#and if they already sold it or took it home with them or threw it away then it also wont be there

[theygender]

The management at my old apartment stole my fucking bike

[midnightstar16]

Whispers of Love: Ivar x Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Summary: Reader is new in Kattegat and catches the attention of a certain Ragnarsson.

Warnings: Assault, murder, slight swearing(i think)

You came to Kattegat just a couple days ago but it didn’t take much time at all for you to notice the famous sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. You only saw them from a safe distance as they talked to one another. You noticed one of the boys was crippled but not before you saw his face. You were in awe, to say the least. But your eyes must have lingered on him for quite some time for he met your gaze with an intense stare that sent chills down your spine. You never had more reason to leave and go back to the hut you were staying in.

You became an orphan at the mere age of 12 and had taken care of the farm for many years with your older brother. But the two of you had recently decided that you wanted a far more exciting future than just farming on the land so you sold the land and took the money to buy a hut and look after yourself just until you had settled in. You forgot about Ivar soon enough once you reached you new home and moved on with your new life.

A month passed by and living in Kattegat was so much more different than the farm. It was much louder, faster and there were more people than you could count. But it was not to your dislike, it was the contrary actually. You had started your training to be a physician and you were doing nicely. Everything was working out better than you or your brother could’ve imagined.

Ivar had not stopped thinking about you ever since that little eye contact in the market and it may have been a bit delusional of him to still believe that he would see you again. You were probably not even in Kattegat anymore because he could not find you anywhere. You were the first girl to look at him with such admiration and he drowned in your beauty the second he laid eyes on you.

During dinner he seemed to have zoned out because Sigurd had to throw some food at him to get his attention. Ivar was immediately annoyed and glared at him. Trying to stop himself from flinging his axe at his brother, he asked, “Why are you throwing food around like a child?”

“You wouldn’t listen. Had to do something to bring you back to Midgard,” he replied.

Ivar rolled his eyes, already feeling great anger towards his brother but before he could say anything, his mother interrupted, “We are celebrating Yol tomorrow.”

Ivar drowned in his thoughts once more. He would know if you were in Kattegat by tomorrow night. If you were in the town, then you would be at the feast and he would approach you. He wanted to know all there was to know about you; all the important and unimportant things of your life.

You and Kalf, your brother began cleaning up the plates and horns after dinner. You broke the silence, “It is Yol tomorrow. There will be a great feast.”

“Yes, I have not been in the Great Hall since the Thing, where I got my arm ring. Just thinking about the food that will be there makes me hungry all over again,” Kalf spoke excitedly.

“We have just had dinner, you fool. How are you always this hungry?” You spoke laughingly.

“Your cooking will make any man excited to eat something else,” he commented.

Gasping, you threw the nearest thing you could find at him at which he simply laughed. You spoke sarcastically, “I won’t make food for you if you really hate it that much.”

“Well, I mean it’s not THAT bad if I think about it,” he retaliated.

Smiling smugly, you spoke, “Better.”

The feast was spectacular. You sat on a different table from your brother though because you knew he would embarrass you the first chance he got. The food and the ale was so good you could feast all night. There was music as well and many were dancing to it but you weren’t drunk enough yet to give yourself away to the music. You simply talked and laughed with your newly made friends.

Looking around the hall, you suddenly noticed certain eyes on you and then the memory came back. Those blue piercing eyes and that face, he was perfect in every way. You maintained the eye contact for long, getting lost in his eyes until one of your friends whispered, “That’s Ivar. The crippled one.”

You looked at her. You had heard of Ragnar Lothbrok’s crippled son. The girl continued, “They say he is a menace, quicker to anger than most men, so don’t let his legs fool you and not only that, but I’ve heard that he is stronger and better at fighting than any of his brothers. Apparently he strangled a boar with his bare hands but that is probably not true.”

“Of course it is not true,” you scoffed. After waiting a second, you suggested, “Come, let us dance. The music is lovely.”

The both of you giggled and rushed to give yourself away to the music. You soon felt the beat through your veins and the rhythm matching with your heartbeat. You danced uncontrollably, partly because you wanted to see how the crippled prince would react, if at all. His eyes had barely faltered from you and it was making you uncomfortable but you didn’t want him to know that. You didn’t want him to know that he made you feel weak by simply looking at you but every now and then you would give him a glance.

You suddenly felt a hand around your waist. You didn’t know who the man was for you had never seen him. His hold on you was not budging when you struggled. His other hand was roaming at places on your body that made you terrified and the hall was crowded enough for no one to truly notice your struggle.

“Let go of me!” you said, struggling.

“Oh what’s a bit of harmless fun? Especially with a woman of your beauty,” the man spoke.

You felt tears welling up in your eyes as he continued to ‘dance’ and play around with your body until something that you hadn’t expected in a million years to happen. A knife suddenly struck his head as his eyes remained widened with shock. You quickly stepped away as his body fell to the ground. The tears ran down your face and you looked around trying to figure out who it was until you saw everyone looking at Ivar who was glaring at the man’s limp body. It was different to how he had looked at you in every singly way but you didn’t stay around to find out more. Feeling absolutely overwhelmed, you stormed out of the hall with Kalf following.

“What happened back there?” Kalf spoke worriedly.

“I-…” you hesitated. Before you could speak, your brother interrupted, “You don’t have to tell me. It is fine… Come on, let us go to our hut.”

Ivar had had his eyes on you all evening, his brothers even teasing him about it but he quickly turned them away angrily. But when he saw that asshole trying to touch you without consent, Ivar felt an uncontrollable anger. He wanted to skin the bastard alive but he couldn’t simply watch you struggle like that. Even after killing the man, Ivar felt no guilt. Why should he? He was simply protecting you, making sure you were safe.

No one had asked him about why he had done what he did. Perhaps it was already too obvious. Perhaps he had scared you off. You wouldn’t even want to go near him now. He felt his insecure thoughts weighing him down during the night.

You barely slept through the night, the picture of the knife piercing the man’s skull replaying in your mind and then seeing the look Ivar had on his face. That menacing look, the one that could take down entire armies.

The next day, you went away from the town to feel the quiet of nature that you had already begun to miss. You walked around the forest, finding a riverbank to sit nearby quickly enough. You thought about what had happened last night, how, in some really fucked up way, Ivar saved you. But he also killed a man who will never experience Valhalla now. Then again, that monster didn’t deserve Valhalla. You sat there wondering what would’ve happened if Ivar had not intervened.

“Mind if I join you?” you heard a voice from behind. When you turned your head and saw that it was Ivar, you quickly stood up.

“Were you following me?” you realised in this moment, you were terrified of him.

“Will it help if I said no? Either way, you walk too fast so I had to find you myself,” he spoke. When you didn’t say anything, it didn’t take him long enough to realise how you felt, “You are scared of me.”

Scoffing, you reasoned, “Who wouldn’t be? You killed a man while I was simply inches away.”

“He was hurting you,” Ivar remarked as if that was reason enough.

“But you could’ve killed me,” you argued.

Ivar grinned, “I didn’t though, did I?”

“Well… No but still, it was terrifying,” you said while Ivar made himself comfortable by sitting against the trunk of a fallen tree.

Even though Ivar worked very hard to not show it, he had been very nervous to actually talk to you. Now that you were here, he didn’t want to ever leave.

You stood there silently before sitting down in front of him. What was it about him that you felt so drawn towards?

He looked at you lovingly, “What is your name?”

“Y/N is what they call me… But I already know who you are, Ivar,” you acknowledged.

“Do you?” Ivar joked.

“That anger in those gorgeous eyes of yours, how could you be mistaken?” you replied.

“My eyes are ‘gorgeous’?” he couldn’t control his smile.

You blushed, “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“I’m afraid so. I don’t mind the compliment though, please, y/n, carry on about my gorgeous eyes,” he teased. Truth was, he felt a thousand butterflies. He’d never gotten a compliment from anyone.

The two of you continued making jokes at one another, laughing constantly and time flew by ever so quickly. Ivar couldn’t believe the sun was about to set. With you, he didn’t have to worry about anything. He felt at peace.

When his brothers asked where he had been, he simply smiled and shrugged. For the first time in so long, he didn’t feel furious. There was something about you, like you were a goddess who appeared to save him. The next day Ivar went up to the same place, hoping you would show up. He was almost about to leave until he saw you show up.

You finished your work as a physician for the day as quickly as you could and relied on your friends to cover up for you. Once out of Kattegat, you practically ran to the same spot on the riverbank as yesterday. You didn’t know how but you just knew that he would be there, nor did you know why you felt so eager to go to him either.

You continued these secret meetings for as long as you could. No one was aware of who or where you actually went but you didn’t care even if they found out. Ivar had become your sanctuary as you had become his.  

During one such evening, as the sun began its descent, casting a warm golden glow over the riverbank, you found yourselves lost in a conversation filled with laughter. Ivar had a knack for weaving humor into every exchange, and you found yourself charmed by his wit and the way his eyes sparkled with amusement.

Ivar grinned, his eyes dancing with mirth. "See? I told you I was the funniest person you'd ever meet."

Laughing, you shook your head. "Well, I suppose I can't argue with that."

His gaze softened as he looked at you, a warmth filling his eyes. "I'm glad you find me amusing, y/n."

You smiled back, feeling a flutter in your chest at the sincerity in his voice. "You have a way with words, Ivar."

He chuckled softly. "Only when I'm with you."

The air between you seemed to crackle with an unspoken tension, and before you could think, you found yourself leaning in closer to him.

Ivar's hand gently brushed against your cheek as he whispered, "You're beautiful when you laugh, y/n."

Unable to resist the pull any longer, Ivar reached out, gently cupping your cheek with his hand. His touch was tender, sending a shiver down your spine as you met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest.

As your lips clashed with an overdue feeling of affection for one another, Ivar kissed you passionately and possessively almost as if declaring that you were his.

You pulled away, breathless and exhilarated, you found yourself lost in Ivar's eyes once more, a sense of belonging settling deep within your soul.

“I am yours, y/n, now and forever and you are mine,” Ivar’s words echoed in your heart as you buried your eyes in his, expressing a thousand unspoken words.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Simmer #1

CH1. Home Style | The Menu [3.7K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

Jim’s Midnight Grill wasn’t the magical place the name made it sound like.

In fact, it was worse at night. Hawkins' only diner sat on the outskirts of town, just before the road that took you out alongside the cornfields. In the height of a sunny day, the water tower cast a shadow over the old building and the gas station next door only had one working pump.

The leather booths were constantly sticky, the table tops grainy with spilled salt, but if you made your visit on a Thursday night after nine, milkshakes were two for one. The back alley was littered with cigarette butts, graffiti on the walls telling you who to call for a good time— and someone called King Steve used Farah Fawcett hairspray? The regulars were permanent fixtures on the bar stools, coffee stains on the counter in front of them, stolen sugar packets in their pockets, frowns on their faces.

The staff didn’t want to be there, the owner refused to replace the flickering lights and the cook had a bad attitude and liked to communicate with heavy sighs and eye rolls. But he made a mean grilled cheese. The walk in freezer was reserved for the pitiful weekly deliveries and breakdowns, a stolen kiss or two. Or three, or four. But no one liked to tackle the clogged sink and god forbid anyone change the TV channel— Mr Creel always had something to say about it.

—————

Honestly, Hawkins wasn’t your first choice when you decided to move to a smaller place. The idea of a big city was all fine and well until you lived a year in Chicago, the dream of a brownstone apartment quickly disappearing when you realised jobs were hard to come by and finding friends was even harder. Living alone wasn’t all that fun, especially when your landlord hinted at sexual favours to justify late payments and he didn’t care to fix the leaking radiator in your bedroom. The nights were never quiet and the city hardly slept, but instead of neon lights and late night bodega runs, you lay awake on the broken spring in your bed and flinched at the sound of backfiring cars and people arguing on the street below.

It was lonely, living somewhere so big and busy and always eating dinner by yourself. So you sold the old car you didn’t really use and cried enough that your landlord eventually gave in and ripped up your lease that still had four months to go. Packing your stuff was an easy enough job, hardly enough belongings to fill the duffel bag you’d dragged with you. You dug into the back of your freezer for the wad of cash your grandma gave you, threw it into the bag and grabbed your greyhound ticket and decided you’d get off the bus when the skyline turned a little more green. When the buildings shrunk, when the smog lifted and when wildflowers sprouted from between the cracks in the sidewalk.

So you rolled into Hawkins before the day broke, way before the sun crept up over the quarry, before the small town came alive. The apartment you’d found was the same tiny size as the one you’d had in Chicago but it was cleaner and the carpet was new. Nothing leaked. Nothing smelled weird. The parking lot was filled with cars and none of them had bullet holes in the side, your trash can wasn’t on fire and god, god, the first neighbour you saw - an elderly woman who was walking with a yorkie on a leash - smiled at you.

She smiled at you.

So despite the lack of twenty four hour stores and pizza parlours, Hawkins was already looking up. There wasn’t much on the Main Street, a library, a tiny bakery run by a couple who offered you a free croissant as a welcome to town gift. There was an outdoor pool with sun bleached bunting across its chain link fence, an arcade next to a video store, a high school that was derelict due to the summer months. The larger houses across from the park were lined with cherry trees, neat lawns with white mailboxes and flowers under the windows and suddenly Hawkins was a million miles away from Chicago and the buzz of traffic and car horns.

The librarian let you print out some resumes the day after you’d settled in, and you found your way around town by asking kind strangers, buying a coffee and a breakfast sandwich in exchange for directions out of your neighbourhood. It was easy to stroll along the sidewalk with an iced latte and your headphones around your neck, blue skies above you and the sound of sprinklers in their yards, breathing in air that didn’t smell like diesel. You found a man by a rundown garage, white haired and tired looking, mechanic scrubs tied around his waist as he smoked a cigarette.

You took a deep breath, and then another one, smiling politely - warily - as you approached. The man lifted a brow at you, a little suspicious, but he held the burning stub away from you, smoke billowing in the opposite direction.

“You lost, kid?”

You were. Just a little.

“I’m looking for Jim’s, uh,” you glanced down at the pink flyer that had been pinned on the library's notice board. “Jim’s Midnight Grill? I got told it was out this way, but—”

You looked around, noting that there wasn’t much out this way. The busiest part of Hawkins was behind you, tidy sidewalks giving way to long roads out of town, a lone bus stop by the garage, a farm in the distance across the street. You squinted against the sun and shrugged.

“You wanna keep going for ‘nother mile or so, it’s just before the town sign,” the man pointed further out where the cornfields were overgrown and the sun faded billboard told everyone ‘thanks for visiting Hawkins!’ You weren’t sure the bus ran that far out. “Jim should be there, but if he’s not, jus’ ask for Eddie, he’ll sort you out.”

“Eddie,” you nodded, peering into the distance. You couldn’t see another building, but this man didn’t seem like he was lying. “Right, okay. Just keep to the road?”

The man nodded and he cracked a smile, small but soft. He stubbed out the end of his cigarette and gestured to an old pick up that looked like it had seen better days. “You needin’ a ride?”

The urge to say yes was strong, especially after walking all the way from your apartment as the heat soared. It snuck up on you like a slow roll, going from pleasant to warm to too hot, far too quickly. Beads of sweat clung to your skin underneath your sundress but you shook your head, shyness crawling up the back of your neck. Accepting a ride from a stranger didn’t seem the wisest idea, no matter how kind he seemed.

“It’s okay,” you told him. “Thank you, though. I appreciate the help.”

The man smiled again, a little bigger this time, crows feet crinkling, the sunlight catching the white of his five o’clock shadow. “That’s alright, kid. Jus’ tell ‘em Wayne sent you, yeah? Follow the road, you’ll see Forest Hills - the trailer park - keep going a lil’ ways and it’s right across the road.”

It turned out Wayne was right.

You kept walking, the heat soaring, the fields on either side of you growing taller but you bit back a smile at the sight of the wildflowers that snuck through the cracks in the concrete. Eventually they gave way to a trailer park, just as Wayne side, a quaint place that hummed with generators and had lines of laundry between each mobile home. Across the road sat a sandy lot, a diner in the middle, a neon sign letting passer-bys know they’d arrived at Jim’s Midnight Grill. Except the ‘r’ was loose, hanging from its wire and buzzing blue and purple.

Cats patrolled along the roadside, going from trailer doorsteps to the back alley of the diner, hoping and waiting for a free meal that they all knew would eventually come. You stopped to pet an orange kitten, a little scruffy looking thing but cute all the same, your CV clutched in one hand as you peered suspiciously at the front of the restaurant. It looked too quiet, like it wasn’t open yet. But there was a black van parked along the side of the building and some steam leaked from a vent on the roof, so you opened the front door.

The bell jingled but the patrons at the dining bar who sat on their stools didn’t move, didn’t turn to look. The place was nearly empty, some people nursing a coffee, some staring blankly at the buzzing television screen that was mounted in the corner. No one stood at the host desk, the menus stacked messily, the phone off the hook. In fact, there wasn’t a server to be seen as you made your way to the counter. You grimaced as you leaned on the surface, elbows sticky, avoiding spilled coffee the best you could. You waited, resume still in your hand, patience on your features.

No one came.

So you rang the bell that was on the bar top for the very purpose of gaining attention, but the man beside you glared at the noise. Still, no one came. The fans overhead squeaked and whirred, the TV fizzed with bad signal and from somewhere behind the open serving hatch, you heard the clatter of pots and pans. You tried to crane your neck to see through the window, steam and smoke billowing from it, the slight shadow of maybe a person moving through it.

The person swore, dropped a skillet and swore again.

You leaned in further, elbows on spilled salt grains and drops of ketchup, trying to gain a better view into the kitchen from the bar top. “Hey, ‘scuse me? Can I— can someone—”

You huffed as the figure moved out of sight, falling back onto the stool that squeaked and the man next to you snorted into his coffee cup. You frowned and took further action, sundress falling back around your thighs as you hopped off the chair and made your way to the side of the counter that lifted up. No one paid you any mind, no one at all, but you still hesitated before ducking under the bar and hovering by the hatch. You could smell garlic and sage and something a little sweet now you were closer, the scents of the kitchen winning over the stale coffee, cigarette smoke and engine oil that clung to the patrons clothes behind you.

