#I can just fix... later. Make it a future me problem

[twilightarcade]

STATUS UPDATE ON HEMMING: bad.

[dykedvonte]

A crazy thing about Mouthwashing is that Pony Express lost communication with one of its freighters for months and didn’t send anyone to check.

A genuinely reputable company, or at the very least a decent one, would have sent someone, something out to check after about two weeks of silence. Two months is when the crew start questioning if they are even being looked for which implies they were already expecting it to take a while cause P.E just doesn’t care.

They don’t care about who they hire. They don’t care about the conditions they place their crew in or how safe the safety measures actually are. They just don’t care, made rules and regulations so they can care less and succeed in getting away with it with how little those ideas are discussed.

[goldensunset]

as an underclassman early morning classes and boring classes were what i detested and feared most of all. now it’s difficult classes and evening classes. my evening class last semester actively made me want to become the joker with how disruptive it was to my schedule. i sure would have never wanted to switch into a 9am yawnnnn history lecture class but at this point that sounds like a dream compared to all the tons of active work outside of class with every single professor trying to scare us to death on the first day. i would rather wake up early every day than suffer the hell that i’m currently slated for. last semester brutalized me so badly it’s not even funny i can’t do the same workload again yet worse i need a relative mental break. i do not have that dog in me. i will be going to my advisor screaming and crying tomorrow asking her to make some changes

[luveline]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

When someone hurts you, you and Aaron both need time to get better, and to put things right. fem, 8k

cw canon typical violence, graphic scenes and imagery of assault/battery, recovery, mentions of being sick, issues eating. established relationship, lots of angst and comfort, hotch being vulnerable, jack being sweet 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

You lay backward over the luxurious stretch of the couch and sigh as your spine gives a sharp crick. Your head feels heavy after a long shower, your arms ache from a day at work, but the feeling of soft cotton on your legs deters any moping. 

I hope these are more comfortable, his note read, a white post it note stuck to a boutique bag. You wrap an arm around your waist remembering how Aaron’s message had made you feel: spoiled, and considered. 

You’d mentioned in passing that all your pyjamas are old and rough as a consequence, thought nothing of it, and promptly forgot about the conversation entirely. 

When Aaron finally comes home tonight, you’re going to give him a proper thank you. You can imagine his reaction to such a thing, his smile as he says it’s no problem, his eyes shuttering closed as you press a kiss to his cheek. You hadn’t realised how prevalent affection would become in your life after meeting him, but everything he does inspires love. Awful, soft, marshmallowy love where he looks at you and you want to sit in his lap. 

You slide your phone up your chest lazily and click the button on the side to light the display. Aaron hasn’t claimed to know when he’ll be home tonight. All he’d said was to let yourself in. 

It’s odd but not the worst thing in the world to be alone in his apartment. There’s less and less free space each time you visit as Jack begins to outgrow his and his fathers lodgings, but there’s never a stain or bad smell, the Hotchner apartment feels homey. You’re excited whenever you’re invited to spend the night with them. 

Maybe some time soon he’ll ask you to move in, or better, to marry him. You’re not a hundred percent sure how you feel about marriage, about being someone’s wife, but there’s a great well of pleasure to be found in the idea that Aaron would want to marry you. He makes you feel loved already in a hundred different ways but the ring might be nice, like a symbol to signify how much you mean to him. 

You rest your hand across your eyes. It’s silly to think of. Sillier to want so soon. You’ve been together for just under a year, and you have no false hopes about rushing into the future, but it’s certainly a future you want with him (and with Jack, too). He’s taking things slowly for a hundred different reasons but he loves you, and gifts like your new pyjamas cement that. He really listens to you. 

Your phone rings a moment later. 

You smile at the screen. It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves you too. 

“Hey,” Aaron says when you answer, his voice warm even through the phone, “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“How come?” You sit up with a little start. 

“It’s getting late, honey. I called Jess and Jack was already gone.” He doesn’t say anything further. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I wanted to hear your voice, I think.” 

“Well, where are you?” You struggle to envision him speaking saccharinely like this where his colleagues could hear him. He’s nice to you often, but he’s a reserved man. 

“I’m just,” —a crunching sound of metal, the trunk of his car closing— “about to get in the car. I’ll be home before ten. Can I have you until then?” 

“I don’t see any reason to say no. But do you think you could come home a little faster? I have a crick in my neck.” 

“And you want me to fix that?” 

“You always fix my neck.” 

“How have you done it?” There’s a sound you assume to be the car door closing, but you can’t hear anything beyond that. 

“I have bad posture.” 

“You have perfect posture.” 

“No, it’s quite bad.”

He laughs loudly. It took some time to draw the humour from him but he isn’t as stony as you’d think, and for a while he didn’t have much worth laughing for, anyways. Whenever you hear it, you try to prompt it twice. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, Aaron, it’s just like when you said my weird rash wasn’t weird.” 

He laughs again, to your pleasure. “It wasn’t weird, it was a heat rash, I promise. You act like you’ve never seen heat rash.” 

“One of us goes to hot cities all the time and one of us lives permanently in Virginia.” 

“What are you talking about? Virginia’s far from cold. You’re being argumentative, I can see your smile in my head. I’m never going to fix your crick if you keep acting like that.” 

“No, don’t be like that,” you laugh, tipping back into the cushions. “You’re always such a sore loser.” 

“What did I lose?” 

You can tell from his tone that you’ve promised yourself one of those hugs that borders on a straight jacket tightness, his face tucked into your neck as he asks you to repeat yourself. What did I lose? he’ll ask again, kissing your chin, the line of your jaw. Tell me clearly.  

“It hurts,” you say honestly, “please don’t be mad. I really need one.” 

“I’m not mad… I’m going under the overpass, my signal might cut out.” 

“Okie dokie. Hey, did you eat? I can make you something for when you get home. I got groceries.” 

“I’m not hungry, but you can make yourself hot cocoa, and I’ll drink it when I get there,” he says. 

“Or I could make us both some?” 

“It’s much more fun if I drink yours before you can, honey. You know that—”

You pause in the quiet, then hear a quick beeping. You pull your phone from your ear and find the call disconnected. 

Cruel overpass, you think. 

Sure he’ll call you back, you take your phone into his kitchen and set about finding all the things you’ll need for hot cocoa. One mug, because you should hate when he forces you to share, but you love the feeling of his fingers on yours as he takes it and the thankful kiss he dots on your cheek. 

The kettle is uncomplicated. You toy with the stovetop, set the kettle on the burner, and let the temperature rise. It begins whistling lightly a mere thirty seconds later. 

You click your phone on again. He’ll have passed through the tunnel now and will be calling you back any minute. You stare at the phone, hoping to summon him, slouched over the counter with the tin of cocoa powder by your fingers. The kettle whines with growing heat, but cool air kisses your back. 

Goosebumps rise. Up and down the lengths of your arms, the back of your neck—

A sudden chill. 

The lack of air comes before the hand, the pain a rush, a burst to be away from. Leather on your neck creaking without sympathy as a hand tightens and drags your body back against something hard. 

Not Aaron. Your scream comes strangled under cruel fingers as you fight to move forward again, straight for the burner, the kettle shoved across the burner grate and exploding with scalding water, heat of the burner kissing your chest— you scream, only it’s worse than a scream, sound from the deepest part of you forcing itself past the heat at your neck as you try to fling yourself away from the pain. 

You fall with a hard clout. “Stay still!” comes out enraged against the back of your neck. You drop to your knees, the pain lighting flaring up your chest, your gaze frantic as you search for a flame that isn’t there. You’re not on fire, you’re crawling and then scampering up into a standing position when the heavy weight drops itself on you again and smashes your face into the floor. 

All your fight leaves you. Your ears ring. Your panic wanes but the pain stays alert in your mouth. 

A hand grabs you by the back of the head and drives your face into the ground. It’s like light in your eyes and your nose, the brunt of it, the crack of your bone and the hot trickle of blood that swiftly follows. You gurgle in pain, spluttering and gagging against the linoleum, waiting for Aaron to turn you over and say sorry. It’s an accident.

Blood drains from your nose in spurts to match your racing pulse, so much blood you can see your eyes reflected in the dark stretch of it. Water drips down the front of the stove, your breath aches and begs, and your attacker takes a measured breath. 

He flips you over. You can’t slide away, there’s nothing left in you, your head a second body as he raises something. 

Your phone rings on the counter. 

“Please, don’t,” you plead with a sob.

You pass out as the pain connects. Just as quickly as it started, your body takes the reins. 

—

There’s a strange darkness waiting for you. Like waking before your alarm and stealing those last minutes, body aching, not wanting to get up and face the day. Aaron gets up early every morning, sometimes as early as four AM, and whenever you get up with him your eyes hurt for hours. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

Hey, hey, I think your boyfriend’s coming.

What will he make of my handiwork?

You didn’t stay awake long enough for that one, did you? But you’re waking up now.

The pain is enough to wake you up again, a hot drag down the side of you to your hip and in. You aren’t aware of the sounds you make, but you can hear them. Your panicked squealing as the heat presses further and further in. Your crying, and your whispering, “Stop, stop.” 

“There’s handsome,” the dark voice says. “I’ve gotta go hide somewhere, does he carry after hours? I think I’ll find out.” 

“Oh,” you say, feeling sickly. You attempt to curl into yourself, when did you turn onto your back? “No,” you mumble, lips wet with something hot. 

“Honey?” a voice asks. 

“Honey,” you repeat, woozy again, darkness falling in all over again, where it stays. 

Honey, are you in here?

—

The window behind Aaron’s shoulder is cold. Rain patters fast like floods, thunder occasionally chewing through clouds, and Jack Hotchner cries sluggish tears into his dad’s shoulder. 

Aaron has his eyes closed. They’ve been at this for a while. “Shh, shh shh, buddy,” he says softly, patting the bottom of Jack’s back. He’d sway him back and forth if his arms weren’t about to fall off. 

Jack squirms closer, no room left between them. 

“I know it’s scary,” Aaron says. 

Jack just cries. This approach of quiet support isn’t working; Jack isn’t a baby that needs to be put to sleep, he’s a panicking little kid, and Aaron needs to change gears. He ushers him away from his chest and crosses his arm behind Jack’s back. Careful, he shifts Jack’s weight to free his other arm and brings his fingers up to the silky brown hair dropping onto Jack’s forehead. 

“She’s okay,” Aaron says, stroking Jack’s hair. His little forehead is clammy. “She’s not hurting. I know it looks scary, honey, but… she’s just resting.” 

Jack looks him in the eyes. “Her face.” 

“I know.” He nods emphatically. “It’s hard to see. Blood isn’t nice. You don’t have to see her again today, not if it’s too scary.” 

Jack lifts a hand to Aaron’s face. Clumsy but with clear attempts to be careful, he wipes at the skin under Aaron’s eye. Aaron bites back a smile. 

“I look tired,” he says. 

“Yeah.” Jack brings his hand back to wipe his eyes. He sobs as he does it. Aaron can’t describe the ache it gives him to see it. 

“Buddy, I’ll do it. Let me wipe your face. I can do it.” 

Jack drops his hands. Aaron turns his hand and wipes the smudge of Jack’s tears from hot cheeks, testing the waters with a little smile. 

“I couldn’t see you under all those tears.” 

Jack does a little smile back. “Yes you can.” 

“I couldn’t! But now I’ve wiped all your face I can see you again. You’re handsome, did we know that?” 

Jack giggles. He sniffles, and he presses his palm to Aaron’s neck. “I don’t want her to be sad, dad.” 

“She’s going to be sad, because something scary happened, but it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of her.” 

Aaron would offer to take him home, but they can’t go home. They may not go home for a long time —the team is still trying to work out how someone made it into the apartment without alerting the building’s security or Aaron’s internal system. And then escaped again without Aaron’s notice. Until then, Aaron has to make a decision about a safe house, for himself, Jack, and Jess, though she's extremely unreceptive to the idea. 

Aaron has to look after Jack, and he needs to take care of you. 

“What do you think, bud?” he asks, cupping Jack’s head in his hand. “Do you want to go home?” 

“You said I can give her a hug.” 

“If it’s too scary, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to get upset again.” 

“I’m not scared. I want to give her the hug,” he says. 

Aaron pulls him in for a hug of his own. “Okay, buddy. Just try to think of it like this. She’s where she needs to be to get better. Everybody here is looking after her. She’ll be okay soon.” 

Aaron looks over Jack’s head down the hospital hallway. It’s a quiet ward, and here between the main ward doors and the hallway that leads down to the individual rooms there’s complete silence. Night is approaching quickly again, and with it comes Aaron’s panic. Your head turned into a puddle, your face lax of expression in the dark. He can’t stop finding the women he loves bloody and on their backs. 

“Ready?” he murmurs. “Can you walk with me? My arms are tired.”

“Yeah.” 

Aaron puts Jack down gently onto his feet. He neatens his hair, chucking him under the chin as he goes to see his smile. He’s so pretty, like Haley was, with shiny eyes. He’s a beautiful kid. Aaron takes his hand and together they make their way down the hallway to your room. 

You’re sleeping. 

Aaron herds Jack through the door and to the plastic covered chair by your side, where he lifts him up and sits him down. He stays between you both. Jack isn’t scared of you, just the blood, but he wants to show Jack that he’s going to protect him from anything he needs protecting from. He also desperately wants to touch you, and reassure himself that you’re still breathing. 

He looks for your hand. Your pinky finger is splinted, but he can take it with care, give the palm of it a squeeze. 

The blood matted in your hair has finally been washed away after a turbulent day, as well as the staining that marred your face. Your nose is broken, and looks it, the bruises so fierce your eyes have turned puffy and your top lip has inflamed. There are second degree burns in multiple places but most affectedly on your chest. There’s a stab wound at your hip, allegedly done with a small blade. It nicked your small intestine. The bandages laid over you are a lump under your hospital gown. 

Aaron looks at you, and he feels a passionate disdain for himself. He wishes he could… be someone else. Someone who doesn’t have such a deep connection to a job that hurts the people around him, over and over. Haley used to say he was obsessed with being the hero, but this doesn’t feel heroic. 

“Do you wanna give her your cuddle?” he asks softly. 

Jack stays sitting. 

He’ll have to give it to you himself. Careful, Aaron leans down over your prone body and presses a half kiss to your ear, the only place that won’t hurt. 

You have an IV drip going into your arm, painkillers, an ECG monitor to the left. The room is white but busy, you’re a burst of colour against it all, your cuts and bruises, the evidence of violence he can’t remove. Aaron’s tired. He perches on the gap of bed by your leg and holds your hand, turning to Jack, who watches with a frown. 

