded across the living room and shooed Jax ahead of him. They disappeared down the hall, Jax trying to wheedle a later bedtime out of his dad, and Dean barely holding back his laughter as his eldest son continued to come up with excuses. Donna watched them go before turning back to Jody.

“His brother’s back in town,” she whispered, keeping an eye on the boys’ bedroom door. “Got laid off at Boeing. Dean didn’t even know he was in the area until Garth told him.” Donna glanced back down the hallway, taking another swallow of wine. “Sam - he hasn’t been in a good place in a while. Ever since Jess left…” She looked back over her shoulder and beamed. “Hey, toots.”

Dean returned, dressed in a t-shirt and joggers, and dropped onto the couch next to Donna. He snagged the glass from her hand and finished off what little that remained. “Hey yourself. Need a refill?” He gave her a cocky grin, barely dodging a pillow as he pushed off the couch and shuffled into the kitchen for another bottle.

“Something a little sweeter, please!” she called after him before reaching for another cookie.

Jody watched her friends as they teased one another, a pang of emptiness sharp in her chest. Bobby had been gone for almost six years, but she still missed him. Memories of the way his eyes twinkled when he smiled, how warm and comfortable and engulfing his hugs were, the scratchy roughness of his beard on her neck… It was too much to bare. Attempting to hide the tears that were welling up in her eyes, Jody buried her face in Jude’s dense fur, hoping Donna wouldn’t notice.

Luckily, Donna was a little too good at drinking wine, and also too distracted with finding someone to work for Jody. “Hey hey hey, wait. That’s it!” she exclaimed, taking the newly filled glass from Dean and curling up against him when he sat down again.

“What’s it?” Dean quirked an eyebrow, glancing between the two women.

Donna slapped him playfully on the chest, sloshing a little bit of moscato on the blanket. “Sam! If he hasn’t found anything yet, that is.”

Dean’s face turned dark for a moment as he gulped his drink. “What exactly are we talking about?”

Shifting Jude back to her lap, Jody explained, “Donna thinks I need a hand on the farm. Which I do, I guess. I can’t quite keep up with everything like I use to.”

Shaking his head, Dean set his mug down on the coffee table and leaned forward, causing Donna to slip sideways behind him. “Listen, Sam… he’s a good kid. S'been rough since Jess left. He’s - he’s probably not the most reliable at the moment.”

Donna had pulled herself up out of the cushions and was squeezing his shoulder. “Maybe working out there would help him clear his mind.”

Snorting derisively, Dean leaned back into the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table. “He’s broken, babe. Ain’t nothing going to clear his head until he pulls it out of his ass.”

Looking up at the clock above the wood stove, Jody stretched and gently dislodged the sleeping pooch. “Listen, you guys talk it over.” She stood, ambling over to the pile of boots by the door, finding her own. “If you think he’s a good fit, you’ve got my number. I gotta get going; Charlie said she be in early to take steers to the sale barn.”

Donna got up and tripped over to Jody, giving her a big drunken hug. “I’ll call you tomorrow, love.” She pulled back, a goofy grin spread across her face.

Dean appeared beside her, looping an arm around Donna’s shoulder. “C'mon, you lush. Let Jody get going.”

Smiling, Jody bid farewell, and crunched across the frozen ground toward her rusted truck. It was always fun getting together with her old high school bestie, but sometimes Jody wished Donna wasn’t so persuasive. Shaking her head in defeat, Jody turned her high beams onto the deserted blacktop, taking her time to wend her way home. ……………… Three days had passed without seeing hide nor hair of Donna, but Jody wasn’t worried. Her friend was good at making drunken promises that wouldn’t come to fruition right away. She expected probably in the next month or so Donna would finally remember and send Sam out to work.

She mulled the pros and cons of hiring help as she climbed the windmill tower to tighten the brake. She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear the large diesel dually pull up underneath her perch. It wasn’t until the tall, muscular driver slammed the door that she looked down. Waving, the stranger shoved his hands into the pockets of his Carhartt, shrugging his shoulders up to his ears to keep the biting wind at bay. Intrigued, Jody began her descent, carefully choosing her foot- and handholds on the slippery steel. She was still six feet off the ground when her boot hit a particularly icy rung, sending her feet out from under her.