You peered into the kitchen, your paperwork still clutched to your chest. It wasn’t much cooler in here than it was outside, the AC unit broken and the fans working overtime to combat the heat. The kitchen seemed empty now, a stovetop still on despite no one to supervise it, flames licking high up the sides of a steel pot, big enough for you to fit both feet in. There was something inside bubbling, foam rising to the top and chopped courgette and red onions sat on the workbench beside it, abandoned. A radio played, staticky and fuzzy, an old sixties tune floating out to mix with the smoke.

“Come a little bit closer, you’re my kind of man. So big and so strong, come a little bit closer, I’m all alone.”

“H-hello?” You cleared your throat and braced yourself to speak a little louder. Stronger. Braver. “Hello?”

No one answered. In fact, it seemed like the entire diner was run by ghosts, no waiting staff, hosts or cooks to be seen. Maybe you’d imagined the silhouette in the smoke, maybe the heat was finally getting to you.

“No customers back here, what d’you think you’re doin’?”

You startled, jumping back a little only to knock an elbow into a half filled coffee pot, the brown liquid thankfully lukewarm but it still spilled across the countertop, soaking into stray packets of sugar and scattered napkins.

“Oh, fuck, uh—” you grabbed at whatever dry napkins were left, hurriedly mopping up the spill before it dripped to the floor. Old coffee dotted the red and cream tiles, into the gaps between your sandals. You grimaced and looked up, only half paying attention. “Shit, I’m really sorry, I just— there was no one there and—”

You stopped, swallowing hard, cheeks hot, eyes wide. The person in front of you was half hidden behind the serving hatch, but he was scowling through the window with a ladle in his hand. Big brown eyes, unnervingly expressive and dark hair to match, unruly looking curls that were pulled back with an elastic band in a bun that wouldn’t have passed a health inspection.

A boy, unfairly pretty, and annoyed looking with tattoos peeking out from his chef whites, a black paisley printed bandana knotted around his neck. There was a furrow between his brow, lines etched there so deep that it made you think they were a permanent fixture on his handsome face.

“—no customers behind the cash desk, sweetheart, you look bright enough to understand that.”

Your mouth fell open, a burn creeping across your cheeks. Annoyance settled in your chest but you realised you weren’t quite brave enough to do anything about it. So you lifted your resume and slapped it on the hot steel ledge that separated the kitchen from the coffee bar. “No one’s working,” you tried to explain, gesturing with one hand to the empty diner behind you. “I rang the bell—”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” The boy scoffed, raising a tattooed forearm to wipe away the sheer layer of sweat from his brow. “Havin’ a spa day? Shit, no one rings the damn bell, don’t you know that?”

You scrambled for a response, the burn on your face growing hotter, an awful clawing feeling coming across your chest. You swallowed, your throat tight, but you pointed at your CV once more. “I’m here for the job opening. I need to speak to Jim? About the kitchen porter role?”

The stranger laughed, a breathy thing that you didn’t think was supposed to come across as mean as it did, but it stung all the same. You shrunk a little, a hardly seen thing as the boy turned his head to check on whatever was bubbling in the big pot. “Look, sweetheart, I don’t wanna be a dick about it, but uh, I don’t think you’re cut out for the kitchen - sorry.” He turned back to you, a slightly more apologetic look on his face instead of the frown. “You understand, right?”

You were speechless, just for a second. Blinking away the confusion, you made noise of protest as the boy started to move away. Your hand touched his bicep and he swivelled back, scowling once more. You snatched your hand away, glancing at your fingertips as if the ink from his tattoos would have stained them black.

“Sorry— it’s just, I, I need a job.” You swallowed, hoping none of the customers could hear your desperate plea. “I just moved into town and honestly, I’ll take anything, like anything. I’m supposed to talk to Jim— or Eddie?”

The boy seemed to mull over your words for a second or two, a passing of sympathy or something just as kind coming over his features. He sighed and shrugged, turning away to stir the pot before it boiled over and he shouted at you through the smoke and steam. Not meanly, just enough for his voice to be heard over the music, the hissing of the stove, the hum of the freezer. “I dunno where Jim is, sorry.”

You deflated, sliding your stack of papers off of the ledge and back to your chest. You tried not to appear too frustrated as you asked, “what about Eddie? Someone - a guy, at the garage - he told me to ask for Eddie.”

The ladle clanged against the pot, some soup - or maybe stew - spilling out the sides. The boy frowned at the mess, dragging a rag over the spots before he glanced up at you. You tried to smile, tried to tamp down the watery doe eyes you knew you couldn’t help but have on show, but you felt desperate. Leaving Chicago with nothing more than the bag on your back and no plans was suddenly seeming like an awful idea.

“Sorry,” the stranger said again. “I dunno an Eddie.”

—————

Sitting in a sticky leather booth in the corner of Jim’s Midnight Grill for another hour turned out to be worth it.

Just before two o’clock, a man walked in, greeting the same customers who were still nursing their coffees with a muttered ‘hello,’ a familiar thing that everyone grunted back at. He was a tall man, broad shouldered with a moustache and a shaved head that was covered with a battered wide brimmed hat. He looked more cowboy than business owner, checked shirt dirt covered boots and all, but you heard someone call him Jim and you were up and running after him.

Your sneakers stuck to the linoleum tiles, the ‘shtick shtick shtick’ of your soles pattering between the aisles of empty tables until you caught up with the man just before he disappeared into the kitchen. He raised his brows at your sudden appearance at his elbow, wide eyed and hopeful as you clutched the same resume you’d tried to hand the cook, the pieces of paper stained with coffee now.

The man lifted his chin to a small table before you could speak, gesturing to two chairs by the window. You startled, wondering what was happening as he pulled out a seat and pointed at you to sit in the other one.

“You’re new, right?” The man - Jim - fumbled with a packet of cigarettes, most of them crushed and bent, but he found a good one to lift to his lips. He lit it and blew smoke upwards, staining the already yellowing ceiling. “Here, in town?”

You nodded, unsure how he knew that. You guessed that news travelled fast in a place as small as Hawkins, so you decided to elaborate for the sake of talking. “Uh, yeah. From Chicago. I’m inquiring about the, um, the porter job?”

“What’s your name?” Jim leaned forward in his chair and poked gently at your forearms. “You don’t got a lot of scars, you done soft jobs? No kitchen stuff before?”

The AC unit kicked in and rattled a vent above you as you stared at the man, trying to work out what he meant. Stammering, you told him your name and passed over a resume, pointing out your last few jobs, doing your best to try and make them sound more professional than they actually were.

Librarian's assistant.

Barista. For two weeks.

Cashier at a knock off Chuck E. Cheese.

“I guess they’re what you could call, uh,” you squinted Jim, floundering for the word he’d used, “soft jobs. But I’ve got a scar on my knee from pulling a kid out of the ball pit. He’d come straight from little league, he still had his spikes on and there was a considerable amount of blood even th—”

Jim stopped your spiel by jamming a thumb back towards the kitchen hatch. You could still see the boy there, pretty and scowling all the same, a dark curl falling from his hair band to fall over his cheek. You watched him blow it away and flip something in a skillet, the sizzle of it just heard over the music, the bad TV in the corner of the bar.

“You ever worked a kitchen?”

You shook your head, stomach sinking. ‘Fake it til’ you make it,’ failed you once before, and the owner of the coffee shop in Lincoln Park quickly realised you were wasting both your times when she discovered you didn’t know the difference between a mocha and a latte. “No, sir.”

“Our line cook is real particular ‘bout who we put in his kitchen with him,” Jim pointed to the boy, who’d now been joined by someone else. Another male, one with even longer hair, sleek and dark and they seemed to be arguing over blocks of cheese. “Now I don’t think it’s a good idea to throw you in there—”

Dread bubbled in your stomach. If you didn’t manage to land this job, you weren’t sure where else to look. A small town brought on few opportunities, and you’d already exhausted most of the businesses on Main Street. “Sir, please, I—”

“—but there is a waitressing gig available.” Jim frowned as he tried to remember the details. “Full time, forty odd hours if you don’t mind doing lates.”

“Yes!” You blurted out the answer too loud, loud enough for the customers to turn away from the TV screen for a second or two. The boys in the kitchen peered out the hatch, one curious, one annoyed. “Yes, sorry, yes. I’ll take it, thank you.”

Jim nodded and stubbed out the amber end of his cigarette in an ashtray beside the sauce bottles. “Easy enough job, minimum wage, you keep any tips you make.” He listed off each point on his fingers. “You start tomorrow.”

You could only nod back, eager and grateful. “Of course, yeah, sure. Uh— do I need—?”

Jim waved you off, already standing as he lit up another cigarette. “Just come by for eight, Eddie’ll sort you out with a uniform, locker, that kinda stuff.”

You frowned, confused. Looking around the quiet diner, you wondered if there was someone you hadn’t noticed before, but the number of visible staff members remained the same. The two boys in the kitchen, the pretty cool who you’d spoken to back at the stove, tasting its contents with a teaspoon.

“Uh,” you coughed awkwardly, feeling stupid. “I thought— I thought there wasn’t an Eddie who worked here?” You pointed warily to the boy with the messy curls, the black tattoos across his exposed forearms, he was staring at you, like he knew you were talking about him. He was scowling. “He said there wasn’t.”

The noise and heat of the diner and the summer outside didn’t do anything to diminish the embarrassment you felt at Jim’s next words. His gaze followed to where you were pointing and snorted. “Kid, that is Eddie.”

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

Okay I got a little more confident. Here's the first chapter.

This is a while after Jack had first been kidnapped and sold. This is the first chapter of the book, the other one was a flashback. (Sorry that's confusing. It'll make more sense with the whole thing)

--

Jack bangs his head against the wall. 106. He lazily lifts his neck and drops it again. 107. He decided he was on his way to beat his all time high of 318 a while ago. He only stopped then because he blacked out for a second, and he figured that repeatedly smashing his head into the wall wasn’t the smartest.

Except who the hell cares what the smartest thing to do is when you’re bored out of your mind.

108.

Not ‘oh there’s nothing on TV’ bored. Bored like Jack only has eight books in his cell anyway, and never mind the fact that he’s already read them all so much he’s got them memorized, but also the light has been flickering and if it goes out then he’ll be in darkness for months on end so he might as well just sit in darkness now by choice. So that’s what Jack did. He took a nap. Again. And then sat in darkness and banged the back of his head against the wall because that was better than letting his mind wander.

109.

Jack can never let his mind wander. When it does he always ends up sobbing so hard he throws up, or plots how he can potentially end his own life.

110.

If he lets his mind wander he might think of his mom. He might think that she’s forty eight now, and he missed another Christmas with her. He’ll think about how terrified he was when he was grabbed and thrown into a van. How he never even thought about that happening to him and so he had no idea what to do except lash out and kick his attacker.

He’s still got the scar on the side of his head from the man’s rings.

111.

Jack will think about the times he’s tried to keep track of the days on the wall next to his bed, but he just gave up when he stopped being aware of when was day and when was night. He had a little breakdown that day, when he realized that he’d been there so long he didn’t know exactly how long anymore.

112.

He’ll think about the fingers he lost for trying to run. The way he limps every time he walks and keels over every time he breaths. He’ll think about the part of his ear that--

113. 114. 115. 116.

Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up!

Jack had a TV once. One of those big box TVs with the VHS player attached that he hadn’t seen since he was in elementary school. He played the few tapes he had basically 24/7. They weren’t good movies, he saw Joe Dirt so many times he dreamt about him, but it was something. Human voices to occupy his time. Voices besides his painful memories and… Mr. Reeder.

117.

Mr. Reeder isn’t the man who first took Jack. Once, in a bout of quiet contemplation much like this one, Jack let himself realize that he was in fact a victim of human trafficking. In his mind, trafficking was only for sex slavery or organ harvesting. But he was kidnapped, and then sold. For money. It’s not like he’s got Google on hand, but Jack’s pretty sure that’s the definition.

118.

No, Jack’s actually got no idea who first threw him in the car. He was walking home from a friend’s house. Not even a friend, just someone to hang out with so he wouldn’t be bored.

Man, 15 year old Jack had no idea what boredom was.

It was dark. He had headphones in playing music. He was alone. He was an idiot.

He never heard the car pull up beside him. Someone grabbed his shoulder and he turned around to ask them what the hell, but by the time he understood what was going on he was already in the man’s arms, hand over his mouth and phone tossed to the street. Jack had kicked out, managing to kick his attacker in the shin, but it didn’t stop him. He was thrown into the trunk of the car, and before he could even catch his breath to call for help, he was knocked out.

The whole ordeal probably didn’t take more than two minutes, if that. No time for anyone to hear a scuffle and come looking.

Jack woke up later to his arms and legs tied up, duct tape around his head, and the feeling of blood on his face.

119.

He doesn’t like to think about the early days. The constant fear and exhaustion that took hold of him. That still does if he’s being honest. He likes to think he’s more resigned now. Apathetic, if you will.

It makes stomaching his own existence a little easier.

120.

He lifts his head off the wall once again, but pauses before he can get to 121. Jack is a very very good listener, out of necessity. So despite being a floor down and many walls away, he can always hear Mr. Reeder’s car pulling into the driveway. No matter how many times he heard it, Jack can never stop the way his body tenses, the way his heart rate picks up. He swallows and stares up at the ceiling, waiting for more.

It’s been a few days. Mr. Reeder would leave to go to work every day, and sometimes he’d go somewhere for a night or two. But this has been the longest ever. Jack had woken up and went to sleep eight different times (half were naps, he knew, but even still it was at least four days.) He’s running out of food. Even if he didn’t see Mr. Reeder every day, he at least knew he was home.

Sickening that this is his home.

The door upstairs slams and Jack can’t repress a flinch. He stares up into the darkness, eyes following the sound of heavy footsteps across the floor. The footsteps stop. Jack holds his breath to listen, the only unwelcome sound that of his own heavy heart.

A slamming door is not good. Stomping across the living room is not good. What kind of mood is he going to be in?

Jack gasps and flinches at the sound of Mr. Reeder yelling, a wordless, angry shout, and then something crashes to the ground above him. Another shout and crash. Another. And another.

Mr. Reeder’s throwing things. So it’s safe to say he’s in, what Jack would call, a not good mood.

He tries his best to tune out the sounds above and focus on himself. He needs to calm down before Mr. Reeder gets here, or it’s going to be worse. Freaking out beforehand helps no one, and he ends up being in pain anyway so, you know. What’s the point. Jack closes his eyes (he can’t see anyway) and takes long, deep breaths in through his nose, and out through his mouth. His ribs flare painfully with each inhale, but Jack welcomes it. It grounds him. Lets him know he still exists, in this painful body and dark basement. He still exists.

Unfortunately.

Jack makes himself keep breathing as the footsteps get closer and closer, making their way down the stairs and stopping just outside his door.

It never gets easier. The suspense of waiting for his captor, it just never does. Even if his mind knows it’s going to be the same old same old, his body was terrified. It was tired of being hurt, of being hungry, of being tired and bored.

Sometimes he’s so bored he’s actually excited, not nervous, when Mr. Reeder comes. Oddly enough, this was not one of those times.

The keys jingle. A lock clicks. And Mr. Reeder pushes open the door.

Jack squints against the light from the basement filtering in from the cracked door. He lets out his last inhale and stares down at the heavy boots in front of him. They weren’t originally that dark of brown, but … you know. Blood.

Mr. Reeder just stands there for a moment, staring at his captive. He’s silhouetted against the light so Jack can’t see his expression. Jack waits for him to say something, anything. He doesn’t.

Jack clears his throat. “H-hi Mr. Reeder.”

“Shut the hell up.”

Jack nods, looking at the ground, heart pounding in his ears.

Mr. Reeder’s hand shoots out suddenly, gripping Jack by the hair and hauling him up out of his room. Jack hisses in pain, hands clawing at the fist tangled in his hair. If it was up to him, he would’ve shaved his head ages ago. But Mr. Reeder would never give him a razor.

Jack kicks at the ground, trying his best to get his feet under himself enough to relieve the pressure on his head. His bad leg howls in protest at the sudden actions, but he does his best to push through. As he begins to be dragged up the stairs, Jack grits his teeth to stop from crying out, knee painfully banging against each. Individual. Step.

Each step, Jack is able to brace the pain a little more and become more aware of what exactly was happening.

He is going upstairs. He hasn’t been upstairs since he first got here. The current circumstances are much different than those last time, so why the hell is Mr. Reeder bringing him upstairs?

He begins to fight.

Jack has been doing this a long time. Longer than he actually knows, but he’s positive it’s years. He’s an adult probably old enough to drink. That’s a long time to become a professional at getting your butt kicked. And being a professional victim, Jack knows that the less you struggle, the easier it is. Easier to deal with the pain, faster to get it over with, and easier to stomach your own cowardice… Or resourcefulness. He’s a survivor, that much he knows.

So he only fights back when he’s really scared.

And he has reason to be. When Jack was just a brand new greenie kidnappee, demanding to be let back upstairs, Mr. Reeder had leaned down, close to his face, so close that Jack had to lean away from the smell of the peppermint gum he was chewing.

“The only way you are ever going back up those stairs,” he said lowly, coldly, “is if I want to see your brains on the wall in natural lighting.”

It was the first time that Jack had thought I might not make it out of here alive. It took him a much longer time to accept it.

Apparently he hasn’t accepted it at all, Jack thinks as he wrenches his head out of Mr. Reeder’s grasp and dives to crawl away from him. It was never going to work but he needs to try.

Jack Thatcher was NOT taken away from his mother for years just to be shot in the head by some isolated lunatic. At least, he wasn’t going to without a fight.

Mr. Reeder grabs him easily, yanking him back by his bag leg, stretching it out. Jack can feel poorly healed bones in his knee scraping together, pinching the long disused muscles around them. He let out a shout before Mr. Reeder pulls him by his waist instead, hauling him into a room and slamming the door shut and sitting in front of it, trapping Jack inside.

With nowhere else to go, Jack pushes himself into the corner farthest from his captor, arms protectively shielding his right knee. His chest heaves and he can feel the stupid tightness starting in his throat that happens before he cries. He hates crying in front of Mr. Reeder, but it is continuously unavoidable.

Mr. Reeder sits in front of the door, catching his breath as well. He runs a hand through greasy hair, staring at the ceiling. He sighs heavily, like his life is the one here not worth living.

Tragic.