“She’s sleeping,” Aaron says. 

“When can she come home?” 

“In a few days.” He feels the pad of your hand, terrified of your broken finger but needing to hold a part of you. 

“Why is she sleeping all day?” 

Traumatic experiences are exhausting. “I think she might want to be alone, so she sleeps.” 

“Should we go?” 

Aaron shakes his head. “I think we should stay. When she wakes up again she’ll be happy to see us, because we’re not strangers.” 

“We’re family,” Jack says. He’d liked that, when the nurse asked you how Aaron was related to you. Family only.

“We’re her family,” Aaron agrees. 

If he somehow miraculously fell out of love with you, you’d still be family to them. You’ve given so much of your heart since you met them. Aaron wants everything you have to give. 

You wake in a slow, slow upheaval. It takes effort on your part, the opening of sore eyes, the dreary decision to face your pain. Your hand jumps in his but relaxes when he shushes you, your slimmer fingers stilling under his rubbing thumb. For a split second, you keep your gaze half-lidded, jaw soft, like you’ve been indulging in a stolen nap. 

Then your breath catches and you screw your eyes tightly. 

“You’re okay,” he says, quietly, and not as lightly as he means to, “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” in quick succession. 

“Hurts,” you say, and gasp, a whine stuck in your throat. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Jack shouldn’t watch this but he can’t leave you alone. “It’s okay,” he says, holding your wrist to stop it climbing up your bruised face. 

You were worse the first time you woke up. Catatonic, then sobbing. You mumble and whimper now, pain threading goosebumps down your arms. 

“It hurts too much,” you say. A sob falls out of you like you’ve been ripped open. 

Aaron doesn’t think, but an instinct sparks. The pain, to hit you right out of the gate like this, to make you say something like that when you’ve always always made your problems small, must be torture. It must feel new and sudden all over again. 

Aaron checks that Jack is alright and leaves the room. He looks down one hallway and then the other, but there’s no nurse around —he races to the reception desk and begs the two nurses there for help with you, “She’s in intense pain,” he says, grasping the desk. 

The nurse he’s more familiar with clears her throat. “Mr. Hotchner, she’s already had enough motrin for two people at your request, she really shouldn’t need–”

“Pain is just as important to treat as the injury.” 

A second nurse puts her salad down with raised brows. “Do you want to overdose her?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Aaron has always seen himself as a gentleman, but the argument that ensues is tricky to navigate while remaining respectful, and he’s no closer to better treatment for you by the end of it. He gives each nurse a disapproving glower and takes his phone from his pocket, turning on the spot, ready to call whoever it is he needs to call for a second opinion. He’s not gonna listen to you cry when there’s no need. 

He pushes the door open with the phone still clutched in his other hand. Jack’s climbed onto your bed. He cuddles your face, sitting by your pillows and bent over you protectively. 

Aaron lets out a breath. 

“It’s okay,” he says, his arm behind your head and his arm on your shoulder. “W’gonna take care of you.” 

“I know,” you say, crying without sound, shaking under his arms.

His cheek smushes against your forehead. Your eyes are closed and your face braced for contact Jack doesn’t make, careful not to hurt you as he rubs his cheek into your skin. Your blankets are falling off of you from the squirming and your bruises shine with tears in the light, but Jack has calmed you down some. 

Aaron shouldn’t have left Jack with you. He’s been so scatterbrained since he found you when he should be the opposite, but Jack is doing better than Aaron managed alone. 

“I’m sorry for crying,” you say slowly. “I’m hurting, but it’s not bad. I’m okay.” 

“That’s good. You have a big scratch on your face, and bruises.” 

“I know.” 

“Dad says you have a bruise on your tummy too.” 

“I got lots of bruises, but it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” You bring your hand up injured and uncaring to rub his leg. “You’re being a really brave boy, thank you.” 

A tear rolls down your cheek. 

“It’s teamwork,” Jack says. “I hug you and you hug me.” 

“Is that what you want? You want a hug?” 

“I want to go home,” he says, hugging you harder. 

You grasp his arm loosely where it’s just under your chin. “Jack, can you move your arm?” you whisper. 

Your breath comes quickly, but Jack moves his arm away from your bruised neck and you try to calm yourself down. 

Aaron jolts himself back into action. “Sweetheart,” he says, rushing to sit Jack back and give you more space. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

He watches. Not sure what to say. Not sure saying anything is wise. You squint at him through your lashes, eyes opening slowly, your mouth a line pressed hard to stop from crying. 

“I think it's time for Jack to go home,” he suggests gently. 

“Yeah,” you say, eyes swimming with tears. 

“No.” Jack squeezes your head again, to your panic. 

“Jack, buddy, please don’t touch her neck,” Aaron says, grabbing Jack from your pillow. 

He erupts into tears again. Frantic and vying for you, Aaron tries to calm him and he kicks against his chest, tears turning to disgruntled sobs at not getting what he wants. You wince, pressing your face completely into the pillow. 

Aaron carries Jack from your room, phone in hand. 

—

Is she breathing? Can she talk? 

I don’t– I don’t know, I don’t– She’s breathing. Honey, can you hear me? I don’t know what to stop. I don’t know where it’s all coming from. 

Where’s the worst of the blood? 

It’s everywhere. 

Abdominal? Chest? 

I can’t tell. I can’t tell. 

Mr. Hotchner, you can’t panic. Does she have a chest wound?

Yes. Yes, but– 

Is she conscious? How’s her pulse? Be ready to start chest compressions. 

Honey, can you hear me? 

Your name said clearly. 

“Hey, can you hear me?” 

“Yes,” you murmur. 

“If you need a minute, that’s okay.” 

You cover your mouth with your hand. Emily Prentiss has a soft voice like your boyfriend’s when she wants to have it. She’s never spoken to you like this, none of his colleagues have, but since the incident, everybody treats you like you’re made of glass. 

Cognitive interviews are meant to happen immediately after an accident, but you weren’t up for company. Aaron promised this would be on your terms, that Emily is the most practised, and that she’s reaped the most information from them than the rest of the team. So far, it’s worked to drag bad memories to the surface. 

“Maybe we should start from the beginning.” 

There isn’t a beginning. There’s just conversation. Aaron’s hand on your heart and his shaky voice, so unlike him.

“Okay.” 

Emily reaches for your hand. She smiles, and her nice features get nicer. That’s another thing they all share, good looks. “Okay. What did you notice, in the kitchen? It’ll help if you close your eyes,” she reminds you. 

You close your eyes. 

“What stuck out?” 

“Nothing,” you murmur. “I’ve been in there lots of times, and nothing ever changes.” 

“Nothing? Not even the drawings on the fridge?” 

“Jack’s particular about his best work, even if I think they should all be on display.” 

Emily’s voice turns to a shard of itself. “What did you do? Can you take me through it step by step? Make yourself a cup of hot chocolate.” 

“I never got that far.”

“What did you do?” 

“I filled the kettle.” 

“What kettle?” 

You don’t understand the need for specificity, but you answer. “Aaron got it for me, when he… he told me he loved me, and when we got home he’d bought me a kettle and a bunch of stuff to make my being there easier. The kettle, because… he said something about superheated water. How the microwave can be dangerous, and this would be easier than a pan.” 

“Alright. Okay, and what did you do after that?” 

“I put the kettle on the stove.” You lit the burner, and heat kissed your palm, and suddenly the room had felt cold. “I got goosebumps.” 

“When?” 

“The kettle started to whistle, and it was cold.”

“And then–”

“Then he grabbed me.” 

“Yeah,” Emily says softly. 

You touch your nose. “I tried… He didn’t feel like a person. He didn’t feel like someone I was fighting, it was just painful.” 

“Like he was quick on his feet?” 

“He was silent. I didn’t hear him until I made him fall.” 

“How big did he feel?” 

Your stomach churns. Big. He’d felt big. 

Where’s the worst of the blood?

“He said he was going to hide,” you remember. 

“He said that? He said ‘hide’?

“Yeah. And he asked me if Aaron carries after hours.” 

“When was this?” 

It’s a headache. You try to remember more, because that’s what they need right now. If you ever want to go home, if you want Jack to go home, you need to remember more. The BAU are good, but nobody can make a map out of slivers. 

“That was at the end,” you say. 

“After he stabbed you?” 

You wince. “Yes. After.” 

“You’re doing so good,” she praises, “I just want to fill in the gaps.” 

“I can’t remember. I was unconscious.” 

“When Hotch found you?” 

“No, before.”

“Before?” she asks. 

You’re sick of sitting there with your eyes closed. Sick of your hands shaking with nowhere to hide them, and sick of feeling sick, your nausea as present as the stinging pain of your burned wrist against your sleeve each time you move. 

You open your eyes and look around the conference room for something interesting. How nice would it be to think of something else for a few minutes?

“He called it handiwork when he cut me. Asked if I thought Aaron would like it,” you say, bordering monotonous as your gaze fizzles, unfocused, across the room. 

“Okay, Y/N. Okay. I know you’re tired.” She reaches for your hands to squeeze at the same time. “You did really well. Any details at all are details we can use to find him.” 

You’re not in the mood for talking anymore. Tears burn your eyes, waiting for a blink to set them loose. 

“I want to see Aaron,” you confess quietly. 

“I’ll find him for you.” Emily stands but bends, the dark of her hair a contrast to her pale face. She’s lovely, and her hand is gentle on yours. “Are you okay? Can I get you something to eat?” 

So Aaron’s not keeping that to himself. “I want to see him, please.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

This is a horrible room. It’s not their fault, but the big white board is tacked with bad photos of grisly cases —currently your own. You stare at a photograph of your blood in the kitchen and don’t know what to do. Should you look away? You hadn’t realised you bled so much. 

You turn your chair toward the door. Emily looks back as she leaves and smiles at you softly, but your eyes are already moving to the smaller dry erase board by the doorway. It’s ‘Hotch’s turn to clean up on Thursdays. How strange that they make the boss clean the conference room. 

You can picture him picking up coffee cups and wiping down the table. You can always picture Aaron. 

You can see him hovering over you, his hand pressed to the bloody mess of your hip to stop the blood. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper to yourself, wanting to break from the memory, following Aaron’s example. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You repeat it into your hands, head tilting down. You sink until your knuckles touch your knees. 

That’s all he says when you panic. He’ll say it over and over again until you can breathe right. I have you, I have you, you’re okay. 

He’s much quieter this time. You hear his footsteps, his familiar gait, your head pounding too hard to move. Aaron makes a sound between a sigh and a hum, like he’s saying a sorry hello as he kneels in front of you. His hand takes your face, rubs softly over your ear. 

“My head’s just hurting,” you murmur. 

He doesn’t respond. You sit together for some time as your mind races with bad memories, your fear a rush of goosebumps down the lengths of your arms and thighs. It’s hard not to think about what happened, mostly because you’re still a walking bruise, your stitches sting when you move, the blisters on your chest ache, all of it inescapable. But it’s your anxiety that plagues you most. You’re in a constant state of dread. 

You had no idea someone could hurt you as badly as they had until it happened, and now you’re desperate not to be hurt again. 

“You have to look after me,” you say eventually, throat sore with how awful it feels to say. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Please don’t let me get hurt again.” 

Total silence. You sniffle at his lack of an answer, only slightly comforted by his hands at your wrists now, pulling them from your face. “Let’s sit up,” he says, standing himself. “Come on, let’s sit up. You shouldn’t be putting so much pressure on your abdomen.” 

You lean back and everything aches like a stretch after a long run or a bad night’s sleep. 

Aaron pulls a chair next to yours. When he sits, your knees are pressed in between one another’s thighs, so close he could hug you. You might need one.  He’s given you a ridiculous amount of them each day, some for him and some for you. 

He has with him a takeout box and a bottle of water. 

“Here,” he says, popping the seal of the drink. “Three sips.” 

You feel like crying, but you drink. He opens the takeout box to reveal a normal looking sandwich already cut into two halves, but he takes a plastic knife from his pocket, peels away the wrapping, and cuts the sandwich again into quarters. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” you say. 

“No, you’re not. You won’t be.” He presses the sandwich flat with his hands and holds it to you until you take it. “Please, Y/N. You only have to eat what you can.” 

“I don’t want it.” 

“Please.” 

“Did Emily tell you about my interview?” 

He reaches for your thigh. Mildly unlike him when you aren’t at home. You assume it to be a tether for your sake. “No. Is there something you think I should know?” 

“I don’t want to say it again.” 

“Then you don’t have to. Someone will tell me when I get back.” 

You pinch the fluffy bread in your hands, eyeing wearily at the wet insides. “Can I come with you?” 

“You’re having trouble in the cognitive interviews, you won’t want to hear what we have to say.” 

You split the sandwich in half again, watching as salad and mayonnaise ooze from the bread. 

“If you don’t eat, you won’t get better,” he says, a touch stern. 

“I can’t eat when you won’t let me come with you.” 

“I’m not the only person capable of protecting you. I…” He circles your wrist before you can make a mess. “Can you please eat it?” 

You take a bite to appease him, your stomach roiling, food wet and cold on your tongue. You eat the whole quarter queasily, a lump at the back of your throat begging you to stop. 

Aaron takes an empty hand and rubs it tenderly. “Thank you,” he says, that rubbing turned more forceful, his hand journeying to your elbow and back again. 

It’s sweet how attuned he is to your needing his touch, but mortifying. This entire experience had been embarrassing from start to end. Couldn’t defend yourself, can’t get to grips with it, and can’t keep anything down. Aaron looks at you and your bruises and you wonder if he’s seeing you with blood matted in your hair, or hearing you beg for him to get you something stronger. All you’d wanted was a sedative. 

“I’m far from the only person capable of protecting you,” he says. 

“You saved me,” you say. You mean it in every sense of the world. 

“…This is my fault.” 

“I want to be with you,” you say honestly. “I don’t feel okay by myself right now, I just need you, or I feel so sick I wish that I died.” The anxiety is marrow deep. 

Aaron looks gutted. “Don’t say that.” His hand goes back to yours, back to tenderness. “I know you're scared.” 

“Then why won’t you listen?” you ask weakly. 

“I’m listening to you,” he says, his tone a dulcet, pleasing softness you’ve never ever heard before, “I need you to be safe, and I need Jack to be safe, and I can’t do that while he’s still out there.” His brows pinch together, agonised. “I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t protect you. But I won’t let anything happen to you again.

“I love you. Please believe that I’m doing what’s best for you right now.” 

You turn your head away. He cups your cheek regardless. 

“I love you,” he says again. 

“I know.” 