“Watch it!” a deep voice growled as strong arms impeded her fall.

Surprised, Jody gaped up at the giant of a man holding her awkwardly in midair. The stranger blushed, setting her down on her feet. “Umm, thanks,” she murmured, straightening her ratted hoodie over her frayed overalls. “That could have ended badly.”

Nodding, the man stuck out an ungloved hand. “Good thing I was here then.” He beamed mischievously. “I’m Sam Winchester, Dean’s brother. He said you had some work that needed done?”

Eying him for a moment, Jody accepted his handshake. “Yeah, shit’s breaking faster than I can fix it.” She paused, wondering what the hell Donna was getting her into. “Do you know how to run a tractor?”

Sam’s eyes lit up, and his smile widened. “Lady, I was born on a tractor.”

“Good.” She smirked back at him as she motioned toward the house. “We just shipped steers off to the sale barn, so the herd’s a little smaller. Won’t need as much hay to put out.” She began walking toward the four wheeler, picking up supplies as she went. “You wanna follow me, I’ll show you where everything’s at.”

“Alright.” Sam headed back for his truck - and damn, was that a nice truck - waiting patiently for Jody to get ahead of him. …………………… The wintery months came and went like a screaming banshee, with little to no break from the howling winds and freezing temperatures. Already halfway through March, calves were starting to hit the ground, and Jody was thanking her lucky stars for giving her help like Sam.

Both Donna and Dean were utterly surprised that Sam had even stuck around past December.

Of course, they couldn’t know the real reason he had stuck around for so long. Jody knew all the shit she’d get from her friends if they found out she and Sam were sharing a bunk.

She had a good thing going, and she wanted to keep it that way for as long as she could without any outside input.

The work and the weather were good for driving any thought other than the task at hand completely from his mind. They were getting on good, and Jody could even feel a connection forming between the two of them, something she hadn’t felt since Bobby.

It was well past lunchtime when they finished with the grinding. A heavy cloud of dust and hay floated lazily around the tractors as Jody shut down the bale processor and climbed into the cab to kill the ancient Case. She signaled for Sam to head up to the house while she finished checking over the equipment. Satisfied, she followed him up the drive on foot. As he pulled around the back of the machine shed, Jody kicked off her boots in the pump house and headed into the main house to make them some lunch. she hadn’t even gotten out of her coveralls when a knock came at the door.

“Hey, Cas. What can I do for you?” Jody greeted the Deputy Sheriff, inviting him into the spotless mud room.

Castiel removed his sunglasses, smiling at Jody as he dragged his shoes along the boot scraper before entering. “Afternoon, Jody. Just getting in?” he asked, noting her halfway unzipped winter gear.

Looking down quickly, Jody shrugged. “Storm’s suppose to be in later this evening. Thought we’d better get shit down before it got here.” She led him into the kitchen, pulling out luncheon meat and cheeses from the fridge. “Sandwich?”

Shaking his head, Castiel drew out a barstool, taking a seat across from Jody’s busywork. “I heard you hired on Dean Winchester’s little brother.” It wasn’t a question.

Slowly, Jody spread mustard on a slice of bread, choosing her words carefully. “I needed the help. I’m not as young as I use to be, Cas.”

Humming knowingly, Cas shifted slightly on the stool, fidgeting with his sunglasses. “I know, Jode. It’s just… We got a warrant in. For Sam.” Castiel watched Jody like a hawk as she stacked meat onto half of the sandwich. “He’s a fugitive, Jody. I need to take him in.”

Ignoring Castiel, Jody finished making her meal and pulled a plate from a cabinet. She placed the sandwich squarely in the middle of the chipped dinnerware, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and joined her old partner at the bar. “I don’t care what he did, Cas. I can’t just let you come in here saying you need to arrest him.”

Sitting silently for a moment, Cas pushed back the stool and placed the sunglasses on top of his head. “Listen, the Sheriff’s been gunning for Sam for a long time now. A personal vendetta, I reckon.” He turned back around to face Jody, his eyes pleading with her. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Keep safe, Jody.” He walked out the door, pulling it shut behind him.