With his captor temporarily distracted, Jack takes stock of his surroundings. A mattress with no sheets is pushed against the corner opposite himself, some dirty clothes thrown at it’s end. A cracked mirror is attached to a dresser, dust slightly distorting the image of the ceiling. Behind Jack is a window half boarded up, letting a sliver of light into the room, washing over his captor. It looks like it’s golden hour outside.

Jack’s struck with the thought that this is the first time he’s seen the sun since he went down those stairs. Really, since he was thrown into that car as a teenager. He always had a blindfold on, or he was transported at night. The most fundamental, most simple and base thing a human has access to, Jack hasn’t for years. Still just out of reach.

His attention is brought back to Mr. Reeder when he sighs again. He warily looks up at Jack. “You’re lucky you know.” Jack doesn’t move. He’s heard the ‘you should be glad I’m not worse’ speech before. “You have no idea what you’ve missed. No idea… what you’ve been spared. What I’ve spared you from.”

Jack only watches apprehensively. His body is tight, poised like he’s ready to try to run again. Where, with Mr. Reeder blocking the door? That’s for future Jack to find out.

“I didn’t mean to spare you from it,” he goes on. “Heaven knows that wasn’t my intention. I think you could have benefited from being in the middle of it all.” He chuckles and Jack shrinks away even more. “Oh the look on your face would’ve been everything… Oh well. It’s just about over anyway.”

It’s nonsense. Utter nonsense. Mr. Reeder is certifiably insane, no doubt about it. He’s gone on long manic monologues before, Jack’s heard about everything.

He’s never seen Mr. Reeder pull a gun from his waistband though.

He can’t help the sharp intake of breath, the sudden urge to run! Run now! Go! He’s got no idea what to do with it so he just stands up, so quickly it doesn’t even hurt, and backs even further into the corner. Mr. Reeder always threatened that he had a gun but Jack had never had proof until right now.

Mr. Reeder looks at him from under his brows. “Sit down Jack.”

All he can do is shake his head, breaths coming out fast and shallow. The floor is liquid beneath his feet, making his body shake where it stands.

The gun clicks and points right at Jack. “Sit. Down.”

He slides down the wall, hands up. His throat bobs with a swallow, just to do something with his mouth other than sob. Tears fall steadily down his cheeks and his lower lip trembles.

Mr. Reeder, satisfied with Jack’s cooperation, relaxes his grip on the gun, hefting it like he’s simply judging the weight.

“There wasn’t much time,” he says. Jack shifts his focus from the gun to his captor, staring with wide eyes and frayed nerves. “I was trying to think about what to do with you but… I mean there just wasn’t much. I’m not sure I would’ve done anything even if there was. You’ve said it yourself Jack, who wants to die alone?”

His eyes meet Jack’s for the first time and Jack can see… tears. Welling in them. It only terrifies him more. “Mr. Reeder…”

“Shh. Shh sh sh.” He shakes his head, working his jaw. “Do you believe in God, Jack?”

Jack swallows. “I don’t know,” he whispers, voice catching on the words. “I used to.”

“What about heaven and hell? Think those exist?”

Jack can feel the panic claw up his throat, making him want to sob and scream. “I hope so.”

“Hmm… I wonder if hell will be any worse than earth.”

This is it then, Jack thinks. He’s going to take us both out, as a sick end to his sick life. He’s bored of me and now it’s over, it’s all over.

“Mr. Reeder please,” Jack begs, tears blurring him, “please don’t. Don’t do it.”

He furrows his brows, and looks down at the gun. He shakes his head. “See you in hell, Jack.”

[winchesterwild78]

Chance Meeting pt 25

Master list

18+ Minors DO NOT interact

Please be kind and all mistakes are my own. All work is mine. Please don’t take or copy it.

Warnings: fluff, Lots of feelings, soft smut

A/N: Reader and Jensen are getting married!! This chapter is long. I edited this quickly, so please overlook any errors.

———————————————————————

The next day you woke up to an empty bed. You felt his side of the bed and it was cold. He had been up for a while. You stretched and crawled out of bed. Once you showered and got dressed you went downstairs to find Jensen sitting on the back deck with a cup of coffee and his laptop and phone. He was on the phone and looking at something on the computer. You watched him from the kitchen as you grabbed a cup of coffee.

Once you saw he was off the phone you went outside to join him. “Good morning babe” you said as you opened the door. Jensen stood and threw his arms around you “good morning, sweetheart. How did you sleep?” You nuzzled into his chest and said “better than I have in a long time.” You gave him a soft smile. Since you’d been back home you had occasional night terrors that woke you and Jensen up. You offered to sleep in the guest room but Jensen wouldn’t have it. He said your place was beside him in y’all’s bed and he was going to help you through everything you were going through.

Jensen had been incredible since the attack and when you got out of the hospital. He didn’t push you to even kiss him. Last night was amazing. You hoped it was the first of many times you two could be together again. You missed his touch and just being close to him.

Jensen sat down again looking at his laptop. “So I have the honeymoon rescheduled, but we have to leave right after the wedding. Then when we come back I have to leave to go back to finish filming.” He said. You sat across from him and your leg was bouncing nervously. “What’s wrong baby” he asked. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you leaving again. I’m scared to stay alone right now.” You whispered. Jensen came over and sat on the table in front of you. He lifted your chin to look at him. “Hey, come with me. Come and stay with me while I film.” He said. You looked at him confused. “Really, you want me to go with you” you asked. “Of course I do. It’ll be amazing. I can film and then come home to you. I might even get you to come with me to set.” He smiled.

“That sounds amazing baby. I can’t wait to see you in action” you chuckled. “So we’ve rescheduled our honeymoon and the wedding. I can’t believe we finally are getting married next month. I hate that we had to postpone it.” You said. Jensen took your hand and said “baby, it’s not your fault we had to, and I’m glad we are too. I can’t wait to see you in your dress.” “Oh my god, my dress. I was putting it in the car when I was grabbed. Where is it” you asked. “Gen got it after we got your car back. Don’t worry. I didn’t see it” he said reassuring. You smiled softly and gave him a kiss. “I’m glad you didn’t see it. It’s perfect and I can’t wait for you to see me in it.” “Me either” he whispered on your lips.

*Time jump 3 days before the wedding*

“Gen, do you have the table settings for the reception? I can’t find them anywhere.” You called from the guest room. “Yep, already in the car. Let’s go to the brewery before it gets too late. We need to help set up and get things ready” she called from downstairs. You came down the stairs in a light blue sundress and sandals. You were glowing and the excitement was all over your face.

Gen drove to the brewery and you followed behind her in your new car. You told Jensen you didn’t need one but he insisted you had a new one since you sold your other one. After the attack it was too difficult to even look at your car without being reminded of what happened. As you pulled into the parking lot you noticed Jensen’s truck was already there.

Jensen came outside to help bring things in. When he saw you he stopped moving and just stared. “God you’re so beautiful, sweetheart” he said as he kissed you. You blushed and told him thank you. You, Gen and Jensen carried things in to start setting up. The reception was going to be inside because it was warmer now and you didn’t want the cake or the guests to melt. The employees at the brewery were amazing and helpful with set up and helping your vision come to life. Jensen let you take the lead on decorating.

The baker you ordered the wedding cake from was so supportive with the change in date. You were excited because Jensen still had no idea what the cake looked like. You ordered it and asked the baker to keep it a secret. You had a small table to the side set up for the cake and you placed the knife and cake server you had made on it. Jensen walked over and saw the knife and server and chuckled. The knife and cake server were wrapped in red plaid and it had the date you met engraved on them with both of your initials under it.

The set up took a few hours and when you all were finished Jensen insisted on taking everyone to the local BBQ restaurant to eat. He had called ahead and reserved their party room. Jensen told everyone to bring their families too. He wanted to thank them for all their help and celebrate with them. You loved so many things about him, but his huge heart was on the top of the list.

The room was filled with chatter, laughter and the sound of silverware on the plates. Everyone was having an amazing time and the food was delicious. You looked around the room and smiled. Jensen was sitting beside you and leaned over whispering in your ear “you okay sweetheart”. You smiled and shook your head yes. Jensen clinked his glass and stood. The room went quiet and everyone looked at him. Raising his glass he said “on behalf of myself and my beautiful fiancé I want to thank you all for everything you’ve done to help us these past few months. With everything we’ve been through, especially Y/N, it means a lot to have so much support and love from you all. Thank you for taking time out of your day to help us get the brewery ready for the wedding. We are truly grateful and humbled by all of the support and love we’ve received. So here’s to all of you” he said as he lifted his glass higher. Glasses were clinked and Jensen leaned down and kissed your forehead.

The night wore on and soon it was time to say goodbye to everyone. You and Jensen made your way home and you both were giddy and excited about the next few days. Your families were coming in town tomorrow for the rehearsal and for the wedding the next day. As Jensen got ready for bed you laid on your side and watched him. Even in the dimly lit room he was absolutely stunning. You still couldn’t believe he was going to marry you. He turned off the bathroom light and climbed into bed.

You giggled as he let out a small grunt. “What’s so funny” he chuckled. “Nothing” you giggled again. Jensen leaned over you and said “oh yeah” and he started kissing and tickling you. The room filled with giggles and squeals. Jensen kept kissing you and you squirmed under him. He stopped tickling you and just leaned over you and smiled. “God I love your laugh. I’m so incredibly proud of you, baby. You’ve been through hell and back and you still laugh and smile. You are the strongest, bravest woman I know and I’m so proud to call you my wife.” “I love you Jensen. Thank you for helping me get my laugh and smile back.” You leaned up and kissed him.

He pulled you in his arms. There was no need for sex tonight. The intimacy tonight was just being in each other’s arms and kissing each other. Jensen held you and you held him. He rubbed circles on your arm and back and you laid on his chest. Both of you drifting off to sleep.

The next morning you both were up early getting last minute things done before your family came in town and the rehearsal tonight. The excitement in the air was thick and you were a little nervous too. Jensen was on cloud nine all day. Every time he walked past you he would touch you in some way or give you a quick kiss. When Gen and Jared came over to help load the rest of the stuff in the car they noticed it too.

“Dude, what’s gotten into you” Jared asked playfully. “I love her so much and I’m so happy she’s okay and still willing to marry me.” Jensen said with huge smile. Jared gave him a hug and told him so was he.

Gen was helping you get things you would need for the rehearsal and was helping you pack for the honeymoon. “I can’t believe tomorrow is the day, Y/N. I know we are all thankful you’re safe and the day has finally come. So are you going with Jensen when he leaves for filming” she asked. “Yeah, I’m really excited about it too. I’ve been anxious about him leaving but we decided I’d go with him.” You said bustling around getting things ready.

The day flew by and it was time for the rehearsal. You and Jensen drove to the brewery and your kids followed. His ex was bringing the kids so they could be part of the rehearsal. Since they were in the wedding. The field where the ceremony was being held was absolutely beautiful. Chairs were lined up on either side of a dark blue runner, twinkle lights were strung above the chairs and over the area. At the end of the aisle was a beautiful arch covered in gorgeous flowers all shades of blue, and white. Lights were woven between them too. Off to the side was a table that had 7 tall bottles of different colored sand, and in the middle was a huge glass heart with “forever family” engraved on it. The 7 bottles were for Jensen, you, his 3 children and your 2. The 7 of you were going to pour the sand together into the heart. Signifying the joining of your families.

When you walked towards the field it took your breath away. Everything was so beautiful and better than you imagined. Jensen hugged you from behind and kissed your neck. “You did amazing, Y/N. It’s beautiful.” You smiled at him and whispered thank you as you kissed his lips.

The rehearsal went pretty quick and it was time to eat and hang out. Everyone had an amazing time and soon it was time to go home.

Jensen was staying with Jared tonight and you were at home. Jensen held on to you and didn’t want to let you go. He kept kissing you and making you giggle. The kids told him to stop being gross and Jared agreed. Which caused you to laugh harder. Jensen walked you to your car and leaned you against it. He cupped your face and leaned in kissing you. As he pulled back he said “I love you so much and I can’t wait to call you my wife. I’ll see you at the end of that aisle over there tomorrow.” He said with one last kiss. As he walked away you sighed softly and climbed in your car.

Once you got home you made sure everything was locked and you took a shower. After the shower you sent Jensen a text.

You: Hey babe. Just laying in our bed thinking about you and missing you. I love you.

J: I miss you too baby. I wish I was there with you. Just one night away before I call you my wife forever. I love you!

You: I know. One more night and I finally get to call you my husband. I love you so much. Try and get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. 💜😘

J: Good night my love. I love you too and I’ll see you tomorrow. 😘💙

You put your phone down and stared at the ceiling for a while. You thought about tomorrow and the future with Jensen. You’ve both had a failed marriage before but you had absolutely no doubt this one would last. You were having a little trouble falling asleep so you rolled over and held his pillow. It smelled like him and it made you smile. You took a deep breath in and slowly drifted off to sleep.

Your alarm went off early and you leaped out of bed. Today was the day you had been waiting for and you were so excited. In a few short hours you were going to be Mrs Jensen Ackles. You jumped in the shower and put on some comfy clothes. There was a room set up for you at the brewery to get ready in. Gen was bringing your dress and everything else. All you had to bring was yourself. You made a cup of coffee and some toast and headed out the door. You sent your bridal party a text that you were on your way. Gen was at the brewery when you arrived and other people started trickling in too. The caterer was there setting up and the food smelled amazing. The menu was a traditional Texas BBQ with all the sides you could dream of. The baker brought the cake and it turned out better than you imagined. Her attention to detail was amazing. Jensen was going to love the cake.

Gen hurried you into the room to start getting ready. You had hired someone to do your hair and makeup because you wanted it to be perfect. The stylist was setting up when you got a text.

J: good morning my beautiful bride. I missed you last night and can’t wait to see you today. I have something for you. Jared should be bringing it shortly.

Me: I missed you too my handsome husband. I’ll send something for you with him then.

You smiled and set your phone down. “Jared’s bringing something from Jensen shortly” you said. She smiled because she knew what it was. Once your hair and makeup were done it was time to put on your dress. Gen helped you in it and it fit perfectly. You looked at yourself in the mirror and got misty eyed. “Oh no, don’t you dare start crying” Gen laughed. She hugged you and there was a knock on the door. It was Jared. “Can I come in” he asked. “Yep. All clear” you laughed. He stepped in and said “wow, Y/N. You look absolutely beautiful. Jensen isn’t going to know what to say.” You blushed and smiled. He handed you a box with a note. You saw it was Jensen’s writing. “Can you give him this please” you handed Jared a small bag. He gave you a hug and left the room.

You opened the note and it said “To my beautiful bride. You came into my life so unexpectedly and I’m thankful for that every day. You were the missing piece in my heart and in our family. My kids became your kids and your kids became mine. We all fit together perfectly like a jigsaw puzzle. I’ll love you beyond my last breath. I can’t wait to marry you. Love, J”. You opened the box and there was a gold heart made up of 7 puzzle pieces. You smiled and asked Gen to help you put it on.

Jared made his way back to Jensen and handed him the bag. “Dude she’s stunning” Jared said smiling. He smiled and pulled out the note from the bag. “My dearest J. Before we get caught up in the craziness of the wedding I wanted to take a minute to say thank you. Thank you for following me off the elevator, thank you for choosing me, for this incredible life we have, for the 3 beautiful children I get to call mine too, for never giving up on me when times got rough and for loving me through the darkness. You and all our children are my world. I will love you beyond my last breath. I can’t wait to see you at the end of the aisle. I love you, Y/N.” He pulled out a small box and inside it was a custom made watch. The watch was made from whiskey barrels and was engraved with the date you met. He put it on.

The officiant knocked and told him it was time. Jensen and Jared made their way outside and as they walked out they greeted everyone there. The sun was setting and the twinkle lights looked amazing. The music started and the kids walked out, followed by Gen, your daughter and then it was your turn. Your son was walking you down the aisle. You smiled at him and nodded.

The music played for you to start walking out. As you turned and faced Jensen his eyes lit up and you could see tears. When you got to him and your son gave him your hand, Jensen leaned over and whispered “you’re stunning baby. So incredibly beautiful”. You smiled and thanked him. You opted for traditional vows and ceremony. When it was time to kiss Jensen smiled, grabbed you and dipped you as he kissed you.

As he helped you up you giggled and the officiant said “Now it is my pleasure to introduce to you for the first time Mr and Mrs Jensen Ackles.” Everyone cheered and you and Jensen walked back down the aisle.

The two of you walked into the building and he pulled you into the room he was waiting in. He grabbed you by the waist and kissed you again. The kiss deep and full of longing. He pulled back and looked at you. “God you look absolutely stunning in this dress baby. I can’t wait to see it off of you” he smirked. You smirked and kissed him. His hands started running up the dress and you could feel his growing excitement pushing against you. There was a knock at the door and Jared said they were ready for pictures.

You and Jensen walked out and took some pictures of just the two of you and then some really fun group and family pictures. You saw his ex standing to the side and you motioned for her to join in. She was hesitant but you walked over and told her to come on.

Once pictures were taken it was time to party. Everyone was eating, drinking and enjoying themselves. Jensen got up with you and you showed him the cake. He loved it. It was half chocolate and half yellow. The cake on one side looked like traditional wedding cake and the other was chocolate with chocolate covered strawberries and chocolate dripping. It was more beautiful than you could have imagined. “Wow baby. This cake is amazing. You did great. I love the little tuxedo chocolate covered strawberries. That’s a cute touch” he said.

You smiled and kissed him. The night was absolutely perfect. Between the dancing, stolen glances, lots of laughter and being with your family and friends. Jensen leaned over and asked if you were ready to go. You smiled and nodded. He clinked his glass one last time and thanked everyone for coming and being part of your special day. It was time for you two to leave and get ready to go on your honeymoon.

Sparklers lit the path as you and Jensen walked arm and arm to the car. Hugs were exchanged and you got in the car. Jensen climbed in, took your hand kissing it and said “let’s go home my beautiful wife”. You smiled as he drove.

Your flight was scheduled to leave first thing in the morning. You two were already packed so tonight you two could relax. Jensen pulled in the driveway and came around to open your door. You smiled as you took his hand to get out of the car. You both walked up the steps and he unlocked the door. Before you could walk in he stopped you and picked you up bridal style. “I have to carry my bride over the threshold” he said as you laughed.