“No, I love you.” 

He’s saying sorry.

“I love you,” you mumble back. 

“How are you feeling? Is anything hurting more? Weeping?” 

Your eyes are heavy at his touch. “You only looked at me a couple of hours ago.” 

“Alright. Can I kiss you? I need to go.” 

You don’t answer. Aaron kisses your chin, your jawline, the type of roving, teasing kisses he’d give as he squeezed your sides, only he doesn’t squeeze you, he can’t without hurting you. His hand hesitates just above your deepest wound. 

His bright kiss works to spark a modicum of life back into you. Not a lot, but enough. It was likely his intention, some quick prodding kisses to remind you of something happy between you both. 

You curl your fingers over his hand and turn your face for a chaste peck. He smiles, the curve of his lips evident and relieving against yours. 

“Someone will take you back to the safe house, okay? Give Jack a kiss for me,” he says. 

You nod. Aaron strokes your cheek. 

—

Your assailant could have killed you while you were vulnerable, but he didn’t. “He assumes he’ll have another chance,” Emily surmises. 

“That’s cocky,” JJ mutters. 

“It’s telling,” Aaron says. “But he won’t.” 

The coaching has been extensive. You, sick, a breath from tears and hurting, your shoulders in his hands and his grip too tight. If someone tells you I’m dead, you wait. If Morgan tells you I’m dead, you ask Rossi. If he says I’m dead, you ask Emily. You can’t believe the first thing someone says. No one is going to move you from this safe house to another without seeing me first. If I do get hurt, you and Jack will be moved separately. You will always get my confirmation before you’re moved. 

I’m not gullible, you’d said, wincing at his sharp tone. 

It’s not about that. People will lie, and they will lie well. They will talk their way into the house if you let them. You can’t let them. 

I won’t. 

He’s racing against a countdown, because no matter what he says, what you know, or how many agents wait outside your house, sometimes it’s a force of will. 

Foyet didn’t need much more than that. 

He admittedly feels on surer footing knowing where you are. The decision to guard you without putting you in WITSEC is aching and scary but better, too. He knows where you are. He can be there in ten minutes. No guessing games, but no hiding for you either. 

Your dread is taking over everything you do. Today’s the first day since you came home almost two weeks ago that you could function without a live-in nurse or Jess there to look after Jack, and already he’s worried, because he’d convinced you total honesty was what’s best for the both of you, and so your texts are candid. 

One an hour for his sake, more if you're up to it.

Threw up my beta blockers. Jack misses you, he wants to make you a Lego boat and fishing rod, but I’m not sure how to do it. Please make sure you eat dinner. 

Your next message makes him smile, thankfully. I’m kidding about the dinner thing. Ha. I had one of those gels you got for me, and Jack wants fries, so I’m making waffle fries. 

He texts back quickly. Eat dinner. Please tell Jack I miss him too, and don’t worry about the boat, he’ll work it out. Then, feeling awful, he adds, I love you

Aaron should go home. He’d feel better if he knew he was there to help you keep your medication down, but if he leaves… He knows his team will give you everything they have, but he has more. He can fix this. 

He can’t fix this, god, his head hurts badly. You’re covered in cuts and bruises and burns and he thinks he can make up for that? You’ve been brutalised. Aaron can’t believe this is happening again. 

He rubs his brow. 

“You okay?” Emily asks. 

When he looks up, JJ is gone. 

“I’m fine.” 

“It’s okay if you’re not.” 

He’s not fine, but he knows what she’s asking. “I’m okay enough to do this,” he says. 

It’s hard not to confuse you with memory, your hurting similar to his own, your situation one that he’s already lived. Haley will haunt him for life. It doesn’t usually feel as punishing as he fears he deserves: he gets to remember the best parts of her everyday. He sees her in Jack all the time. He sees her in you, occasionally —you’ll touch his hair or rub his arm like she would’ve done, and it doesn’t make him miss her any more than he does, he’s not in the business of wishing you weren’t yourself, he loves you, but he remembers her. Aaron remembers how he failed her every day. 

He can’t fail you, too. 

“Is it ever easy?” Emily asks. 

Aaron looks around for a bottle of water. “Is what?” 

“Being in love.” 

He thinks about it. “I must make it look hard.” 

She laughs softly. “Sometimes, yeah.” 

Maybe that’s not fair, then, to you. For him to make it seem difficult to love you. To fail to correct Emily when she asks. 

He chooses his words carefully. “Loving her is the easiest thing in the world. But… I continue to work a job I know makes me hard to love in return.” And that puts you in danger. 

It doesn’t feel wrong to be sincere. Perhaps it’s easier with Emily. She saw so much of him during Foyet, and she’s family, truly. He can tell her how intense it’s felt. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem hard for her,” Emily says. 

He shakes his head. 

She continues regardless, “Even during her cognitive, she mentioned the first time you told her you loved her. When it was over she wanted to see you over anything else.” 

But I put her here, he wants to say. Or doesn’t want to say at all, but instead knows with surety. 

“She can’t eat if I’m not home,” he says. What a thing to do to someone. “It’s my fault.” 

Emily smiles, hair slipping off of her shoulder as her expression turns to playfulness. “I think you’re seeing it all wrong. Something bad happened to her, and you’re so safe to her that you make it better when you’re with her. That’s not fault, Hotch. Just love.” 

He turns his attention back to the board without another word. 

—

When the day comes, when they find the man who hurt you, you’re sitting at home with Jack Hotchner in your lap. You’re laughing at his laughing, cartoon fish on the TV, and Aaron’s got a gun in his hand fifty miles away. You both giggle, nearly in hysterics as the safe house living room glows pink and red, Jack’s favourite character swimming hurriedly across the screen, as Aaron negotiates the arrest. 

Usually capable of mediation, Aaron finds his patience completely unravelled. He offers the UnSub two choices: he surrenders now, immediately, and he keeps his life, or he deliberates and Aaron kills him. 

He has reason to believe the UnSub will try again, of course. Will keep hurting you until it sticks. 

He goes home satisfied.

“Dad’s home!” you say excitedly, your movie long finished, your thighs numb and stitches stinging where Jack has leaned against you. You encourage him off of you as the front door closes, the cold air from outside rushing in. 

“Honey?” Aaron calls. 

“Yeah!” You stumble into a standing position, sure you look about as disgusting as you have since the situation began, promptly sitting back down as head rush hits. 

Jack races for the door, meeting Aaron in the hallway with a whoosh. “Hey!” 

“Hi, buddy, what are you doing?” 

“We watched Finding Nemo,” Jack says, “and now I’m hugging you, duh.” 

“Duh. Well, I need to talk to Y/N for five minutes. Can you wash your hands for dinner?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I’m fine.”

You hear the sound of a light kiss, and then Jack rockets across the hallway and up the stairs. Aaron walks into the doorway, tie still knotted but with no suit jacket, and you know what he’s going to say before he says it. He wears a strange expression.

“You got him?” you ask. 

He puts a white bag on the coffee table, looking down at you fondly. “I got him.” 

“How did you find him?” 

He crouches down in front of you. He’s so careful to be harmless to you now, so tentative. “You’re not the only woman he hurt. We dealt with him in the past. From the information you gave Emily during your interview, and the information he left behind, we found him… If you weren’t as brave as you are, I couldn’t have kept you and Jack safe.” He holds your knee. “Thank you.” 

You stare at him. Staring, wondering what he means. “Brave?” 

“Brave.” 

“I’m a coward.” 

He shakes his head. “No. You’re not.” 

All you've done for days is cry and throw up and bleed, literally. You’ve ruined clothes and sheets, thrown up in his lap, terrified and aching. Each time was met with the same gentleness. A kiss on the cheek, or a hand rubbing your back. Is that bravery? You feel like a baby. 

Aaron’s brow is relaxed. He takes your two legs into his hands, and he looks at you with a reverence that leaves you breathless. 

“You’re hurt forever because of me,” he says quietly, you strain to hear him, “because of who I am, and what I choose to be.” 

“How can you say that? It’s not your fault.” 

“It wouldn’t have happened to you if I hadn’t missed his MO the first time.” 

“You’re not putting the knife in anyone’s hand,” you argue. 

“But it keeps happening.” 

His hair shines dark and wet. It must be raining outside, the safe house walls are thick, the windows shuttered permanently, you haven’t heard a peep. You stroke it back from his forehead. 

“Remember… when we first got together, and you told me you were sorry for how hard being with you could be. And I said it was okay, that it wasn’t hard, and you said it would be?” 

“I remember,” he says, practically mouths. 

“I was so afraid when...” You swallow roughly. “I still am. But not– not of you. Not of what you can do. When you told me it was going to be hard, I thought, well, it’s worth it, because I really liked you then and I love you now.” Tears collect in your eyes. Safe. I’m safe. “And you look after me, so– so–” 

You stop as your voice turns to glass, worried you’ll make a fool of yourself and cry in his hands. 

“I didn’t want this for you,” he says. 

“Nobody wants this. Bad things happen to everyone, but who has someone like you to look after them?” 

He breathes out heavily. “Please… don’t cry.” 

You wipe your cheeks, taking a lengthy pause before you say, “I’m okay now.” 

He looks at you in silence. 

“Come and sit with me,” you say, scrubbing your cheeks, hot tears cooling on the backs of your hands. “Your knees.” 

He actually smiles. It changes his entire face. “What about my knees?” 

Aaron sits on the couch next to you atop Jack’s blanket, a bag of pretzels tipping between your leg and his. You attempt to rake his damp hair into submission as his fingers run against your thighs, fishing for pretzels to put back into the bag. 

You’d like for him to grab you and kiss you harshly, give you one of his straight jacket hugs, some roughhousing, but you won’t get that from him until you're better, and even then, it’s up in the air. So much has changed. 

But not everything. 

“I love you,” you murmur, fingertips scratching down behind his ear to the back of his head. 

He turns to you, sagging with relief and exhaustion. “Kiss?” he asks quietly. 

You nod. He holds your cheek, and you close your eyes at the same time for a kiss. It’s not a lot, but you have time. He can give you another one when you’re both better recovered. 

He pulls away. You open your eyes, finding his closed, his face downturned. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Was Jack good?” 

“Jack’s always good.” 

“Did the nurse have anything to say about your chest?” 

“She said it’s healing okay. That I need to use, uh, scar patches when they start to scab.” 

“I can get those.” 

“I know, I knew you would.” 

He gathers you up for a hug. For a moment, you think he’ll move on, that the end of your nightmare will kill his remorse, but he breathes in, nose wedged against your cheek. 

“Do you think that tonight, we could pretend it didn’t happen?” You’d like to just sit with him, press your hand to his chest and doze. It’s the first night in a while that you’ll feel completely. 

“Yeah. I can do that.” He hugs you rather tightly. “Do you want to see your present?” he asks, relaxing his grip. 

“My present?” 

He grabs the bag on the coffee table and places it in your lap. “I’m worried it’ll remind you of bad memories, but I wanted you to have nice things then, and I still do.” 

In the bag, there’s a pair of pyjamas. Very different to the ones you’d been wearing when you were attacked, they were girly and sweet, soft in your hands, these are sturdy. Still soft, but thick. The shirt is short-sleeved and the pants cuffed at the ankles, a hoodie tucked underneath them, and a packet of minky socks. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

Thanks for everything, for saving you twice, for taking care of you at your worst, and for wanting you to have something comfortable to wear at the end of it. To have experienced an abjectly cruel battering will leave its marks in your forever, but you meant what you told him. He looks after you, and you love him. 

He kisses your shoulder. “You don't need to say that.” 

He doesn’t add anything else, his nose pressed to your shoulder, his hand on your hip. Whatever goes unsaid can be felt in the other’s touch. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank u for reading!! it’s been a long time since I wrote a fic for hotch and it’s hard to write him being vulnerable but I hope this is alright anyways and that you enjoyed :D please consider reblogging if you did enjoy it (cos that way my fics get shown to more people <3) ❤️

[unknown-cold]

It's weird that people who claim to understand Vi's personality don't notice that she's changed and evolved for the better. And I'm talking about Vi's hatred of enforcers.

I see a lot of posts criticizing Vi for this. They don't know that one of the messages the Arcane writers want to send us is forgiveness and moving on. Holding on to the past, hating and holding a grudge only makes things worse for a character and increases her pain and problems, as we saw with Jinx and her intense hatred of Piltover, as well as her hatred for Caitlyn increased her suffering, problems and making terrible mistakes. The same thing with Caitlyn, her intense hatred for Jinx made her lose people around her, and increased her suffering and making mistakes as well.

So I don't understand why people want Vi to keep hating the enforcers, I get that they killed her family and locked her in a prison, but seriously guys this is not Caitlyn's fault, Caitlyn was the first person to treat her kindly, Caitlyn didn't care that she was from Zaun, or that she was a stranger and different from her, Caitlyn was the first person to show Vi love and care in a very long time, Caitlyn was the first person to show her that there are good people in Piltover.

The show wants to show us that we shouldn't judge people before getting to know them first, and not because of a bad experience. Stopping my whole life and living in hatred and resentment towards the people who wronged me, this will destroy my psyche.

I know that moving on isn't easy sometimes, but we have to do it for a better future for ourselves and the people around us. And that's exactly what the characters in the show did. Caitlyn gave up her hatred for Jinx for her love for Vi. Caitlyn knew that continuing in the cycle of violence and hatred would destroy her. The same thing happened with Jinx. She gave up her anger towards Vi after she joined the enforcers, in order to be reunited with Vander. She also gave up her hatred towards Caitlyn after she learned that Cait was a good person and not the bad enforcer as Jinx thought her to be in S1. Of course, this was after Jinx saw that Caitlyn helped them.

Caitlyn's desire to help Vander changed her mind. and not only Vander's help and Ambessa's betrayal but also something more important that I'm sure made Jinx change her mind about Caitlyn and later say "you deserve to be with her" to Vi, was when she saw that Caitlyn didn't come to kill her.

This and also for me it was Caitlyn's forgiveness. People overlook this moment so much, but pay attention to Jinx reaction when Cait is walking away after their conversation in the bunker. Jinx who minute before was sure that Cait is here to kill her, has her eye widen to the size of the saucer. When Caitlyn says "hating you I've hated myself" and then walks away Jinx is surprised and Jinx is not kind of a person that is easily surprised.

And I believe that Jinx’s reevaluation of Cait isn’t based solely on something about Jinx herself, but that she has seen her being good and selfless in other regards as well.

