#no pt cruiser hate

[what-the-mell]

how's your ugly ass car still running??

-rich ❤️

ALRIGHT. LISTEN, RICHARD.

my car is not ugly. shes beAUTIFUL THE WAY SHE IS!!!

also i take very good care of her. ❤️

[moodycarcass]

Trying to get into the Aurora for the first time and there's a reaper sitting at the surface of the water where ur supposed to board the wreckage im gonna start vomiting blood from fear

[lizardsfromspace]

"As someone who spends her days watching nothing but true crime, I hate the idea that suburban housewives are 'paranoid'. We simply understand the dangers of our world. That's why I have weapons hidden in five places in my PT Cruiser alone. But one day I went outside and saw snow on top of my PT Cruiser, a sign that you've been marked by traffickers. So I went inside and fetched the knife hidden in my child's crib, prepared to take any measures to protect my family. But then I heard a twig break outside, a sure sign a murderer's afoot, out to traffic me, so I jumped in my SUV and forewent my afternoon trips to the Cheesecake Factory and Hobby Lobby to go to the woods.

"Lots of people are afraid of bears. But I know that between a bear and a man, I'd be more scared to encounter a man in the woods. But what about a boy bear? What kind of trafficking rings do bears run? A momma bear would intuitively understand me and treat me with kindness, but a boy bear might be dangerous. Too dangerous. I stashed my bedazzled AR-15 underneath the brakes and returned home.

"Luckily, my husband had returned from his shift as a cop, so everything at home was safe now!"

[goth-mami-writer]

💙Reserve💙~(pt.2)~

~(Au)Leon Kennedy × f!Reader drabble

~[Continued by request]

~{Find part 1 here} @exquisitelion

(Taking requests for new drabbles. Send me your ideas, and I'll tag you in the upload! 💙)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

《~ A week later.

It was early that morning when Leon received a call regarding a bust in progress for a crime ring across town. Some of the individuals involved were suspects in your case. He couldn't leave you at the house alone safely, so every time he left for a call, you played a ride-along in the backseat.

Unfortunately, every time this happened, you had no good warning, and had to come with no preparation.

Leon approached the horde of police cruisers that were circled around an open freighter in the dockyard. Agents for the bureau were confiscating the contents endlessly in large bags and totes, and there were men knelt to the gravel being questioned in handcuffs. But they were silent, unwilling to offer any information regarding their business or identities.

The chief of police approached Leon's side, asking him quietly if you were with him.

“Yeah, she's asleep in the cruiser.” Leon replied.

“Bring her.” His boss said with his head tilted to the people being detained in front of them,

“She might recognize someone here. That'll help us with info since they wanna clam up.”

Leon sighed, turning to head back to the car where he had you locked inside. Or so he thought. He cocked his head over to see that outside of his back passenger window hung your clear platform heels still strapped on your feet as you undoubtedly slept. Your ankles were crossed as they fell over the side of the car, and he sighed, watching other officers on their walkies give the sight a curious glance.

You'd just gotten off work, so he knew you were exhausted but leaving you to sleep alone at the house didn't sit well with him. He wanted to scold you for opening the window when he wanted the doors locked but he popped his head inside to rouse you awake softly,

“Can I ask a favor?”

You smiled in your sleep hearing that and murmured sleepily in a tease to encourage him to choose his words better,

“In front of everyone?...Hot.”

You reached your ankle up to rest atop his shoulder lewdly since he was leaned over into the cab, and the thought of your legs around him made him jump with a jitter of excitement. It was also embarrassment since there were others close by. But your long legs were one of the features he found the sexiest about you.

He chuckled and carefully put your legs back inside before opening the door. His palm meeting your thigh even momentarily made your skin crawl and your eyes opened. He leaned in the car to help you up from the backseat and you grumbled tiredly when he became face to face with you,

“You owe me breakfast for this.”

“You'll get whatever you want.” He assured you in a grunt as he pulled you forward.

Leon held the small of your back when you came to your feet. He walked you across the gravel lot and it felt endearing to be so protected beside him. You chuckled somewhat evilly as you followed close by behind him and replied before meeting the chief,

“Don't tell me that.”

~

That night, you heard Leon come home and he went straight to his bedroom that doubled as his office. You hated that he kept his work in his bedroom because it made him prone to not sleeping well. He'd get up all hours of the night to write something on his whiteboard or find a case note within one of his files.

He was working himself to death.

You made a meal downstairs, knowing the noise and the smell of food wouldn't even bother him. You made a small plate and brought it upstairs when it became almost midnight. You knocked on his door, letting him know you were coming in, but he stayed silent.

He sat with his MacBook in his lap at the foot of his bed, crouched on the floor in front of his rolling whiteboard. You sighed seeing all the case documents pinned to the dry-erase board, tiny scribbles of probably late night epiphanies surrounding each thumbtack and photograph.

This was insanity. He was working twenty four hours a day at this point and there was no way even a salary could be this rewarding.

“You've not eaten.” You told him, trying to entice him to at least come downstairs but he shook his head as it rested in his fingertips, telling you he was fine.

After setting down his plate, you came to lay in his bed for the first time. You had only been in this room a few times in the week past but never for this long. He turned his head slightly, only letting his eyes move to see you now spread on his duvets. Your red silk night slip trailed up your thigh as your knee stayed propped up and he softly bit the inside of his cheek to the sight. He wondered now if you wanted to keep him company, but right now, he just couldn't afford it.

“Le-” You said softly from atop his bed, calling him by his affectionate nickname,

“-you've been staring at the same thing for hours.”

“I'm missing something.” He muttered exhaustedly with his eyes glued to the board,

“I feel like it's right in front of me.”

He stood up, wincing to the pain in his back from sitting on hardwood and he continued to stare at that board that you wanted to roll into the hall and let fall down the stairs. Nothing would get solved with him running himself into the ground and you wished he knew it too.

“Killing yourself in exchange for a breakthrough isn't going to make the mayor lick your boots any harder, yanno?” You mentioned, turning your eyes in his direction as you faced his ceiling.

“It's not….just the mayor-” Leon groaned, rubbing his shoulder as it ached from sitting so long.

You were surprised by that comment. He always mentioned making the mayor of the city happy as being his number one goal. It seemed different now and your interest was piqued. But you remained at ease on his mattress, feeling as he sat beside you with a huff.

You rolled onto your stomach, growing closer to him on the bed as you asked from your curiosity that had grown,

“Then what else are you looking for? Because you've got quite the monkey on your back for a cop not even close to retiring, not yet at the peak of his career and not graced with a woman at home to warm his bed at night.”

Leon looked over, wondering if you'd made your punchline yet and you finished with a sigh as he gave that look when he was becoming unenthused.

“You're on the brink of a burnout, Leon. Take a break- I don't care if we just eat ice cream in our pajamas and talk shit. You need it.”

Leon half smiled, not quite ready to give in, then lied on the bed opposite to you. You watched as he covered his tired eyes with the heels of his palms most likely from his exhaustion. Quietly, you rose from the mattress and turned off his overhead light. Your steps were quiet as you traveled back to the bed with an idea in easing his frustration.

He felt you crawl back into the bed, but suddenly and careful, you sat now on top of him in the dark. He called out your name but all too late as you were determined now to do something about the world of stress he carried.

“Tell me how I can help you. Since you won't tell me why you're so strung out on working to death.” You whispered from above him and he squirmed feeling your warmth and weight on top of him once again. Something he missed after he'd had it once.

You planted your palms down on either side of his torso, leaning towards him in a way that ignited his many feelings of finally indulging in what it might feel like to touch you. Something he still wasn't committed to doing before this work was done. But he couldn't ignore this anymore. The want for you now gnawed at him more than this workload.

He rose slightly, propping up on his elbows as he looked up to you in the dark. Your hand gently petted his chest and he felt the fire in his belly that had been burning since the moment he first saw you. He sat up straight, keeping his eyes up as finally he let his hands touch you more intentional and slow when he wrapped your legs around him.

Your ankles locked behind him, and your face softened realizing that he wasn't holding back now. He was letting go slowly. He wet his lips as he held your waist against him, making you wrap your arms around him too when your heart raced in the thought of actually kissing him.

He held your chin, taking the last breath he needed to convince himself to do something this crazy. Your lips met almost unsurely, he stopped only for another second before he finally let himself close his eyes. You kissed him gently at first until his hands shook as they cupped around your curves from behind, gripping the roundness of your ass when he felt it under your slip.

Softly, you moaned as he poured more of himself into the embrace and your fingers tangled into his bedhead. His mouth was soft like petals on the inside of a flower and your heart felt soft too at their touch. You breathed heavily and felt as his mouth moved low, kissing under your jaw then lower to your neck.

He rested his forehead in the center of your chest, not willing to move forward because he knew he'd have you all night…. and into the morning. The desire was too strong. His breath was panting from the labor his heart was performing to beat so quickly. You held him against you to steady him, feeling yourself begin to shake now in a sense of amazement.

“I'm doing this for you-” He said in the quiet between you and the silence only met with both of your racing pulses,

“Fuck the city. Fuck the mayor- I just don't wanna sleep…. knowing there's someone out there waiting to put you next on their list. And I'm not gonna stop until they're cuffed or dead. Whichever's fastest.”

Your brow furrowed from the sincerity he had and you tried not to let your lip quiver. In your line of work, you were always thrown away after use. One face to the next and here you sat in the lap of someone wanting to save you again and again. You half smiled, nodding in understanding that if in fact you were falling in love with him before this, you had in fact fallen face first now.

He thought you must've been stuck on what to say before you brought your hands up to his face. Your thumbs brushed his cheek as you said murmured and soft,

“You're gonna have a lot more to worry about if you keep talking to me like that. Like how you're ever gonna peel me offa you after you nab this guy.”

“I think I could convince you.” Leon mentioned with a growing smile to finally participate in the back and forth of your playful banter as he looked to your lips again, growing needful for another kiss.

“Yeah?-” You asked before obliging him with a flirtatious wink as you leaned in to kiss him,

“You'll need a warrant, pig.”

He chuckled amidst your hurried kiss now, making you hum happily in the enjoyment of feeling his smile against your lips. He felt calmer already. Your kiss and your heat to warm him was like a heal-all. As you felt him level back to reality, you knew you wanted this always and it felt burned into you like a brand now.

You wondered in that moment, unbeknownst to him, if maybe you had the chance to be the woman warming his bed, awaiting his retirement - riding through the peak of his career. Because tonight felt like a taste. And there was no amount of money that could buy it. Even if you worked in that club as hard as he did in this room. 》

[communicationthroughlyrics]

It's Time to Let Her Know What You Need, Pt. 1

What happens when a call goes awry, and your former trainee finds out?

A/N: Some assault in this part, no over the top schmut yet, folks! ;]

8.1K Words

Medical leave had always been a source of annoyance for you, you would do everything in your power to avoid being placed on the Leave of Absence list. Taking time off work had never been your strong suit. You had never been away from work for this long before, but under the doctor's orders, you had been gone for 5 months. The reason for your leave was due to a particularly bad call that you had responded to, one that you wish you could have avoided. It had started as a typical call, but every police officer gets one of those calls that permanently changes their outlook on everything as they know it. 