When you got inside he locked the door and smirked lifting an eyebrow. “Come here my beautiful wife” he said. He kissed your lips and deepened it as he took your head in his hand. You moaned into his mouth. “Come on baby. Let’s go upstairs.” You said taking his hand.

He chased you up the stairs as the house filled with laughter. Before you went into the room Jensen took you in his arms, leaned you against the wall, lifted your arms above your head and kissed your lips and down your neck. You moaned his name and he pressed his hardness against you.

He released your arms and you led him in the bedroom. The two of you kissed and removed each other’s clothes like you were performing a dance. Every movement fluid and intricate. His fingers danced over the zipper to your dress as he slowly pulled it down. Your fingers slowly unbuttoned his shirt. As his shirt opened your hands went in his shirt and moved up his tone chest taking his shirt off and sliding it off his shoulders and down over his strong biceps.

Jensen slid your dress down your shoulders and placed a kiss on each shoulder as they were exposed. Your dress fell down around your feet leaving you in your bra and panties. Jensen bit his bottom lip as he looked at you. Your hands went to his belt trying to remove it. Jensen began kissing you and pulling your body to his. You moaned and forgot how to unhook a belt. Jensen smirked against your skin. He helped you out by removing his belt and pulling his pants down.

He walked you back to the bed and laid you down gently. “I love you so much and you’re so beautiful. If you get uncomfortable please let me know. I don’t care about anything but you being comfortable.” He said as he kissed you gently. “I love you too, Jensen. I’m okay. I promise I’ll let you know, but I trust you” you said looking in his beautiful green eyes.

The rest of your clothes and his were removed and Jensen hovered over you. He kissed you as his hands ran over your body. His lips made a trail down your body and your fingers and hands danced down his arms and on his chest. You moved your hips telling him you wanted him. He positioned himself between your legs and captured your lips again. He slowly pushed inside you and you moaned. He grunted as he bottomed out. Neither of you were in a hurry. A slow, loving pace was creating a dance of love and passion.

“I love you, Jensen. You feel so good” you whispered. Jensen kissed you and said “I love you too, Y/N. Thank you for trusting me.” The two of you made love for what seemed like hours. It was pure, raw and beautiful. You trusted Jensen and he never took advantage of it. When you two were cleaned up you laid in the safety of his arms. Jensen’s fingers danced on your arm and you had placed your hand on his chest.

His kissed the top of your head and pulled you close. “Today was absolutely perfect. I love you so much Mrs Ackles.” He whispered. “Yes it was. Thank you for choosing me. I love you too, Mr Ackles” you said as you kissed his lips softly. The two of you slipped off to sleep as the blissful events of the day settled in your mind. You were completely and deeply in love and the best was yet to come.

Forever tags: @nescaveckdaily @kr804573 @k-slla @jackles010378 @jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @roseblue373

[borahaerhy]

Dealer (6) - myg

Summary: Your boyfriend seemed like a dream come true: always wanting to be around you, making sure you would get home safe, never taking his hands off you. These little comforts became your whole world, and then the only thing you were allowed to have left in the world. Luckily, your boyfriends drug dealer turned out to be a much nicer guy.

Pairing: DrugDealer!Yoongi x Female!Reader

Genre: Mafia/drug kingpin au, Y/N coming from nothing, found family, Eventual smut

Warnings: LOTS OF UNALIVING BE PREPARED, so many guns, pew pew, Yoongi is intimidated, Hoseok is absolutely terrified, Yoongi threatens Jungkook, Jin has a plan, Jin's plan gets fucked up, Jin makes a new plan, more secret tunnels, Jin's backstory, the layout of which brought to you by the lovely @roxy1205 , go give her a (consensual) smooch on the forehead. Also, where the hell is Y/n in the chapter?

Word count: 2.9k

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Note: If you are sensitive or triggered by abusive relationships or manipulation in any way, please do not read this fic, it can be very triggering. It will also be referenced that Y/n used to self harm, and has self-harm scars. This is fic is going to cover a lot of intense topics, and there will be a lot of drugs.

“Okay, so Jay-” Seokjin, who had finally worked out all the kinks in his plan, was about to present it to the rest of the group, stopped mid-sentence because he heard something. It was small, something no one else in the room noticed, but it was definitely there. 

Everyone else stared at him, his finger pressed to his lips as his eyes swept the room for any signs of someone being there that wasn’t supposed to be.

There it was. 

A shadow under the door, a shadow that was completely unaccounted for. He looked at Namjoon, gave him a small nod, before he returned his sight back on the door. Namjoon understood what Jin wanted him to do, and moved quickly and silently. 

“Jay’s the bosses son, and the one we ultimately need to go after,” Jin spoke again, only seconds after he had taken a pause, not wanting the person behind the door to know that they knew he was there. 

As he continued to speak vaguely as Namjoon had started pulling guns out of a compartment in the floor and handed them to everyone, already loaded and ready to fire.

Seokjin took another pause and made his way over to the door, before pressing the gun just handed ot him against it, just below where his own forehead would’ve been, and pulled the trigger. 

Jin didn’t let any time pass before he threw open the door and started firing, swarms of men in the hallway distracted by the death of their fallen comrade. 

But even with guns firing and men yelling and falling to the ground, the only sound that seemed to flood Seokjin’s ears was an all-too familiar sound of distant screaming.

-

“Ah, Jin, thanks so much,” Jin nodded his head slightly, a small smile peeking out from under his shy persona as he stood at the door to one of his new clients' houses. 

“No problem, hit me up next time you need, I’m available 24/7,” The man nodded and thanked him again, the door opened just enough for Jin to see a woman in the background, cleaning up what seemed to be the messiest house he’d ever seen. 

He didn’t think much of it, he wasn’t exactly the most experienced seller, but messy houses were quite common for addicts, and someone trying to clean up a little to make it look presentable seemed pretty normal to him. 

Over the next couple of weeks, this new client of his bought from him several times, and Jin had made more money off of him than anyone else he sold to. 

“Hey, man, why don’t you come inside?” Jin nodded and smiled shyly, his hair hanging down in his face as he walked through the opened door. He took a look around, and the house was actually cleaned up a considerable amount from the last time he had been there. He walked over to the couch with Ben, his client, as they took seats opposite each other. 

The conversation started slowly and awkwardly, but when the topic changed to what video games they’d been into recently, the conversation grew exciting as they went back and forth talking about their favorites. The conversation also grew a bit loud, something Jin hadn’t really been known for being, and it drew out the woman he’d seen the first time he was here out from the bedroom. 

A sweater and jeans barely hung off of her, both looking several sizes too big for the admittedly tiny woman in front of him. She seemed very unsure of herself, hands fidgeting and clasped together with her feet pointed inward as she walked. 

“Ah, Jin, I don’t believe you’ve met my girlfriend yet. Rose, this is Jin, he’s a good friend of mine,” Jin waved awkwardly, trying to make himself smaller on the couch as she sat in the tiny available space next to her boyfriend, and still seemed to have room to spare.

She spoke the smallest “Hi” Seokjin had ever heard come out of someone that wasn’t him, and soon, the man he’d just sold an unprecedented amount of percocet to resumed his monologue about Apex. 

But Jin wasn’t paying near as much attention as before; his eyes kept darting to the small figure next to him, and the thoughts in his head were all blaring sirens with bright red lights, screaming at him that something wasn’t right here. 

Jin had always had one hell of an intuition, but this was something new; something he hadn’t ever experienced before. The anxiety that always seemed to have consumed him was put into overdrive as he sat across from her, her eyes glued to the folded hands in her lap as the uncomfortable energy coming off of her was almost unbearable. 

“Well, thanks for coming in, man, I’m glad Rose finally got off her lazy ass and cleaned up enough for me to invite you in,” Jin was stunned, to say the least, but he simply smiled, and left. 

He spent the next several days with that overwhelming anxiety flooding him, unable to even get out of bed most of the time as he felt that something was seriously off with her, and the man who so blatantly degraded her in front of him. He all but completely neglected his job, ignoring most of the people who wanted to buy from him, but he never ignored Ben. 

He’d be out of his door mere minutes after he received a message from him, and he’d be at his doorstep not long after. 

Rose wasn’t usually there. She stayed in the back room most of the time, but every time he’d seen her, he wished he hadn’t. 

Cheeks even more sunk in, heavy dark bags under her eyes and clothes even more loose fitting than the previous time he’d seen her. His heart broke every time he saw her, but he just didn’t know what to do. 

He’d spent a lot of time researching what to do when you suspect someone is a victim of domestic violence. The signs were all there: low self-esteem, overly apologetic, fearful, extreme weight loss, etc. She almost seemed that if she were to ever show any emotion she would be in trouble. 

But the advice on how to help didn’t exactly work in this situation. 

He couldn’t just strike up a conversation with her when he wasn’t there. He couldn’t help her come up with a safety plan or a safe word, or even be there to listen to her because there was no way for him to reach out to her, not while Ben wasn’t there. 

He almost called the cops a few times, but then stopped himself. There were never any physical signs of abuse. No bloody lips or black eyes, and she always covered up every part of her body except for her face and fingertips, so he couldn’t look for any signs of bruising. 

Just after he started getting back to normal, after his anxiety would calm down to the point where it was manageable, and the sirens stopped blaring out of control, he went back to his normal life. He’d start selling to all his other clients again, coming up with lame excuses on the spot as to why he wasn’t answering them. 

But one day, months after his first encounter with Ben and Rose, he went back over to sell to them. 

This time she had a wrist brace on and a bloody and bruised lip. 

“She got into a car accident, thankfully she’s okay.” 

Only Jin knew she didn’t have a driver's license, something Ben had brought up a while back because she was too ‘untrustworthy’. 

This time he knew he had to do something, and the red lights and blaring sirens came back stronger than ever, but this time they meant something: She’ll be dead if you don’t do something, and do it fast.

But he didn’t know how to handle this situation, and the anxiety was so overwhelming he couldn’t even think of a course of action until hours later. 

“Hello this is 911 what's your emergency?” Jin swallowed thickly, his entire body shaking with the anxiety spilling out of him, about ready to explode any given second. 

“I need to report a suspected abuse,” his voice was so shaky it was barely comprehensible, his voice moving up toward the end of his sentence as if he were asking a question. He told them the address, and the names of the abused and the abuser before they said they’d be sending a patrol car out immediately. 

He sat for a moment after hanging up the phone, on the cold bathroom floor of his crummy apartment. His plan was to stay there, stay there all night and drink away the voices screaming at him to do something, but he couldn’t. 

He got up and left, quickly driving over to the house that several squad cars were already parked haphazardly outside of. 

He didn’t even have to shut his car off or get out of it to hear the screaming from inside the house. The voices of the cops screaming at Ben to put his weapon down, and of Rose sobbing so loudly he feared he’d never get the sound out of his head. 

Several loud bangs ensued, guns being fired inside the home that made Jin’s heart stop. 

For a moment, the world went still. 

The birds chirping suddenly stopped. 

The wind rustling in the trees came to a halt. 

Rose’s screaming was gone. 

And suddenly, the sirens in his head faded away. 

For the first time in months, everything was still and silent, almost peaceful even. 

The sirens were gone, and so were the flashing lights. The anxious pit in his stomach had finally subsided into the most blissful feeling of nothingness he’d ever experienced. He was free in that moment. Free from worry about what would happen to her and if she was okay. 

He watched as Ben came out in handcuffs, shoved into the back of a cop car that was driven off before an ambulance pulled up in its place. They rushed in with a stretcher that reappeared minutes later, a black body bag zipped up and laying flat on it; no one in a rush to get it anywhere, to get her anywhere safe. 

The blissful nothingness he’d longed for months to feel was replaced by something much worse than the anxious sirens begging for help. Now they filled with the guilt of not reacting to them sooner; and the sirens had been replaced with her screams. 

He sat outside that house for hours, knees pulled into his chest as he sobbed the loss of a woman he knew practically nothing about. The only thing he ever knew about Rose was that she needed help, and he’d be the only one that could’ve given it to her. 

And yet, here he was, sitting alone in a car perfectly safe, a car he could’ve taken her to many times over but didn’t. 

In Jin’s line of work, he’d come across many more people like Rose. Soft, sweet innocent people that just needed a way out. And everytime he’d met one of them, her screams would come back to haunt him, reminding him of what would happen if he didn’t step in. 

And you were no exception. 

-

Jin had taken down six men by the time Yoongi was able to take down two. He’d never seen anyone able to focus so quickly and perfectly on killing people; but he tried to focus on saving his own life from the man currently charging him rather than how well else was able to pull the trigger. 

Both Taehyung and Namjoon were mowing down people, more people than anyone would’ve thought possible to fit in the narrow hallway; the floor now covered in bloody bodies. 

Hoseok, however, wasn’t used to all of this. He wasn’t used to people dying and guns shooting, and to be frank, neither was Yoongi. Not to the extent the rest of the men in the room were, at least. 

The two of them fell back in the group, Hoseok’s hands shaking violently as he held the gun, and Yoongi only shooting when necessary to protect himself and his clearly out-of-it friend. 

They were able to push the hitmen in the hallway back, Seokjin and Taehyung leading them to push everyone back, as far away from the plan and as far away from you as possible. 

A door to the left of Yoongi suddenly burst open, Jungkook stepping through with a gun in each hand as he started taking down more than even Jin. 

With Jungkook’s help, they were soon able to take down everyone in the hall. 

“Everyone, back!” Seokjin whisper-yelled, and everyone moved; retreating back into the the room they’d spent all day in. 

As they got back in and closed the door, Yoongi realized something that made his blood turn cold. If Jungkook was here, who the hell was watching you? 

Jin had already opened up the wall, which was apparently a door, and was trying to usher everyone inside when Yoongi grabbed Jungkook by the collar and shoved his against the wall, gun falling to the ground with a thud as all eyes fell on the two of them. 

“Where the hell is Y/N?” Jungkook’s expression never faltered as Yoongi stared him down, worry consuming his features. 

Jin calmly walked up and placed a gentle, steady hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “She’s safe, she’s in a secret room no one can get to. She’ll be fine, Yoongi, but we have to move,” Seokjin’s voice remained calm and smooth as he spoke. 

Yoongi’s eyes darted back and forth between Jin and Jungkook for a moment, before he slowly let go of Jungkook’s shirt. 

He stepped away from him, nodding his head slowly at Seokjin. Jungkook pushed himself back of the wall, and they all filed into the room Jin had opened for them, the tense air consuming them. 

“All right,” Jin started as he closed the door behind them, typing something into the number pad beside it before turning around, locks clicking into place as he turned to address them. “The plan I came up with is going to need a few alterations now,” he paused, his brow furrowed as he thought hard. 

Namjoon and Jungkook busied themselves getting equipment - bulletproof vests - and started handing them out, before sliding them on themselves. 

Yoongi was on edge, his hands and arms shaking as slid his vest on. He had killed before, sure, but never like this. 

The first time was in self-defense. A man trying to mug him coming at him with a knife when he learned Yoongi didn’t have his wallet on him. 

The second time was when someone he sold to had a mental break when Yoongi told him he was out of Xanax, and was forced to shoot him before getting shot. 

The third was with you, when a man broke into his home to take you from him, to take you back to Zeke. 

Now, he didn’t even know how many he’d killed. He spent the past several minutes aiming down the scope of his gun and pulling the trigger. He killed maybe ten? Twenty people? He had no idea, the faces of all of them hidden behind masks and blurring together. 

“They’re here now, only god knows how many there are. We can assume that we took out at least half of them in that hallway, but even then, we have a much bigger problem on our hands than I had initially anticipated.” He paused for a second, before shaking his head, pulling himself from his thoughts. “We’re going to split up, three groups. We’re going to surround the room Y/n’s in now. Yoongi and Jungkook will be the ones to get her, the rest of us clearing the path for them to get the the garage. Hoseok and I will be in front of you, Namjoon and Taehyung will be behind,

“We’re going to take two cars, Yoongi and Jungkook, you’re going to get her, get her to the garage, and into the civic, and then you’re going to wait there. The rest of us will get into a different car and leave first, distracting everyone to make them think we have her. You’ll leave four minutes later, exactly four minutes, and we’ll meet up at the getaway house, got it Jungkook?” 

Jungkook nods once, and Jin continues. 

“You’ll be as inconspicuous as possible. Drive the speed limit, stay off major roads, make a pitstop at a touristy hotel, and whatever you do, make sure she isn’t seen, am I clear?” Jungkook nods again as he reloads his guns and makes his way over to a door that Yoongi presumes the two of them are about to walk through. 

Hoseok looked scared as Namjoon handed him his gun back reloaded, and pushed him toward Jin, who was getting ready to walk back out the doors they’d entered through. Taehyung followed Namjoon over to a door on the opposite side of the room as Yoongi and Jungkook were, looking much more cold and emotionless than any of the rest of them had ever seen him. 

With his back leaned against the door after everyone had punched a set of numbers into their respective key pads, Jin let a slight sly smirk spread across his almost scarily cocky face. 

“See you on the other side.”

Taglist: @pamzn @fvcuidk @cybm1n @limiworld @scuzmunkie @hyunjingin @nellyboosworld @giselleg7784 @zaeve @lovelgirl22 @rosquilleta @kooliv @bangtannie7 @strawberryjimin13 @anjoellamorte @limitlessdespondency @lalaoise @roxy1205 @lavender-ivy @orangecarrotlemon @billy-jeans23  @jwlmnbt @artemis1862 @namjoonsbuspass @luaspersona @wittyreader @be0mluver  @acquiescence804 @dustyinkpages @damiiworld @cynicalbitch666 @rosiejunnie @dahliasbouqet

[kingxgarm]

Sneak Peek for "My Beloved Bunny" (name wip)

“What do they need me for?” Henry thought. He was currently in his car driving to an old Freddy’s location. He was certain it was the one from the 90s, but it could’ve been from 85’ too. The locations have started confusing him; he hadn’t been keeping up.

He assumed that because he was one of the few surviving owners of the company, he technically owned the building, so everything in it was his. Maybe they were just bringing him over so he could check it out and take what he wanted. Everything else would either be destroyed or left there.

The road lead into a dense forest. He figured it wouldn’t be much farther. He didn’t know what he would take when he got there. Most of everything still there must be rusted or broken by now. Maybe he could take some animatronic parts, but everything else will probably be sold or just left. A horrible waste.