(and yeah I indeed wished they would delve deeper into Vi and her trauma instead of a 3-minute music video in ep 5, but what can we do? This is what we got) And tbh it's not that bad, the show was so good and enjoyable. It just needs to focus on the details and read between the lines, as well as rewatching the scenes more than once, because the writers tried to tell the story as well as possible in a short time.

After that, who knows? Maybe Vi joining the enforcers is a good thing for her to help her people, and also to be by Caitlyn's side as her deputy, when Caitlyn is sheriff. Like Cait and Vi will try to fix the enforcers system and make them serve the greater good for both cities.

[s1ut-4-rafe]

SECRETS WE KEEP | Rafe Cameron | 01

MASTERLIST (Series - In Progress)

Pairing - Rafe Cameron x Pregnant! Routledge Reader

Summary - After a heated argument with Rafe, the reader finds herself in a passionate, intense encounter that changes everything. She leaves the OBX pregnant, determined to protect herself and their child from his volatile temper. A year later, she returns to the island with her secret in tow but can she keep the truth from Rafe or will he find out about his child? If he does, what will it mean for their broken past and their future?

Word Count - 1374

Content - Angst, pregnancy/parenthood, secret baby, toxic relationships, emotional trauma, jealousy

Navigation - Part One | Part Two

It was always going to end in flames.

You should’ve known from the start—the way Rafe’s eyes gleamed with that dangerous, reckless spark, the way his words had a knack for both thrilling and terrifying you all at once. You could feel it in your bones: the whirlwind of passion, chaos, and heartbreak that came with being close to him. But for a brief moment, it had been enough. Enough to make you feel alive in a way nothing else had.

When it ended, it didn’t feel like an ending at all.

It all started with a fight.

Your arguments were never quiet. They were loud, and explosive, like everything in your lives. Rafe was stubborn, and so were you. And when you two clashed, it was a full-on battle, neither of you backing down, both of you saying things you didn’t mean, things that made the situation worse.

You didn’t even remember what the fight was about—something small, insignificant, but it was enough to bring out the worst in both of you that night.

"You never listen to me, Y/N!" Rafe shouted, his face flushed with anger. "It’s always what you want, what you need, and I’m just supposed to go along with it."

Your chest tightened with frustration, with hurt. "I’m trying to make things work, Rafe, but you keep making everything harder! I can’t even breathe when you’re like this!"

Your words sliced through the air, sharp, like knives. You’ve had this same argument a hundred times before—about how you couldn’t trust each other, about how your lives didn’t line up, how you couldn’t get him to settle down and he couldn’t get you to understand his world.

And yet, there was always the tension between you, the undercurrent that pulled you back together despite the mess of it all.

It was too much. You tried to leave, you had to get away from the words that hung in the air, the bitterness that curled between the both of you.

You grabbed your jacket, throwing it on in a huff, ready to storm out. "I can’t do this anymore, Rafe. I need space."

But he grabbed your wrist before you could walk out the door. "You’re not leaving me, Y/N. Not like this."

You looked at him, your heart hammering in your chest. "Why? You don’t want me here anyway. You never do."

"Stop running," Rafe spat, his voice suddenly quieter, though still laced with anger. "Stop trying to push me away."

The anger and frustration in his eyes softened in that moment. It was as if he didn’t want to let go, but didn’t know how to fix what was broken.

And before you knew it, the tension between you snapped, turning into something else entirely.

Rafe’s lips crashed onto yours with a force that took you by surprise. You tried to fight it for a second—tried to push him away—but there was the heat, the pull, and the part of you that never knew how to say no to him. The fight became something else. It became a blur of bodies and sweat, of tangled sheets, of passion that was both a release and a reckoning.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was raw, desperate, the kind of release that came after too much tension had built up. It was a way of saying things without words, an unspoken promise that, for a moment, you could forget everything else—your problems, your issues—and just exist in the madness of it all.

When you both collapsed into bed, your breath coming in uneven gasps, it wasn’t the first time that had happened. But something about that night felt final like you had crossed a line you couldn’t come back from.

You didn’t know it then, but that night changed everything.

The memory of that night still clung to you, a bittersweet ache that wouldn’t go away. You knew it was reckless. You knew it was always a risk. But at that moment, you had let yourself believe—just for a little while—that maybe, just maybe, you two could make it work. That you could keep pushing through the chaos together.

You found out a month later. The nausea, the dizziness, you took a test just to see and it all hit you like a ton of bricks. You were pregnant.

The shock had settled in your chest like a cold stone. You remember how you sat there, frozen, trying to process the fact that your life was about to be completely different. Your hands shook as you pulled out the test, the two pink lines staring back at you, the weight of it sinking in. You couldn’t have a baby like this. Not with Rafe.

The world outside seemed distant as if you were floating in some kind of dream. But the reality was clear: Rafe’s unpredictable tendencies, his dangerous streak, his refusal to settle down—they weren’t just things you could ignore. They weren’t just parts of him that made your heart race. They were the things that could ruin everything you loved, including the life you were about to bring into the world.

You had to leave.

The night before you left, you remember sitting alone with JJ by the bonfire at The Chateau. His usual cocky grin was missing, replaced by a rare moment of seriousness, his eyes softer than usual. “You’re not a coward for walking away, you know” he had said, his voice rough. “Sometimes you have to break the cycle. Rafe’s not the only thing in your world. You’ve got this. You can leave him, Y/N. You’re stronger than you think.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. JJ, always the one to crack jokes and avoid anything serious, was offering you the kind of advice you never thought you’d get from him. It was a turning point, a moment where you knew, deep down, you couldn’t keep running in circles anymore. The decision wasn’t easy. But it was the right one.

And so, you left. You moved far away, settling in a small town where you could start over. You learned how to be a single mother, and how to make a life for yourself and your baby, but you could never escape the pull of the OBX. You missed your real home, your friends. You missed Rafe, even if you would never admit it to anyone.

The loneliness was almost overwhelming at times, but it was the kind of solitude you could bear. Slowly, you found peace in the small moments—the early mornings, the quiet afternoons, the unexpected kindness of strangers who didn’t know your past. It was the life you needed, even if it didn’t erase the memory of everything you left behind.

But the quiet didn’t last.

Rafe's messages started coming in like waves, relentless and never-ending. At first, it was a few sporadic texts, apologies, and desperate pleas for you to talk to him. His words were always wrapped in guilt and regret, each one heavier than the last.

But as time passed, they became more frequent and more urgent.

"Please, Y/N. Talk to me. I’m so sorry for everything."

"Can we fix this? I need to hear your voice."

"I can’t do this without you."

You felt the weight of each message pressing against your chest. You didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want to know he still thought about you, that he still needed you. You couldn’t risk going back to that chaos, that love that was as dangerous as it was intoxicating.

And so, you ignored him.

But every time you saw his name flash on your phone, your heart would skip, just for a second. It was hard—harder than you wanted to admit—but you couldn’t let him pull you back into that storm.

As you cradled your son, watching his peaceful face in the dim light of your new home, a quiet sense of peace settled in your chest. His small hand curled around your finger and you knew you had made the right choice.

The life you had now, the peace and stability, was what you had always needed but never thought you could have. This was your new beginning.

[bellasweetwriting]

dark past { clark kent x f.reader }

masterlist

part one. part two

plot: your relationship with clark is public, yet dealing with his friends has never been harder

warnings: angst and fluff. mean girl!reader x goldenretriever!clark

a/n: this is part two of “call it what you want” that has been requested like three times! i also loved it so here it is i really hope you like it. also, i wrote this very late and somehow ended in the existencial crisis route at one point, but still, hope you enjoy

Up til that moment, Clark’s parents seemed to be the only ones in Clark’s life that actually enjoyed your presence. The other people in his life seemed to keep their distance when it came to you.

“And that’s how,” you said, finishing setting up the Kent’s’ new TV cable as it arrived. “You can record your games, Mr. Kent.”

“You’re an angel,” Jonathan said, pressing the record button to save the Sharks game for later. He laughed, excitedly, staring at the recording symbol on the screen. “This is the future. This way I won’t miss any game.”

“You just created a monster, sweetie,” Mrs. Kent said to you, making you smile. “Thank you for helping us out.”

Clark came from the kitchen, surprised to see you standing in the living room with your parents when he wasn’t around. He looked at you with a frown, confused, but you simply gave him a smile.

“Babe, what? Uhm…” He smacked his lips together, giving you a closed-mouth smile as he looked at you. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Thought I’d come by and surprise you. Ran into your parents setting up their new cable and wanted to help them out.” You smiled, but that’s when you saw the root of the problem.

Lana walked into the living room, holding her backpack. She looked at you both before staring at her shoes.

“Lana,” Mrs. Kent called her, standing up by your side. “What a surprise, sweetheart. Long time no see.”

“Hi, Mrs. Kent. Clark and I had an English project due soon and I suggested doing it here,” Lana explained, turning to look at you. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” you finally said. “Clearly I’m the bad third… or fifth, here. Uhm—” You clapped your hands together, turning to look at Mrs. Kent. “It’s always a pleasure coming here.”

“Always a pleasure to have you,” Jonathan Kent said as he stood up from the couch, his eyes on his son before looking back at you. “You know, such a pleasure that you should come to dinner tomorrow. I’ll cook.”

“I’d love to,” you said, softly, grabbing your purse. “See you then.”

You turned to look at Clark, who had decided, for his own good, to sit this one out. You smiled at him, rubbing with your usual warmth his arm before walking out of the Kent house, feeling like the second to Lana once again.

Clark stared at the door that you walked through before looking back at Lana, handing the girl a kind smile.

“Lana, why don’t you wait for me at the barn, please?” He told his friend and the brunette nodding, walking out of the house as she waved goodbye to the Kents.

Clark turned around, looking at his parents with a shy smile.

“Why didn’t you tell me Y/n had come over?”

“She said it was a surprise,” Martha said, sitting back down on the couch. “Is there a problem?”

Jonathan raised his hand. “Let me guess,” he said. “Lana and your girlfriend are not the best of friends.”

“Let’s just say… there’s some history between them. They’ve known each other for a while.”

“And how’s your friendship with Lana affecting your relationship?” Martha asked him. “Because y/n didn’t seem very thrilled to see her.”

“I’m dealing with it.”

You, on the other hand, were definitely not dealing with it.

Your true nature was to face the problem head on. That’s the way you’ve handled yourself all your life, and it wasn’t going to change because Clark was now in your life. If Lana and Chloe had a problem with you, it was your business to fix it.

Leaving it to Clark had just made things incredibly awkward.

So, when you saw Clark talking with his parents through the window, and Lana walking towards the barn, you decided to make your move.

“Hey, Lang!” Bad opener, you knew, but you already made it.

The green eyed girl turned to look at you. Mixed feelings grew as you approached her. Memories of Lana and you in the cheerleading squad, arguing, not getting along, jealousy getting involved, of course. And let’s not mention the unnamed popularity contest between the two that, even if you didn’t acknowledge it at the time, you both knew it existed. As you grew up, it disappeared or at least seemed less important than ever.

Lana was always going to be Miss Nice Girl, the one everyone loves. You, on the other hand, were labeled the popular mean girl, wannabe princess, the anti-Lana. And part of you knows it has to do with your strong personality, but most of the time… you have blamed Lana for your reputation. It’s not like she has bitten her tongue when it comes to talk about you.

“What?” Lana asked, her arms crossing in front of her chest. She was pissed. And she had no right to be. Not this time. “I just came over for a school project, not to cause any drama.”

“I think for the first time, Lana, I’m not the drama-starter.”

“What do you want?”

“For you to tell me straight to my face what the hell is your problem with me.”

“I think you know what it is.”

“Ever since I started dating Clark you’ve been nothing but an asshole.” She scoffed. “What? You love to start fires but can’t handle the heat? You’ve been nothing but rude, and I’ve been trying so hard to find peace, but nothing seems to be enough for you.”

Lana shook her head. “You’re only doing this because of Clark! It’s just a charade you’re playing. And I don’t want to see Clark get hurt because he can’t see how rotten you are inside.” Lana took a few steps forward, threatening you. “This nice girl facade you’ve been putting on for the past few weeks aren’t enough to erase all the damage you’ve done to others all your life.”

You both stared at each other, your eyes flaming with heat as you looked into hers. You were pissed, you were hurt, yet you were, by far, just so embarrassed.

She was right.

You could pretend all you want. You could try and be as nice as Clark is, try to let his goodness and kindness rub on you, wait until you get infected with his values… yet it didn’t erase that, along the way of being mean to yourself… you’ve been mean to other people.

Lana was just telling you something you already suspected of yourself.

You did not deserve Clark.

“Hey,” Clark finally interrupted, making you both turn to look at him. “Everything alright?”

You looked at him, a fake smile appearing on your face as you quickly nodded.

“Everything alright,” you said, brushing your hair off your face. “Just some lame girl talk. I’ll see you around, Kent,” you whispered, placing a quick, rather rushed, kiss on his cheek before walking away.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

The strings of your guitar burned your fingers as you pressed them too hard. The rage you had, against Lana, against the things you’ve done, against how all of it it’s crumbling down, and ruining what’s going on with Clark.

Your friends are no better. The cheerleaders haven’t spoken to you for anything other than help with what outfit to wear, or opinions on which guy they should date. When you told them about Clark they shrieked, smiled, and then forgot about it as soon as the next topic came around. Your football player friends had to be explained at least a few times who Clark Kent was, and once they finally put a face on the guy, they promised they wouldn’t mock him when they see him again.

At least that was nicer than the way Chloe and Lana have been treating you. Chloe was someone you could handle at least. Other than the snarky comment, the witty remark, and the trip down memory lane to remember your most embarrassing teenage moments, she was alright, and you thought you were actually bonding for a second.

Lana… well she was another conversation.

The fact that she and Clark had a thing for one another not a while back, and had briefly dated, or were seeing each other and then stopped… it was complicated enough without adding your rocky relationship with her as a factor.

You strung so harsh the string of your guitar ripped in half, startling you awake from your thoughts. What were you even thinking about? You’ve been mortifying yourself with your own banquet of thoughts when what you should be doing was talk to Clark.

You stood up from your messy bedroom floor. Badly composed lyrics, chords that didn’t make sense, scribbled down doodles, and probably a grocery shopping list surrounded you like a pile of your own mental disaster manifesting in front of you.

You tossed the guitar on the bed, looking in your drawers for a set of new strings you tend to collect in cases like this, when the mental spiral comes and projects physically, ending up in breaking a string.

You grabbed the set and sat down next to your guitar. The sight of that old, beaten-up instrument makes you nostalgic. Maybe in your hand you were holding what truly is your best friend.