You had been in the process of transitioning back to the graveyard shift, it had been a few years since you had worked through the shift cycle that your police department had enacted. Something about too many officers trying to enact tenure to avoid an ‘undesirable’ shift- such as graves. Most hated working the overnight shift. The 8 am-8 pm didn’t work well for most. Family, friends, relationships? They really couldn’t happen very effectively with that kind of work schedule.

The last time you had been on graves, you were training a rookie- she had started as a ride-along, curious to see the inner workings of being a police officer. She went to the academy, graduated at the top of her class, and was soon hired in the same department as you. You had been lucky enough to draw the ‘short stick’, of having to train someone. But that was what you were partially paid to do. You were a Field Training Officer, or FTO, for short. You would rather train people to behave in a way you could trust in the field, than have some bozo, and their shitty work habits bleed into the newbie's habits. 

Notoriously by the book, the joke had always been that you rewrote the book. You were respected and regarded, and your superiors trusted you. That meant the world to you, considering you didn’t have the stability of that growing up. This meant that you got to train the most promising of prospects for the police department. Jennifer Jareau was one of those trainees. She was caught between a career in the government with the FBI, or working in one of the most regarded police departments in the country. Once she had broken into the ranks at SDPD, she left an indelible mark on everyone. There were regulars on her beat who loved the visits she would make to check on the community, making a presence of support known throughout all the businesses in the Gaslamp District kept her patrol’s crime down. The officers she worked with loved her infectious personality, and her “girl next door” charm.

You swore to yourself that you would never- EVER- break the work relationship rule. You knew, as a police officer, that it gets messy. People in the department that fraternized outside of it ended up hurt, more often than not. You had seen it all happen, where significant others had been extorted by enemies, or cheating, injuries, or worse yet- death on the job. Your best friend, Cearra, was on the force and had left because she had watched her partner- a paramedic, get shot in the head during an accident call. Cece had never been the same after that, no matter the therapy, no matter the time. She had taken leave to try and ‘get right’, and that is where you think she went wrong. Too much time away lets you think, it lets you stew and wallow in your pity, guilt, and grief. That is where you are now. Wallowing. Wading. Treading water. 

***

“Cruiser 24 10-14 on a plate, vehicle is 10-47, driver weaving in and out of traffic, 10-18.”

“10-4. Dispatch 12, ready for your license plate.”

“Edward, Lincoln, George, Union, 6 - 7 - 1”

“Dispatch 12, confirming- Edward, Lincoln, George, Union, 6 - 7 - 1”

“10-4,” you said, keeping your eyes on the vehicle that was now parked at a gas station on the corner, both the young men looking way too young to be driving. 

“10-12 Cruiser 24.” You continued to watch the kid who was driving, he went inside, came back out a short while later with some chips, and went to the pump and put the nozzle in the gas tank. 

“Cruiser 24, the vehicle is 10-71 as of yesterday morning.10-39 shows plates registered to a silver Kia Forte, 2008.”

“10-4, cruiser 24 will be 10-6 on a 10-38, vehicle does not match registered tags.”

“10-4 cruiser 24.”

You drove forward, not flipping your lights on since you didn’t want the kid to run. You drove across the street, and pulled into the gas station parking lot, pulling behind them like you were about to fill your cruiser with gas. The driver's demeanor immediately shifted, and you flipped your lights on. Panicking, the driver pulled the gas nozzle out of the vehicle, slamming it into the receiver on the pump. You had already run out of your car, running forward to try and pull the driver back out of the vehicle. He slammed the door on your non-dominant hand, and you had to reach down to open the car door again, freeing your digits from the car door before he drove off. Running back you hopped in your cruiser, taking off after the burgundy Cadillac.

“Cruiser 24, 10-0 on a red Cadillac CT5, after attempting a 10-48. The driver fled and slammed my hand in the door. Broadway and 2-8 street.”

“10-4, Cruiser 24. 10-32 all units available for a high-speed chase, Broadway and 2-8, Eastbound Broadway.”

“Cruiser 24, you are clear to run code, lights, and sirens through city limits”

“10-4, Cruiser 24 will be 10-3 during chase”

You heard a cacophony of 10-4’s, units copying to move to help, but that all seemed to blend into the background as your hand throbbed and you sped through downtown San Diego. The chase seemed to last forever, with multiple units trying to utilize spike strips and pit maneuvers to disable the vehicle to complete the traffic stop. It seemed that no matter what was done, the vehicle just would not stop. They kept bobbing and weaving up and down side streets, trying to lose whoever was following them. You continued to follow them but noticed the vehicle slowing down. The kid cut across a bustling street to coast into a parking lot for a park. As soon as the vehicle coasted and slowed enough, the driver and passenger bailed out, running in different directions towards the heavily wooded ravine. 

Against your better judgment, you took off after the driver, thankful for all your time spent in the gym at the police department between the weights, boxing, and treadmill, your cardio was top-notch. You could hear the faint sound of doors slamming and yelling coming after you, but everything was easily drowned out by the shortness of your breath and the pounding of your heart. You kept your head on a swivel, not quite sure where the other occupant was. You continued forward, the kid in front of you slowly losing his momentum. You were gaining on him, and looking for anywhere he might try to dip off to the side to get away from you. You battled the rocky, overgrown underbrush and steep grade, as the driver kept running deeper down the ravine. 

“Police! Quit running!” You yelled, trying to get the kid to stop. He looked over his shoulder and tried to run faster. 

The space between you and him continued to close, you were finally within striking distance to bring this guy down. Willing your body to run any faster, you closed the gap enough that you stuck your arm out and grabbed onto his shoulder, pulling him backward to the ground below. You both fell, rolling down the canyon's slope, trying to tackle and wrestle each other as you tumbled lower and lower, grunting with each bump that was sure to leave a bruise. You were certain you had at least bruised some of your ribs, but you weren’t going to let that stop you from arresting this kid. He began to struggle, trying to reach for any weapons you had, while you grappled with him and tried to control his arms. 

Suddenly, he managed to break one of his arms free, and he grabbed your sidearm from your right hip. You feel it whip across your face, shattering your eye socket. You reach your arm around, trying to grab your baton from your left hip and feel the sharp, shooting pain, followed by numbness shoot through your arm. Before your hand could wrap around the handle of the expandable baton, there was another hand already there. You looked through your one good eye, to see the other person had now joined, and had expanded it to its full length. He whipped it across your side, you felt a rib or two crack. The sound of the gun cocking caught both yours and his attention.

“Dude, don’t do it. Don’t shoot a fucking cop, dude!” The second kid screamed. 

“Shut up man! We’re already in too deep! We stole your grandpa's car, we stole someone's plates, we got in a chase, and ran! The only chance we have is to kill her and run!”

“You don’t even know how to shoot!”

“It can’t be that hard. Just point, and shoot. Just like GTA, right?”

“Don’t do it, man!”

There was a flash and a loud bang. You felt the searing pain as the bullet tore through the side of your neck. Another bang and the pain was now burning through the left side of your chest, just above where you knew your vest covered. There was some rustling, and a few dull thuds, and footsteps as the kids ran away. You pressed your hands to the respective wounds, trying to keep pressure on the wounds as you forced yourself to crawl up the side of the hill. You worked yourself up to a large manzanita bush, slumping underneath it as you succumb to the exhaustion and wounds.

***

Currently, you were seated at the island in your kitchen, staring into your cup of coffee like it was going to magically turn into an exotic creature. The last couple of months had been full of reflection, frustration, and emotion. There had been one constant throughout the recovery process, and that constant was JJ. She had stepped up, taking your place on the graveyard shift while you heal. She had just been moved over to work the admin desk, a requirement before you can be considered for sergeant or lieutenant. During the late nights when you trained her on duty, she spoke of how she desired to move up the ranks, how she wanted to be respected, and revered for her work. She never mentioned a significant other, just a distant relationship with her parents back in a suburb of Pittsburgh. She was a star soccer player and gained a scholarship to Pitt, and from there went to Georgetown. 

Enamor, that was what you felt whenever she was around you. She made you feel things, things that had long been buried, that you thought you had been strong enough to hide. Between the frequent visits from JJ and the open and brutally honest conversations with your therapist, you had to admit to yourself that there were some feelings for the ocean blues that had been checking on you for the last five months. She was one of the few officers who visited you regularly. Your CO received regular updates from your doctor and your therapist on your well-being, and that is how they would determine how long you would be out of work. You have even begged for admin work, arguing that if Jennifer had taken up your post, you could do hers. They wouldn’t budge, however. You needed time to heal, which they were adamant about. 

You had suffered from a double orbital fracture, 13 fractured ribs, 4 broken ribs, a torn rotator cuff, a hyper-extended elbow, a punctured lung, a gunshot to the clavicle, and a gunshot that had just grazed the side of your throat, luckily not hitting your trachea, artery or major nerves. The cherry on top of the ice cream sundae? Showing up to the boys court dates, because they thought they had killed you. But, with the compounded charges, even at 14 and 17 years old, they were charged as adults due to the nature of their crimes, and sentenced to live the majority of their adult lives in prison. Turns out, they had beaten the younger kid's grandfather, and stolen his car, along with the money he had stashed in his safe. They stole his car, switching the license plates for the plates on a neighbor’s car, thinking that would put off the cops, and not be what attracted them. It was only meant to be a joyride, but the grandfather reported the car stolen once he had gotten himself to the ER. The kids had no idea how to navigate the city, neither of them had driven yet, and that’s what led to them getting lost and not being able to flee. 

Somehow, while trying to locate the two boys, no one had tracked your location down. They heard the gunshots echo through the canyon and had all but run past you, not noticing you under the manzanitas canopy. When news went out over the radio that they hadn’t located you yet, multiple searches went out, and hours later, just before they were going to call off the search for the night- JJ had found you and carried you up the steep embankment. She wasn’t even supposed to be there, but she knew that she couldn’t live without trying. At least, that’s what she told you. You convinced yourself not to believe it. She was just doing her job. What you couldn’t shake, was the few people who had seen her show up at the scene described her as distraught, asking everyone where they had last seen you, where the gunshots had come from, and immediately running towards the canyon. 

When she crested the top of the hill, she was screaming for help, your unconscious body lying before her, blood soaking your uniform. Your blood had saturated her clothing from where she held your body close. Multiple people told you that they had to pry her away from your unconscious body, and she hovered and rode with you to the hospital. She spent her off days, lunches, and nights at the hospital. The nurses found out the hard way to not ask her to leave after visiting hours. They had induced a coma to allow your body to heal and conserve your energy, and when you woke up you had been beyond shocked to see a disheveled blonde asleep in the corner, a binder with administrative procedures resting spread across her chest. Her heavy breathing told you she was asleep, the bags under her eyes told you she needed it. 