Jody stared at the space Cas had occupied for a moment, the cogs turning violently in her head. She had known that Sam had been in and out of trouble since his wife had run off on him, but she didn’t know that he was putting himself in jeopardy of going back to jail.

Finishing her sandwich, Jody threw a couple more together for Sam and headed back out, making a beeline for the machine shed. If she knew anything, it was that she didn’t need this shit, not when she had finally gotten her life back together after Bobby’s passing. It scared her to death, but she knew she was going to have to confront Sam. And, no matter the outcome, she wouldn’t allow her feelings for the youngest Winchester to blur her judgement. ………………. Sam was squatting underneath the faded green Deere, cutting twine from around the front axel. “Be out in a minute!” he hollered, a ball of shredded red twine flying out from behind the tire.

Jody picked up the wad and tossed it into the bucket near the wall. She laid the paper bag full of sandwiches on the oily workbench and fished the cold beer from the pocket of her coveralls. Leaning up against the large back tire of the tractor, Jody waited patiently for Sam to come out. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Hey, you.” Sam’s eyes twinkled as he straightened up and strode over to her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her to him, kissing her forehead gently. “What did you bring?” He pulled back, a smile still spread across his face. Seeing the troubled furrow on her brow, Sam faltered. “Everything okay?”

Sidestepping the tractor and Sam, Jody went back to the work bench, fiddling with the sack lunch she had brought out. “Cas stopped by…” she trailed off, swallowing back the sorrow and the anger welling up in her throat.

“What did he want?” His voice was shot with steel, eyes hardening as he approached her.

“You didn’t tell me you were on the run.” The tension was almost palpable; she couldn’t control the hurt in her voice any longer.

Cursing, Sam slammed a fist into the workbench, startling a mouse from behind a toolbox. He watched as the little varmint scampered through the gap between the door and the frame. “What did you tell him?”

Numbly, Jody laid out the sandwiches, cracking open the beer with the stationary bottle opener screwed into the side of the table. “I told him to leave,” she said simply.

Exhaling sharply, Sam hung his head, scrubbing at the back of his neck with a greasy hand. “Listen, Jody-”

“No, you listen. I took you in,” she snapped, drawing herself up to her full height. “I’ve risked everything having you here. Hell, I even invited you into my bed, Sam! The least you could do was tell me you had a warrant.”

Shame faced, Sam leaned back onto the bench, eyes glued to a spot on the floor in front of him. “I-I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Jody. I thought I’d be safe here for a little while, that the whole thing would blow over.” He gazed back up at her, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble. I’ll finish up chores before I go.”

Jody stared at him, stunned. “Go?” she repeated, her voice small and weak in her ears. “That’s not what I’m saying, Sam-”

Sam shook his head. “No, it’s better if I leave. They can’t do anything to you if I’m not here.”

“But Sam…”

“No buts.” He finished off the last of his beer, folding the paper bag neatly into a smaller rectangle. “I need to finish up feeding the bulls.” Avoiding her eyes, he walked toward the wicket gate, pausing before he opened it. “I won’t forget what you’ve done for me.” With that, he exited, leaving only the bitter March wind in his place.

“I love you, Sam Winchester,” she muttered, pulling the door closed behind her as she watched him unhook the Case from the processor. In her heart, she knew he had to leave, but she didn’t like it. Maybe one day he’d be able to stop running.

And just maybe she’d be there, waiting for him.

#TaleTeller's winter writing days 2016 #sdavid09 #sam x jody #farm au #the devil's backbone #the civil wars #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #spn #supernatural #fanfiction #dean x donna #moose fic

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adambstingus · 5 years

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Are You The One Recap: Gio Olympics 2016—Everyone Is A Fucking Loser

Wooohoo, were back. Last week was a fresh and raging shitstorm and I gotta say, I was really looking forward to this week and holy shit did it not disappoint. Im sure cast members took a long, collective groan when they saw this episode and remembered that bitchy girl on the internet is going to destroy them the next day in the recap.

So lets give the people what they want, shall we?

They all are like, “FUCK WE SUCK AT THIS” after getting 4 beams, 4 weeks in a goddam row. Prosper suggests a good old fashioned orgy, because hes a thinker! They all just need to have sex morethats clearly what theyre missing.