Your phone rings. The screen on that pink flip-phone lights up and the name you were hoping it was is shown.

Clark<3

You smiled. Couldn’t help but to. You crossed the river of unfinished songs, grabbing the phone that kept bouncing as it vibrated, knocking the white wood of your desk.

“You’re lucky I like your face. I’m in the middle of something very important.”

“And what’s that?”

“Staring at the ceiling while I decompress from a tired day of carrying everyone on my back,” you joked. “You think I just wake up that beautiful?”

“Look outside, hothead.”

You frowned, approaching the window with curiosity. You peeked outside, being surprised by your boyfriend standing on your front lawn, holding a basket and a blanket, while his phone was next to his ear.

He was wearing a gray baseball cap backwards with his hair peeking from the sides, a white t shirt that highlighted the bigness of his arms, and a pair of dusted blue denim jeans with dirt on the knees. He probably was coming from completing farm chores. He looked sweaty, and he knew. You could tell he was embarrassed about it.

You kind of like it.

“I’m sorry about today,” he said, his smile growing widely once he saw you. “You wanted to surprise me, so I thought I’d return the favor.”

“You think this is pretty romantic, huh?”

“Well, I don’t know… Yeah, yeah I do.”

“You’re proud of yourself? Pat yourself on the back even?”

“Are you mocking me?”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I should be amazed by a farm boy picking me up some of ‘em apples and bringing ‘em to my dear old home. Did you bring me a lil’ pie, young fella?”

“I’m hanging up.”

You laughed, opening your window. “Are you going to climb up or what?”

“What about the front door?” He asked, laughing as well.

“You want to wake up my dad?”

He looked at you, holding tightly his cellphone.

“Take a step back,” he asked you and you did as obliged.

You turned to look at the papers all over your bedroom floor, as well as the clothes on top of your bed, and you did your best to start picking up your things, tossing them under the bed, inside your closet, wishing he can’t see though the doors or something.

As you turn back around, you see Clark Kent taking a step inside your bedroom, placing the basket on the floor with a giant smile.

“It’s no windmill but, I try my best.” He closed the window behind him. Then, he turned to face your bedroom, taking in all its elements as he smiled. “Nice place.”

“I try my best,” you said, grabbing the blanket Clark brought and placing it down on the floor.

You sat down, legs crossed, looking up as that tall good-looking man you’re lucky to call your boyfriend sat down right beside you, opening the basket he brought with him just for you.

“I brought hot chocolate, chocolate chip cookies of course.” You smiled, looking at his face framed by that baseball cap he was wearing. He looked incredibly attractive, so handsome you were trying not to melt. “I also brought chocolate strawberries. Everything that has chocolate is probably inside this basket.”

“I think that’s a wise choice,” you whispered, taking out one of those incredibly appetizing strawberries and taking a bite. “So how was working with Lana?”

He shrugged, looking away. You noticed. “Normal. I heard your conversation with her though.”

“Spying?”

“Overhearing.”

“On purpose?”

“Mostly accidentally.”

You nodded, turning your head away as well. You were embarrassed enough that you had to hear Lana’s words about you, but Clark hearing them too was a low blow.

“I knew you guys didn’t get along. Didn’t know it was that bad.” Your fingers seemed the perfect place to focus your eyes on at that moment. “Care to tell me what Lana meant?”

“You already knew I was kind of mean. You said you liked it.”

“I like that you’re honest. And direct.”

“Same thing,” you mumbled.

“Baby,” he called for you, softly, making you turn to face him. Those eyes. Those hypnotizing icy blue eyes that fit his handsome face, that made your skin warm. You simply stared at him, hoping he would touch you know, make you forget, make you relax. “What is it?”

“It’s no secret I’m not known for my… sweetness,” you tried to sugarcoat it. “Yes, I may have used my honesty as a way of harm sometimes. But it’s all because… I’m just tired of this place.” He frowned. “Everyone has this opinion of me, since I was little. Maybe because I was pretty, maybe because of my loud personality, but it just upsets me. And I take that anger inside of me on others, and I know that’s not right and I shouldn’t do it. I just… sometimes I think I’m meant to do greater things in life than live up to the image people built of me.”

“And you think Lana does that?”

“I didn’t mention Lana,” you were quick to say, pointing your finger at him. He raised his arms in innocence. “But… don’t you think people like her and me are constantly locked down by the idea that people have of us? Like, everyone thinks Lana’s so perfect and nice, so she can’t make any mistakes. That puts so much pressure in one person. And let’s not talk about my labels. Cheerleader. Miss Sweet Corn. Homecoming queen. Just… so many labels. So I’m rude, yes. And yeah, maybe I’ve hurt people. I get it… But maybe I was just trying to escape them. Don’t you think that maybe, by trying to comply with what they wanted of me, I might be getting hurt too?”

Clark looked away. “I think it’s valid to feel that way… but maybe what you need to start thinking about is… is it really worth it? To change the label? Yes, you change what they think of you, but they’re still labeling you as something else. And you lose yourself in the process.” You looked away, fearing he was right. “But I’ve also seen what happens when people take real interest in you. That happened to me. That’s what I liked about you. Just… how excited you are to be your true self. And how scared you are to be it as well.”

You looked at him, a smile slowly growing on your face. “Can I have a hot chocolate?”

“Would you consider what I said?” You nodded. “Maybe try breaking off the label. Being who you are, no matter if people like you, hate you, idolize you, or ignore you.” He handed you a hot chocolate, which you grabbed with both hands. “Just be yourself. Like you said: Smallville is just a step in your way of something bigger.”

“I don’t care about popularity, Clark,” you lied, taking a sip from the chocolate.”

“Right, says Miss Sweet Corn,” he mocked you, trying to hold back a laughter. You did the same. “I like you. Just how you are. I don’t care about the past. Just like you always say: what matters is what’s coming ahead, and how you’re working for that goal every day.”

You smiled. “I can be very wise when I want to.”

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

You walked in hand in hand with Clark the next day. It was becoming a habit.

But what had also become a habit was that you would sit with your friends, the popular crowd, with Clark, since his friends couldn’t stand you.

When they called you, and signaled your usual spot, you waved at them with a smile, before you continued walking, confusing Clark as you dragged him along.

“Where are we going?” He asked. “We always sit there. I was finally starting to learn all the nicknames.”

“I thought we could eat somewhere else for a change,” you said, turning right and entering the Torch office with a smile.

There was Chloe and Lana chatting at Chloe’s desk, both girls turning to look at you and Clark as you walked in, confused and surprised.

“Long time no see,” Chloe finally said. “Popular crowd finally kicked you out?”

“Opted for the exit sign this time,” you replied before Clark could, approaching the girls. “I thought we could eat with you guys.”

Lana looked at Clark before looking at you. “Why the sudden change?”

“Well, I believe I haven’t gotten the chance to actually get to know you guys, as well as you guys haven’t gotten the chance to know me,” you said, sitting down at an empty chair, while Clark leaned back on the desk. “So, the torch… nice. Tell me all about your next edition, Chloe.”

Chloe and Lana looked at one another before looking at you. Just like that, you put a nickel on Chloe and she started talking non stop.

You turned to look at Clark, the sound of Chloe’s voice filling the room. He smiled at you, placing a strand of your hair behind your ear, and whispering the words you wanted to hear.

“Thank you.”

[zoeoe-sims]

WIP Update (Pottery Mod etc.)

Heyo, figured I'd give an update on my WIPs, especially as I mentioned previously about making a post about the pottery mod and proceeded to not do that...

Long story short, I had to take a break from working on the pottery mod for a little while, then I didn't pick it back up when I could, became afraid to look at it, started other WIPs including a cow mod and a script modding tutorial project, and now am working on a project tangential to the pottery mod - a material state editor tool! I'm pretty excited about it because I'm diving into using S3PI and I'm honestly just surprised it's working out so far. This tool should make it less tedious to add all the glaze types to the ceramics for the pottery mod, and maybe someone else will find it useful too! At least my future self will if I make another mod that involves objects with material states... otherwise it's me spending 50 hours working on a tool to automate something that might take 5 hours! Yay technology...! I'm also hoping this post will help get me back into working on the pottery mod itself... I already had to fix a problem I so kindly left for myself in the code before I stopped working on it, in order to finish getting the screenshots, so that's good?

Anyway here is an overview of the pottery mod so far, and my plans for it:

Interaction

I have a Make Ceramic interaction, with the converted sims 4 pottery wheel, where you can pick the ceramic to make and the sim will sit at the wheel, and make it! I still have more animations to convert but I might not do all of them for simplicity's sake.

Skill

Currently just have a basic pottery skill, which will determine which items your sim can make, but I could add a couple of skill stats and maybe challenges.

Objects

I've also made some progress on converting the sims 4 pottery objects, but it will also be easy to add other objects to the XML file if you want.

Glazing

I also have an XML set up for selectable glazes, so you can pick in game which sims 4 glaze you want for the sims 4 objects, as well as a default one which will be fully CAStable. It's therefore possible to add selectable glazes to other objects, but you'll need to be comfortable adding the textures as material states rather than regular presets. But CASt has you covered anyway :p

Kiln

The kiln object is where you finish the ceramics, either choosing a sims 4 glaze or a normal CAStable version. Sims 4 has the kiln process be almost instant, but I have it so the ceramic will take a few hours to finish and your sim can come and pick it up later - like the nectar machine from WA.

Still to do:

Finish converting the sims 4 ceramics

Set up the glazes for them

Add more pottery animations

Skill improvements

Add sounds to wheel and kiln

Mod in action:

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

A chance encounter

Words: 1,732 [also on AO3]

Rated: E

Tags: No UD AU; Future fic; Record label owner Eddie; Waiter Steve; Eddie Munson has a crush on Steve Harrington; Blood and violence; Sex work (implied); Attempted non-con; Homophobic language; Steve Harrington whump; Eddie Munson whump; Protective Eddie Munson; Protective Steve Harrington

Notes: Happy birthday, @house-of-the-moving-image! I hope you have the most wonderful of days. I'm so happy to have found you as a friend and partner in crime. Hope you enjoy your extra long chunk of Upside Diner, even though it turned out quite gritty for a birthday fic. 😅💕🛼

Eddie grumbles under his breath as he locks the office door and steps out into the dark street. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loves his job. Hellfire Records is his baby. Making music, working with all sorts of different artists and bands, helping them make a name for themselves - it’s everything he ever wanted and never thought he could have growing up in the smalltown hell of Hawkins, Indiana. 

What he doesn’t love is the meetings and the paperwork and the phone calls, especially on days like this, when it all drags on until well into the night. 

The echoes of his boots bounce off the empty streets as he makes his way towards the little diner at the corner. Checking his wristwatch, he swears again. Fuck, it’s even later than he thought. What if Steve’s shift is already over? The thought makes his stomach clench with an unpleasant feeling that distinctly feels like disappointment. The realization makes him pause and furrow his brow. 

Maybe it’s a little bit pathetic, how quickly his visits to the diner have become the highlight of his day. Maybe it’s a little bit weird that he hasn’t had dinner anywhere else in literal weeks. Maybe it’s a little bit creepy, this obsession with a boy he knew fleetingly in highschool. An obsession that makes him come by every single day after work, without fail, just to chew on soggy fries and greasy burgers and watch said boy waiting tables, gliding around like an angel in chunky roller skates and stupidly short shorts. 

Maybe he has a problem. 

And maybe he doesn’t care. 

Because for all his initial reluctance and bite, Steve has actually started coming around. Has been accepting Eddie’s money and attempts at conversation with barely a complaint. Has even stopped asking why Eddie keeps ordering way too much food for one person alone, taking the leftovers behind his counter to munch on. Hell, last week when Eddie came in, he even looked up from the order he was taking and flashed him a wave and smile. Eddie rode that high all night and well into the next day. 

It’s the memory of that smile that makes him pick up his steps. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll catch Steve at the tail end of his shift and convince him to stay around for a little longer. 

The diner is empty, except for a lone person in uniform wiping down tables behind the neon-lit window pane. It isn’t Steve. Eddie spares one glance at the bored-looking girl and turns away with an annoyed groan. That’s it, he thinks, pulling his headphones from his pocket and slamming them on with a little more force than strictly necessary. Tonight officially sucks. Time to go home and fix himself some SpaghettiOs, turn on a late night show and fall asleep in front of the- 

For the rest of his life, he’ll thank fate for making him fumble with his discman. Because if he’d hit the play button a second earlier, he would never have heard the voices. But this way, he does, and this way, he halts his steps, peering into the narrow side alley with a wrinkled brow. The light of the streetlamps only reaches so far, and everything he can see are the dumpsters and old cardboard boxes at its entrance. Beyond them, everything is dark. 

“Dude, get your hands off me, I said no.” 

Steve.

Eddie is halfway around the dumpsters before he even knows it, heart beating in his ribcage like a jackhammer. The alley reeks of piss and rotting garbage. At its far end, almost hidden behind another dumpster, are two figures. Eddie can’t make out their faces, but he also doesn’t need to. The colorful uniform is unmistakable, even in the murky half-light, even though it’s paired with a pair of sneakers rather than roller skates. And besides, he’d know that ridiculously floofy hairdo anywhere. 

He doesn’t know the other man. Only knows that the guy's hands are grabbing Steve’s arms and shoulders hard enough to leave marks as he attempts to wrestle him to his knees. 

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” the man hisses just as Eddie rounds the dumpster. “I’ll make it quick.” 

“Are you deaf or stupid?” Steve sneers, trying to struggle out of his hold. “I said get your fucking hands off me.” 

The man slaps him across the face. Steve makes a pained noise and loses his balance, going down on his knees on the dirty ground. 

The man laughs, curt and mean.

“There you go,” he coos. One of his hands grabs a fist full of chestnut hair while the other reaches for the half-undone fly of his pants. “Now be a good little slut and-” 

The force of the impact sends the discman tumbling from Eddie’s pocket. It shatters on the ground somewhere, parts flying in all directions, but he doesn’t have eyes for it. Instead, he grabs the asshole by the lapels of his cheap suit and hauls him against the nearest wall. The back of the asshole’s head hits the bricks, and Eddie thinks he hears something crack. Good. 

“Eddie?” 

While the man sags against the wall, groaning and cradling his head, Eddie whirls on Steve. Steve, who's just swaying to his feet, eyes wide and shocked. His cheek is flushed and starting to bruise. 

“Shit,” Eddie swears. “Are you-” 

Pain explodes inside his skull, sudden and all consuming. He stumbles, trying to keep his footing and cracks his head on the hard metal edge of the dumpster in the process. He manages to blink the stars from his vision just in time to see the man's fist flying at him. The blow makes his ears ring and copper flood his mouth, and when he regains his senses, he's on the ground with two hands closing around his throat. 