Everyone had been exceedingly happy that you had woken up not just for the obvious reasons, but also because they hated to see how this had affected her- as one of the rookies had so lovingly phrased it, “She’s been a nit-picky, insufferable nut job,” allegedly picking apart everyone's performance because you don’t just ‘lose’ an officer after a high profile chase like that. She had been furious that everyone ran past you, which caused your body to go into deep shock because you had been lying there for an estimated 5-6 hours before JJ found you. The chief was stuck between a rock and a hard place, so he was trying to quell any grumblings or grievances you had by giving you all the support, time, and money you needed to stay happy. He knew you could blow this up, but he was doing everything in his power to keep that from happening. 

A knock on your front door brought you from your reverie, so you sat your cup down on the butcher block countertop, mumbling an “I’m coming,” to whoever was on the other side of your heavy front door, Upon unlocking the deadbolt and swinging the door inwards towards your living room, you found JJ standing on the stoop in front of you. She was supposed to be off today, but she was standing there with her over-the-shoulder holster on, a grey sweater, black jeans, and a black blazer. Her badge was peeking out from underneath the coat, and her golden tresses fell in perfect waves as she gave you a soft smile. But for you, it was always her eyes that trapped you, that called you in the dark of the night. Those eyes were in all your dreams and nightmares.  

“Hey, stranger. How are you feeling today?” She asked, rocking her body back and forth, her hands in her back pockets. You had learned working with her that she only did this when she was nervous. A small smile graced your face, as you leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms across your chest. It was at this moment that you realized, you weren’t dressed in much. It was starting to warm up being the middle of July now, so you were in a black tank top and some cut-off camouflage shorts. You also become very, very aware that you had no bra on… so there was a little bit of tune-in Tokyo happening. 

“I’m okay, Jay. Getting there, slowly. How are you?” Her smile grew as you asked about her.

“Y/N, I'm not the one who got shot twice after being thrown down a canyon and pistol-whipped.” She chuckled, shaking her head.

“I know, JJ. But it’s kinda what we sign up for. I’ll manage.” Her head tilted at the remark.

“Y/N, this isn’t about managing. You need to process all of this properly.”

“I know JJ. That’s why I am brutally honest with my therapist, and take all my therapies seriously. I feel like nothing without working.” You remark, making her smile drop slightly. 

“Y/N/N, your career doesn’t make you- you make you. You need to heal, to take care of yourself, so you can be the best version of yourself- because that’s what you, the PD, and the community need. The best you.” She said, stepping forward, bringing herself extremely close to you, too close for comfort. Your breathing slightly hitched at the movement, and you backed up slightly. “Have you eaten yet? I wanted to see if you wanted to go get food, or order takeout.” She asked, the shy smile coming back to her face. It had been about a week since she had last been here, but you texted and called her daily. She was trying to give you space, but in her mind, she never wanted to let you go again.

“No, I haven’t yet. I was just finishing my coffee.” You respond. 

“You can’t just live off coffee, you know.”

“Tell that to the coffee gremlin living in my head, Jay.” You laugh, letting her in as you open the door wider, walking inside and motioning for her to follow. “Did you have any ideas? Anything sound good?”

“Let's just order in. The diner around the corner sounds good, though. I could seriously use one of those greasy ass breakfast burritos smothered in green chili.” You laugh at her request, nodding before unlocking your phone, scrolling through your apps, and selecting the one that this diner used for delivery. You guys had been there so much, that you had your orders saved, and just hit the reorder button. 

***

You had just finished a dull shift, it had seemed that the majority of people decided to behave tonight. Just a few traffic stops, seatbelts, or minor speeding infractions were spread throughout the night. While it made the paperwork at the end of shift light, it made your night last forever. You were just finishing changing into your street clothes when JJ ran up to you. Since you were training her, you had spent all night with her, and with it being a slow night, the majority of the time was spent talking about everything. Family, friends, relationships, embarrassing high school stories, you name it. 

“Hey, Sergeant Y/L/N, wanna grab a bite to eat before you head home? I’m starving, and all I saw you eat all night was a package of chocolate-covered mini donuts and a small coffee.”

“Sure, Jareau.I’ll meet you outside. Or did you want to meet somewhere?”

“I was thinking of the diner on El Cajon. Rudfords?”

“That works, I’ll meet you there. I just need to finish up something really quick.”

“Okay, I’ll grab a seat and wait for you. Coffee?”

“Please. And OJ.” You smiled as she waved and ran out to her car. You finished up submitting the paperwork for the tickets you wrote, and Jennifers' performance review for the night. You set everything on the desk of your lieutenant, before walking out to the employee lot, placing your sunglasses over your eyes, and tossing your go bag in the trunk of your car. You sped off, knowing that at this time of the day, traffic can be 50/50. You didn’t want to keep JJ waiting longer than necessary. 

Today must be your lucky day, as it was one of the few times there was hardly any traffic, and you got there fairly quickly. You walked in, removing your aviators and looking around, finding the blonde sitting in a corner booth, two cups of coffee and your cup of orange juice on the table. You smiled, shaking your head as you walked over. 

“Hey stranger,” you slide into the booth, smiling at her as she peers at you over the menu. “Ever been here before?” You ask, seeing her looking over all of the menu. She nods her head, indicating that she hasn’t been here before. “This is one of my favorites. Right down the road from me too. There have been many a late night I’ve indulged in the greasy spoon classics to help sober me up here.”

“Sergeant, you mean to tell me, you’re human too?!” She folded the corner of the menu down, as she whisper-shouted at you. You both started laughing just as the waitress came over to take your order. 

“Hey, Y/N. Same as usual, hun?”

“Yeah, Maggie. I’ll take my usual.” You smiled, handing her the menu. JJ filed the menu back up and handed it to Maggie as well.

“I’ll get what she’s having.” She responded, smiling as the waitress nodded and walked back towards the hostess stand to put the menus away. “So, what’s your go-to here?”

“It’s a greasy, messy smothered breakfast burrito. Perfect for cheat days and days that I need help recovering from a long night.”

“Sounds good. I’m excited!” She rubbed her hands together, making you shake your head at her excitement. You both continued your conversations from the shift, getting to know one another a little bit better. Maggie slid your plates in front of you, and JJ moaned at the smell as the plates came to rest in front of the both of you. 

The smell usually got to you too, but this time, you were distracted by the noise the woman across from you had just made. In the back of your mind, a little voice muttered, “shit.”

***

“OK, food ordered. Says it should be here in the next 30,” you state, setting your phone back down on the counter. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? OJ? Coffee?” You asked, turning to see the woman sitting where you had been just 15 minutes ago. 

“Water, for now. Thanks Y/N.” She responded, watching as you turned your back to her, grabbed a glass, put some ice into it, and filled it from the fridge. You slid it across the counter to her, a smirk on your face. You briefly thought about running upstairs to change into something more appropriate but decided that it wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before. 

“So, Jay, I thought you were off today.” You motion to the outfit, and the badge. 

“Technically I am.” She responded, a slight smile on her face as she took a drink of water. You found yourself watching as she drank, the way her neck and chest moved, the musculature making you gulp. 

“Sooooo…you just like to dress in work clothes and wear your holster and badge for funsies?” She laughed, a real, hearty laugh, dribbling some more water down her chin. You reached over instinctively, wiping it away with your thumb for her. 

“Thanks. But no, not for fun. Work is great and all, but far from my idea of fun,” she stood up, shrugging off the black coat and leaving her in the light grey sweater that you had told her before brought out her bright blue eyes. “I had to go pay a visit to the chief.” She responded, sitting back down with a deep sigh. Now that, that caught your attention. 

“Chief? How come?” You sound genuinely concerned, but worry is more accurate. You don’t want her to move, or leave. That’s usually the only reason people go straight to the Chief of Police. Unless there’s a bigger issue. 

“Relax, Y/L/N, it's ok. I have been tasked with creating better processes for chase scenarios, whether on foot or by vehicle, I can’t let what happened to you, happen again. I just needed to make sure that the department has been evaluating procedure changes. O’Connell is scared, you know? He is deathly afraid you are going to point out holes and flaws in the system, and use that for litigation for what happened. I told him you have every right to pursue legal action if you so choose because you’ve been out of work for months, and who knows how long it’ll be before you’re back.” She got quieter as she said the last part. 

“I’ll be back soon, Jayje. They can’t keep me on the bench forever.”

“I know, but it’s not the same. And it doesn’t help that the entire department thought you were gone.”

“Jay, we weren’t even working the same shifts before this happened. I never really saw you except for at the gym occasionally. Once I’m back, that’s what we’re going back to barely seeing each other. I work the opposite shift of you.” She looked slightly panicked and took a deep breath.

“No, not when you come back. Part of the new protocol is going to be shared cruisers. You’ll have a partner, even as a sergeant,” she looked nervous to say the next part.

“Oh god, Jayje, what did you do?” You asked, rubbing your face in your hands. 

“Once you come back on the beat, I’m your partner. I was promoted to Sergeant, they let me pick. I told them I’ll give up my bid for Lieutenant for now, they’re keeping me in admin till you come back, then we’ll be partners.” You sprang up, more excited to hear she got a promotion she had worked so hard for, and she was one of the lower-tenured officers at the department. It was just a nod to how great she is at her job.

“You’re a Sergeant now?! That’s great JJ! When did you find out?” You asked, completely grazing over the fact that she was now your partner.

“I, uhhh found out a few weeks ago. I kinda told them I wouldn’t do it unless we could work together again. I thought we made a good team.” She looked at the floor, suddenly finding her feet incredibly interesting.

“Jay,” you stand up straight, walking around the stools and standing in front of hers. She didn’t look up, so you gently grabbed her chin and pulled her face up so you could look into her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” You ask first, wanting to get it out of the way. The pained look on her face tells you all you need to know. The FBI's body language and behavior courses were paying off. 

“I wanted it to be a surprise when you finally came back.” Her eyes darted back and forth between yours. You let out a deep sigh, looking up at the ceiling before you respond. “I… I’m sorry if I overstepped… if you want to work with someone else, I understand… I just… I wanted to work with you again. I miss it. I miss you.” She finally said. Your head snapped back down to look her in the eyes, you can tell she is trying to steel her emotions and not cry. Your heart couldn’t handle the look of disappointment on her face. 

“Jayje.”

“I’m sorry. I should have known I overstepped.”

“Jay.”

“I think I read too much into this.” She stood up, reaching over for her coat. You knew it was now or never.

“Jennifer Jareau.” The use of her full name caught her off guard, and she stopped to turn and face you.

“1. You’re rambling,” you held up your hand, one finger raised. The second finger went up, as you continued. “2, are you sure that us being partners is a good idea?” You motioned between the both of you, eyebrow raised in question. 

“Yes, I think so. Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Because, Jay. We care too much. Not in a bad way. It’s just that, everyone I have known that worked in this kind of job and had a partner who did the same, gets hurt. Look at what happened when I got hurt. I woke up from a coma to you sleeping under a rules and procedures binder and you hadn’t left the ER for a week to keep an eye on me. You were distraught, to say the least. It isn’t a bad thing. I would be the same way with you. But, feelings get people hurt, Jayje.”