PROSPER: There was a moment last night, when she was sandwiched between the two Finnish dwarves and the Maori tribesmen, where I thought,

Gios like hey Prosper, thanks for having my back when I acted like a psycho on TV back there and Prosper is like Id really like to be excluded from this narrative.

Gios like I tried to fight Stephen because of principle and is like if I let one person do it, everyone will. Gio is like an anamorph with some of the shit he says. Everytime he says something that sounds so fucking stupid you want to shove your head into a blender, he morphs further and further into his final form: Donald Trump.

Julias like “I know I should be sad that everyone is fighting over me, but like, Im so happy.” Its not her fault shes so popular!! Meanwhile Stephen is like “LOVE ME PLEASE” and is crying in the confessional. Jesus Christits looking like a tequila kind of night.

Everyone is like they havent even kissed yet!!! which is low-key embarrassing. Its one thing to be pussy whipped when you are, shall we say, getting said pussy.

Julias like KISSING IS HUGEits more important than sex!! Well, one can lead to a child and the other cant, so lets just go with thats wrongthough there are a million Mormon mothers out there who agree with you. Seriously, I had a more intimate relationship in 6th grade.

MORMON MOMS EVERYWHERE: Honey you can only watch MTV if its to watch that nice girl with the overbite who is ABSTAINING. Now come on, get your helmet on and go sell the word of God!

Kaylen and John learn they have a lot in commonmostly just that they cant stand their parents. Thrilling stuff really. I like them both so I wouldnt be mad, just more confused. Yes, very confused.

THE GAME

YES, best part of the season: the dudes exes are here. The girls are so pumped and the guys are trying to find the tallest building to jump off.

The exes come out and they are disappointing to say the least. Def bottom tier sorority status. But hey, yall got a free trip to Maui so like, good job. Congrats on dating losers, I guess it worked out in the end.

Tylers like my ex threw a box of wine at my head, which is a little embarrassing for several reasons. First of all, you just admitted you’re poor. I havent drank boxed wine since I was 19 in a frat house (aka Morgans mothership). And for maximum damage, you should always throw a bottle. And this has been another episode of: teaching someone very obvious things!

The dudes pair with their exes and they get asked questionswhoever answers the most similarly gets a point. Propser doesnt have an ex because his longest relationship was three weeks LOLLLLL. He basically has to sit it out because he ghosts too much. Im weak.

Question 1: Does your ex still think youre a good catch?

Gios ex is like, . Hes immature and Kaylens like Hes also fucking crazy, dont forget that yall. John, Asaf, Stephen and Cam get it right. Moving on.

Question 2: In one word how did your ex describe your relationship?

Gio gets a match because he said crazy and she said ridiculous. At least Gio fucking knows hes crazy. Admitting is the first step.

Morgans ex said that hes really smart and he acts like a stupid frat boy and its like, LOL okay. Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night, honey. Maybe if you keep telling yourself you didnt date TFMs poster boy, you might retain some self-respect. I get it.

Toris like WOW hes so deep! Underneath all that muscle and that abnormally square head, he has a heart! Fucking incredible.

Question 3: Does your ex think youre ready to settle down?

Everyone says no. Im sure your matches are PUMPED. Johns very excited about this*fist bumps everyone around him* *pounds beer and crushes it on his forehead* *screams FUCK YEAH MERICA!*

Question 4:What animal best describes your personality?

Tylers ex is literally here to ruin lives, Im low-key living for it.

RYAN: What animal is Tyler? EX: Dog shit RYAN: Thats not an animal EX: RYAN: EX: RYAN: Okay, dog shit it is.

Stephen keeps getting them wrong and Gio keeps getting them rightmostly because every answer has been something like crazy, psycho or horrible. Gios like know yourself, know your worth.

Its down to John, Gio and Cam and Stephen is praying that John/Cam win. Putting your faith in Cam is like waiting for rain in this droughtuseless and disappointing (name that movie, Sam.)

Last Question: Does your ex think you still have feelings for her?

Cam, of course answers it incorrectly, so its John and Gio. Its also, dare I say, fucking lit.

John picks Kaylen and Gio picks, of course, Julia. Talk about the most awkward double date ever. This has given me life.