“Thought you'd play the hero, huh?” The man's grin is a manic grimace. A glob of spit hits Eddie’s cheek. “Well, how'd that work out for you, you stupid little-” 

“Hey, shitface!” 

The man snarls and turns. Eddie doesn’t see what happens, just knows that something goes crunch and suddenly the hands pressing down on his windpipe are gone. The man's voice turns into a high-pitched wail of pain. 

Eddie rolls around, coughing and gasping for air, and props himself up on his elbows. The man has shrunk against the next wall, clutching at his face. Crimson blood is bubbling out from between his fingers, hitting the alley floor in a steady pattern of drips. 

“Fuck off,” Steve says and lowers the hand holding the roller skate. His voice is deadly calm, his face steely. “Remember to put away your dick first.” 

The guy stares at him. Steve raises the roller skate again, just a little. The asshole whimpers and scrambles upright, mumbling something to himself. Eddie thinks he catches something about fucking lunatic fags, but he can't be sure, what with the way his voice comes out all wet and garbled. And then he's gone, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away.

Steve drops the roller skate. 

“Fuck,” be whispers, crouching down next to Eddie and brushing hesitant fingers over his split lip. Ten minutes ago, Eddie would’ve given anything to feel those hands on his face, but now he winces and recoils at the sting of pain. 

Steve retracts his hand, flopping down on the ground with a heavy sigh. The shorts ride up with the movement, exposing strong, muscled thighs. His knees are scraped from hitting the asphalt, little droplets of blood beading on the torn skin. 

“What’d you go and do that for?” Steve asks, scrubbing a hand down his face. All of the steel is gone from his voice. He sounds tired instead, infinitely tired. “I had it under control.” 

Eddie can’t help it, he barks a laugh. “Oh, did you, big boy? When was that, exactly? When he backhanded you? Or when he had you by the hair and was about to shove his cock down your-”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one who got punched and choked half to death!” Steve snaps. 

Eddie opens his mouth to argue, then shuts it again. The boy has a point, sort of. He doesn’t need a mirror to tell which one of them is looking the worse for wear right now, not with the white-hot pain still throbbing through his face with every heartbeat. 

“He didn’t choke me half to death,” he mutters lamely. Steve huffs a humorless laugh. 

“Thanks, anyway,” he then says. It comes out so quietly that Eddie nearly misses it, and when he looks up, Steve has averted his eyes. Eddie has an acute flashback to their first meeting at the diner, when Steve reluctantly accepted his tip money. “Could’ve gone a lot worse if you hadn’t shown up.” 

Eddie feels his mouth tug into a grin, even though his lip stings like an entire beehive. 

“Anytime, Stevie. Now c’mon, let’s get outtaaaaah, shit.” 

Trying to stand is a bad idea. The moment he’s upright, another firework of pain goes off behind his temples and the ground tilts out from under him. The only thing that saves him from going right down again is Steve jumping to his feet and looping one of Eddie’s arms around his shoulders. 

“Shit, he got you good,” he mutters. Eddie can only hum in agreement, too preoccupied with keeping the meager contents of his stomach down. “We should probably get you somewhere with a first aid kit at least.” 

“‘s okay,” Eddie slurs, inadvertently leaning closer into Steve’s warmth. He smells of shampoo and frying fat and blood. “I’ll be fine, I live nearby.” 

Steve’s eyes flit over his face, then off to the side, then back to his face again. He licks his lips and even in his dazed state, Eddie can clearly see how he wars with himself. Finally, he gulps and straightens his spine. 

“Okay,” he says, adjusting Eddie’s weight on his shoulders. “Let’s go then.” 

It’s weird, Eddie thinks as they start to hobble their way down the dark street. He must’ve fantasized a thousand times about taking Steve Harrington home, but never once did he think it’d play out like this. Then again, things in his life rarely go as he imagines, so he supposes he’s just gonna roll with it.

@steddhie @formosusiniquis @steddiehasmywholeheart @ellaelsinore @rozzieroos

Part 4

Tag list: @grtwdsmwhr @p0lybl4nkk @fairytalesreality @colidamae @dissociatingdemon

[nickistuffs]

Falling and Filament

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)

Summary: He loves watching you work but there will always be casualties

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Minor burn injury. Fluffy 💗

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

...

Harry was always in awe of your artistic endeavours. Every time he thought he had seen it all, you’d surprise him with something new—whether it was sketching intricate designs, sculpting digital models, or, his personal favourite, watching you bring those 3D models to life. The fact that you could design something on a computer, print it physically in just an hour, and hold the finished product in your hands was nothing short of magic to him.

But today, instead of watching you create, he was watching you fix—crouched over your 3D printer, sleeves rolled up, hands skillfully unscrewing tiny parts as you diagnosed whatever issue had put a pause on your latest project.

Harry sat on the floor beside you, his chin resting on his palm, completely fascinated by the whole process—even if he didn’t fully understand what you were doing.

“I swear, Y/N, I think you could build an IKEA shelf in under an hour,” he mused, watching as you carefully adjusted a setting on the machine.

You chuckled, eyes still focused on your work. “That’s easy if you have the instructions and a little patience.”

Harry scoffed. “Yeah, except IKEA furniture is impossible—too many tiny parts, too many confusing details. How do you make sense of stuff like this?”

You didn’t even look up, just shaking your head with a small laugh as you continued your work. “Because I like problem-solving. Besides, once you do it enough times, it’s just second nature.”

Harry watched as you pushed a thin plastic string through a tube, demonstrating with ease. “What happened to your printer, anyway?” he asked.

“Oh, just some basic maintenance,” you replied. “The nozzle’s clogged, so I just need to swap it out.”

Harry frowned slightly, watching as you fed the filament through. “This is the filament,” you explained. “It’s what comes out of the nozzle to form the print.” You gestured toward the machine as a small blob of plastic sluggishly oozed out of the tip. “See? It’s clogged. It should be coming out in a steady, clean stream.”

Before he could ask another question, you grabbed a small tool and began unscrewing the copper nozzle with practiced precision.

And then—

“Ow!”

Harry’s head snapped up. “What? What happened?” His voice was immediately laced with concern.

You shook your hand out nonchalantly, blowing on your fingers. “The nozzle slipped. It was still hot.”

Without hesitation, Harry reached for your hand, gently cradling it as he examined the small red mark where the nozzle had landed. His brows furrowed, and without thinking, he blew softly over the irritated skin. “Be careful, Y/N, please,” he murmured, his voice softer now.

You smiled at his concern, shaking your head. “Harry, don’t worry too much. I’ve done this a million times. When you work with your hands, you get used to a few injuries here and there.”

“That doesn’t mean you should keep burning yourself,” he mumbled, still holding your hand like he could protect it from any future harm.

You gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze before pulling away to finish the job. With a few more careful turns, you secured the new nozzle into place, giving it one last check before straightening up. “And… done.”

Harry watched in amazement as you ran a quick test, the printer coming to life with a soft whir. The filament now flowed smoothly, a perfect, clean stream extruding from the nozzle.

You turned to him with a satisfied grin. “Now I can finish my other projects. C’mon, you can watch me.”

Harry stood, shaking his head in disbelief but smiling nonetheless. “You’re ridiculous,” he said fondly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you led him toward your workspace.

...

A little while later, Harry found you hunched over your latest 3D print, carefully slicing off imperfections with a precision cutter. He leaned against the table, watching you work.

“But I do wish you were more careful,” he said, frowning slightly as you dragged the blade along the plastic, removing small bumps from the surface. “You already burned yourself today, and now you’re using a sharp tool on a tiny piece of plastic.”

You snickered, not even looking up. “I actually do know when to stop, you know.”

Harry arched an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded, still focused. “It’s when I get too angry.”

That made Harry pause. “Wait—what?”

You giggled at your own ridiculousness, finally looking at him. “If I’m getting too frustrated, I know it’s time to stop before I accidentally take off a whole chunk of my model… or my own finger.”

Harry groaned, running a hand down his face. “That’s not reassuring, love.”

You just grinned and turned back to your work. “Relax, I have it under control.”

“I don’t know if I believe you,” he muttered. “You did just burn yourself like twenty minutes ago.”

You shrugged, pressing your lips together to hide another laugh. “That was a heat-related incident. This is a precision-related incident. Different categories.”

Harry let out an exaggerated sigh. “Bloody hell. You’re going to give me a heart attack one day.”

You just smirked, holding up your freshly cleaned 3D model. “And yet, you love watching me work.”

Harry crossed his arms, shaking his head but smiling nonetheless. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me have to call for medical help, alright?”

You shot him a wink. “No promises.”

And with that, you turned back to your project, Harry staying right by your side, watching with equal parts amazement and exasperation as you worked your magic.

Later that evening, the two of you were curled up on the couch, a quiet moment settling between you. The TV was on, but neither of you was really paying attention. Instead, you were absentmindedly tracing your fingers over Harry’s hand, feeling the rough texture of his fingertips.

“Well, your work does have casualties too,” you mused, pressing your thumb lightly against one of the hardened spots. “Your fingers are so calloused from playing the guitar.”

Harry smirked, flexing his hand under your touch. “Part of the job, love.”

You hummed thoughtfully, still running your fingers over his. “And, you know… you fall a lot, Harry. I’m surprised you haven’t broken an ankle yet.”

Harry gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “How dare you?”

You grinned. “I dare because I’ve seen the videos. I’ve seen you trip over nothing—on stage, on the street, probably in your own house.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched in amusement. “It’s called commitment to the performance. If I fall, I do it with style.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, Harry. You fall like a baby deer learning how to walk.”

Harry groaned, flopping back against the cushions. “Unbelievable. My own girlfriend, bullying me.”

“Just speaking facts,” you teased, poking his cheek.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Harry suddenly grabbed your waist, flipping you onto your back as he hovered over you. “Alright, let’s talk about your track record, shall we?”

You gasped in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t think I’ve forgotten about you burning yourself earlier. Or the time you dropped your phone on your face. Or when you tripped over your own 3D printer cord and almost wiped out.”

You let out an indignant squeak. “That was one time!”

Harry raised a brow. “It was last week, love.”

You groaned, covering your face. “Okay, fine. Maybe we’re both accident-prone.”

Harry chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Match made in heaven, then.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “Yeah, yeah. But if you ever actually break something from falling, I told you so.”

Harry smirked. “And if you ever lose a finger to that cutter, I told you so.”

You both burst into laughter, tangled together on the couch, fully accepting that neither of you was particularly graceful—but at least you had each other to soften the blows.

...

I need to include more design jargon in this series.

[warblogs17282]

My overall thoughts on Apology Tour (It's actually an 10/10 episode) and an in depth analysis of the episode.

The scene at the start was so fucking good, starts to place the seeds of doubt with Blitz, he almosts gets the point at the start multiple times before backtracking on that instantly, glad the harvest moon festival assassination attempt was brought up, I cannot wait for that to be mentioned again.

And then we get to the apology list, Blitz being in incredible denial about WHY people hate him and think a simple sorry will fix everything, this gets brought up later as well with Stolas fucking chatting shit to Blitz for it, which Blitz needed to hear so badly.

Then we get to Stolas pre song, he really doesn't want to shittalk Blitz, proof that Stolas still cares for Blitz, showing us that Stolitz still has a really strong chance of healing and coming back together with the power of healthy communication.

And then we get to the song, holy fucking shit it is top tier, it's a banger and talks about all the problems they have, how Stolas doesn't want to hurt Blitz, how he's hurt Stolas, with lines like 'I don't think you meant to hurt me' and a massive self reflection on Stolas' part as well. Making it damn well clear to Stolas what he wants, needs and the problems in their relationships, making communication about it later so much easier, POP THE FUCK OFF MY PRINCE. 'I don't think it meant anything at all'. This just shows one key flaw with Stolitz, based on Blitz's reaction in the full moon episode, Stolas now thinks that Blitz entirely never cared for him, something that Blitz HAS to address, eventually they'll get to that point but for now, Stolas is just singing his heart and true emotions out, playing all of his cards on the table for Blitz to see.

Then we get to this part, drunk Stolas and Blitz talking, Blitz actually talks about things properly to Stolas for once, and Stolas calls Blitz out on his bullshit constantly, which I love, because it will force Blitz to go over everything he's mentioned, allowing for actual healthy communication in the future between those two WHICH I FUCKING LOVE SO MUCH. Blitz gets a few issues off his chest during the whole part as well, which, while we're not fully there yet, will also cause Stolas to reflect on a lot of shit as well. FORCING BLITZ TO REALISE WHY SO MANY PEOPLE HATE HIM, AS STOLAS POINTS OUT WITH THE EXISTANCE OF THE PARTY. BOTH OF THEM ARE GOING THROUGH SO MANY EMOTIONS RIGHT NOW AND I LIVE AND DIE FOR IT.

This face, this fucking face. It's finally snaps for Blitz about how he's fucked up so much, what he has to do better all that shit, BLITZ WILL HAVE A MAJOR SELF REFLECTION EPISODE, AND THIS FACE PROVES IT, HE KNOWS WHAT STOLAS WANTS, AND HE'S DAMN WELL GOING TO LET STOLAS HAVE IT.

The way Blitz just, let's him have this dance and eventual fuck with this guy, it proves he's learning, he's not being defensive, he's just letting it play on regardless of how hurt he is, as stated later, it starts with just letting Stolas have this moment, to truly feel happy again, which shows he's putting Stolas' feelings first, and being a good person, which will help him communicate better to Stolas in the future, BECAUSE BLITZ IS LEARNING.

Blitz starts with denial, his trademark defense tactic, trying to shift the blame off himself and onto everyone else, and Verosika putting Blitz in his fucking place, he needs to hear about how he hurt her, about WHY the party exists in the first place, without him realising both of those things Blitz cannot heal, which is what Verosika is trying to get him to realise, how he can hurt people, which with how Blitz slowly gets down and changes his emotions as you can see on his face, Blitz fucking gets it, he's starting to learn to be a better person, to be able to be loved back, to be the person Stolas deserves, to be better for himself.

'I don't want to be this way, not forever.' With the context, this line hits so fucking hard, like a truck. Blitz is actually learning from his mistakes, with her, and Stolas being the two major points, Blitz is going to start an arc to face everything that's haunting him, to get over his problems, face them all, to be the better man for the person Blitz truly loves, Stolas. Everything has undeniably been realised for Blitz, and there's no going back for him, he will learn from his mistakes, and Stolitz can finally be back better, once that healing and mutual communication has been completed.