“So you’re saying that me caring, that anyone giving a shit about the person they work with is gonna be worse than what happened to you?! That someone showing any ounce of emotion while on duty to prove that we aren’t just fucking robots with a badge and a gun is a bad thing?! Jesus, Y/N, they told me you were emotionally cut off, but not like this.” She was yelling at this point, and you heard a knock at the door. Your food arrived. Walking away from this conversation probably wasn’t your best move, but you did it anyway. You turned around, to see her putting her blazer back on. “You can have the burrito, Y/N. I’ll get something on my way home.” You sighed, setting the bag down and turning around, watching as she began walking to the door. 

“Jay. Stop.” She kept walking to the door, not showing any indication of stopping. “JJ. Don’t leave yet,” she continued to the door. “JENNIFER.”

“WHAT?!” She turned to you, her eyes full of tears. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?!” You surged forward after haphazardly throwing the food on the dining room table and wrapped your arms around her smaller frame. You had always stood taller than her- the only time she was close was when she had to dress up and wear heels. She continued to cry, beating her fist into your sore chest without much thought. You continued to hold her tight to you, rubbing her back, and kissing the top of her head without much thought. The only thoughts running through your mind were how stupid you were to make her feel like this, and how natural it felt to hold her like this. You took a deep breath before continuing, just like you had rehearsed with your therapist. 

“JJ, I think you may have misunderstood what I was trying to say, doll.” You whispered to her, knowing that her head was probably going to be hurting from how hard she was crying. 

“No, I didn’t misinterpret you. I read you, loud and clear, Y/N,” she sniffled, pulling away from you enough so she could look up at you.

“Well, JJ. I would hate to start any partnership off like this, but, you’re a terrible liar,” the look of confusion all over her face made you want to laugh, but you stifled it for this moment. She gasped, slapping her hand onto your chest, where she had just been beating it with a fist, which was also right where they had to go in and fix your collarbone. You winced and made her jump.

“Shit! That’s where your incision is! Fuck! I hurt you! I’m so sorry!” She panicked, backing away from you, tears forming again. 

“Jay, JJ… it’s fine. Look. I’m fine,” you walked up, running your hands up and down her arms. She relaxed into the motion before you continued. “What I mean is, and forgive me if I am putting words in your mouth, but you and I care too much for this to just be a ‘normal’ partnership… I think it is safe to say that you are one of my best friends in the department, and I would go completely scorched earth, off the books unhinged to protect you. Whether it was legal or not. I wouldn’t care if it costs me my career, you mean more to me than that…” You tapered off, seeing the blank expression on her face. “Jayje? You in there?”

“Huh? Yeah, I am. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You shrug, dropping your hands to your side, and began fiddling with your fingers. “I guess what I mean to say, Jayje, and I am terrified to say this out loud,” you stop, collecting your thoughts before you continue. 

“Whoa, hun, there’s nothing you can tell me that is going to change my perception of you.” JJ settled forward, now comforting you.

“This…this might, Jay. This is our entire relationship, and if you don’t want to be around me after, I don’t know what I’ll do.” You ramble, your inner terror boiling up to the surface. 

“Y/N, look at me,” she waited for you to look her in the eyes before continuing. “There isn’t a damn thing in this world that’s gonna keep me away from you. If you want me here, I will be here.” You gave her a watery smile before continuing, not wanting to fall back within yourself and chicken out but not telling her at all. 

“JJ?”

“Yeah?” You let out a deep sigh before continuing.

“I love you. I am in love with you. Not just in a, ‘we’re best friends’ kinda way.”

“Oh.” She said, her gaze falling to the floor, scanning around for something that she could deem as interesting. 

“Mhhmmm. Yeah. So… yeah.” You begin to back away, not liking the response from her so far, but she grabs onto your hands, pulling you back.

“Well, Y/N,” her hands dropped yours, before reaching up and tracing patterns on your chest. “I guess we’re both lucky.”

“What do you mean?”

“To have a partner that cares so much.” It was your turn to stand there with a distant expression, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. She laughs, bringing you out of your reverie. “Y/N, god, I love you, and how smart you are. But Jesus you are acting like a dumbass right now. Quit overthinking it. I think we are in the same boat here.” She smiles, wrapping her arms behind your neck, sending goosebumps up and down your spine. “See?” She sent you an earth-shattering smile, but your body reacted on an impulse. Sliding both of your hands to the sides of her face, you pulled your face close to hers, her breath hitching as she anticipated what was next. You gently nudged your nose into hers, making those cerulean eyes open.

“You sure about this, Jay? This is a point of no return.” You ask, making clear that she wants this too, giving her an out if there is even an ounce of doubt. 

“Y/N, just shut up. Kiss me, I’ve waited long enough. I. Have. Feelings. For. You.” She smirked as you ran your thumb over her supple, pink lips. There was a sharp inhale, as her eyes darkened at the notion. You lean in, slowly, brushing your lips across hers, a ghost of a kiss. You had never been one to believe in the whole, “fireworks” or “electricity” bit when someone described a kiss, but if you had to guess what they meant- it was this. The feeling of her lips on yours caused your brain to short-circuit. Slanting your head, you find your actions are happening on autopilot- you lean in, firmly pressing your lips to hers. Finally, after so many nights of imagining what these lips would feel like pressed to yours, you know. You are simply amazed at how little effort this takes, giving into the dizzying yet daunting decision to tear down this barrier in (what had been, to this point) a very professional relationship. 

Her soft lips continued to move against yours, her hands running through the back of your short hair, from your neck up to the crown of your head. Yours ran down her sides, wrapping around her hips and lower back, pulling her closer to you. There was a muffled croak from the back of her throat, and a dull ache in your chest from the lack of air becoming more nagging. You unwillingly pulled away, resting your forehead against hers, your eyes closed as you catch your breath. Her hands continued to run through your hair, massaging your ears before they come to rest on the side of your face. A deep breath escapes her lips, and you both open your eyes, 

“Hey, stranger.” You mumble, nuzzling your head into her neck, inhaling the calming scent of vanilla and coconut that you have come to know well over that last few months, as she has been here regularly to check on you. 

“Hi.” Her quietest voice responds, you can tell she’s shy about what just happened. 

“Jay?” You pick your head up, looking into her darkened irises. “You ok?”

“Scared, a little bit. But never better, honestly. I have wanted that for so, so long.” She whispers.

“Why are you scared, Jayje?”

“Because, you’re right. If something like this,” she motions to your neck, her thumb tracing of the pink scar that was developing from the burn trail of the bullet. “Ever, happens again, I have no idea what I’ll do.”

“Hey,” you grab her chin, making sure her attention was on you. “I know, and I know we can’t make guarantees in this line of work, but just know this- I will do everything, and I mean everything I can to come back to you.” Her eyes watered a little bit, so you brought your hand up to run your fingers through her golden hair, resting your hands at the nape of her neck. 

“You can’t promise that, Y/N.”

“Yes, I can. I can’t promise that something won’t happen. But with what I can control? I will always fight, and do what I can, to find you. To come back to you.”

“Y/N…” JJ focused on your eyes, not watching or sensing that you were pulling her close to you once again. 

Your bodies held the same heat, the same desire as before. Only now, it is palpable, tactile almost. You pushed your lips together once more, feeling as though the world was melting away. Her calming scent overwhelms you, sending your mind into a daydream, a trance, if you will. Her whimpers and moans added to the scintillating touches that were being spread across your body. Instinctively, you lower yourself, your hands running from her shoulders, down her back, over the swells of her ass before you tapped the back of her thighs. No words are needed, she lifted one leg to wrap around your hip, with your assistance. Swiftly and efficiently, you brought her other leg up, and had her completely enveloping your body. She raked her nimble fingers through your hair, gently pulling the hair on your head back as you began to walk her to a more appropriate location.

It was times like this when you were glad you lived in a ranch-style house, the only steps you had to contend with were the three to your front door, and two down into your bedroom. Tossing her down onto your bed, her tresses fan out behind her head, as she looks you over with her softest, expectant gaze. Her arms stuck out, as beckoned you closer.

“Too much space, baby. I need you. I need to know what I’ve been missing.” She husks, as she props herself up on her elbows, watching you step closer. 

“Patience love, you’ve waited this long. Let’s savor this moment.” Holding onto her chin, you pull her face up to meet yours, as your knee comes to rest in between her spread legs at the edge of the bed. You slowly begin working off her coat, sliding it down the toned arms you had found yourself staring at a multitude of times, especially at the gym when you both worked out together. You both explored the depth of each other's mouths, this time was more fervent, more profound. The hands that had been resting on your bed now moved to remove the barrier that was keeping you both separate. You eagerly grasped the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head as you broke the kiss apart to rid yourselves of your clothes. She worked the tank top up your body as far as she could in her seated position, growling at the product of hours spent in the gym, particularly of late. She hadn’t worked out with you since your medical leave, so the 3-hour, 7-day-a-week regimen took your physique to the extreme. 

Goosebumps erupted as she ran her nails down your chest and stomach, you flexing on instinct and lolling your head back. Remembering that you were in the middle of removing your tank top, you lifted it completely and threw it off to the side. JJ’s eyes immediately drifted to the scar on your collarbone, and the scar that now wrapped around your underarm. She traced them delicately with her finger before she enclosed her arms around your back. 

“No bra today, hmm?” She kissed your now barren chest, her hands gently scrubbing up and down your back. 

“To be honest, Jay, I wasn’t anticipating any guests today.” You purred, leaning her back down till she lay fully underneath you. You began to unbuckle her belt, slowly unbuttoning her inky black jeans, and unzipping them at a torturously slow rate. You began kissing down her chin, nosing behind her ear before gently nibbling down her neck. You paused, causing a whimper to leave her lips as you slid the denim off of her legs. Instantly your mouth began to water at the sight of her bare legs in front of you. “No panties today, hmmmm?” You mock her tone from earlier, taking in the sight of her before you, nearly nude. Groaning, you roll your head back, before leaning back over her. 

“To be honest, Y/N, I wasn’t anticipating taking my pants off with an audience.” You smirk at her sarcasm, kissing down her collarbone, and to the swells of the tops of her bosoms. Her bra is the only thing between you and seeing her fully.

“Well, darling, there’s a first time for everything.”

[spgothkidsheadcanons]

More Facts About the Goths!

Henrietta:

- Her favorite season is actually Spring!