He pulled up into what used to be a parking lot. There were already a few other cars there. Waiting for him, he assumed. He got out of his car taking his time. He wasn’t looking forward to this. He just wanted to go home. Maybe smoke a cigarette. He didn’t bring any with him; a mistake.

It was windy out. His greying ginger hair blew into his face. He was too tired for this. He just wanted to hurry this up.

The building looked terrible. Overgrowth had taken over the building. For a building left to rot since 85’ it looked pretty good. The sign was threatening to fall off however. Henry didn’t want to get any closer for his own superstition, but he knew he was wanted inside.

Speaking of the inside, it was far worse off than the outside. Cobwebs and rats had taken this place as their home. Henry nearly threw up in his mouth. He knew Bill would be disappointed in the state of this place.

Bill…

Henry needed to stop thinking about William. He had moved on. That man had disappeared ages ago. He was probably dead. Good. He wasn’t a good man. Henry would never forgive him for what he did to his daughter. He was almost positive William had killed her. She disappeared about a decade ago. This fall would be the anniversary. He couldn’t bear it.

William was also accused of the murder of five other kids. Henry almost didn’t want to believe it. Him and Bill were the only two suspects, considering the suits used to lure them away. After they cleared Henry’s name, Bill disappeared. It was suspicious, but it wasn’t proof. He wished he could’ve asked him. At least to figure out about his daughter. Unfortunately, he knew why Bill would target her. He just wanted to know what happened.

He felt bad for not caring much about the other kids, but he didn’t know them. And Bill was accused for the murder. Despite thinking that Bill killed Charlie, he couldn’t believe that he would kill some stranger’s child. With Charlie, there was a motive. The five kids didn’t make much sense, in Henry’s eyes.

Tables had collapsed and chairs were rotting. The dining room looked dead. Dust covered the floor like a blanket. Although, there were notable footprints visible. It must’ve been the Fazbear Entertainment employees. It wouldn’t surprise him to figure out that they explored the building before him.

The stage had also not aged well. There were holes where the animatronics used to be. They didn’t seem to fall through, despite being missing. Knowing his own luck, they were probably stolen, meaning no new parts.

It finally dawned on Henry that he was alone in the building. Or at least, no one was in the dining room. It felt kind of spooky being alone in the building. Dark, minus the tiny light pouring through from holes in the ceiling. Water damage took everything. He hoped mold wasn’t growing.

Bill loved exploring abandoned buildings. Despite the sad shape Freddy’s was in, he would’ve loved it here.

Stop thinking about William, Henry. You want nothing to do with him.

William had plagued his mind ever since he disappeared. Constantly thinking about what he was doing, what he would do if he was with Henry, what he was thinking, what he looked like. He had never had an obsession with Bill before then. But now…

No. He had moved on. Bill didn’t matter. He was gone. He would do everything in his power not to think about that man. He hated William, but deep down there was a love for Bill. Not even he could deny that.

Pirates Cove was also empty. Not even the back room had anything substantial. An old endoskeleton was still around, but Henry didn’t want it. Bill helped make it. Someone else could have it. Old costume heads… of Bill’s characters. Henry decided nothing was worthwhile in the backroom. The office and kitchen in similar conditions to the other rooms. Nothing of note. The bathrooms probably wouldn’t have much either, but Henry decided to check for nostalgia’s sake.

Walking in he stepped on something… and found the missing animatronics. Strewn on the ground, the parts of the broken band laid lifeless. It was hard seeing them like this. They looked dead. Henry did care about these characters even if only Chica truly belonged to him. They still had a special place in his heart.

How did they get all the way over here? And why were they destroyed? Did someone do this? Why? Looking up, he noticed the safe room. He hadn’t seen it in years. The door was open. Henry was very sure that they were sealed… Very few people would know it was even there. Had Bill been here? Or was that just hopeful thinking?

A strange smell was coming from the room. An unfamiliar smell, but a strong one. Henry didn’t want to go in there. He didn’t know what he would find. Strangely, sounds could also be heard inside. Something was in there…

“Ok, Henry…” He whispered to himself. “You can do this! There are people waiting outside for your call. You’ll be ok.” He took a deep breath and pushed the door further making his way inside.

[madsworld15]

New Fic Alert! i'd fall to pieces on the floor Brian/Justin post-series

This is for the QaF Prompt Challenge 2024. It is my 6th prompt submission. I wrote it yesterday, but I am just posting it here today. This one is for the prompt: The first time Brian and Justin see each other after 513. (Prompt #7) [6/21 for me personally]

Brian was nervous. His decision to go to New York this week had been supremely last minute. The last video call he’d had with Justin had seemed normal on the surface. But, Brian knew better. He could tell that Justin’s smile no longer met his eyes, a sure sign that something was wrong. The blond had only been in New York for 6 months, but if Brian was being honest, it had felt twice as long. 

They talked on the phone at least once a week. Sometimes that call switched to a video call via their computers so they could jerk off together. And though Brian was better about telling Justin how he felt, he still wouldn’t admit that those video calls were the highlight of his life right now. 

Babylon had just recently reopened. Brian hadn’t sold the club after all, but he didn’t frequent it that often. Without Justin around, clubbing seemed very monotonous and not enjoyable. Brian wanted to dance with Justin, not a bunch of strangers. Which was a way he was maturing and changing. Brian wasn’t a club boy anymore. He chose to stay home most nights and think of Justin instead. 

But then Justin’s smile didn’t reach his eyes on their call last night, and Brian knew he needed to see him in person. So, he bought a last-minute plane ticket and took an overnight flight to JFK. He was staying at the William Vale Hotel in Brooklyn. It was only 8:30 in the morning, but he wanted to surprise Justin by waking him up with coffee and pastries.

His hotel was a few blocks from Justin’s. So, Brian went down the block to the local bakery. He grabbed a couple of croissants and a couple of danishes. Then getting two coffees, Brian was ready to head outside and grab the car service he loved using anytime he was in the city.

The sleek black car made quick work of getting over to Justin’s artist loft. Brian didn’t know much about where he lived, just that he shared the building with a bunch of artists and that his loft was currently paid for by residuals from Rage. He was still working on another issue with Michael, but it was slow going due to the distance between them.

Brian rang the doorbell buzzer next to the door. It was answered by someone on the first floor who was coming out anyway. Brian threw a smile at the young woman with bright green hair. He looked at the mailboxes by the door and discovered Taylor next to 3H. This meant he was on the third floor. And, of course, the elevator was broken.

Brian trudged up three flights of stairs. Once he reached the desired floor had to pause and catch his breath. He glanced left and right trying to decide what direction Justin’s apartment would be. From what he gathered, going to the left would be best. A few minutes later, he stood before 3H. He wore his biggest smile as he rapped his knuckles on the door.

He shuffled his feet, waiting for Justin to answer. At just past 9 a.m., it wasn’t likely the young man would be up already. Sure enough, when the door opened, Justin was rubbing his hand through his hair, which was sticking up all over, and yawning. He stopped mid-rub and let his mouth hang open.

“Brian?! What are you doing here?”

“Surprise!” Brian smiled and held up his offerings. “I brought food and coffee. I figured you wouldn’t have any.”

Justin stepped aside and let Brian in. “You figured correctly.” 

Justin shut the door and didn’t say anything more. Brian, however, placed the cups and pastries down on what served as a kitchen counter in the apartment. He looked around, clocking everything and assessing as quickly as he possibly could. There was a huge pile of dishes in Justin’s sink and an overflowing trash can next to the fridge. The rest of the space was scattered with unfinished drawings and dirty clothes dropped on the floor, futon, and various other surfaces.

Justin had always been a bit more sloppy than Brian, but this was more than that. This was Justin just not caring. In fact, the clothes he was currently wearing looked as though they’d been worn for a few days at this point.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but I ask again, what are you doing here?” Justin grabbed the cup that held his coffee and took a big gulp.

Brian watched him for a bit. His heart ached to see just how out of sorts Justin was. He could tell Justin was depressed, even if the blond hid it extremely well. The brunet stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on Justin’s cheek. Their eyes met, and Brian finally spoke.

“After our call last night, I was worried. So, I hopped a plane.” Brian whispered, hoping his answer wouldn’t spook Justin.

Justin resisted Brian’s affection and piercing gaze by stepping back and turning his back to the man. Brian didn’t say anything or make any moves to regain their physical touch, despite desperately needing to have hands on Justin to prove to himself the lad was okay. Instead, he stood there drinking his coffee and watching Justin nonverbally try to deny Brian’s claims. 

Then, almost as suddenly, Justin’s walls crashed down, and his shoulders slumped. He turned back around, and Brian could see the brokenness and hurt in his eyes. It ripped Brian’s heart out, crumpled it up, and shoved it back into his chest. The blond didn’t move closer to Brian, opting to move toward his bed a bit further back in the room. Brian let him. Though his arms itched to grab the younger man and never let him go, he knew that Justin needed to call the shots if he was ever going to get honesty out of him.

So, Brian simply followed Justin to his bed and then sat on the edge while Justin crawled back into the center, where he clearly slept. Brian silently observed as the blond curled himself up into a ball as if needing to protect himself from the conversation about to happen. Brian waited until Justin seemed settled, and then he placed his coffee on the bedside stand and crawled into the bed. He settled in right next to Justin, above the covers allowing the younger man to have all the comfort blankets he needed.

Then, Brian tentatively reached out and placed his hand on Justin’s shoulder.

“No one else can see what I see. Because they aren’t looking for it.” Brian whispered, subconsciously knowing that Justin needed reassurance that his walls worked for almost everyone.

Justin quietly nodded, his eyes meeting Brian’s with a vulnerability he hadn’t seen since that night at Woody’s right after Justin was released from the hospital post-bashing. Brian wanted to wrap him up in his arms and take away whatever struggles and pain Justin was currently feeling. It took some time, with the two of them lying there in silence, for Justin to finally speak.

“I can’t keep up.” His voice is tiny and insecure, but Brian chooses to stay quiet and just listen. “Most gallery owners want a series of art pieces before they even think about considering featuring you. My hand…”

Brian’s heart broke as he looked at the hand Justin was presenting to him. His mangled hand, which was also his art-creating hand. Even now, just lying here relaxing, Brian could see that it spasmed frequently. Brian reached over and placed warm, gentle hands on the tightened tendons and massaged them. Justin’s face loosened up, and he closed his eyes.

“Okay. So, create a bunch of art and then give a big fuck you to the gallery owners.” Brian knew as soon as he said it this wasn’t what Justin was looking for as a solution.

“It doesn’t matter, Brian. I can’t make art fast enough to support living here. I got a job at a diner on 52nd Street in Manhattan, which pays the bills, but doesn’t leave me any energy to paint or draw. Michael keeps hounding me about the next issue.” Justin paused to take a deep breath. “I’m just so tired.”

Brian swallows what he really wants to say, knowing that begging Justin to come back to Pittsburgh wouldn’t be productive. Instead, he pulled Justin against his chest and hugged him tight.

“I just feel so alone and scared all the time. I was never like this in Pittsburgh, looking over my shoulder, worried someone was going to attack me.” Justin added with a big sigh.

Brian pulled back from Justin. There had to be a reason Justin was scared of his own shadow here. Sure, there was always a bit of nervousness when you first moved to a new city, but it shouldn’t still be around after six months. He looked over Justin with trained eyes. There was a physical exhaustion present in every bit of his body. 

“Justin,” Brian whispered, his fear that Justin had been hurt and didn’t tell anyone bubbling just under the surface.

“I’m fine,” Justin mumbled, but he broke eye contact and started fiddling with the blanket on the bed.

“I think you’ve said that word so many times over the last six months it’s started to lose all meaning,” Brian replied, not letting Justin cower away again.

“But, I am. Fine, I mean.” Justin argued, setting his blazing gaze on Brian as if to prove a point.

“Justin, I was dumb enough to believe you when you said that multiple times over the last few months. I honestly can’t believe it took me this long to see it. You’ve been spiraling since you moved.” Brian stroked his cheek, “I just can’t understand why you weren’t honest with me.”

“Because!” Justin’s outburst caused Brian to recoil a bit. They both sat up on the bed. “You had been the one who told me I would be missing out on an opportunity of a lifetime if I didn’t even try to do my art here in New York. Lindsay was constantly telling me how wonderful of an artist I am. Debbie and my mom constantly told me they were proud of me. I was failing miserably, and I didn’t want to say anything because I had to prove that I could do this one thing on my own. Eventually, I would hear everything you guys were saying to me but let it go in one ear and out the other because I knew the truth. I am a terrible artist who was stupid and naive enough to think New York was my calling.”

Once Justin paused to take a deep breath, Brian moved closer to him and pulled the young blond against his side.

“I would never think you failed. I am proud of you for trying. Do you think I always succeeded at everything I did when I was in my early 20s?” Brian placed a kiss on Justin’s temple. “Please don’t shut me out, Justin. I…” Brian paused, still struggling to be emotionally present for the man he loved. “I worry about you.”

Justin lay his head on Brian’s shoulder and finally let his tears flow. He tightened his grip around Brian’s torso as if he was afraid Brian would disappear. 

“I was robbed in my first week.” Justin finally whispered, not looking at Brian, choosing instead to keep his head on the man’s shoulder. “I was walking home from the subway stop after work. A guy jumped me, took all my tips, and shoved me to the ground.”

Brian didn’t respond. Instead, he tightened his grip on Justin’s back. It brought the blond even closer to him and allowed Brian to put all his love into the physical contact. He wanted to yell and scream that Justin should’ve told him. But he knew that Justin was reluctantly telling him now and that he needed Brian to be calm about it. Instead, Brian placed a kiss on the top of Justin’s head.

“So, what do you want to do?” Brian finally whispered after Justin seemed to calm down.

“Can we just lay here?” Justin’s voice was needy and vulnerable. Brian was not immune to it. 

“Of course. But I meant after. What do you want to do about New York?” Brian rubbed his fingers along Justin’s bicep and waited.

“I can’t quit.” Justin’s determination was finally seeping out of his every pore. “I said I would give it a year. It’s only been six months.”

“Justin.” Brian started but found he couldn’t quite get the words to come out. He worried that Justin staying would mean he’d just get worse and worse. The thought of Justin not being around broke his heart in two.

“Brian, I can’t come back to Pittsburgh with my tail between my legs.” Justin’s eyes pierced into Brian’s soul.

Brian licked his lips. There was so much he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure how well Justin would receive it. It was part of the reason it took him five years to admit to Justin that he loved him and wanted to be with him for the rest of his life. No one had really ever given him the chance to be vulnerable, except for Justin. Now was no different, or at least it shouldn’t be, but it was.

Taking Justin’s hand in his, Brian slipped out of their intimate embrace in order to be face-to-face with Justin. He needed to see the young man’s eyes when he said what he needed to say.

“I don’t know what I would become if you weren’t around. You make me a better man. I believe in love and commitment because you showed me how. I don’t want to live in a world that doesn’t have you in it.” Brian was practically begging Justin by the end. “Being here makes you so depressed you no longer believe the people who love you when they tell you good things about yourself.”

Justin reached out and placed his hands on Brian’s cheeks, boxing his face in and forcing the older man to look at him as he spoke. Not that he needed to. Justin had Brian’s full attention.

“I’m not depressed. I’m not so bad.” Justin said the words, but Brian didn’t believe them because Justin’s tone didn’t instill confidence.

“Justin, be honest with yourself,” Brian whispered gently.

After resisting for some time, Justin’s demeanor crumpled once again, and he leaned his head against Brian’s chest. “I miss you.”

Brian pulled Justin’s head up so that they were making eye contact once more. “I miss you, too. So, damn much.”

“But, what do we do with that?” Justin’s eyes searched Brian’s face for some kind of answer.

“You stay here since you insist that you can’t ‘quit.’ And I will come visit.” Brian forced a smile. He was nervous that Justin would reject him. Even now, after Justin had confessed he missed the brunet.

“The reason we went our separate ways instead of getting married was because of this very thing. I need to do my own thing, no matter how much it hurts, and you need to let me.” Justin pulled away from Brian and stood up off the bed.

“You staying here is you doing your own thing. Me coming to visit isn’t me stopping you. It’s merely a suggestion for how we can miss each other less.” Brian also got off the bed and stood before Justin. “I would never stop you from your dreams. Me wanting to be here is so I can support you.”

“Brian, I need to do this on my own.” Justin’s petulant nature was back in full force. Brian rubbed his temples in frustration.

“Justin. You are! I want to support you. That means be there as you struggle and celebrate with you as you triumph. It doesn’t mean I’m going to turn around and force some gallery owner to show your stuff by throwing money at him.” Brian paused to catch his breath briefly before he hammered his last point across. “That’s such an insult to the insane talent that you naturally have.”

“You have to say that. You love me.” Justin brushed him off.

“Bullshit.” Brian spit out, trying to remain calm but extremely frustrated at Justin’s stubbornness. “I once told Michael that I would tell you if something you made was bullshit, and I stand by that. If your art was shit, I wouldn’t keep trying to buy it off you.”

“You just want to provide for me.” Justin continued to resist taking Brian’s compliments. 

Brian wrapped his arms around Justin, boxing him in this time around. “And what’s so bad about that? Can’t I want to support you and show you that you are brilliant while also providing for you?”

Justin looked into Brian’s eyes, trying to read him for any lies he may have uttered. But he soon realized something, “You mean it.”

“I’ve never meant anything more. I love you, Justin. And for me, that’s not an easy thing to admit.” Brian leaned his forehead against the younger man’s, “So, let me worry about you and take care of you.”

Instead of answering, Justin leaned back and pulled Brian into an emotional kiss.

[jackhues]

back to toronto - mama's backstory

note: mama's nickname before she was mama is peach! there'll be a few chapters of this, just to give some backstory on mama and aus' relationship / life before peanut was born! and ik the game mentioned here is an away game, but for the sake of the story, we'll pretend it's a home game

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gif not mine!

the energy in toronto was different than anywhere else. it was why peach loved the city.

she grinned to herself as they made their way through the downtown traffic. while almost everyone hated toronto traffic, it wouldn’t ruin her good mood. it was the day before opening night for the toronto maple leafs, and peach was back in the city she practically grew up in. it was going to be a good day, she could tell.

william nylander parked his car outside his house, ushering peach and the hughes inside.

just a few years ago, willy had been living with peach and the hughes in their toronto home, and now peach was here with her younger brothers to spend the week with him.