Stolas looks genuinely happy, like he's found someone, someone to help him through his troubles, to be someone Stolas needs in his life during this point in time. And you know what Blitz does? While he's still clearly hurt and disgusted, he lets Stolas have this moment, to be happy, proving on some level that he does deeply care for Stolas, sure Blitz does that really angry for a moment, but Verosika levels Blitz out with this line 'It just starts with saying, good for him, hope he gets laid.' He quickly simmers down the anger from that encounter, on better talking terms with Verosika, realising what he has to do now (just letting Stolas have this moment) and what to do in the future.

Sure Blitz is mostly angry and upset at the moment, but this starts an arc with Blitz, one of learning and understanding things that he needs to fix to ever be back with Stolas, he cannot deny anything any more for long, Blitz has flown right into the emotional core of everything and he will reflect on it, learn from it. To not be how he was, not forever. To be better for himself, to be better for his lover, Stolas. It's clear that Stolas still has feelings for Blitz, as the song and drunken talk they had shows. Stolitz will come back, not soon. But they will be. We've entered the arc where both Blitz and Stolas heal themselves, eventually being back on actual healthy communicating terms. Both of them don't want to be the ways they were. Not forever.

tldr, I've gone in depth about the episode, why I think it's amazing writing, and where Stolitz goes in the future. THEY WILL BE HAPPY EVENTUALLY. This is easily my new favourite episode, the best of the best, and I only pray that Vivzie can keep this train of amazing storytelling going.

[quibbs126]

Well I also did this today. Sketches so I could try and figure out that skystar fankid since as mentioned earlier, I’ve been trying to think about him

I’ve been trying to draw other stuff today, but honestly after drawing Jazz, my creative juices have not been flowing as much. I tried to do more color palette drawings, but Megatron’s shoulders give me so much trouble I couldn’t figure them out, and I tried to draw Ironhide but he wasn’t turning out right proportion wise and I realized by them I was kind of just forcing it

But then I was bored and needed something to do creatively, so I tried to at least attempt some amount of designing this kid. Though first I needed to try and draw Starscream and Skyfire’s helms (since that’s on of the main things that don’t rely on alt mode) to see how I could combine them

I mean, I think I did all right. It is very much still a work in progress though

Probably shouldn’t have even posted it, just kept it to myself for future reference, but I have a problem of wanting to share literally everything I make with very few exceptions, so here we are

I have multiple alternate color schemes here as well because I just didn’t know what to pick

Honestly my biggest problem here for me is that Skyfire doesn’t have any design in Transformers One, at least not as far as I can tell. And he doesn’t really appear in much outside of that, so I’m really just stuck with his g1 design to base off of. So most of what I do have to work with comes from Starscream and the other Seekers

So like, I feel like this kid looks too much like Starscream, but I don’t know how to fix it

By the way, while I haven’t settled on a name for him yet, the one floating around for me right now is Overdrive? I don’t really know why, and it unfortunately is already a character’s name, but shush

It may change, but for now, in this post, his name is Overdrive

There’s also the problem of the color scheme for him here. Because like, Skyfire and Starscream technically have almost the same color schemes, just that Starscream also has black/grey and they’re dispersed differently. So I’m trying to find a balance here that works without looking too much like one or the other

I had a brief idea to base Overdrive’s color scheme on the original Jetfire toy, and honestly I do think it could work, with the mainly white with red and black accents, it's just that for whatever reason, I don't like how it looks when I make his middle part red. Maybe I've been watching too much g1, because there's a lot of red Autobots, and characters having white and red on their helms isn't that uncommon either. So I just keep it blue so he looks distinct in my head. I might switch it over to the Jetfire color scheme later though

Also you see that for one of the visors I toyed with him having green eyes (his eye and visor color match btw, the eye's only there so you can see it), because some people decide that pre-betrayal Starscream had non red optics. But I didn't just want to stick with plain blue, and I knew that we see a number of miners with green eyes, so why not green? I changed it because I thought maybe he didn't look Starscream enough, but eh

Oh yeah, I do have a few other notes on his design here, since I'm realizing I've mostly just been complaining

Why did I give him a visor? Eh, why not, Skyfire and Starscream don't have them. But I based it on how it looks on Thundercracker and Skywarp

As for his side vents, I wasn't really sure how to do them, but I didn't want them to be the same as Starscream. I tried to base them off of Slipstream's, but the way the vents folded looked weird to me, and I ended up cutting them off and making his face into what you see in the bottom left there. It didn't turn out exactly the way I wanted in the colored version though, and I think I ended up circling back to Starscream's vent shape. But oh well, things to change later

Oh yeah, pictures of Thundercracker, Skywarp and Slipstream to know what I’m talking about. Or more accurately, this is what I used

Also those things on his sides? They were supposed to be like Skyfire's side cheek things he has in g1, but I also made them puff out for some reason. I don't know why. I'll probably tweak it, but I want to keep some aspect of it I think

*sigh* to be honest, I really don't know what I think of this design. It really isn't finished at all. I'm really not even sure why I'm showing it, other than to say I'm working on it and I didn't just abandon it? But I mean, we'll see how long that lasts

Do I have anything I added on to Overdrive's character at least? Well no, not really. By this afternoon I think I had mostly creatively drained myself, I mostly just wrote what I had originally again

Namely that he came to be after Sentinel's betrayal, and as such Starscream doesn't know he exists and Skyfire thinks Starscream's dead. Overdrive still has his cog, it never got stolen, either because Sentinel hadn't thought of it yet or he didn't have a believable means to have it taken without it being suspicious. All I really know is he's a jet, but isn't outfitted for military work of any kind, his profession probably being closer to Skyfire's

As for Skyfire, I'm stealing his role here from another fanfic I read, where he's a scientist who was trying to figure out the cause of the Energon shortage and the lack of the miners' cogs (unaware that latter part is a lie, but he was growing suspicious with the discouragement of that line of research), though he also races occasionally. So maybe Overdrive's a scientist too? I don't know, I don't think he needs to be, but I don't know what to make him

Also a note that isn't new to me but I don't think I ever mentioned, due to Skyfire's research, he's met the miners plenty of times and was generally considered one of the nicer cogged bots to them. Overdrive has by proxy met them on occasion as well, including D-16. So as it happens, Megatron does in fact know about Overdrive and the fact that he's Starscream's kid (Skyfire probably mentioned his former conjunx at some point), but he doesn't know that Starscream doesn't. So he hasn't told anyone because he assumes everyone already knows

But yeah, I have Overdrive's backstory, but I really don't have anything about his actual job or personality. To be honest, I think some of it's me being paranoid I recreate Locket in some way, since I like seeing stuff on the Locket AU. I suppose I try making him closer to Skyfire's personality? But for whatever reason, my brain can't rectify that in my head. I don't know

Still don't have an answer on his alt mode either. And it gets even trickier now because they don't have Earth alt modes, they're Cybertronian (even if they don't all look the most different from Earth vehicles here). I did learn about the existence of triple engine jets today, and I kind of want to do that, but I don't know if I will. I also don't know how to draw planes yet, or how they entirely translate to robot mode

But yeah, I think I'm done here, just updating you on what I've been up to this latter half of the day

[cheriladycl01]

Ghost - Oscar Piastri x UnknownDriver! Reader Part 6

Plot: Reader is the first female F1 driver of the century, however no-one knows that as you are a ghost on the grid. You started in 2022, coming in P12 in the championship. You get moved to Red Bull Racing in 2023 with the off year for Sergio Perez.

Warnings: Talk of reading taking anti-depressants etc.

After Bahrain you still had no word from Christian on whether or not he had contract negotiations for you. However, in this time you'd had talks with Williams, Aston Martin and Mercedes all having positions open. They knew you were an incredible driver and that it wasn't just the car you were given and they really wanted you on board.

You were in a difficult position of wanting to prove yourself to the RedBull team and stay in a top team while letting opportunities being given to you get thrown away.

Saudi was a strange feeling you stormed through FP1 and FP2 being P1 and P3, however by the time Friday racing came Carlos was out the race due to having his appendix taken out. Ollie Bearman the F2 driver was announced to be taking his place right away and he was thrown in FP3.

FP3 and you were told to calm down and work with your tyres meaning you went 5th fastest rather than topping the leaderboard. Qually came around and you qualified third, your team calling you into the pits and holding you there for too long meant you couldn't get another lap in when Charles did which sent him into P2.

Once again Oscar was starting right behind you, and you could feel the pressure was on. You needed to have a great start to get up there with Max.

Sunday came and went and it was another great day for Red Bull, but not so much for you. Once again your margins were showing that you were quicker than Max right now being on fresher tyres and on the softs from a later race stop.

You for the second weekend in a row were denied an overtake and were asked to ride Max's bumper. The last few laps had tears filling in your eyes from how ridiculous this was... Max was the golden boy and you were just not contracted. You couldn't tell what would work better in your favour to try and get a contract. Follow team orders and keep this 1-2 or don't follow team orders and go for the overtake.

After talks with your race engineer you decided to obey team orders. Meaning you got your second P2 of the season.

Australia was the interesting race, both you and Max were reporting problems with the car, Max's seemingly being fixed by the time qualifying came around but you were still struggling. Your engine fully cut out after going over a bump on an out lap meaning you were starting P17, your worst qualifying yet.

"Y/N, not a great qualifying yeah?" the interviewer asks.

"Nah, P17 i think that was a pretty good run!" you joke back making your PR manager elbow you and shake her head.

"No, obviously it wasn't what myself or the team were looking for. They managed to fix Max's car for today but not mine, I know the team will be working really hard on my car now that Max's is all good and I can just hope to fight tomorrow and grab the team some points!" you nod smiling towards the camera on you.

"And any new on contract talks, i'm sure there are many teams that are looking to have you in their driver line up!" she asks and you nod.

"Yeah of course, most drivers will tell you that there are talks with all the teams and it's true. You know if you work in a office and your in HR you go see the legal department, and hospitality and the receptionists from time to time even though they aren't within your area. It's very natural to talk to the people around me so of course there are talks!" you admit and she nods insightfully.

"So the pictures of you talking to Toto Wolff, Ayao Komatsu and Mike Krack are ... not to be read into?" she pushes and you laugh.

"Honestly read as you will into them. Right now I'm focused on Red Bull, regardless of my future there!" you admit, hoping that might be the jog that Christian needed to hear to keep you in the team.

"Ooooo Oscar!" the interviewer shouts beckoning him over. You start to leave thinking your portion of the interview was over and you could move on to going home.

"Wait no! Y/N don't go, we'll interview you together!" she grins and something in your mind tells you its malicious and she's doing this on purpose to spite you. But she was really just hoping to get you both together as you'd been better than Oscar this season.

"So Oscar how does it feel having finally outqualified Y/N for the first time this season? You did really well!" she smiles and Oscar is looking everywhere but next to him, which is where you are awkwardly stood, trying to get your PR managers attention.

"Yeah i mean, she had car issues so it wasn't really on skill?" he asks more than anything else, tilting his head to the side confused.

"Yes, so the battle is pretty tense between you both especially after last year. But now Oscar your looking really high up in the constructors along with Y/N, do you think you can beat her this year?" the interviewer asks hoping to get a little bit of dramatics.

"I mean, the battle for the top field cars is slowly closing with the upgrades we're all getting so we're looking forward to closing that gap that's up there now!" he nods looking down at you to see if you had anything to add.

For the first time, in months there was a softness in his eyes you hadn't seen for ages. He nodded at you to speak but you became a stuttering mess, not even remembering the question.

"Sorry, but I'm needed!" you stutter awkwardly handing back the microphone before trotting off looking around for anyone that could help the shaking of your hands.

You were struggling to breath.

Why now, why did he make you feel like everything was okay again when it wasn't. He was your best friend and he hasn't spoken to you in months, it ... didn't feel right!

You breathing became more and more strained as you looked around for someone familiar. Your eyes dart between the different motorhomes, just looking for any one of the other drivers. You eventually made it to Red Bull trying to get to your drivers room however, a body stopped you holding you shoulders.

"Hey, great race today Y/N!" the voice of Liam comes through and you just nod, a small thank you coming from you mouth as you try to make your way around him.

"Hey, Y/N? What's up is something bothering you?" he asks not fully noticing your panicked expression.

"I'm fine, just want to get some water from my room!" you nod back towards your room and his eyes glaze over you.

"No your not okay, lets go!" he smiles taking your hand and dragging you to your drivers room.

You knew Liam was just being kind and trying to help, but right now you just really wanted to be alone and think about whatever you needed to think about.

"Water... snack ... vitamin ... ooo pill?" he asks turning to you and you look down.

"Y/N, why are you on these?" he asks with a sigh, nobody apart from your trainer knew that you were on anti-depressants. It started at the end of the 2023, with everything with Oscar and it was manageable but the anxiety of not having a contract renewed mixed with it all, you were tipped over the edge when it came to your mental health.

"You werent supposed to see them. Please don't tell anyone!" you say tears building in your eyes as you can only hope he doesn't say anything.

"It's not my place to say anything Y/N, but ... you only need ask for help and you'd get it. We all love you and I just hope you know that!" he smiles pulling you in for a hug, one that felt genuine and like he was putting all of his comfort into it.

"Thank you Liam!" you say softly before tears roll down your race onto his Racing Bulls team shirt.

"Its okay, I get it!" he smiles down at you as he hands you the water, snack and pills he pulled out.

"Sometimes, i just wish i was Ghost again, it was easier back then" you harshly laugh wiping the tears out your eyes.

"Ghost, or Y/N you are still the same driver ... still have the same heart of gold" he smiles and you smile back thankful for the needed compliment.

"So, don't turn round and tell me this ... is boy troubles!" he laughs and you look down laughing a little.

"Well it's safe to say all of my problems are with men right now... so yeah we'll go with 'boy' troubles!" you joke.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall l @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[pyxxiestyxx]

Storm

RRRRRRrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRUMMMMMMMM

She squeezed her eyes shut as another rolling wave of thunder seemed to shake the house, only unclenching her fists after it passed. Her breathing remained in its elevated state, though. She had given up on trying to control it about half an hour ago, when the power had flickered slightly and sent her brain into a panicked frenzy.

RrrrrrrRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOM CR-R-R-RACK

She blanked out for a minute, only coming to her senses when she was safely squeezed under her bed, clutching the necklace tightly enough to cut into her hand. The light on it was flashing, so she must have pressed it at some point. She remembered what the Affini had said when it was handed to her.

"If you ever need me, press the gem in the center, and I will be there for you."