- She’s in tune with nature, and seeing all the leaves on the trees grow back and the animals that become more plentiful just makes her so incredibly happy

- She doesn’t like animals of her own, but if her S/O says something about wanting a pet, she’s got a bad habit of giving in and getting a pet to make S/O happy

- Speaking of her S/O, Henrietta is a very devoted and loyal person

- When she loves, she loves hard, and she hates to be taken advantage of or have her heart broken

- When she’s sketching up designs for clothes and gets bored, she begs her S/O to let her draw on them

- It’s soothing to Henri and opens up bonding time with her lover

- She hates to be called anything other than Henrietta, but her S/O has all permission to call her Henri, Etta, Baby Girl, Darling

- She’s a big fan of her S/O

- Probably that girlfriend who gets a t-shirt with S/O’s face in it

- And gets S/O one with her face on it

- She enjoys walks. Down the road, up and down the beach (only at night), hell, even the walk to her car

- Owns a 2 bedroom apartment

- Drives a purple Lexus 450h she named Bettie

- Likes to write and will spend all day writing in her journal, writing in a notepad, on sticky notes

- Her penmanship is very beautiful. Small, cursive letters that lean a little to the right

- Her birthday is November 13th, and she’s a Scorpio

- She’s 5’5, and 5’10 when she’s wearing her signature heels

- Henrietta is very in tune with her S/O, she’d bend herself over backwards to please them

- Cuddly

- So fucking cuddly

- She’ll share a bottle of wine with her S/O and then tuck herself right into their side

- Has to be touching S/O every chance that she has

- Has days where she goes silent, but she always bounces back

- Is in college for fashion design, models as a side gig to help pay through college

- Very good girl and I love her so much I would fight the sun to make her happy

- (26)

Pete:

- Pete had heterochromia, but it’s just a patch of green on one of his brown irises

- He had braces late in highschool, and now just has the permanent retainer on the backside of his teeth

- He’s more often than not hunched over, but he just doesn’t realize it, so he has a few back problems

- Likes to lay on the floor in his room because it helps with his back pain but also because he just wants to

- Stargazes almost every night

- Is really into space, reads facts about space, horror stories about astronauts hearing knocking on the rocket’s exterior, knows every single constellation and planet and their moons

- Incredibly smart, made all 100’s in school and almost got a perfect SAT score (1560 out of 1600)

- Pete has ADHD, and he can barely keep still if he’s just hanging around and not doing anything

- His birthday is 4/20 (HAPPY BIRTHDAY PETE BABY ILYSM) and he’s a Taurus

- He’s 5’10, and kind of self concious he didn’t hit at least 6’

- He lives with his uncle, but his uncle is almost always gone on business trips

- His uncle is his best friend, they do almost everything together when Unc’s in town

- He likes to cook and bake, and he’s always whipping something up in the kitchen for his S/O

- Always painting, anything and everything he can think of

- Prefers to paint his S/O, he’s obsessed with them and wants to memorize every dimple, freckle and curve of their form

- Likes when his S/O does his hair, does his skin care, or when his S/O just does anything with him

- He’s not the type to be all up in his S/O’s business, but he does like hearing from them once a day at least

- Owns a PT Cruiser he’s had since we was in highschool

- He calls it “Miranda”, after a long inside joke from when all the goths hung out together

- Likes decorating with stickers, and you can normallly find stickers on his car, on his laptop, one his phone and on his Emotional Support Water Bottle ™️

- Likes to cook and help run the food shelter

- BLEEDING HEART. EMOTIONAL BABY BOY. IF S/O CRIES, HE CRIES, IF S/O MAD, HE MAD

- In tune with his emotions, and believes it’s very healthy to share how you’re feeling

- Unironically listens to 2000’s club music. His favorite is Wobble by V.I.C

- Writes poetry, and does so extremely beautifully

- He’s a nerd I love him so much he’s my little baby doll

Michael:

- Kind of an asshole, but more in the endearing way and not in the jerk way

- Michael has moments where he forgets what he’s doing and he ends up just sitting down and not doing the original task

- Has definitely ruined dinner quite a few times because of his forgetfulness

- He likes knitting, something that he picked up in highschool and perfected a few years later

- He’s always singing, making a beat, or writing down things he thinks would be good lyrics

- When he’s busy with a recording session, he will stay at the studio for hours on end until everything he and his bandmates do is just right

- Back to being an endearing jerk, his S/O is always bullied by him just so Michael can make them feel better by kissing them and giving them everything they want tenfold

- Sends flowers to his S/O’s job, or really, wherever S/O is

- Kind of possessive, not in the “Oh no” way, but in the “Okay, that’s hot” way

- He’s 6’7, and loves leaning on his S/O because he’s a shithead who thinks it’s funny to just prop up on people shorter than him

- His birthday is April 21st, which he is so excited about because that’s Robert Smith’s birthday, and that makes him a Taurus

- Speaking of, he really is as stubborn as a damn bull sometimes

- If S/O wants to do something, they have to practically beg on their knees for Michael to go and do that thing with them

- Sometimes, S/O debates whether Michael really is stubborn or he just takes pleasure in seeing them beg

- DATE NIGHTS DATE NIGHTS DATE NIGHTS DATE NIGHTS Michael’s guilty pleasure is spoiling his S/O and he never takes no for an answer when he asks if you’d like to go out with him

- Owns a black 1990 Cadillac Brougham

- He’s a really big fan of vintage cars, he just thinks they’re so unique and they looked better before the 2000’s

- Big sweet tooth, and is constantly eating something sweet

- Owns a hairless cat named Boo that he likes to dress up

- Has a secret want to own all kinds of hairless mammals, he just thinks they’re so cute

- Has scary dog vibes, but he’s honestly more like an edgy golden retriever

- Likes to pick on his S/O, just so he has an excuse to hold them in his arms and smother them with love and affection

- He’s never actually mean to his lover, but if he’s mad, he does prefer to stay away from them until he calms down

- Michael’s got some issues he needs to work on, but all he needs is a healthy support system and he’ll be good

- Would never forgive himself if he did something that actually upset you

- He’s a butthead but a sweet butthead and he deserves everything in the world I love this man

[corn-fanfiction]

SAVIOUR COMPLEX (Marx Hoffman x F!Reader Pt. 8)

(Pt. 7)

Rating: M

TAGS: language/past abuse/Mark Hoffman being a c*p/reader's life is maybe becoming less normal/Mark is protective bc it's his job but he's also problematic/because he's a c*p/Detective Gibson is his own tw/no Mark Hoffman this chapter :(/ busy being jigsaw a badass

Gibson shows up on your doorstep at 7:45 sharp.

He’s in the full getup now, suit jacket and pressed shirt with his side piece on display. You roll your eyes and push past him, your restaurant uniform on and your feet taking you there.

“What? No hello?”

“Hello,” you mutter through gritted teeth. Before you can walk past his cruiser, he’s got a hand on your bicep. You freeze.

It doesn’t help that he has a similar build to Ted, that their hair is the same color. You know it’s not him. But it jolts you anyhow and you manage to unfreeze and yank your arm away.

“Just because you’ve been assigned my case doesn’t mean you can put hands on me.”

“You didn’t seem to mind when it was Mark.”

“Right. And you’re not him. Seems pretty clear cut to me.”

He takes a moment before gesturing to the cruiser.

“Get in.”

You bunch your brow in confusion.

“Um…no?”

“Resisting an officer?”

You roll your eyes. “Did they stick you with me because you were too busy being an asshole to do your actual job?”

“Damn, you’re quick.”

“Thanks. Helps me get away from asshole cops with a power complex.”

“You can keep digging yourself that hole; either way, you’re getting in the car. Don’t wanna be late for work, do you? Can you make it in 10?”

You glance at your watch and groan. He’s kept you here for five minutes and no, you can’t walk it in 10.

“Fine. Do I have to get in the back, too?”

“Keep it up and you just might.”

You don’t put up anymore of a fight and crawl into the passenger seat. Gibson starts the drive and you watch the neighborhood pass by the window.

“Why do you hate Hoffman so much?”

Mark’s last name feels strange coming out of your mouth after you’ve kissed him so much. Gibson chuckles.

“It’s not that black and white. I don’t hate him. I hate when people get unfocused and irresponsible.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” you mutter to the glass.

“What was that?”

You want his job.

“Nothing.”

Neither of you engage with the other for the rest of the trip and Gibson leaves as soon as he drops you off. You come in through the back, grinding your teeth, irreversibly on edge for the rest of the day. You slam your locked door a little too hard and Gerri looks up from the soda fountain in the alley.

“Woah there. Locker not tip you well?”

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Fuckin’… long ass story. You keep up with the news?”

Gerri shrugs. “Not really. Figure if it’s important enough I’ll hear about it. Why?”

“Well, guess you’ll hear it from me.”

You and Gerri both do your best to not neglect your tables but every time you’re at the running window or the server’s alley you’re butting heads together and whispering.

“So he’s kicked off the case? Just like that?”

“This smug little bastard- and Mark’s smug too but he wears it well at least, but this weasel has decided to make it his mission to make me miserable. Which, like, what’s the point?”

“Maybe to get back at Hoffman? What’s their beef anyway?”

The answer is delayed when a busser pushes through with a rack of dirty dishes.

“Gibson says there is no beef. Like I’m supposed to believe that.”

“Have you talked to Mark about it yet?”

“Not since last night. I don’t know what to even say. I told him we probably needed time to cool off.”

“What, like a break?”

“If you wanna call it that.”

“Sounds to me like that’s what it is.”

The busser stops in front of you two and sighs loudly.

“Can you please clear the alley!” He says unnecessarily loudly. Gerri gives him the bird.

“Fuck off, hourly wage.”

Despite the snark you both move and get the drinks you came back here for.

“I don’t know, I think you should talk to him. And what’s up with the Jigsaw guy? Do you think Ted was some sort of…message?”

Your stomach coils. “Message?”

Gerri shrugs. “I don’t know. This is the second time you’ve been involved. First time, you’re a witness and get his operation shut down. Second time it’s your ex in a trap. Not to mention…” they trail off. You raise your eyebrows.

“What?”

“I-“ they hesitate.

“Gerri, what?” You begin to grow agitated, like maybe you know the theory they’re reaching towards.

“I’m just saying, who else has been there the first time, and a second time?”

You roll your eyes.

“Gerri-“

“Am I wrong?”

“No, of course you’re not-“

“Listen, I’m not saying one way or the other, but maybe that’s why Gibson is being such a hard ass, right?”

You stutter, nearly dropping a salad onto your table. You apologize, run your routine, then catch up with them.

“Okay, so what? You think he’s in trouble? Like, prison trouble?”

“I’m Cochran all of a sudden? I don’t know. But that’s what it sounds like to me.”

Your head swims. You grab Gerri by the arm and pull them back by a serving station.

“Do you think…” you chew on your lip where a cut is beginning to form. “I mean…”

“Oh hon. I don’t know. I mean, you know him, I don’t.”

“But…I don’t know him. Not really.”

“Hey, why the change of heart?”

You don’t even realize you’ve started crying until Gerri’s handing you a napkin.

“Fuck. God, I hate crying at work.”

“Wanna go to the walk-in?”

You snort through the snot and turn away from the tables.

“Fuck you for making me laugh.”

“It’s my job, isn’t it? Don’t worry about it. So you let it cool off. Don’t call him. If he calls you, sure. If he wants to meet, do it here. I’m sure it’s all fine. Now I wish I hadn’t said a word.”

You wave your hand and use a yet-to-be-bussed cup’s condensation to wet the napkin and dab at your ruined makeup.

“No, I needed to hear it. I’ve been thinking it but I'm too scared to say it out loud. Feels like a betrayal.”