Julia and Stephen are talking and Stephen is like freaking out about Gio and Julia. He def very worried that Gio may be right.

STEPHEN: That plan is crazy JULIA: I know STEPHEN: So crazy. It just might work

Gios like “I NEED TO MOVE FORWARD OTHERWISE IM GONNA RUIN EVERYTHING FOR ALL OF YOU FUCKERS.” Basically, Gio is a giant asshole. Case closed, bring in the dancing lobsters.

There is a lot of mixed opinions here. Some want to vote Julia/Gio in because itll end this shit, some dont want to waste a truth booth.

HALF THE HOUSE: Im voting for Regina George because she got hit by a bus. THE OTHER HALF OF THE HOUSE: Im voting for Cady heron because shes the one that pushed her.

Prosper and Bagel are cuddling and laughing and let me tell you, I never saw this coming. Hes like youre sexy and Bagels like “I KNOW.” Our self-conscious little Bagel has grown into a confident young pastry *tear.

Tori and Morgan are in a room talking about repopulating the world and other totally relevant shit. Morgan is clearly hammered and is feeling on her ass, talking about her giant ass belly button.

Shes like I had to grow into my belly button and hes like “AH SO THATS WHY YOU GAINED WEIGHT.” YOOOOOOOO, that shit was loaded. Remember that big heart and big brain Morgan supposedly has? Best joke thats been told on this show.

He then is like NO NO THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT! and then is like I wish your ass was fatter. This whole conversation could honestly go down in history as the worst thing to ever exist. Wow, bravo to all involved.

THE WORLDS MOST UNCOMFORTABLE DATE AKA EVERYTHING I HAVE EVER WANTED

For the date, they are going wakeboarding, where Stephen hopes Gio accidently drowns, whoopsie. John gets up on the wake board and Kaylens like And yeah, she really does fucking suck.

BUT ENOUGH ABOUT THOSE TWO!!! Gio keeps touching Julia and shes like kinda uncomfortable, kinda not stopping it, which is the story of Julias life.

Mind you, this girl believes kissing is like the ultimate commitment while Gios like, a sex addict.

CHAZZ MICHAEL MICHAELS/GIO: I’m a sex addict. It’s my cross to bear. It’s a real disease with doctors and medicine and everything!

Gios like if I leave here without you I have nothing! and its like, we get it, youre homeless. She says they only have a physical connection and hes like “I KNOW ISNT IT GREAT!?!”

GIO: *plays music* You and me baby aint nothing but mammals so lets do it like they do on the Discovery Channel

They argue the whole time and Gio is like YOURE MINE. Honestly, this dude needs to be put in a psych ward, not a homeless shelter. What are you gonna do, Gio? Fucking share a cot with Julia? Make her hold the sign while you panhandle?

TRUTH BOOTH

Gios like “When I won the challenge, it was amazing. Like fate, karma, the universe, anal sex. But now I feel jipped. What did he expect? They were gonna start fucking on the wakeboarding date?

Gio believes there is still a chance that Julia becomes so afraid for her safety she finally submits to himhes really holding out for that.

Obviously, Julia and Gio are voted to the truth booth. Stephen is like “THIS COULD CHANGE MY LIFE” and its like, nah probs not but ok.

John is pissed because, hes right, they fucking blew a truth booth on this bullshit. Its like, very clear that they are not a match and they just blew this whole thing.

Gios like the house is gonna feel stupid AF and Morgans like NO, youre gonna feel stupidwhen were like, right and stuff. ANYWAYS YOURE FAT!

While Gios planning his hostile takeover of Julias bed, shes like should I cut my wrist horizontally or vertically?

Im on edge and drinking excessively. This is low-key nerve wracking. But the results are in.

Hey Gio? Are you a 90s band that peaked with one song about cocaine? BECAUSE YOUR THIRD EYE IS BLIND, BITCH. NO MATCH FOR GIO AND JULIA, DO NOT PASS GO, DO NOT COLLECT TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS.

GIO, SADLY SINGING: I want somethin else *tear* to get me through this, semi-charmed kind of life, baby baby

And Julias like “there is someone out there for you, but that girl is NOT ME. FUCK YES!” Hes like in there crying and shes like checking her watch like, can we go now?