“oh! that’s so cool!” jack grinned, immediately dropping his bag on the floor and going to a framed and signed jersey on the wall.

peach rolled her eyes, clearing her throat and motioning to jack’s duffel bag that he threw on the floor.

“oh yeah,” jack muttered, coming back and shouldering his duffel bag.

peach laughed, flicking her younger brother lightly, before addressing willy. “where do you want us to put our bags?”

“just right here,” willy led them to the back, where he had two spare rooms available. 

peach took the smaller one, while her brothers shared the other room. peach spent the first day back in toronto exploring kensington market with her brothers. she missed that one burger restaurant more than she’d like to admit.

before any of the hughes had realized it, they were gearing up for the toronto maple leafs first game of the season, against the ottawa senators. peach had her ‘nylander’ jersey on, seats near the glass, and was impatiently waiting for puck drop.

the game was intense — the battle of ontario always was. with the leafs new rookie, auston matthews, scoring all four goals for the team, the leafs had managed to push the game to overtime.

“i hate overtime,” quinn muttered from next to luke.

peach was too busy trying not to tear her hair out to answer.

“matthews is scoring the game winner,” jack grinned from next to her, bouncing in his seat. “i’m calling it from now.”

“he already has four goals,” luke said from between quinn and peach. “you think he’s gonna score the ot goal also?”

“it’s auston matthews!” jack emphasized. “if anyone will score the fifth and game winning goal, it’s him.”

“careful, jack,” peach joked. “your man-crush is showing.”

quinn and luke laughed, while jack merely rolled his eyes. 

it was true. jack had gone to the leafs store and bought an overpriced auston matthews jersey before the game because they were all sold out online. he had this idea that matthews was going to be the saviour of the franchise.

peach had to admit that he was probably the leafs’ best chance in a really long time.

the puck dropped for ot, play continuing on both sides. it didn’t last very long, considering the senators scored less than forty seconds into the first overtime.

there was a chorus of groans from the fans in the arena as the goal horn sounded. 

the game was fun to watch, and the leafs played good, but ottawa just got a good goal in at the end. 

“i hate this team,” jack muttered, shaking his head to himself.

“no you don’t,” quinn rolled his eyes, the four siblings waiting for the crowds to empty a bit before heading to the tunnel.

willy trudged out a few minutes later, managing a smile at the sight of the four hughes kids. peach hugged willy quickly, the rest of the boys exchanging fist bumps as they began talking hockey. peach rolled her eyes at the boys, leaning against the wall as she waited for them to finish so they could go get some ice cream. peach loved hockey, but she wasn’t like her brothers where she needed to talk about it twenty-four/seven.

it’s jack’s unusual silence that drew peach’s attention back to the boys’ conversation.

luke and quinn were talking to willy about a play in the third period, one that led to ottawa’s goal. surprisingly, jack remained silent during this, breathing funny as he tried to stay calm.

“what’s wrong?” peach nudged jack’s foot.

jack motioned towards his right, where two leafs players were talking to each other. peach narrowed her eyes, recognizing auston matthews and frederick anderson, the goalie, deep in conversation. 

“quit fangirling,” peach tried not to laugh as jack ducked his head when his favourite rookie glanced over.

willy whistled towards freddie and auston, smiling as they came over. 

“guys, this is auston and freddie,” he motioned towards them. “these are the hughes kids. they were my billet family when i first came to toronto.”

peach put a hand on jack’s shoulder to keep him from bouncing, smiling at the two leafs players.

“you guys played a good game,” peach said to the two, hoping to raise their spirits somewhat.

being part of a family of athletes, peach knew it was hard to console yourself after an overtime loss. she appreciated words of comfort from her friends after those games, and even if she wasn’t ‘friends’ with these two players, she hoped they could still find some comfort in her words.

auston smiled back quickly, “thanks.”

peach noticed jack’s breathing beginning to go funny again, and she patted him as inconspicuously as she could on his back, reminding him to be normal.

“can i get your autograph?” jack asked auston.

“uh… yeah, sure,” auston blinked, taking the marker from jack and signing his jersey.

he was still new to toronto, and not at all used to giving autographs and taking selfies with fans.

jack grinned happily, and peach already knew he was planning on framing the jersey somewhere back home.

auston walked away as the hughes siblings and willy left as well, trying to get the pretty one and her smile out of his head.

-

tags : @woodruff-edwards , @austinbutlerscaresme ,  @svechnikovvv ,  @hockeyboysarehot , @emptyflowerpots ,  @mysticaldonkey , @lam-ila ,  @babydollmarauders , @starjoyyy  ,  @kjohnson-91 , @gavinbrindley, @hischierdevils , @jackhughesily  , @panarin10 ,  @equallyshaw ,   @power2myheart  ,  @lynnismypseudonym , @beccaiscold , @akengii , @nowandkei , @cinnamonpancakes , @mitchymainer , @lifeofpriya ,  @marshmallow-babe, @hughesx3 ,  @emsully2002  ,  @starsandhughes , @huggy-hischier73 ,  @doglady5678 , @thatoneblog , @exonct07 @hughesmedicine , @qwanelledingele , @mindless-rock , @ireadthensuetheauthors , @huggy-hischier94, @slaythehousedownboots , @diary-of-jj

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[reedafan456]

★ Outer Banks - Rafe ★

Preview : Past Memories, kissing, use of other characters, parents, lengthy, no smut, use of y/n, teenagers, possible grammar mistakes, lmk if I missed any!

Summary: You were friends with the Cameron’s when you were much younger. How is it seeing them again after so long? How about recreating memories.

Your parents took it upon themselves to surprise their Hurting daughter to a trip to the Outer Banks. You hadn’t been there in years. You remembered your friend Sarah. You and her were much younger and used to go to the beach and collect seashells and make cute bracelets. You remembered Rafe and Topper. Rafe was your first kiss it was a gross little kid peck on the lips you didn’t even count it as your first kiss. You were excited to see them again since it had been years and you were teenagers now.

You pulled up to your vacation home and you went inside found your room and threw yourself on the bed. You grabbed your pillow and fell asleep instantly.

“Y/n!!” your mom shouted

“Yess??” you responded

Of course she never replied. You’d usually go to her if she called you but you were super tired so you rested your head on the pillow again and thought if it was that urgent she would come to you.

“Y/n!”

You groaned, this time frightened as you were just a few seconds into sleeping again.

You basically flung yourself off the bed so you’d have the energy to get up. You went to her room and she was already unpacking her and your father’s suitcase.

“Go take a shower we’re going over to the Cameron’s,” she said not once taking her eyes off the clothing. 

“Why are you guys in a rush we just got here? you said yawning.

“Y/n they’re expecting us please.”

You dragged your feet to the bathroom and took a shower. You felt a lot better after the shower as usual.

You put on jeans, a tight fitted shirt and converse. Kind of going for a Johnny Knoxville vibe.

You debated changing into a dress or shorts or leggings but You didn’t bother and you looked good and you had a whole two weeks to show off your outfits. 

The ride over wasn’t that far and you grew slightly nervous pulling into the Cameron house. You used your tactics to calm yourself down which worked for the time being.

You and your parents walked inside smiles on your faces greeting everyone.

Ward and Rose hugged you and seemed in awe of how big you’d gotten. Ward placed a kiss on your check. Rose let you know that their house is yours any time.

You and Sarah did a little tiptoey run to each other and hugged. 

Ward laughed. “I remember the girls would go to the beach every day and they would always want ice cream after,” he said reminiscing.

All the other adults nodded and smiled in agreement.

“And Rafe that boy..” he continued

“He is supposed to be here I have no idea where he is,” he said shaking his head.

-

“Come on, let’s leave them to their adult talking,” Sarah said grabbing your hand leading you up the stairs.

You walked into a room and complimented how earthy and vibey her room was. 

“Do you still have those bracelets we used to make,”you said curiously.

“Well umm..” Sarah said looking up. 

“Okay fine I lost them but I wish I had them..so much memories”

“Hahah me too, now I don’t feel so bad, you replied.”

This made you two laugh hard.

“ You know we should’ve sold them,” Sarah said.

“Ohh yeah for sure, all the other kids always wanted them,” you said smiling.

“That would’ve been a killer job oh my gosh,” you continued.

“We would have had RACKS ON RACKS ON RACKS ON RACKS,” she said imitating the TikTok sound.

“HELL yeahh,” you said changing your voice and laughing.

“Hey do you wanna take a walk while we wait on dinner,” Sarah said eyes wide.

“Of course,” you agreed.

“First..” she said pausing. “Would to like to put on one of my dresses? You’d be so much comfier.

-

You two began your walk, now wearing one of Sarah’s dresses.

“Where’s Rafe?” you said.

“I don’t know, probably being an asshole with his asshole friends.”

“Hm.. you two don’t get along,” you said wanted to hear more.

“Don’t get along is an understatement,” she huffed.

You couldn’t believe it, you figured it was just a sibling thing. Although you had no say you haven’t been in touch with either of them for years.

“He’s fucking deranged y/n, I’m telling you.”

“And can we change the conversation?”

“Yea,” you nodded.

-

You guys were called back to the house to have dinner you ate and everyone talked, caught up and Rafe still didn’t show.

—

“Y/n I’m really sorry but I gotta go hang out with my boyfriend Topper,it can’t wait..sorry again, but we’ll definitely hang out,” she said waiting for a response before she hugged you.

“Oh yea go I understand,” you said as she squeezed you before you even finished your sentence.

“Feel free to hang out in my room Ok,” she said waving you off.

You didn’t even know where your parents and Sarah’s parents had gone, it was a big house they could have been anywhere. You took being alone to look at the gorgeous interior of the house and you ran your hands on the furniture, you thought they must cost a fortune. You went up to Sarah’s room and sat on the floor looking for something to watch.

“RrrrrrRHMmm Rrrhmrrrrrm”

You heard a bike revving, you liked bikes so you just paused and listened, it sounded close. Then you went back to scavenging the TV.

You jumped when you heard someone banging on Sarah room door.

“SARAHH! SARAHH!”

It didn’t sound like Ward and it definitely wasn’t Rose.

“SARAH WTF MAN!” he said as he continued banging on the door.

You were just about to reply when they forced the door open.

It was Rafe? woah it was Rafe and damn he was fine.

“Holy fucking moly.” you thought to yourself.

“Uhh..” he said rubbing his forehead.

“Sorry about that, I thought Sarah was in here.”

“That’s fine,” you said laughing.

“How bad did you need her damn,” you said smiling.

He didn’t reply. You stood up.

“Do you remember me?” you said.

“Oh crap y/n right?” he said.

“Yes that’s me”

“Alright well bye..see you around.” he said preparing to turn from the door frame.

You groaned in your head. It barely seemed as if he wanted to have a conversation with you. So lame. You thought he was kind of unfriendly. BUT you brushed your judgmental thoughts aside.

“Where are you going?” you said.

“Why you tryna get out of here?,” he replied smiling a little.

“I mean why not?” you said shrugging your shoulder.

“Come on,” he said taking your hand.

He took you to his room door and told you to wait a second. He came out with a helmet and you assumed it was for you. It was.

“This is you,” he said handing you the helmet.

“Cool,” you replied taking it.

You texted your mom to let her know that you were leaving. You followed him to the front of the yard where the bike was parked. You watched him get on the bike and adjust his helmet.

“Come here,” he said using his hand to call you over.

You walked over standing in front of him, he took the helmet from you, and gave you a sign to bend your knees a little so he could place the helmet on your head. You hopped on to the back. As much as you loved bikes you had never been on one.

You held on to him. The wind was cool and your dress danced. He sped up every now and then. The way the bike swaying and the sounds it made and the scenery, you were so present.

“Where ya takin me Rafe,” you said smiling big.

“Somewhere nice baby,” he said turning his head to see you.

You laughed and held unto him closer. You and Rafe came to a dead end. The place was trashed out with graffiti, garbage and junk cars. You got off the bike and you were super confused. Rafe had the goofiest smirk on his face.

“C’mere,” he said now laughing.

“Rafe what is going on?”

He didnt reply. He held out his hand for you to grab and he led you into a tunnel, you had completely missed it, it was covered with bushes.

“I didn’t notice the tunnel,” you said.

“Good,” he said pulling you through the tunnel.

There was a light laminating at the end. It wasn’t a long walk. You were both now at the end of the tunnel and there was the water crashing on the rocks and the sun looked so beautiful. It was an isolated area on a beach, boarded by large rocks.

“Woww,” you said nudging his arm.

“It’s nice here,” you looked around.

Rafe looked at you like he was waiting for some kind or expression or statement.

“You don’t remember,” he said almost embarrassed.

You gave him a confused expression.

“What?” you thought you had missed something cause that was random of him to say.

“This place,” he responded turning from you, looking at the water, his hands now in his pocket.

You stopped and tried to recall an experience or some feeling in reminiscence of the place.

You stood there trying to work your brain, you hated how you couldn’t remember.

“It’s fine,” he said now facing you.

And that’s when it hit you, your first kiss with Rafe, at this place. You guys had found it..together.

You smacked your head, “oh my gosh I remember now.” “Shit.”

You looked at the water and giggled then back at Rafe and shyed your actions.

“That’s so cool, aw” you said placing your hand on your chest.

At this time you had so many questions.

-

“Kiss me,” Rafe said.

It’s all you were thinking about it didn’t even surprise you. You walked closer to him, tip toed, you held his face in your hands.

He looked like a poor thing.

You looked into his eyes and caressed his face with your thumb. He pulled you closer. Lips close. You kissed him, you didn’t move you both stayed like that as if it were a breathing competition. Your smile broke the kiss and he grabbed your chin kissing you again this time followed by more subtle kisses.

You stopped kissing and Rafe spun you around, now you stood leaning up against him with his arms over your shoulders and you holding them in place.

Both looking at the water.

He kissed the back of your head and said “Told you it’d be nice.”

 Pt. 2?

- I take requests.

- Will do other characters.

- Feedback?

[jaxteller87]

my little empath 5

Teenager years 

I had prepared the stones for Jax before his run just to give him a little extra protection and, if I’m being honest, a little extra peace of mind for myself. It’s something I’ve been exploring more and more lately—working with crystals and their energies. I’ve found that certain crystals can have a really calming or protective effect, like black tourmaline for instance, is said to absorb negative energy and promote a sense of security. I’ve been learning about these properties and experimenting with different crystals to see how they make me feel. It’s fascinating to discover how these natural elements can influence our well-being, so when I thought about Jax going out for a run, I wanted him to have a little extra support and positivity with him.

“Here you go, Teller,” I said later that day, slipping the crystals into each of the pockets of his jeans.

“Oh, hey, thanks,” he said with a confused stare. “So, uh, rocks?” 

“Yep,” I laughed.

“Right,” he said in a long, drawn-out way. “Rocks?”

“Yeah, you know— because you ‘rocks’ my world,” I joked.

Jax threw his head back and laughed, “Alright, now that makes sense.”

“I thought you’d like that. But that’s only one of the reasons I’m giving these to you. Technically, they’re crystals. These ones, in particular, are black tourmaline.”

“Oh,” Jax pulled them out of his pocket and inspected them. “Kind of sounds like a badass name for a horse— or maybe something Tig contracted south of the border.”

“Ew. Let’s just go with the horse name,” I shuttered at the thought of Tig’s STD bucket list.

“Yeah, good idea. So, what does this black tourmaline do exactly?”

“Well, it’s like having a shield against negative vibes. This crystal absorbs that stuff and keeps you feeling grounded and protected. It’s like carrying a piece of nature’s armor with you wherever you go.” The more I told him, the more I felt compelled to share what I was learning about myself. 

We chatted for a while, but the time of his departure was on us before I even began to scratch the surface. I kissed him before he left, and I missed him before I heard the sound of his Harley disappear in the distance. After a few hours, he called me to let me know he arrived safely.

“Does it smell like something’s burning?” I asked with a chuckle as my mom poked her head into my bedroom the next day.

“No, actually, what you’re burning smells good,” she admitted.

A few months back, when I first started experimenting with incense, the aroma caught my mom off guard. She stormed in, thinking there was a fire ablaze somewhere in our home! It took her a moment to realize it was just the incense I had burning in my room. After that incident, I made it a rule to always give a heads-up before lighting anything new. I definitely don’t want my parents rushing in, worried the house is about to go up in flames every time I try out a new scent or ritual.

As I spent time cleansing my crystals today, purging them of any negative energy, I could really feel the power of this black obsidian working its magic. It’s like a spiritual vacuum cleaner, sucking up all the negativity and leaving me feeling refreshed. And that tiger’s eye I picked up during my last visit to the metaphysical shop? It’s been incredible for manifestation. I swear, since I started working with it, I’ve been seeing my intentions take shape more clearly. It’s like having a little cosmic ally nudging things in the right direction.

A few days later, Jax was back in town. I was happy to see him, but he had a somewhat sad look on his face.

“Darlin’, I hope you kept your receipt for those stones you gave me.”

I already knew what he was going to say, but I let him say it anyway. “Why’s that?”

“Well, they uh— they broke. Like some cheap glass trinket. Maybe you got ripped off, and someone sold you some junk.”

I tried to hide my smile because the crystals had done their job. “Or maybe they did exactly what they were designed to,” I said under my breath, planting a big kiss on his lips.

Jax POV

I was at the metaphysical shop in town, feeling pretty bad that the rocks Amber gave me had broken. This led me to the grand idea of replacing them with new ones. As I browsed, the shop owner emerged from the back with a warm smile. This play was a little too ‘hippy-ish’ for me, but if Amber was into it, I was willing to give it an honest go.

“Finding everything okay?” she asked cheerfully as I picked up a black tourmaline.

“I think so,” I replied. I went on to explain my situation, and when the shop owner learned the crystals were for Amber, she kindly added a few extra ones. “Hey, thanks. You ‘rock!’” I said with a forced chuckle.

“My pleasure,” she smiled back. Either she didn’t get the joke, or it was dumber than it sounded to me— which was already pretty dumb.

Back at Amber’s parents’ house, we sat on the back patio. “Oh, Teller, thank you!” Amber exclaimed gratefully. “You really didn’t have to do this!”

“Of course I did. The shop owner also recommended this,” I said, sliding a tarot deck towards her. The look on Amber’s face was priceless.