“Hey, you don’t owe the guy anything.”

“I mean, he took care of me, Ger. Patient with me, kind, slept next to me all night and didn’t do so much as touch me.”

“The bare minimum,” Gerri mutters.

“Hey, that’s not fair.”

Gerri shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know. Just consider what I said, alright? I hope we’re both wrong. I hope this all gets straightened out, the Jigsaw killer fries and we both get big glamorous jobs and you get to fuck a hotshot detective every night of the week.”

You throw your head back in laughter and the two of you return to run food. Your heart feels a little lighter.

[sochilll]

Day Two of Pins and Patches Week! (See the prompt list here!)

Day 2: Tears/Drunk

Read on Ao3

Michael was aware that he couldn’t just stay in Jake Dillinger’s bathroom forever. He knew at some point he’d have to get off the floor and leave the room and walk through the party and get back to his car and drive home. But he just didn’t think he’d survive any of that at the moment. He lifted his head as yet another person banged on the door. He was concerned that if he ignored them much longer, someone would just break the door down. 

He pulled himself to his feet, using the counter for leverage. He stared at himself in the mirror. He looked like shit. His hair was disheveled, his eyes were red and puffy. 

He opened the door, was shoved aside by some girl he vaguely recognized, and was left to fend for himself in the hallway.

The music pounded in his ears, rattling his teeth. He put his hands over ears, trying to protect them. Trying to be able to think clearly. He needed to get out. He needed to find the door and his car and… uh oh.

Michael hadn’t realized it while fighting with Jeremy or while sitting on the floor crying but he was perhaps a little drunker than he meant to be. When he turned his head, the world took a second to catch up. He swayed. 

“Hey man.” Someone grabbed Michael’s shoulder. “You seen—? Hey, you okay?”

Michael blinked. “Jake.”

“Yeah.” Jake ducked to meet Michael’s eyes. “Are you okay?”

Michael nodded. Then he started crying. He felt his balance go weird but Jake’s hands were squeezing his shoulders, keeping him upright. 

“Um,” Jake glanced around like he was looking for somewhere to put Michael.

“Sorry. Fuck. Shit. Sorry. I just—I got into a big fight with Jeremy. My best friend. And now he ha-hates me. And I didn’t even want to be at this stupid party. No offense. And now I have to go home and I don’t know where the front door is and…” Michael trailed off, hiccuping through his tears. 

“Hey,” Jake straightened Michael’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “It’s your lucky day. I can help you find the front door.”

Michael laughed a little, still crying. 

Jake fought his way through the crowds of people, gripping Michael’s arm, and hauling him along. Michael stumbled blindly after him. 

They reached the front door and stepped out onto the porch. The cold air stung Michael’s wet cheeks. He shivered.

“Look at that. We made it.” Jake grinned at him. 

Michael nodded, still having enough sense to keep his mouth shut. 

“So, where’s your ride?”

Michael blinked. He pointed at the PT Cruiser parked across the street. “I drove here.”

“Oh.” Jake eyed him. “That’s… probably not a good idea.”

“No, I’m fine,” Michael insisted. “I’m good. I’ll just sit for a minute and then I’ll be good.” He didn’t really believe that but he needed to get away from Jake and this whole humiliating experience, even if it meant sleeping in her car across the street. 

“Dude, you’re fucked up. You can’t drive.” Jake glanced behind him at the open front door, then back at Michael. “I’ll take you home.”

Michael snorted. “Like you’re sober right now.”

“I am,” Jake said, rolling his eyes. “I wasn’t supposed to be. But Rich is on some weird rampage and I’ve been trying to keep track of him all night.” He dug his keys out of his pocket. “Come on.” 

Michael stumbled after him, trying to come up with an excuse to not get into Jake’s car. He stopped walking when he saw Jake unlock a shiny black sports car.

“Oh I can’t get in there.”

“Why not?” Jake frowned.

“Cause I might possibly maybe throw up in it. And I can’t afford to pay to fix your upholstery because I’d like to go to college.”

Jake snorted. He shoved Michael toward the car. “We’ll roll the windows down. And I promise I won’t charge you for any puke-related damages.”

Michael dragged his feet but eventually got into the car and gave Jake his address. Jake drove smoothly enough that Michael didn’t get overwhelmingly nauseous on the drive. Only mildly nauseous. 

“So what happened with that dude?” Jake asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

“You said you were fighting with your friend.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Michael didn’t know how he’d even begin to explain what was happening between them. He figured Jake didn’t really care to know the details anyway. “Just stupid high school shit. He thinks being popular is the most important thing. Doesn’t get that all the popular kids are vapid, selfish, assholes.” Michael looked over, sniffling. “No offense.”

“You say no offense after directly insulting me a lot.”

Michael slid down in his seat. “Sorry. I’m drunk.”

Jake laughed. He pulled up to the curb in front of Michael’s house. 

“Thanks.” Michael unbuckled his seatbelt. 

“No problem. Honestly, it was nice to get some space from the noise.” Jake gave him a seemingly genuine smile. “I’ll come get you tomorrow so you can get your car.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can… Uber or something.”

“That’s stupid. I’ll probably sleep in pretty late so let’s say noon to be safe.”

“I… uh… okay.” Michael got out of the car. “Thanks.” 

“See you around.”

“Yeah. Uh, see you around.” Michael smiled slightly, and then remembered he was supposed to be sad and fixed his face before going inside.

[saltygilmores]

The Many Loves of Rory Gilmore (Yet Another Old Interview With Milo)

Stars Hollow may be a small town, but Rory Gilmore has managed to find two boys to tickle her fancy. There's Dean, Rory's sweet boyfriend. And this season a new boy has caught Rory's attention. Ever since Luke's nephew, Jess, sauntered into town, we knew there might be trouble.

This month, in our continuing look at the many loves of Rory Gilmore, we turn our eye to Milo Ventimiglia. The 24-year-old actor plays Jess, the troublemaker we just know has a heart of gold.

Fans may be unsure about whom they would like to see Rory end up with and the actor is equally uncertain. When asked why he thinks Jess is the better guy for Rory, he replied, "I'm hesitant to answer that. I bring things out of Rory that Dean can't. Dean has given her things that Jess can't offer Rory. Jess and Rory might work it out and just end up the best of friends."

Rory wasn't the only one who was quickly smitten with Ventimiglia's charm. When he first auditioned for the role, the character was slated to only be a guest star. But then he met series creator Amy Sherman-Palladino and she told him, "We want you for two years."

In fact, Ventimigilia was hired so quickly that "they didn't have a name for my character." "They didn't know where he was from," Ventimiglia said in a recent phone interview. "All they knew was that he was Luke's nephew and that he was a troublemaker. From March to September [of 2001] I really didn't know much. When I finally got my first script, I was giggling like a little girl. Everything coincided with what I created in my head."

The actor, who starred in the short-lived Fox comedy "Opposite Sex" and can currently be seen in a PT Cruiser commercial, wanted to act ever since he was young. "I knew when I was a kid that I wanted to be an actor. When my parents asked me if I wanted to try to break into the business, I always said no. I wanted to wait. I didn't want to leave school, leave sports." But that didn't stop him from performing. Every Friday night, he and his parents would act out plays.

Ventimigilia doesn't have too much in common with his television alter-ego. For one thing, he was a very good kid. "Teachers liked me, parents liked me," he explained. When his friends wanted to do something, all they had to say was "I'll be with Milo" and they were good to go. "The only thing I have in common with Jess is that we both always have a book in our back pocket. We both like to read. My best friend in high school, he was a troublemaker. I'm basing the character on his antics."

But Ventimiglia is still getting to know his character and understand what makes him tick. "I would love to figure out why this kid is so uneasy. He talked about his mom not having him come home for Christmas, but I feel like there's something more to that. He seems unaffected by it, but I'd like to dig a little deeper."

He's also starting to get recognized. The day after his first Gilmore Girls episode aired, a girl approached at his gym and asked "Are you on Gilmore Girls?" When he said "yes," she exclaimed, "Oh my God. I hate you." One time he and Alexis Bledel (Rory) went to the movies. "People really flocked to her and asked me what books I was reading," Ventimiglia said. "It's kind of bizarre, people equate your character with you as a person."

Recently Bledel, Ventimiglia and Liza Weil (Paris Geller) all went to see a taping of "Friends." He loved watching David Schwimmer direct an episode of the popular NBC sitcom. "I'm dying to get on the other side of production. There are lots of talented directors. Some are good with camera and not with actors. Some good with actors and not with camera. I would like to combine the two."

What was it like to join the critically acclaimed series in its second season? "I definitely felt like the new kid. They were all especially gracious and kind. But they had a history. It's like going to a new high school. It's really an incredible environment. They're great people on and off the set. I can only be as good as the people around me and people around me are amazing. Scott Patterson (Luke) is really funny. He makes things very comfortable for me and I feel free to explore this character. Alexis does the same thing."

One thing Ventimiglia is sure of is that he's keeping his lengthy last name. "I had a non-union agent when I was 16 years old. He wanted me to shorten my name to Venti." Ventimiglia was so outraged that he thought about adding his middle name (Anthony) to annoy his agent. "It's my name. I'm not changing it."

[identifying-cars-in-posts]

Henlo i also like cars

Do you also have an ungodly reserve of wrath and hatred specifically for the PT Cruiser or am I weird

hello! i should but unfortunately i love them haha, they’re a childhood favorite. they’re terrible little cars but i have a huge soft spot for them.

you’re definitely not weird for hating them though, they suck. i’m the weird one for liking them

[netscapenavigator-official]

I mean this in the nicest way possible (not really), but the Genesis GV60 straight-up looks like the reincarnation of the Pontiac Aztek.

Like, Hyundai and Kia did such a good job styling the Ioniq 5 and EV6, respectively. But for some reason, when it came time for Hyundai to extend their EV platform to their luxury marque, they went, "Let's make a car that looks like a Pontiac Aztek on the outside and a Chrysler PT Cruiser on the inside."

I just... why? The split headlights with the awkward, semi-liftback tailgate. I mean... that's distinctly why people hated the Aztek. I mean, look at these two cars and tell me they don't look like the same model, a few generations apart:

[slutforstabbings-archive]

Clean Again

Chapter 12: THORNS read on AO3 | previous chapter | tumblr chapter index make sure to check AO3 for this fic's playlist and other extras! Corey comes down... general warnings for this fic - angst, fluff, eventual smut (MDNI), canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore contents/warnings for this chapter - oops! all angst 3,397 words @rebel-blue @heartrot666 @wolvesandvampires @cordelium @toxicanonymity @multifandom--mess @hersweetrevenge @futurewife @yllcm @ethanhoewke dm me or reply to this post to be added to the tag list 💕

Your car will never be a show car. While it's in impressively good shape for its age, and people often express surprise about its condition, there has been no blobject renaissance. Cute cars from the era of soft shapes are firmly out. Nobody is desperately searching for a PT Cruiser. But you love your little jelly bean to death, and for years it’s been a thorn in your side that the first thing you did at 16 upon being given full control is switch the radio out. 