She stared at it now, the little details in the metal quickly running red as she continued to hold it. If she had been more clear headed, she would have scolded her present self for giving in so easily, for letting someone else take care of her own damn problems. All she had to do was fucking relax, but she couldn't even do that right and she was such a fucking coward, such a complete and utter failure. She acted tough, had scoffed and told the affini to fuck of, but the plant had insisted she take the necklace with her anyway, just in case. The Terran had promised herself not to ever use it, had told herself to woman up and show how she didn't need anything from anyone anymore.

But all she could do was tremble and whimper at the noise, the terrible noise. It was so Loud, too Loud, too big and painful and it reminded her of memories that hurt to open and she couldn't relax-

"Petal?"

A near-silent gasp squeaked out of her throat as her door opened, and the affini stepped into the room. The sight of her didn't fill her with dread like normal; she was far too too into anxiety to have anything but sweet relief. The affini looked around for her, then seemed to sniff the air a few times, a look of concern flashing across its face as she doubtless smelled her injury hanging heavy in the air. The plant stooped low, unfurling itself and wriggling around and above the terran in a way that isolated her nearly completely. Tthe next crash of thunder didn't remind her of weaponsfire so much as a distant drum, far and farther away with each second.

"I'm here now, little one. I'm right here, and I have you.". Her voice was sweet, like a violin the Terran had heard someone play once. She shook in the affini's grasp, unable to say or do anything, keeping her eyes fixed on the necklace. Vines wrapped around her hand, and something was injected into her wrist that made the muscles in her fingers relax their deathlike grip. The affini carefully pulled the necklace from her, wiped it with something, and then carefully placed it back around the terran's neck. She hummed as she worked on the hand next, tending to it carefully, each movement precise.

"There we go. All better, though we'll get a Vet to look at that later to make sure. Once the storm passes, anyway. How are you doing, dear?"

Her voice finally forced itself through the block in her throat, rattling her as it flooded out in wretched sobs. "I ….I….im…i-it, I'm hic I'm not….I'm sc…scared an I don know what to do and I…I'm hic my therapist, he said to breathe and I c-c-cant and-"

"Shhhhhh shhhhh shhhh….it's alright, remember? I'm right here now. We don't have to worry about the past or the future, okay? You and I can just enjoy the present." Her words washed over the terran, a comforting blanket that filled in any cracks the vines did not until all the Terran could do was relax.

The affini hugged the Terran close, watching as the class Z she had mixed into the injection finally take hold. The poor thing needed it. She squeezed the little one closer, making her a silent promise to never let her go through that alone again.

[sabianandocs]

10/10 Gaster lore! We definitely do wanna hear about the skelebros too! (Especially Papyrus!... or maybe that's just me lol)

Okay okay here I go (sorry this took forever)

Sort of chronological story stuff?

When Sans and Papyrus were first displaced by Gaster's dissolution into the fiber of the universe, Papyrus was only 11. He'd been homeschooled by his now unknown father, so he had a solid understanding of all the concepts he should have by that age- with a lot of oddly in depth science knowledge and a distinct lack of social knowledge (Something the whole family seems to share)

When the brothers moved to Snowdin, Sans got Papyrus set up with school and then spent most of his time working to provide for them both. He wasn't a neglectful older brother though, by any means, and even though he spent most of his waking hours earning a living for them, he still managed to support Papyrus in everything he wanted to do. Science fair project? He helped Pap set it up. School play? You bet your ass he was in the front row. Wants to do warrior training? Well, Sans isn't much help with that, but he'll sure try to weasel his way into making connections for it.

Papyrus was always super into puzzles. When he wasn't in school, he followed Sans to work, berated him for not putting enough effort into his puzzles, and then made them himself. (At some point, Sans noticed how happy it made Papyrus to have something to work on and started deliberately making awful and/or low effort puzzles so that Papyrus could fix them)

Papyrus learned about Undyne & the Royal Guard while in school, and obviously decided that the best possible future for himself was joining the royal guard- because everyone was talking about Undyne and nobody was talking to or about him so surely the problem here was just that he needed to be in the Guard so people would know how cool he was.

He waited outside Undyne's house all night to ask to join the guard, and while she appreciated his tenacity, he was still just a kid, and she wasn't going to let a kid join the guard. She did offer to train him in combat, though, and then later how to cook (because he'd get 'ripped into little smiling shreds' if he actually had to enter serious combat). He was insistent on being a part of the guard, though, so to try to mediate that desire she told him that he had to be a Royal Sentry, first, which was a very important and serious role and only the coolest people get to be sentries. Papyrus believes this wholeheartedly because, well, his brother is a sentry, and he's pretty cool.

So Papyrus made it his goal to sort of 'climb the ladder' of Royal Guard positions until he could become an official member. Sans and Undyne are both secretly hoping they can find some way to divert his passion to something else before he starts getting suspicious of their plans to keep him out of serious combat.

Papyrus Headcanons!

Papyrus has bad vision- I've seen this HC go around a lot, and I have to agree. Specifically, I think he has a lot of trouble seeing things far away and focusing on small text. He doesn't realize that this isn't normal, though- as far as he's concerned, that's just what the world looks like. (He wonders how and why people like reading so much, when one of the side effects is always a headache)

I also HC him as Asexual and Panromantic (I HC all the skeletons as some variant of ace, personally)

He's a huge optimist, and actively chooses to find the best in people even when there isn't really much to find. He's not naive or stupid, even though that can be how it comes across to some people, he just really believes that there's potential in everyone for good and maybe, just maybe if he shows that he believes that, he can bring it out in people.

--

This is all pretty loose and vague, cuz as far as my lore goes, Papyrus spends most of the 'backstory' sort of period being a kid in school and such. By the time he's old enough to be doing anything, most of it is hinted at within the game, and I like to stick pretty close to canon lore with anything that's actually established. I just fill in the gaps between that stuff!

[sarafinamk]

Fallen Angel 50 Incorrect Quotes Special

The Smiling Critters Space Riders Au and the character Z belongs to @onyxonline

If you haven't checked out the Fallen Angel (Reader Insert) series, you can check out Part 1 and Part 2 here. You, the reader, will be referred to as both (Y/n) and Archangel.

Right now, I need to focus on writing my thesis paper, so I'm not sure when Part 3 will be posted. In the meantime, enjoy this crackfic as an Easter present. Some quotes will contain slight spoilers for future chapters. 😉 Enjoy.

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*During a training session*

Hoppy: Fight me, you nerd ass punk!

Archangel: At least TRY to sound sophisticated when you threaten someone.

Kickin: Dost thou wish to engage in a duel, my good bITCH?!

Archangel: *Facepalms* Somehow, that was worse...

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Bobby: Are you having another depressive episode?

Archangel: A depressive episode?

Archangel: I'm having a depressive series and we're just on season one.

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Z: What's wrong with you?

Archangel: Off the top of my head, I'd say low self-esteem, a lack of paternal affection, and a genetic predisposition for anxiety and depression.

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Crafty: How’s training going?

Archangel: Terrible. I want to stab everybody there.

Crafty: Okay, just don’t get any blood on your clothes.

Bobby: ...you shouldn’t be condoning this.

Crafty: Don’t tell me how to live my life.

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Archangel: Yesterday, I overheard the Captain saying “Are you sure this is a good idea?” and Hoppy replying “Trust me,” and I have never moved from one room to another so quickly in my life.

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Archangel: Helpful grammar tip: “farther” is for physical distance, “further” is for methaphorical distance, and “father” is for emotional distance!

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Archangel: raises eyebrows

Dogday: Put those back down!

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Archangel: Problem, I can't tell if this food is over-sauced or undercooked.

Kickin: Solution, just pop it back in the oven for another 10 minutes. There's at least a 50% chance that'll fix it, right?

Bubba: Result? Food has somehow become unpleasantly soggy and unpleasantly crunchy at the exact same time.

Hoppy: No better time than this to pull out my favorite word! Slunchy!

Picky: …put it away.

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Picky: One time I went to hand (Y/n) a bowl of soup. I wanted to say “Careful, it’s hot!”, and “Here’s your soup!”, so instead I blurted out “Careful it’s soup.”

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*Preparing for a mission*

Hoppy: Okay, who's turn is it to give the pep talk?

Catnap: It's (Y/n)'s turn.

Archangel: Don't die.

Kickin, wiping a tear away: Truly inspirational.

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Archangel: I can't take you seriously wearing that.

Kickin: Aw, you take me seriously at all?

Archangel: Fair point.

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Dogday: My level of gay has reached “sighing deeply whenever anything extremely heterosexual happens near me”.

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Archangel to Bubba: How do you tell someone politely you want to hit them with a brick?

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Dogday: If I say I love you, will you say it back?

Z: Yes.

Dogday: I love you.

Z: It back.

*Later*

Archangel: Why is the Captain crying face-down on the floor?

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*the Space Riders at Disneyland, in the teacups*

Crafty, Bobby, Bubba, and Picky: *spinning a little and talking*

Dogday, Catnap, Kickin, and Hoppy: *flying past them, spinning as fast as they can, screaming*

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Hoppy: I've done a lot of dumb stuff.

Dogday: I witnessed the dumb stuff.

Catnap: I recorded the dumb stuff.

Kickin: I joined you in the dumb stuff.

Archangel: I TRIED TO STOP YOU FROM DOING THE DUMB STUFF!

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Archangel: This is a bad idea.

Hoppy: Then why are you coming along?

Archangel: Someone has to get your injured ass home.

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Archangel: I feel awful about killing you.

Z:

Archangel: Even though technically you never even died, so I don’t know what you’re bitching about.

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Dogday: Hoppy, don’t go picking a fight with (Y/n). Don’t forget, they’re powerful, they could make life difficult for you.

Hoppy: Wow, I wonder what it'd be like to have a difficult life.

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Dogday: I’m so happy both angels are getting along now.

Catnap: Uh, Z and (Y/n) are not getting along.

Dogday: They’re not trying to kill each other.

Catnap: You may have a point.

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Archangel: The universe is cold and unfeeling. The only constant is chaos.

Picky: Was Kissy's place out of chocolate-chip pancakes again?

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Kickin: Yeah, I find it quite emotional. In like a cool way.

Archangel: Did you just say it makes you cry in a cool way?

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Archangel, proudly: I slept.

Catnap: Is that so much of a rare thing that you have to say it?

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Archangel: You're a lying piece of shit!

Hoppy: Oh yeah? You're the idiot that thinks you can get away with everything you do, WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD!

Dogday: I'm leaving and I'm taking Catnap with me!

Bubba, gathering cards: Aaaaand that's enough Monopoly for today.

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Poppy: It’s funny how well you and the Archangel get along. Didn’t they hate you at first?

Dogday: (Y/n) hates everybody at first. It’s their way of reaching out to people.

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Bobby: lifting weights

Kickin: Wow… She's so intense!

Archangel: I wonder what drives her.

Bobby, internally: Oh I am going to be SO good at giving hugs.

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*First two chapters of "Fallen Angel" summarized*

Archangel: I'm allergic to death.

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Archangel: Hoppy, I don’t think I can handle any more of your tomfuckery.

Hoppy: Oh yeah? Well I can keep going until you’re all tomfuckered out!

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Hoppy: (Y/n), what are you doing tomorrow?

Archangel: Having my day ruined by whatever you’re about to ask me to do.

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Archangel: Someone will die.

Dogday: Of fun!

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Something crashes

Hoppy: Shoot-

Bobby: running into the room in a panic WHAT FELL?!

Archangel: walking by the room calmly What died?

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Archangel: Can you be serious for five minutes?

Kickin: My record is four, but I think I can do it.

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Someone with a gun to Archangel's head: What happens if I pull this trigger? Heaven?

Archangel: Bold of you to assume I'll go to Heaven.

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Catnap: I like to play this game called nap roulette. I take a nap and don’t set an alarm. Will it be 20 min or 4 hours? Nobody knows. It’s risky and I like it.

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Z: When did you become a hero?

Archangel: Um… the moment I saved you from getting killed.

Z: You’re the last person in the galaxy I wanted to rescue me.

Archangel: Well… sucks to be you, don’t it.

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Bubba: It’s just that lollipop sticks last longer than the head, even if they’re less flavorful. I’m thinking of paper sticks, because you can peel off the layers with your teeth or leave it there until they fall off naturally, but plastic sticks can be chewed on too or left sticking out like a cigarette. Paper straws can be eaten layer by layer over time though, so they have the edge.

Hoppy, bored: Can’t we just leave while he's distracted?

Archangel, genuinely interested: But what about wooden sticks?

Hoppy: I hate you.

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Archangel: I am convinced the Captain and Catnap share a brain cell.

Archangel: And it's not in use very often, it seems.

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Archangel: Why am I the bad guy?

Kickin: I don't know, why am I the pretty one? We all have our thing.

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Archangel: We’re having a moment, aren’t we?

Z: If by 'a moment' you mean me not wanting to strangle you for the first time since we met, then I guess we are.

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Kickin: Dumbest scar stories, go!

Picky: I burned my tongue once drinking tea.

Crafty: I dropped a hair dryer on my leg once and it burned.

Bubba: I have a piece of graphite in my leg for accidentally stabbing myself with a pencil in the first grade.

Bobby: I was taking a cup of noodles out of the microwave and spilled it in my hand and I got a really bad burn.

Archangel: I have emotional scars.

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Dogday: What leaves a bigger memory than a passionate kiss?

Archangel: A stab wound.

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Archangel: I sense hostility.

Z: Good, because I hate you.

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Archangel: slams down an absolute doorstopper of a tome I checked this out weeks ago for a bit of light reading.

Hoppy: This is light?!

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Archangel: What’s up with the Captain? He's been laying on the floor for like….an hour now?

Bobby: He's just a little overwhelmed.

Archangel: Why?

Catnap: Z smiled at him.

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Literally anyone: Go to hell!

Archangel: Where do you think I come from?

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Hoppy: Just trust me. Have I ever put you in an unsafe or uncomfortable situation?

Archangel: All the time.

Hoppy: Then you should be used to it by now.

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Archangel: I’m so tired.

Bubba: Did you get to bed late?

Archangel: No.

Bubba: Did you do something strenuous?

Archangel: No.

Bubba: Then why are you tired?

Archangel: I’m alive.

Bubba: Sounds exhausting.

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Archangel: Dear Diary, my teen angst bullshit has a body count.

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A cult member: Didn't you die?!

Archangel: That was weeks ago. Things change.

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Archangel: I’d kill someone if you asked me to.

Dogday: I’m pretty sure you’d kill someone even if I didn’t ask you to.