Stephen is crying too wtf is going on? Johns like consoling him and seriously, Ive seen less tears in my sorority house.

Julias like there, there Gio. Youve been through worse. Yeah honestly Gio, youve lived on the fucking streets. This is the least of your problems.

They come back and John is like and tells Gio that he needs to apologize to the group, Stephen and Julia. Honestly, Im a few tequila shots deep, because my life now consists of drinking alone and watching MTV reality shows, and Im all about John rn. Like is he really sexy or am I fucking hammered?

The conversation goes like: JOHN: Apologize GIO: no JOHN: please die

Julia thanks Stephen for being by her side and dealing with the fact she has never kissed him and he still tries to fight dudes twice his size. And finally they kiss. Aw, Julias first kiss! Babys first rave, babys first rave!

GIO, STILL CRYING AND SINGING: I wish you would step out from that ledge my friend.

The next day, Asaf and Franny are messing around and making out and hes like SHE VERY FUN, hehe. My mom and I discussed this whole thing in a riveting conversation below:

Morgan and the team get a meeting together and decide to do 100% new couples, except Asaf and Camille, because they are probs a match. This is a terrible idea. But Im here for it.

Stephen is like “THIS IS BULLSHIT! I want to pick Julia!” Im ready to put this whole relationship to bed, honestly.

MATCHUP CEREMONY

Ryan is wearing a fugly gray shirt that fades into plaid. Seriously that shit looks like the Sean John collection circa 11. Yikes.

Gio is up first and Ryan is like how did it feel to be wrong? Gios like Well sometimes the third eye has blurry vision, ya know? Who could say?

Gio kind of apologizes to Stephen, but not really.

GIO: I dont hate you because you’re fat; you’re fat because I hate you.

Gio picks Nicegirl Nicole, which is funny because she is the one who looks like she hates him the most half the time.

Prosper picks Franny and Ryans like OKAY, what the fuck are you people doing? Franny explains the strategy and Ryans like, Well arent you all just a bunch of loveable asswipes?

Stephen is up next. Hes like Waiting for that kiss was so worth it. Now hes just gotta wait for his balls to drop.

Ryans like “Are you going to pick Julia” and Morgans like bro Ill fucking haze the shit out of you bro if you fucking do thatFATASS! Of course, he goes against the grain and picks Julia. Ah, selfish men and criers, Julia has a type.

They start making out in front of everyone like Mormon moms everywhere are turning off their TVs, cursing that sinning whore Julia.

Tyler picks Bagel.

Cam picks Tori.

All the confirmed perfect matches at this point are like

Morgan picks Victoria.

Asaf says he thinks Franny is the one, which is very weird since a few weeks ago she was like his sister. Ryans like You mad youre not with her? and hes like STRATEGY, VERY NICE.

Asaf is like Acting like hes fucking jumping on a bomb instead of picking a girl to sit by for 3 minutes. John and Kaylen ARE last and they look miserable.

Kaylens like Gio I loved you and you fucking blew it and were wrong!!! Uh, you two arent a match either? Time to move the fuck on.

Of course, true to the martyr theme we got going here, hes like

RYAN:If you loved her you wouldnt have left her GIO: Honestly I feel so attacked right now

Suddenly Gio is saying that everything he did was for Kaylen. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

Like a speech from a riveting sports movie, Camille is like NO YOU FIGURE THIS SHIT OUT AND HELP US WIN THIS MONEY and everyone claps along. Like yeah Gio, lets go out there and win this fucking game! And Gios likehmmm, maybe some money and future prospects in life would be cool.

Were waiting for the beams and they arent coming. HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT. This is not a thing rn. OH, but it isTHEY GET A BLACKOUT.

This means Stephen/Julia, John/Kaylen AND Camille/Asaf arent matches. I think all 10,000 people who watch this show are stunned into shock.

They just lost 250,000 dollars, as Victoria so eloquently screams. Looks like youll be drinking boxed wine forever, Tyler.

Wow, this shit. This shit practically wrote itself. How did Gios third eye not see this coming?

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from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/are-you-the-one-recap-gio-olympics-2016-everyone-is-a-fucking-loser/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/182227933232

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