You just had to have a CD player and an aux port for your iPod, the cassette converter thingy wasn’t good enough for you. The aftermarket radio wound up looking dumb, the design severely clashing with the rest of the car’s knobs and gauges, and the CD player skipped at every tiny pothole and rock you drove over. It’s exceedingly low priority – you’ve been dealing with it so long that most days you don’t even notice, and in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter much at all – but for a while you've been set on reinstalling the factory radio someday.

You told Corey this early on, just in passing. You had no reason to think that he had internalized it. You didn’t realize at the time how Corey held onto things, good, bad, and neutral, with white knuckles in his heart. So, unbeknownst to you, he’s been looking for the right radio ever since. Now you sit in the backseat watching him disconnect the aftermarket radio’s wiring harness, half of your dashboard piled up in the driver's seat. You still haven't talked to him about the birthday thing. 

The drive home Wednesday night was quiet, just the road noise and the local college radio station turned low. Corey slumped against the passenger window with glazed eyes. When you glanced over at him, it seemed like he was barely there. You cursed yourself for thinking he could handle the hotbox, feeling bad because you knew it probably made his anxiety worse instead of better, and annoyed because you needed to talk to him about this birthday bullshit, but he was already going to be bummed out from the comedown. How hard would it have been for you to suggest snuffing out the joint as soon as you started to notice Corey getting wobbly? Of course not passing it to him wasn’t enough when the entire car was one swirling cloud. 

When you got home he was even clingier than normal, stalking you through your apartment with hunched shoulders until you sat on the couch and patted your thighs, beckoning him to come lay his head in your lap. 

That was when the floodgates opened. He must've been even worse off than you had thought, he didn't seem to have come down much at all yet. He was confused about why it was so different from last time, and reassurances that it was normal did nothing to quell his building panic. Despite your best effort to get him to resist, he followed the paranoia all the way down the rabbit hole, worrying that the joint was spiked, that Veronica had mixed something else with the weed, that she hated him, that he’d feel weird for the rest of his life. 

“Will you still love me if I feel this weird forever?” He asked, like he’d already been devastated by the answer.

“You’re not going to feel weird forever, Corey.” 

“But would you love me if I did?”

“I’d love you no matter what.” 

“No, you wouldn’t,” he insisted with tears in his eyes.

Like the night you watched The Lobster, you suddenly felt like you weren't really talking about him being stoned forever. Self-inflicted, you thought, and your annoyance settled into guilt.  

You swept your hand over his forehead, brushing his curls back. “I would.”  

You finally convinced him that he'd feel better if he took a shower. When he got out, you were lying in bed on your back, staring up at the ceiling. How had you let yourself make it this far without knowing his birthday? How could you miss such a big gap in your basic knowledge of him? And the date had come and gone since you met him! Did he say something and you just forgot? Are you a terrible girlfriend? 

Corey came into the room in his boxers, his skin still hot and pink, his hair towel dried. He curled up next to you with his head on your chest, and before you could say anything to him at all, he was asleep.

It feels like a rain cloud following you around. It's only been a couple days, but the window is closing, the problem edging closer and closer to being something you have to just let go. And you've considered letting it go. You're not mad at him, he doesn't seem to even realize you didn't know, and now you do know. The weak, sad version of you that stayed with Orin so long, that took forever to break things off with Hurley, certainly would have left it alone. But that feels like a regression. There just hasn't been a good time to bring it up yet. 

And now isn't a good time either. You've established a precedent, beginning all those weeks ago when he came to fix your sewing machine – you let him work in silence. If either of you speaks, it's always him who initiates, explaining what he’s doing, asking you to reposition the flashlight, giving you instructions for a task that requires more delicate fingers than his. It must be more than 100 degrees in the car, but the sweat that beads your forehead isn’t from the heat.

In front of you, Corey’s already securing the radio cage back into the dash, wordlessly reaching between the seats for you to hand him the screws one by one. The humidity turns his hair into a frizzy halo all around his head. You know he’s no angel, but his presence in your life feels like such a blessing, and while you might not be angry, the conversation will still be a confrontation. You’re terrified of pushing him away, scaring him off, like taking a step too quickly towards a backyard deer you want to eat out of your hand. If you’re not careful he’ll startle, bolting back into the woods, and you’ll be left standing there alone with a handful of wasted oats. He snaps the last piece of your dashboard into place, then rotates to look at you.

“Moment of truth,” he says. “Keys?”

You hand him your keys and he cranks the engine. Blue-green digits appear on the display. He clicks the radio’s power button and the speakers hum lowly with static. He spins the knob back and forth and the volume rises and falls. He presses a few of the other buttons, making sure the functions of all the rainbow wires he twisted together are present and accounted for, then he sets your clock and station presets for you.

"All good," he announces. 

"Yay!" You exclaim. "It's so nice to have her back to her original glory. I can't wait to start buying tapes from work. Thank you so much, Corey." You lean forward over the center console to give him a gentle, lingering kiss.

"No problem." He clears his throat.

"How did you find it anyway?" 

"I had some alerts set on parts websites. I almost had it a couple times but I kept losing it. Auction ending while I was at work, shit like that. I had to fight for this one. Like, I got in a bidding fight for it." 

You sense an opening. It’s not a good one, but you take it before you can change your mind. “I guess Madame Veronica was right,” you say. 

“What do you mean?” Corey asks.

“The shit she said about Aries. They like a challenge and fight for their loved ones or whatever.” 

He just looks at you and shakes his head no.

“Do you remember that conversation at all?” You ask. “You were pretty far gone.”

“It’s all fuzzy. She complimented Dad’s ring. I got a sandwich. The bathroom was really clean.” He shrugs.

Fuck, you think, somehow both disappointed and relieved. If he doesn’t remember then maybe… Maybe it actually would be okay to just let it go. Maybe it isn’t regression. The old you avoided conflict for your own sake, because you didn’t want to make yourself feel bad. But this isn’t that. This is a conflict you want to avoid for Corey’s sake. Do you really need to ask him why he didn’t tell you his birthday? The only people who don’t get excited about their birthday are people who were never celebrated enough, and people who wish they were never born in the first place. The implication makes your heart ache. What could you gain from the conversation that you don’t already know? Why hurt him needlessly? 

“Yeah. I’m so sorry about that. When you have a higher tolerance you don’t realize how much it can fuck somebody else up if they don’t have a tolerance at all. You don’t remember what happened when we got home either?” 

He shakes his head again. That settles it. If he doesn’t know how badly he spiraled, his overall impression of the night is probably pretty good, right? Why soil what little he remembers with a question that will feel like an accusation, no matter how much you insist it’s not? 

“Well, what happened?” 

“I got you to take a shower to sober up, but you didn’t sober up at all, you just rolled straight out of the shower and into bed. Out like a light.” 

Corey chuckles and it makes you giggle. Your giggle makes him laugh harder. His wide, dimpled smile floods you with affection. You crane over the center console to kiss him again, turning his laughter into a buzzing sound inside his face. The commercial block on the radio ends and the station identifies itself over the sparkling acoustic guitar of a late 90’s bubblegum pop hit. The song is cheesy, but the sentiment resonates. Would you love him, no matter what? I would.

You kiss him until the song ends. His face is damp and shiny when you pull away. 

“Let’s go inside,” you say. “It’s way too fucking hot out here.” 

Not long after you go inside, the sky turns a menacing gray, any trace of the sun blotted out. You hear distant thunder like a giant’s stomach rumbling, just as fat raindrops start to splash against the windows. You turn off all the lights in favor of a hoard of candles and the glow of the TV. Corey lays on the couch and you tangle yourself in his legs, settling in to play Smash Bros until your thumbs go numb. You’re extremely impressed with how good he’s gotten, and how quickly, but you’re far too competitive to allow the student to surpass the master, his every skill increase prompting one for you too. Almost every match goes into sudden death. When you can’t take another tie, you blow out all the candles and drag him off to bed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Corey wasn’t completely honest with you about what he remembers from Wednesday night. He didn’t quite lie, but he left something out, more of an impression than a memory. The impression that Veronica is a severe threat, well beyond the level of any other person in his life. 

The impression that she’s more dangerous than Phil and Joanna, who don’t understand the internet and have helped him enough to be implicated should anything happen, more dangerous than his boss Will, who only pays half of his employees the way the government requires him to and would have to answer for all the taxes he and Corey haven’t paid. The impression that she’s more dangerous than even you, the person most sure of the good inside him, but with the most information to damn him, and the best chance of convincing a DA that he manipulated you into protecting him, blinding you with gifts and acts of service. The impression that Veronica could, would, and will destroy everything he's worked so hard for. It's only a matter of when. 

That timer has been ticking since the first fateful day at the library, but the countdown has accelerated now, and will only keep getting faster, without the gravity of a looming first meeting weighing it down. He felt pressured to say yes to Veronica's joint without the reasonable protest of pot being illegal, and he senses he'll feel pressured to say yes to more and more social outings without the reasonable protest of not liking new people. But she's not new anymore, you'll say, batting your pretty puppy eyes. And Corey will have no choice but to follow you to his own undoing. 

In the dark he pulls you closer, wishing desperately that there was a way to have you all to himself. 

Corey’s intuition that meeting Veronica had broken the barrier between your time with him and the rest of your social calendar proves true two weeks later. He’s in the kitchen, cleaning up the dinner dishes when he hears you answer a phone call. He freezes in place, fork resting against the half-scraped plate he holds over the trash can.

“No, I’m not busy… Right now? Yeah I can… Yeah, he’s here… Okay, I’ll offer those suggestions, haha… Alright, see you in 15. Love you!” 

He’s still standing hunched over the garbage, paused mid-scrape when you come into the kitchen. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, noticing his unnatural posture.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, resuming his task and trying not to panic. “Who were you talking to?”

“Rose. She needs some pants hemmed and she wanted to know if she could bring them by tonight. I told her it was okay, she said she understands if you just wanna stay in a different room while she’s here. I have to mark where the hem should be while she’s wearing the pants, but that should only take like 10 minutes.” 

Corey puts the dishes in the sink, very careful not to set them down with too much force, despite the fact that he wants to shatter them on the ground. “That’s fine,” he says.

“Are you sure? I can call her back and tell her to come a different time, or I can run over to her house instead and you can stay here, or sit in the car?”

He weighs his options. There was something you said once. Veronica is a pill, but Rose’s name suits her well. Which means that the consequences of refusing to meet or engage with her are probably minimal, that he can put off the inevitable for a day when he’s more prepared. That is, unless it gets back to Veronica that he avoided Rose. She would certainly think that reflected badly on him. And Rose allegedly being a sweetheart also means she could be an asset, a second sympathetic voice in chorus with yours. Veronica hearing that he agreed to meet her, having her vouch for him… This could be the one time meeting a new person is a good idea. If he never has to be in a position like this again, it would be too fucking soon. 

“It’s fine,” he affirms.