She thanked me, all smiles and gratitude, but I could tell there was something else simmering beneath the surface. Amber had a knack for keeping her true intentions under wraps, playing her cards close to the vest. I decided to let it ride for now—after all, patience was key with her.

It would be some time before I cracked the code of what Amber was truly planning. Until then, I’d just have to wait and see what scheme she was brewing up behind that mischievously enchanting grin of hers.

[omegaremix]

The Great Vinyl Purge.

I had a funny feeling during my last music-shopping victory spree. When I furiously dug and came across certain titles, I constantly paused on myself wondering if I already had them in my collection. Dollar records make way for hasty decisions and later regretted when you come home to see those same titles you purchased already in your library.

I audited my shelves to see doubles I didn’t realize I once had. Money well spent if only the first time. After that, you’re donating to your local record stores. That’s what’s called charity. With me buying vinyl faster than a cheetah hunting down his prey, I’m running out of space. I’m not realizing I’m spending money on records I already have, so they had to go. There were many impulse purchases made thanks to low price tags, a kick for the classics, and very little care of the artist other than the year they were made.

There were many duplicates from artists I’m familiar with. Components from my Atari and Nintendo youth in Belinda Carlisle (The Go-Go’s) and Phil Collins (Genesis), jazz-fusion artists Tom Scott and Ramsay Lewis, and an extra from Minnie Riperton. The Doors’ Greatest Hits had to go as I mistakenly bought a copy recently before the purge, and one from France Joli that I shouldn’t have had because I tried finding a song that wasn’t on there.

Not only did I take the duplicates out, but I also took records out of my collection I never listened to. Two titles from The Who and Melba Montgomery that I purchased at an Amityville veteran’s hall left the library because I literally never played them. Doobie Brothers, Nicolette Larson, and many children’s records rescued from a sidewalk dump from people who didn’t know better. They had to go. A few days later I woke up one morning and asked myself why I have almost the entire vinyl discography of Seals & Croft and The 5th Dimension?

And then these three: Al Jolson, M.C. Osso, and Justin Wilson …Meets Jean (John) Barleycorn. Those were three records my dad found ages ago from another stack tossed out for the morning pick-up. That was when I was oblivious to vinyl and record collecting. Hell, we didn’t have a turntable back then. How did I somehow keep them and why did I keep a fucking cajun comedy (?) record? I was better than this.

**********

Now that the vinyl purge was over, what did I do? I had no time creating a Discogs and wait for these records to be sold piece by piece. No record-stores would take them as the children’s records are water-damaged with dry mold. The only other option? Take the easy way out and give them to someone who appreciates them. Why? Friends and family had been charitable to me in the past. A no-longer-staffer of WUSB announced a roll-call for a huge vinyl giveaway donated to me, and later on most of those same records went to Syke. That’s the same Syke who ended up donating me some of his records he found in front of someone’s house; a customer of his who took her entire collection and threw them out in front of the curb. Not me. I give my gifts to a good home.

Once my dad found a collection of polka records and took them home. “What the fuck is this?” I asked him. There’s no way I’d be caught dead and Wee-Gee’d with polka records. Good thing this was right before WUSB’s 35th anniversary. I knew our resident polka lady Theresa was attending, so I donated my stacks to her. Problem solved. Caring is sharing and it goes both way, that is…when you’re not throwing your entire library out in the street.

So I gave them to J-Ro, host of WUSB’s Radio Free J-Ro, archivist, and vinyl fanatic. I dropped them off at the station in October and told him to come get it. He took home Carly Simon’s self-titled, Minnie Riperton’s Perfect Angel, Ramsay Lewis’ Tequila Mockingbird, Herb Alpert’s Rise, and whatever 5th Dimension records he didn’t have already. So that’s only 5% of the stack. As of now, most of it is still there. It’s now WUSB’s as far as I’m concerned. We have the space. Let ‘em deal with it.

Here’s all I parted with to make way for more records and books of my liking. Malcomb Forbes did say: “he / she who dies with the most toys wins.” Sometimes, it’s the nicer shinier ones that get you the victory.

France Joli: Now!

Tom Scott: Blow It Out

Paul Simon: Still Crazy After All These Years

Doobie Brothers, The: Minute By Minute

Phil Collins: Face Value

Carly Simon: self-titled

Minnie Riperton: Perfect Angel

Ramsay Lewis: Tequila Mockingbird

Herb Alpert: Rise

Belinda Carlisle: Belinda

Al Jolson & Oscar Levant: Songs And Comedy

M.C. Osso: Umbra Penumbra

Justin Wilson:  Justin Wilson Meets Jean (John) Barleycorn

Doors, The: Greatest Hits

Who, The: It’s Hard

Melba Montgomery: Don’t Let The Good Times Fool You.

Seals & Crofts: Unborn Child, The Longest Road, Diamond Girl, Closer, Summer Breeze, Greatest Hits, self-titled.

5th Dimension, The: Greatest Hits On Earth, Greatest Hits, Up Up And Away, Stoned Soul Picnic, The Age Of Aquarius, Portrait

[sweetiesicheng]

mingyu - collection

word count : 511

-

they're sold out here too? maybe i should ask mingyu after all...

you sighed while browsing through the albums on the shelf in front of you, unable to find one of the "face the sun" albums you needed for your personal collection. you had been saving money to by the albums yourself, but you’ve been really unlucky with finding the album you needed.

you left the store after buying more card sleeves for your photo cards. then, you started going back to your apartment building and texted your boyfriend that you were going home.

-

16:46

kim mingyu

[ y/n ]

coming home now.

should i pick up dinner?

[ mingyu ]

i picked up dinner

already.

figured we could try

something new.

[ y/n ]

how far away are you?

[ mingyu ]

15-ish. you?

[ y/n ]

like 20 minutes. see

you soon.

[ mingyu ]

see you soon. walk

safe.

-

you continued walking home, putting your headphones on. you played a playlist that you had made the other night, shuffling the playlist a few times before finding your preferred order of songs.

on your walk home, the sky started changing colors. you looked up at the sky, watching the colors change while walking.

eventually, you reached your apartment building and headed upstairs. once you made it up, you unlocked the door and noticed that the lights were off.

guess he isn't back yet.

you walked in and closed and locked the door behind you. you turned the lights on and took your shoes off. then, you headed to your room to change into a pair of shorts instead of the jeans you were wearing.

"babe?"

"oh, you're back!" you walked out of the room and saw your boyfriend taking his jacket off.

"ready to eat?" mingyu asked after putting his jacket on the couch. he held out the plastic bag with dinner, and you grabbed it from him. "i'm gonna shower real quick. you should reheat everything," he said to you.

you nodded, "okay."

while he went to go shower, you went into the kitchen to reheat everything in the microwave.

"babe!"

"what?" you yelled when you heard mingyu call for you.

"check my bag. i got you something!" he announced.

you put a bowl into the microwave and turned the timer on for two minutes. then, you went into the living room and grabbed mingyu's backpack, which you found unusual that he had it on him.

you unzipped the bag and spotted a plastic bag. you took the bag out and opened it. gasping at the sight, you threw the plastic bag off of the item.

"mingyu! you got me the album?!" you yelled, immediately hearing your boyfriend laugh out out from the bathroom.

"yea, i knew you've been looking for it," he replied. "i wanna see you open it. you better get my photo cards. i'll sign them myself," he said.

and once he got out of the shower and dinner was heated up, you sat next to him on the couch. and what photo cards did you get? not his, that's for sure.

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

Endless Dusk Chapter One

This is I guess a sneak peak at Endless Dusk. The entire first chapter! If you so saw me post an unfinished version of this chapter a few months ago no you didn't

Hope you guys enjoy :) roughly 5k words

--

Chapter One

Jack bangs his head against the wall. 106. He lazily lifts his neck and drops it again. 107. He decided he was on his way to beat his all time high of 318 a while ago. He only stopped then because he blacked out for a second, and he figured that repeatedly smashing his head into the wall wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

But he can’t find it in himself to care what the smartest thing to do is when he is this bored out of his mind.

108.

Not like ‘there’s nothing on TV’ bored. Bored like Jack only has eight books in his cell anyway, and never mind the fact that he’s already read them all so much he’s got them memorized, but also the lightbulb has been flickering and if it goes out then he’ll be in darkness for months on end so he might as well just sit in darkness now by choice. So that’s what Jack’s doing. He took a nap. Again. And now he’s sitting in darkness and banging the back of his head against the wall because this is better than letting his mind wander.

109.

Jack can never let his mind wander. When it does he always ends up crying so hard he throws up, or plotting how he can potentially end his own life.

110.

If he lets his mind wander he might think of his mom. He might think that he’s got no idea how old she is now and she’s spent too many Christmases alone. He’ll think about how terrified he was when he was grabbed and thrown into the trunk of a car. How he never even thought about that happening to him so he had no idea what to do except lash out and kick his attacker.

He’s still got the scar on the side of his head from the man’s rings.

111.

Jack will think about the times he’s tried to keep track of the days on the wall next to his bed, but gave up when he stopped being aware of when it was day or night. He had a little breakdown that day, when he realized that he’d been there so long he didn’t know how long anymore.

112.

He’ll think about the part of his ear that was cut off for no reason. The way he limps every time he walks and keels over every time he breathes too hard. He’ll think about the fingers he’s lo—

113. 114. 115. 116.

Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up!

Jack had a TV once. One of those big box TVs with the VHS player attached that he hadn’t seen since he was in elementary school. He played the few tapes he had basically 24/7. They weren’t good movies, he saw Joe Dirt so many times he dreamt about him, but it was something. Human voices to occupy his time. Voices besides his painful memories and… Mr. Reeder.

117.

Mr. Reeder isn’t the man who first took Jack. Once, in a bout of quiet contemplation much like this one, Jack let himself realize that he was in fact a victim of human trafficking. In his mind, trafficking was only for sex slavery or organ harvesting. But he was kidnapped, and then sold. For money. It’s not like he’s got Google on hand, but Jack’s pretty sure that’s the definition.

118.

No, Jack’s actually got no idea who first threw him in the car. He was walking home from a friend’s house. Not even a friend, just someone to hang out with so he wouldn’t be bored. 

Fifteen year old Jack had no idea what boredom was.

It was dark. He had earbuds in. He was alone. He was an idiot.

He never heard the car pull up beside him. Someone grabbed his shoulder and he turned around to ask them what the hell, but by the time he understood what was going on he was already in the man’s arms, hand over his mouth and phone tossed to the street. Jack had kicked out, managing to hit his attacker in the shin, but it didn’t stop him. He was thrown into the trunk of the car, and before he could even catch his breath to call for help, he was knocked out.

The whole ordeal probably didn’t take more than two minutes, if that. No time for anyone to hear a scuffle and come looking.

Jack woke up later to his arms and legs tied up, duct tape around his head, and the feeling of blood on his face.

119.

He doesn’t like to think about the early days. The constant fear and exhaustion that took hold of him. That still does if he’s being honest. He likes to think he’s more resigned now. Apathetic, if you will.

It makes stomaching his own existence a little easier.

120.

He lifts his head off the wall once again, but pauses before he can get to 121. Out of pure necessity, Jack is a very good listener. So despite being a floor down and many walls away, he can always hear Mr. Reeder’s car pulling into the driveway. No matter how many times he hears  it, Jack can never stop the way his body tenses, the way his heart rate picks up. He swallows and stares up at the ceiling, waiting for more.

It’s been a few days. Mr. Reeder would leave to go to work every day, and sometimes he’d go somewhere for a night or two, but this has been the longest yet. Jack had woken up and went to sleep eight different times (half were naps, he knew, but even still it was at least four days). He’s running out of food. Even if he didn’t see Mr. Reeder every day, he at least knew he was home.

He despises that he thinks of this place as his home.

The door upstairs slams and Jack can’t repress a flinch. He stares up into the darkness, eyes following the sound of heavy footsteps across the floor. The footsteps stop. Jack holds his breath to listen, the only unwelcome sound that of his own heavy heart.

A slamming door is not good. Stomping across the living room is not good. What kind of mood is he going to be in?

Jack gasps and flinches again at the sound of Mr. Reeder yelling, a wordless, angry shout, and then something crashes to the ground above him. Another shout and crash. Another. And another.

Mr. Reeder’s throwing things. So it’s safe to say he’s in, what Jack would call, a not good mood.

He tries his best to tune out the sounds above and focus on himself. He needs to calm down before Mr. Reeder gets here, or it’s going to be worse. Freaking out beforehand helps no one, and he ends up being in pain anyway so what’s the point. 

Jack closes his eyes (he can’t see anyway) and takes long, deep breaths. In through his nose, out through his mouth. His ribs flare painfully with each inhale, but Jack welcomes it. It grounds him. Lets him know he still exists, in this painful body and dark basement. He still exists.

Unfortunately.

Jack makes himself keep breathing as the footsteps get closer and closer, making their way down the stairs and stopping just outside his door.

It never gets easier. The suspense of waiting for his captor, it just never does. Even if his mind knows it’s going to be the same old same old, his body is terrified. It’s tired of being hurt, of being hungry, of being weary and bored.

Sometimes he’s so bored he’s actually relieved, not nervous, when Mr. Reeder comes. Oddly enough, this was not one of those times.

The keys jingle. A lock clicks. And Mr. Reeder pushes open the door. 

Jack squints against the light from the basement filtering in from the cracked door. He lets out his last inhale and stares down at the heavy boots in front of him. He’s always wondered how much of the mud caking them is actually his own blood.

Mr. Reeder just stands there for a moment, watching his captive. He’s silhouetted against the light so Jack can’t see his expression. Jack waits for him to say something, anything. He doesn’t.

Jack clears his throat. “Mr. Reeder?”

“Shut the hell up.”

Jack nods, looking at the ground. His heart pounds in his ears.

Mr. Reeder’s hand shoots out suddenly, gripping Jack by the hair and hauling him up out of his room. Jack hisses in pain, hands clawing at the fist tangled in his hair.

Jack kicks at the ground, trying his best to get his feet under himself enough to relieve the pressure on his head. His bad leg howls in protest at the sudden actions, but he does his best to push through. As he begins to be dragged up the stairs, Jack grits his teeth to stop from crying out, knee painfully banging against each. Individual. Step.

Each step, Jack is able to brace the pain a little more and become more aware of what exactly is happening.

He’s going upstairs. He hasn’t been upstairs since he first got here. The current circumstances are much different than those last time, so why the hell is Mr. Reeder bringing him upstairs?

He begins to fight.

Jack has been doing this a long time. Longer than he actually knows, but he’s positive it’s years. He’s an adult probably old enough to drink. That’s a long time to become a professional at getting your ass kicked. And being a professional victim, Jack knows that the less you struggle, the easier it is. Easier to deal with the pain, to get it over with, and stomach his own cowardice… Or resourcefulness. He’s a survivor, that much he knows.

So he only fights back when he’s really scared.

And he has reason to be. When Jack was just a brand new greenie kidnappee, demanding to be let back upstairs, Mr. Reeder had leaned down, close to his face, so close that Jack had to lean away from the smell of the peppermint nicotine pouch in his mouth.

“The only way you are ever going back up those stairs,” he said lowly, coldly, “is if I want to see your brains on the wall in natural lighting.”

It was the first time that Jack had thought I might not make it out of here alive. It took him a much longer time to accept it.

Apparently he hasn’t accepted it at all, Jack thinks as he wrenches his head out of Mr. Reeder’s grasp and dives to crawl away from him. It was never going to work but he needs to try.

Jack Thatcher was NOT taken away from his mother for years just to be shot in the head by some isolated lunatic. At least, he wasn’t going to without a fight.

Mr. Reeder grabs him easily, yanking him back by his bad leg, stretching it out. Jack can feel poorly healed bones in his knee scraping together, pinching the long disused muscles around them. He let out a shout before Mr. Reeder pulls him by his waist instead, hauling him into a room, slamming the door shut and sitting in front of it, trapping Jack inside.

With nowhere else to go, Jack pushes himself into the corner farthest from his captor, arms protectively shielding his right knee. His chest heaves and he can feel the stupid tightness starting in his throat that happens before he cries. He hates crying in front of Mr. Reeder, but it is continuously unavoidable.

Mr. Reeder sits in front of the door, catching his breath as well. He runs a hand through greasy hair, staring at the ceiling. He sighs heavily, like his life is the one here not worth living.

Tragic.

With his captor temporarily distracted, Jack takes stock of his surroundings. A mattress with no sheets is pushed against the corner opposite himself, some dirty clothes thrown at it’s end. A cracked mirror is attached to a dresser, dust slightly distorting the image of the ceiling. Behind Jack is a window half boarded up, letting a sliver of light into the room, washing over his captor. It looks like it’s golden hour outside.

Jack’s struck with the thought that this is the first time he’s seen the sun since he went down those stairs. Really, since he was thrown into that car as a teenager. He always had a blindfold on, or he was transported at night. The most fundamental, most simple and basic thing a human has access to, Jack hasn’t for years. Still just out of reach.

His attention is brought back to Mr. Reeder when he sighs again. He warily looks up at Jack. “You’re lucky you know.” Jack doesn’t move. He’s heard the ‘you should be glad I’m not worse’ speech before. “You have no idea what you’ve missed. No idea … what you’ve been spared. What I’ve spared you from.”

Jack only watches apprehensively. His body is tight, poised like he’s ready to try to run again. Where, with Mr. Reeder blocking the door? 

“I didn’t mean to spare you from it,” he goes on. “Heaven knows that wasn’t my intention. I think you could have benefited from being in the middle of it all.” He chuckles and Jack shrinks away even more. “Oh the look on your face would’ve been everything … Oh well. It’s just about over anyway.”

It’s nonsense. Total nonsense. Mr. Reeder is certifiably insane, no doubt about it. He’s gone on long manic monologues before, Jack’s heard just about everything. 

He’s never seen Mr. Reeder pull a gun from his waistband though.

He can’t help the sharp intake of breath, the sudden urge to run! Run now! Go! He’s got no idea what to do with it so he just stands up, so quickly it doesn’t even hurt, and backs even further into the corner. Mr. Reeder always threatened that he had a gun but Jack had never had proof until right now.

Mr. Reeder looks at him from under his brows. “Sit down Jack.”

