Warning:PLEASE READ THIS FIRST: This fic contains some rough type shit. This is borderline Non Con and also there’s blood and death. This is meant to be fucked up, so beware.
AN: Happy Halloween from me and the rest of the Scruffy Hoes! Welcome to another group fic where a bunch of us wrote the same pairing with the same title and a similar theme! Enjoy my lovelies!! xoxox
He was evil, but he was beautiful, with the face of the boy you’d loved for as long as you could remember. You watched him through the rearview mirror as he drove, the tape holding your lips shut pulling at your skin. You were bound in the backseat of the jeep as Void drove you God knows where. Your skin was raw around your wrists and ankles, the rope he’d used to tie you up rubbing against it uncomfortably. He glanced into the mirror, his eyes red rimmed and bruised purple, lips chapped and curled into a smirk.
“You’re probably wondering where I’m taking you.”
You just stared back at him, unable to reply.
“You’ll see soon enough. I think you’ll like it.”
You grunted in response, huffing and sitting back. Struggling wasn’t going to get you anywhere.
At 9 my life was a straight road
A highway with no turns
At 11 my life could have flowed
A people misguided me despite my yearns
At 16 I found a second road
A strange path but on the same terms
But then the road curved
It turned to a river
Eroding these walls
Allowing me to see clearer
Just another queer poem
originally written about my sexuality and gender, if anyone has any other interpretations, just comment them :)
Your crutches clicked through the halls of the bunker.
“Y/N?” Sam said, poking his head out of his room. “You okay? You need something?”
“I’m fine, Sam.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll come with.”
“No, Sam.” You tried to give him a smile. “Please. I’m fine.”
Sam looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded and watched as you made your (slow but steady) way down the hall.
“Y/N?” Dean called as you passed by the library. “You good? What’s wrong?”
“Dammit, can’t a girl walk down the hall without everyone flipping shit?”
You made your way into the kitchen, standing before a cabinet. None of the snacks stood out to you as extremely delicious, but you pulled down a bag of chips. You sat at the table and nibbled on the snack, fighting back tears.
You looked up, startled. “Cas, what are you doing?”
“How are your injuries?” Cas said, squinting slightly. You felt self-conscious about the softening bruise around your eye.
“You’re in pain.”
“Only a little.”
“You’re also… sad.”
Your eyes flicked up, finding Cas’ staring right into them. “It’s nothing.”
“No, it’s not.”
You swallowed, throat and eyes burning.
“What’s wrong?” the angel asked again, gentler this time.
“Your boyfriend. Have his injuries worsened?”
“No. And he’s not my boyfriend. At least, not anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
You pulled your phone from your pocket, showing the messages to Cas. A number of them in a row were from you, asking if he was okay, asking him to answer, begging him to answer.
And then today, almost a week after the accident, there was a response.
“He… broke up with you?”
You nodded. “Apparently the accident knocked loose the screw in his head that made him think I was okay to be with.”
“That son of a bitch!”
You and Cas turned, finding your brothers peeking around the doorframe.
“Way to go, Dean,” Sam scoffed, stepping into the kitchen.
“How long have you two been out there?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” Dean said. “Now, are you seriously telling me that that jerkwad broke up with you after nearly killing you?”
Cas handed over your phone, the brothers examining the messages.
“I’m gonna kill him,” Dean said. “Nobody does that to my baby sister. Nobody!”
“Dean, calm down,” you said with a sniff. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yeah, it is.” You stood, your brothers reaching out to steady you. “Look… you were right. He’s a shitty guy. This proves it.”
Your brothers wrapped their arms around you, trying to give you some sense of comfort.
“Um, guys? My ribs are still killing me. I love you, but can we not with the squeezing?”
Summary: After a series of events leave her life in pieces, Emma Swan finds herself hitchhiking out of Maine, her wallet empty and her heart broken. The best she hopes for is a driver who isn’t a pervert and takes her far away from the painful memories of Storeybrooke. But when she finds a ride with a quiet truck driver named Jones, Emma discovers that maybe a trustworthy friend is all she needs.
The light faded from the southwestern sky with the setting of the sun,
and the cab grew dark once more as they zipped into the western half of
Pennsylvania. Emma finished her favorite old book just in time; the moon had
begun to rise against a pale blue sunset when she closed the pages, smiling
absurdly at the happy ending she had fully known was coming.
Jones, meanwhile, had quietly turned on a public radio station and was
listening to the news. Emma reached down to tuck the book back into her bag and
shifted to comfortably lean against the window. They had briefly passed through
part of the Appalachian mountains, where snow-dotted hills soared above a
freeway cradled in the valleys and folds of the range. She had been through the
southern Rockies more than once, and had seen pictures of the Alps, but even
knowing there were bigger mountains out there she still found herself comforted
and slightly awed by the long, uninhabited stretches of trees marching up and
down into the horizon.
I’ve always been entranced by life’s winding roads: they way they curve upwards and downwards, sometimes simultaneously, and always unexpectedly. while it’s easy to fall into thoughts of confusion and bitterness about the transience of things, it’s liberating to hold a sense of gratitude about them instead.
ultimately. there’s something meaningful about the way things don’t stay. maybe it’s because, paradoxically, those same things often linger, taking root within us and becoming part of us.