You come around the island to wrap your arms around him, smooching him all over his face. “Thank you, baby,” you murmur in his ear between kisses. 

Baby. The word dissolves his bones, turning him into a puddle at your feet. It’s only the second time you’ve ever called him that, and this time it isn’t mocking like it was when he struggled to hit the bong. This time you mean it. God, he is so fucked. No matter what happens from now on, he’s doomed, he’s damned, he’s absolutely, completely, irreparably fucked. But being torn apart by police dogs, giving the existing bullet hole in his window 1000 new friends in a shootout that he’s destined to lose, even life without parole would be worth it to hear you call him baby.  Stupid, lovesick bastard. 

When Rose arrives, Corey is sitting at the dining room table. 

“Hi, Corey! How are you tonight?” She asks like they're old friends. Her arms are loaded with fabric.

“Uh…Okay, and you?” He responds, caught off guard by just how different she already seems from Veronica. 

“I’m great! I’m so stoked for these pants to finally be the right length. Our girl over here is like a wizard, my clothes always come out so good when she fixes them.”

“Oh, stop,” you say, coming into the room with the step stool from the kitchen. 

"No, she's right. You always do a good job," he agrees. 

Rose goes down the hall to the bathroom, changes into one of the pairs of pants, and comes out to stand on the step stool. The three of you chat while you orbit around her feet with a pin cushion on your wrist, then she hops down to repeat the process. Corey’s shocked to find he enjoys the conversation. Even as it drains him to have his facade of normality tested like this, Rose is a soothing presence and he finds a sort of ease. It’s been so long since he’s done it, it takes him a minute to realize — this is what making a new friend feels like. Of course, any sense of calm Corey feels can only ever be short lived.

"Are you joining us for the bonfire, Corey?" Rose looks over her shoulder to address him as you pin the final pair of pants.

“What bonfire?” he asks. 

“We haven’t talked about it yet,” you say.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spring it on you." She looks between you, apologetic frown on her face.

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“What bonfire?” Corey asks again. 

“The annual Plymouth Records Summer Solstice bonfire,” you explain. “The store is closed that day and we all have a big party at the owner Gordon’s parents’ house. Is it his parents or maybe his aunt and uncle..?”  

“I think it’s his uncle,” Rose says.

“Right, it’s Gordon’s uncle’s house and it’s a big mansion on a bunch of acres in the middle of nowhere, and like, everybody in the scene comes and we just celebrate the longest day of the year.”

“It’s always a great time. This year Drew’s renting a smoker and everyone else is bringing meat and veggies for it! Who doesn’t love barbecue?”

Corey does love barbecue, but there is no food on Earth delicious enough to make him excited for a party in a mansion with all of your coworkers and God knows who else. He can see it now, one person stumbling up to him, insisting they know each other from somewhere. Another overhearing and joining in the guessing game. He does look awfully familiar. Everyone in the whole house studying his face and whispering suggestions into each other’s ears until a blood curdling scream cuts through all the noise and 100 fingers point at him. That’s the guy that killed that kid! He didn’t just kill a kid, he killed his own mother! How convenient to have a violent mob descend on him at a bonfire. All they’ll need to do is find a stake. 

Rose leaves to change again. 

“I’m sorry, Corey,” you say. “I didn’t want to present it to you like that.”

“Can we talk about it later?” 

“Of course.”

A door down the hallway opens. Rose returns in the outfit she came in, and hands you the pants you’d pinned, folded into a neat stack. The vibe is awkward now. She doesn’t stick around.

“Well, y’all have a good night. It was nice to meet you, Corey.”  

“You too,” he says. 

And it was. It’s not her fault wanted killers and backyard parties don’t mix. He just hopes that he was right about the protection being in her good graces might afford him. Clearly, he’s going to need it. She waves as she slips out the door. You close it behind her and flip the deadbolt lock into place for the night.

[hogmilked]

would you ever buy a [insert car that other people think is cringe but you think is neat]

(yes this is an open invitation to ramble about cars)

KISSING YOU ON THE MOUTH BESTIE

ok ok so yes i am going to go ramble but i’ll keep it relatively short

HERE ARE MY TOP FIVE DOGSHIT CARS I LOVE SO SO MUCH

5. Pontiac Aztek

any time you look up the ugliest cars ever made this will come up on the list and that’s fair because it is ugly as hell BUT i LOVE IT so much it came with a goddamn built in TENT. it was built on a minivan platform so this bitch could haul so much while not being overwhelmingly big. she may be ugly but she has the RANGE honey. and one person’s ugly is another’s quirky. pontiac aztek my beloved one of the only cars made after 1990 i genuinely want

4. Ford Pinto

OK OK HEAR ME OUT LISTEN. YES THIS CAR KILLED PEOPLE. YES EVERY FOR EXEC SHOULD GO TO HELL FOR KNOWING THAT AND NOT RECALLING IT FOR YEARS. BUT. they did eventually fix that pesky little exploding issue and what was left was a capable, fun, gorgeous little economy car, and models with the gas tank issue addressed have proven to be relatively reliable for 40 year old american economy cars

3. 2000s MOPAR

yeah this was a dogshit era for dodge/chrysler/jeep but i’m so deeply enamored by all these dramatically failed experiments. the dodge caliber, dodge magnum, chrysler pt cruiser, plymouth prowler, SO many bad cars that kinda bang. to me. they all have the energy of those fossil pokemon from sword and shield that clearly want nothing more than death but you can’t help but love their cheap, plastic, dogshit charm

2. Nissan Murano CrossCabriolet

Ok so technically i don’t want one per se although that’s more because i hate almost all cars made after 2000, but this thing got so much hate and like i get it but i fucking love convertible suvs and i think there should be more. yes i know the bronco and wrangler exist rn but i need more with barbie energy like this. chop the top off a rav4 and maybe i’ll consider a car payment. i won’t but like maybe

1. MALAISE ERA BABYYYYYY

Here’s some more specifics about the malaise era but this is the era of cars i’m probably the most autistic about lmao, american cars from the mid 70s to the early 80s. tldr during this time the government was cracking down on efficiency and fuel consumption so american car manufacturers had to start figuring out how to make their giant gas guzzling giants of the road more economical. on top of that imports from japan were getting popular, which were smaller, cheaper, and easier to drive. america however was stupid and full of cocaine so they kept making giant cars but just made them cheaper and less powerful. this didn’t mean smaller engines mind you, it just meant they choked the existing giant engines and made them weaker. so the cars from this era are still huge and clunky but now with more plastic and less horsepower while still weighing the same, which means they all drive like fucking trucks, even the smaller ones. eventually manufacturers either figured out how to make economy cars (though they still weren’t as efficient as japanese ones) but for a chunk of time in the late 70s american cars were ugly, underpowered, and kinda cheap. and i LOVE them. i love the brown on brown on brown, love the tackiness, love the underpowered v8 engines. malaise era my beloved ❤️❤️

[bellygunnr]

[Photo from this article]

This is a Chevy HHR. This is a Chevy HHR in the "panel van" configuration.

This is a Chevy HHR Panel van SS. In this specification, this car boasts the turbocharged 4-banger from quirky gems like the Pontiac Solstice, Saturn Sky, and Chevy Cobalts. Unfortunately, unlike these roadsters, it's a goddamn van meant to butt heads with the PT Cruiser and has no business hosting 260 horses or a 5-speed manual.

But it does. And two-hundred-something souls thought it'd fit their lifestyle, so two-hundred-something units exist, languishing as relics of the bygone era of 2008 in junkyards or backyards or as faithful companions to anyone silly enough to still drive these things.

Look at it.

My first exposure to a Chevy HHR SS, with the windows, was a car show. None of them liked this car. The car, spec'd for road courses and awards to its name, did not receive a single kind word in the 10-15 minutes I spent in earshot of it. It was an oddity, a strange animal, an unfortunate, confused beast, in the land of Ferraris and cosseted muscle cars.

And I get it! I get it! Look at this fucking thing! The unfortunate bloated cousin of its peers! You'll look at the Ion and Cobalt and go, what the fuck? How did we get here? Who would own this? Why do you own this, if you do? Does it give you joy? It doesn't give me any joy to look at this thing and yet--

I can't think of a single better vehicle to star in my stupid fucking story. My stupid, awful band of idiots, whose vibes are all so rancid that the sweet, curvacious shell of a Chevy HHR is the only thing that can contain them.

And I hate it. I do. I don't want to like this car. I don't want to have to write about this car. And yet. I'm a weak-willed motherfucker and I can't find or THINK of a single better or alternative car! Fuck!

[punkocalypse]

the pt cruiser is totalled. i'm shaken, not stirred... but we're okay. hit by an f350. a lot happened in a short amount of time... just please be patient.

this is my car now

thankfully, we're not broken... we have means of transportation... got issued a citation even tho i firmly believe this wasn't our fault and shouldn't have happened and WOULDN'T have happened if he'd been going the speed limit. but what can you do?

i'm tired. i'm scared. i had a panic attack. i hate vehicles with a passion...

hopefully tomorrow is better... didn't get home til like 3am cuz we went to the hospital to get checked out... lovey has a hematoma on their leg and is bruised and cut up and got a tetanus shot but is otherwise fine... i'm mostly bruised, my left hand is sprained...

just... very shaken.

gramma's right. i deserve a horse.

[mikeepoos-mechanical-mix]

Eye Bleach Time

Coachbuilt Chrysler PT Cruiser Embraces Vintage Car Styling

Love them or hate them, most of us will remember the public release of the Chrysler PT Cruiser, with the first models hitting production lines in early-2000 for the 2001 model year. The retro-styled compact car certainly made waves. During the PT Cruiser’s 10-year run, Chrysler made 1.35 million models to keep up with public demand, a surprising number to those who love to loathe them.

Hurtan, a coachbuilding company set in Spain, embraces the PT Cruiser’s retro styling and bumps up the vintage vibes. While PT Cruiser designer Bryan Nesbitt (who also designed the Chevrolet HHR), shaped the PT Cruiser to take styling cues from 1930s vintage cars, Hurtan takes the overall design a step further.

Hurtan’s coachbuilt PT Cruiser, named the “Author Berlina,” is offered in sedan or convertible body styles. The rounded roofline is reminiscent of the original production car, but then the lines flow into a pre-war body style with pronounced fenders, a vintage Bugatti-like grille, rounded headlights, fog lights and taillights, and a continental kit in the rear.

The interior received a more luxurious revamp with many traits of the original PT Cruiser still evident. We assume that by contacting the company, customers can specify specific options for customization to make the car their own.

According to the website, electric windows, power steering, air conditioning, and a dual airbag are all included. Available drivetrains include a 116-horsepower 1.6-liter engine or a 150-horsepower 2.2-liter CRD diesel engine, both paired with manual transmissions, and a 143-horsepower 2.4-liter gasoline-powered engine with the choice between an automatic or manual transmission.

Poking around on the website didn’t reveal much for pricing, but a previous report by Motor1 stated that the pseudo–Art Deco PT Cruisers start at around $40,000, which is arguably a fair price for a luxury coachbuilt vehicle.