All he can do is shake his head, breaths coming out fast and shallow. The floor is liquid beneath his feet, his body shakes where it stands.

The gun clicks and points right at Jack. “Sit. Down.”

He slides down the wall, hands up. His throat bobs with a swallow, just to do something with his mouth other than sob. Tears fall steadily down his cheeks and his lower lip trembles.

Mr. Reeder, satisfied with Jack’s cooperation, relaxes his grip on the gun, hefting it like he’s simply judging the weight.

“There wasn’t much time,” he says. Jack shifts his focus from the gun to his captor, staring with wide eyes and frayed nerves. “I was trying to think about what to do with you but … I mean, there just wasn’t much time. I’m not sure I would’ve done anything even if there was. You’ve said it yourself Jack, who wants to die alone?”

His eyes meet Jack’s for the first time and Jack can see … tears. Welling in them. It only terrifies him more. “Mr. Reeder …”

“Shh. Shh sh sh.” He shakes his head, working his jaw. “Do you believe in God, Jack?”

Jack swallows. “I don’t know,” he whispers, voice catching on the words. “I used to.”

“What about heaven and hell? Think those exist?”

Jack can feel the panic claw up his throat, making him want to sob and scream. “I hope so.”

“Hmm … I wonder if hell will be any worse than earth.”

This is it then, Jack thinks. He’s going to take us both out, as a sick end to his sick life. He’s bored of me and now it’s over, it’s all over.

“Mr. Reeder please,” Jack begs, tears blurring his vision, “please don’t. Don’t do it.”

He furrows his brows, and looks down at the gun. He shakes his head. “See you in hell, Jack.”

Jack hears the sound of the gun before he can process what his eyes just saw. He flinches back violently, closing his eyes and clapping his hands over his ears. Everything is quiet for a long while and Jack wonders if he saw wrong, if he’s dead right now. The ringing sets in a moment later, and, with a sinking heart, he opens his eyes.

Mr. Reeder sits, slack jawed, against the door. The gun lies limply in his lap. Blank eyes stare right at Jack. 

And the orange light from the window illuminates the blood and brain matter splattered across the door.

Jack can’t help the scream that escapes from his lips. It tears at his throat, breaking in and out of sound. He screams so loudly and long he runs out of breath, and then suddenly keels over and retches on the ground, coughing against the vile acid in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, gasping for breath. 

What the hell. What the hell what the hell what the hell! It’s all he can think, around and around again and again.

He opens his eyes and glances back up at Mr. Reeder for just a moment before looking away again.

Jack is still alive. He’s still alive, he’s alive. Mr. Reeder is dead. Not just dead—he killed himself. He just took Jack into a room and shot himself in the head! He talked about killing Jack all the time to see him squirm but he never once acted like he was going down with him! He didn’t even try to kill Jack…

Jack sits, eyes closed and breathing heavily, mind running in circles, for much longer than he cares to admit before one thought breaks through the horror and revulsion.

I can leave. 

He's upstairs. He’s not locked in. The man in control of him is dead. He can get up and walk away. He can leave, there’s nothing stopping him.

Except the dead body in front of the door.

Jack stares up at the ceiling and lets his head fall back against the wall behind him. He does it again, and again. 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 …

He’s to 51 when he finally feels calm enough to do what he needs to. Jack uses the wall to hoist himself up, right leg slightly bent to keep pressure off of it. It hurts like a mother because of the recent abuse. Mr. Reeder usually leaves the leg alone now, saying having a full cripple would be too much work.

Well.

He used to say that anyway.

The corner of Jack’s mouth slightly rises in a half smile. He limps forward, keeping his eyes averted. His hands shake when he reaches for the door handle and pulls, but it doesn’t budge. Mr. Reeder is too heavy. He’s going to have to move him.

“Don’t think about it,” he mutters. “Don’t think about it, don’t think about it.” He holds his breath—that makes it easier he thinks—reaches down, grabs the body’s shoulder, and pulls. Mr. Reeder doesn’t do much but slump over, forehead touching the ground.

The wound on the back of his head gapes. Jack covers his mouth when he realizes the white and pink stuff is Mr. Reeder’s brain and skull. 

Mr. Reeder was just a man. He wasn’t a god or a monster. He was just a man who made Jack’s life hell. A man who wanted power and got it, albeit only over one person. A man with no feelings, no empathy.

 And now he’s just a body. A body that can’t hurt Jack anymore.

 Jack opens the door and steps into the hallway.

It is so … eerily quiet. The basement was quiet most of the time, sure, but it’s supposed to be quiet. It’s a basement. It makes sense. This is a house. A normal house. There’s carpet and cupboards and a thermostat on the wall. It isn’t supposed to be silent, but something in Jack can’t bear to disturb it. He tiptoes down the hallway and pauses at the end of it, peering into the living room.

It is trashed. The TV is shattered, glass strewn on the carpet. The couch and chair are upended, one of the legs broken in two.

That was what Mr. Reeder was doing? Ruining his house before he offed himself? Who does that?

“Psychos, Jack,” he says aloud. “Psychos.”

Something on the other side of the room catches his eye. 

A landline.

Jack watches where he’s going, carefully avoiding the glass and splintered wood, rushing to the phone. He holds it to his ear and dials 911 with shaking hands, listening closely.

He waits, five, ten, thirty seconds. He hangs up and dials again. There’s not even a dial tone. Jack smashes the phone against the wall and lets it hang.

“Dammit!” The sound is hollowly absorbed against the walls. Everything echoes so much down in his cell that it’s slightly off-putting. But he needs to think.

 Mr. Reeder probably has a cell phone, but Jack is not going back in that room. A shudder runs through him even thinking about it.

He cautiously walks through the kitchen, stepping over the overturned kitchen table and chairs, to a back door. The musty smell of a garage washes over him, and he rushes for the car. It’s a junker from the 90s, paint and rust aging it. His hands shake reaching for the doorhandle, pulling it open with a piercing squeak from the door hinges. The keys are still in the ignition, thank the freakin’ heavens. The engine sputters when Jack turns them. He tries again, stepping on the gas.

The car doesn’t move. His eyes track along the dash and he just manages to spot the LOW FUEL flashing light next to the arrow sitting past the E before he smashes his head against the steering wheel. How did Mr. Reeder even get home?! Did he ride in on fumes? It’s a miracle he got in the freakin’ garage!

Jack sighs, putting his head in his hands. He has no choice. He has to go looking for someone.

Mr. Reeder’s house is a solid five miles away from anyone and anything, Jack knows. Mr. Reeder has made it very clear over the years that no one would ever hear his screaming, and no one would ever know where he is.

He had no idea that he would somehow be even more alone only a couple years later.

The only car Jack ever heard coming down the road was Mr. Reeder’s own. No one passed or drove through, so he is most likely going to have to make the whole five mile hike to get help.

He looks doubtfully down at himself. A roughly twenty year old man wearing dirty sweatpants and a shirt with holes torn along the hem, not to mention the blood stains. No shoes. A detrimental limp, only eight fingers, one and a half ears, scars galore … He’s certainly a sight to behold.

At least no one will doubt his legitimacy. But it is going to be a, for lack of a better word, sucky walk.

His heart aches a bit as he thinks that a five mile walk would’ve been no issue for him before. 

“Knock it off,” he says aloud. “That doesn’t help anything.”

First, Jack needs shoes. Looking near the front door he sees a small collection of shoes, old and dirt covered. He picks out a pair of brown New Balances that surely used to be white and slips them on. No socks and shoes a size too big will leave him wicked blisters but he can’t find it in himself to care at the moment. 

It’s hot in the house, and Jack assumes it is outside too, but he takes a jacket hanging from a hook anyway. It feels the tiniest bit blasphemous in a way to wear the clothes of a dead man. But what’s he gonna do? He’s dead and he sucked when he was alive.

Lastly, he finds a water bottle in the kitchen and fills it—twice because he drank all of it in one go the first time.

Jack is psyching himself up for the walk when he realizes he left something downstairs in the basement. In his cell. He groans, making his way to the staircase. The lights are still on, illuminating the plain wooden boards. It doesn’t feel right. It’s such a nightmare of a place, it should be shrouded in darkness like in a horror movie. It looks like a normal unfinished basement from the top of the stairs.

“The sooner you go the sooner you can leave forever. Just go.” So with one hand tightly wrapped around the banister, Jack descends back into hell.

It’s jarring, how different the basement is from what a regular person would expect. The raw wood of the last step is stained brown and burgundy from Jack’s own blood. Hooks hang from the ceiling with chains, ropes are wrapped around a dining table chair. A collection of freak stuff like handcuffs, whips, and stun guns are tossed on a table, dropped recklessly by Mr. Reeder after they had served their purpose. His cell is just a room in the corner with a small bathroom attached.

Jack doesn’t give the makeshift dungeon a glance, eyes trained on the floor. He beelines for the cot pushed in the corner, on which he was sitting bored out of his mind only a few minutes ago. It already feels like forever.

He reaches under the thin mattress and into a small tear he’d made. Inside, among the weird mattress stuffing, is a small piece of paper. He grips it protectively, slipping it into his jacket pocket.

He runs up the stairs faster than he cares to admit, stopping to catch his breath at the top.

Jack childishly flips the basement off one last time.

The front door is white, with brass hardware. It has no window. There are scuff marks on the bottom, and dirty finger prints on the paint near the handle. Jack takes a deep breath and notices this all again.

He knows he’s stalling. He even knows why he’s stalling. It’s like … when you’re reading a book that is breaking your heart but it still hurts to finish it and leave it in the past. Like when Jack’s dad died and all he wanted to do was leave the funeral, but when it was time to go home he couldn’t. His grandma had to basically carry him out of the cemetery, and as soon as they stepped outside Jack knew something had ended, despite how young he was. 

But that’s stupid. That’s stupid here, it’s dumb. He was tortured here. He was starved and beat and filmed and dehumanized in every way possible. What the hell would he be missing?

Stability. Knowing what each day entailed. Anonymity. When you step out that door, everyone will know. Mom will know. Strangers will know. Everyone will know your pain.

It’s petrifying, having to share your pain. Most people won’t be gentle with it.

Something compels Jack to take one last look at the living room, and a calendar on the wall catches his eye. Nothing about the photograph of the beautiful landscape in a foreign country. It’s the date that makes Jack finally turn the handle. 

Orange light washes over him. He closes his eyes and turns his head up to the rays. It soaks into his skin, warming a part of him that had long gone cold. It’s invigorating, life giving. Jack has never felt anything like it before.

It’s been six years since he’s seen the sun.

—

Five miles is really freakin’ long when you’re severely malnourished and have a bum leg, Jack figures out pretty quickly. He frequently needs to stop and breathe, leaning against trees lining the long road away from Mr. Reeder’s.

Every sound has him looking down the road, ready to flag down a car and ask to be taken to the police station.

What was he even going to say?

Hi, I don’t know if you know me but I’m Jack Thatcher, I was kidnapped a whopping six years ago and held by a lunatic in his basement and tortured—he’d probably leave that part out—can I borrow your phone to call my mom?

The more he thinks about it the more he’s embarrassed to admit to someone he was kidnapped. No one else he knows was kidnapped. He wasn’t even good enough to be held for ransom, just sold off like cattle.

Jack stops in the road and takes another drink, holding the rapidly warming water bottle to his brow. The sun is beating on Jack in a way he didn’t expect, since it seems to be sunset. It’s not getting any cooler though. It’s been hot this whole time. Mr. Reeder’s basement was always relatively cold, the chill seeping deep into his bones in what he assumed were the winter months, making him shake til his limbs hurt.

Walking in the shade of the trees would probably be a better idea, but Jack needs to stay on the road where cars will see him.

 It is enticing though, the idea of shade. He’s entirely unused to this type of heat. The last time would have been—well just about six years ago…

[mrawkweird]

Someone on Twitter I followed showed they just got a Liger Zero model

It made me remember that I defiantly had a toy of that thing back when it was new that I lost or broke at some point cause I defiantly didn't have it when all my "baby" shit got put then lost in storage. (by lost I meant sold because my mom could not or forgot to pay)

Do you ever go back and realize how FUCKING STUPID we are as kids for not taking care of our toys? Cause so much of them are worth 5x what they were when you got them. Like those crappy western made DBZ toys.

Even the stuff you get from Happy meals

On a related note, I had a Growlmon toy, but I didn't get it from the store no no, I got it because someone left it by a tree at the park. I took it home cleaned it up and kept it for myself

Pirate rules bitch

That Gundam reminds me of the time I got a Gundam Wing model kit thinking it was already whole and was forced to get good and put it together from scratch. Learned about reality real quick.

I'm glad that at some point I started valuing my shit, still keep a box of the most valuable ones stored somewhere, but I will always mourn the things that I lost on the way to that revelation.

I had the fucking Cubix toy and I let that shit fall apart. I was obsessed with the show so I got it for Christmas one year and sometimes I'm still in disbelieve that I just let it fall to the wayside. There's another thing I think about and I would pay to have this memory erased like Eternal Sunshine but I also got the OG season 1 Digivice Tamagotchi that they had....and I threw it away when the battery died.

It was this one exactly and I kick myself every time I think about it. For a time there was a part of me that thought somebody found it and went on to become a Digidestined and I just threw away the opportunity like a fool.

Also, there's a whole conversation that needs to be had about the toys they were given out at places like McDonald's and Burger King in the day. Like, let's just compare real quick Beyblade at 2 different eras with Burger King.

No other generation of kid will ever have it that good with their happy meals again. They were giving out some pretty good quality toy store shit and if you look at what they have now it's some ol' hollow bullshit. I also had the silver Gohan, Vegeta and Krillin from that BK DBZ set. I even got the gold plated Pikachu card they were giving out for Pokemon: The First Movie. That's still somewhere around here.

And it's funny you have that Growlmon story because I also have something similar where I was trying to collect all the Recess toys they had a McDonald's.

I'd keep getting every kid but fucking TJ until I lucked out and the universe said "we got something for you today" and I found that shit in the grass at the park. Pirate life is THE life.

Also, this is a loss that really hit at my core at the time mainly because I feel like it was out of my hands.

I had this Spawn figure. The coolest figure I ever had in my life at that point, maybe even ever, and I fucking lost that shit within days. Didn't go outside with it or anything. It just vanished out of thin air along with the comic it came with. Really thinking about it now I would not be surprised if my grandparents lowkey got rid of it thinking my mom brought some demonic shit into the house. Either way I genuinely hope to get it again one day.

[scarred-serafina-fan]

My origin story

So on Christmas day in 2015, I opened a box my mom handed me and it was full of books. In that stack of books, I picked up one with the silhouette of a girl on the front. I was not really interested when I picked it up but my mom started telling me about how much I was gonna love it and that she already read it and it was based in the Biltmore house in Ashville. Only then did I recognize the house on the cover. I wasn't convinced yet but decided I would give it a chance.

Later that night when I couldn't sleep I pulled out my new stack of books and decided to try a chapter figuring I wouldn't care to read anymore then that boy was I wrong lol I stayed up forever reading it and never put it down until I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore

A few months past and my mom sees a book signing event for the new book and I was ecstatic she drove me all the way to ashville with my grandma and I got to meet robert beatty for the first time this was the first time I'd ever met a author of a book I've read (and he's still the only author I've met) he was really nice to me and I got my copy signed and they gave me a bookmark and a copy of the first two chapters of the new book! (It was not supposed to be out for another two days I think it was anyway it wasn't out yet) so I went home and excitedly read the two chapters and was freaking out it had totally hooked me

Eventually the book did come out and I excitedly read all the way until the staircase scene in one day when I then read the words "she raises her finger towards me" and I literally screamed and slammed I book shut and almost threw it across the room and then proceeded to run into the living room screaming at my mom I was never going to pick up that book again because they killed off Gideon and rowena was a piece of trash that annoyed me so much I hated her (my opinions at the time I do not share them anymore lol)

Anyways my mom read the book since I was "done" with it and came back to me to tell me that Gideon wasn't dead and I needed to continue reading lol a few more months past and they announced the splintered heart and I decided I'd finally suck up the trauma of the staircase chapter and continue reading and I was so mad at myself for waiting because I was so excited for the 3rd book again

My mom took me to the book signing again and this time they had moved it to the Barnes and Nobel they are always at since and since it was so much bigger it wasn't as crowded and they had more things there including selling the book 2 days early (that's right I got to read it 2 days before everyone else lol) he was super nice again and again I LOVED it it actually became my favorite book in the series and still is I was so thankful that my mom talked me into picking the series back up

Willa came out and again I went to the book signing and got the book 2 days early (they also had a special willa flavored ice cream which I'm still obsessed with since they have sold it at every book signing since) I enjoyed it but it was probably still my least favorite out of the 4 books (or second to least considering I was still very much traumatized by twisted staff still lol)

Book 4 came out and same as usual went to the book signing had a fun time loved the book but.... I was now in the summer of the worst year of my life the dreaded year 13 XD I actually ended up in a depression and was dealing with a lot and wasn't reading as much serafina just sat on my closet shelf collecting dust until 2021 when he finally released willa of dark hollow and despite still not being able to find the energy to read I bought the book and hood from the king raven trilogy by stephan r lawhead with the hope it would get me back info reading again and despite having a hard time getting back into willa I did binge read hood and it reignited my love for reading again even if I was much slower at it then before and I decided to start rereading the series again and I still re-read and fall in love with the books all over again on occasion it's a obsession I've never been able to kick and probably never will <3

Course then he released the graphic novel and had the first book signing since 2019 I was so excited I dragged my mom back to ashville with me again and we stood in line for me to get willa of dark hollow signed (the graphics novel was presigned smart ngl) and when I looked at the card they always gave us to put down a message for him I decided to tell him about how he had affected my writing because when I first started writing I picked up his books to analyze how he did it and build up from there and I go up there I hand him the card he glances at it and starts to actually read and looks up to me and smiled and says "so your a writer" and I swear yall I was about to fangirl so hard me and him had never had a real convo before because I get my book signed take a photo and move on that's how those things work but he just started asking about what I write and stuff and it was quick cause I had to get out of line so the next person could meet him (she was so sweet ngl I loved her I would love to meet her again ngl) but he was so encouraging!

Then I started posting on tumblr and decided I was gonna make a fandom myself if no one else was gonna do it lol and I met all yall and it's been great! That's my story and I hope it continues on as he releases more books!