#real-time trucking apps

[artisticdivasworld]

Navigating Technology in Trucking

Technology has changed just about every industry out there, and trucking is no exception. For new truckers, the amount of tech involved can feel like a lot to take in at first. From electronic logging devices (ELDs) to load boards and route-planning apps, technology has become an essential part of how the modern trucking industry works. The good news? Once you learn the basics, this tech can make…

[majimassqueaktoy]

So, Jess I know you’re not an artist like your bestie in the entire world snap… but what does your art look like I remember you doodled this little pic for me of Tien with Choatzu’s make up lol but have you’ve drawn anything else?

Ya

[sunsburns]

GONE GONE / THANK YOU — variant!mark grayson

⟢ synopsis. you’ve never wanted to fight mark grayson, but the universe has a way of twisting your arm, and now you're forced to reckon with it.

⟢ contains. 18+, mark grayson x reader, evil variant!mark grayson x reader (but not the way you think), serious injury, death, gore, violence, major angst, no happy endings here, oliver locks tf in.

⟢ wc: 5.6k+

⟢ author’s note. do not be fooled, this is a tragedy. there is no romance here.

You remember, vaguely, back when he still worked for Cecil and trained with the Guardians. When you were teammates, rookies with too much adrenaline and not enough experience. Mark Grayson used to ask you to spar like it was a game.

You always turned him down.

It was always him asking, too—never Cecil. Sometimes, Rex would try to coax you into it, just for fun, by placing bets with Bulletproof like it was a pay-per-view event. “Come on, just once,” he’d say, “I got twenty bucks on you getting tossed into a wall.”

It wasn’t like you’d stand much of a chance—or at least, that’s what you told yourself. You weren’t helpless, sure. You could fly, move faster than most. You had telekinesis, strength just barely above the average hero’s. You could throw a car without touching it and take a punch that would hospitalize most people. But you couldn’t split the sky open with a single blow. You couldn’t level a building by accident.

Mark could.

He was much stronger than you. You knew that. But he always swore you were the only one on the team he’d ever have a fair fight with.

You remember him saying it once, voice all boyish and sincere as he watched you hurl a semi-truck into a monster that crawled out of Hell with nothing but a wave of your arm. Or that time you tackled him midair to shield him from a laser blast—one that left you burned and stumbling, but still standing.

Back then, he was new to this. Sloppy. Hopeful. Moved like he was wearing his dad’s boots and still trying to grow into them.

Maybe back then, you could’ve taken him.

Maybe it would’ve been fair.

You’d always brushed off the sparring sessions he suggested, hiding your nerves behind a smirk. He’d flash that stupid grin, eyes too bright to take seriously, and you’d wave him off like it was nothing. “What, so I can lose in front of you? No thanks.”

You never said what you really meant: I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even want to know how to.

Looking back, it was kind of embarrassing how quickly you’d grown fond of the new superhero.

“Oh, c’mon,” he’d beg, hovering beside you in the sky, similar to some overeager golden retriever, “it’ll be fun! I’ll go easy on you.”

You remembered the way he’d grin when he said that, like he meant it. You remembered the way he used to chase after you mid-flight on your off days, shouting challenges through the wind when all you wanted was to fly in peace. You’d mentioned craving Caribbean food in the Caribbean once—offhand, totally casual—and next thing you knew, you were midair, scrolling your maps app while Mark kept pace beside you, claiming he just wanted to “smell the sea air or whatever.”

Yeah, right.

You knew better. He just liked being near you. (Or at least that’s what Eve told you later, when you brought it up and she rolled her eyes like you were the last person on Earth to get the hint.) And when it came time to carry the food back, he always helped without you asking.

He was kind like that. Earnest. The kind of guy who matched your pace, who never minded when you stopped flying to rest on a rooftop or circle over a new city just to take it all in. He kept you company. Slowed down for you.

But he also liked to annoy the hell out of you.

He had a talent for pushing your buttons—prodding, teasing, egging you on just enough to make you want to hit him. Not in the playful, shoulder-shove kind of way either. You’re talking a real punch. One that might actually break his nose.

He’d say stuff like, “What if you just threw stuff at me?”

You blinked at him, mid-hover. “Throw stuff at you?”

“Yeah. Like, I don’t know—trucks? Cars? Big, heavy stuff. No combat. Just toss things.”

You’d laughed. “No combat? Why? You think I’d beat you in a real fight?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Probably, yeah.”

And he meant it.

You were better at combat than Mark. Everyone knew it. He had raw power, sure, but he fought like he was still learning where his limbs ended. He was always a little too reckless, too eager to win fast, to fight them and leave, always charging in when he should’ve taken a second to think or hear out whoever he was fighting this time. He always let his opponent push him onto the back foot. Unfortunate because Mark only knew how to block with his face.

Which sucked, because he had a very pretty face.

“I don’t want to fight you, Mark.” You said it because it was true. Because even if it was just a playful team match, even if the stakes had only ever been bragging rights, you’d seen what he could do. Just a glimpse of it—enough to leave you rattled for days.

You didn’t want to feel helpless under him. You didn’t want to see him like that.

“Train with me,” he corrected you.

You arch a brow. “We already train together.”

“Spar with me, then.” He rolled his eyes, like you’re being deliberately difficult.

It made you laugh, escaped before you could stop it. It almost makes you cave. His voice, the slight pout in his tone, the way he gets when he wants you to meet him in the middle.

“What would I gain from this if we do?”

“You’d know my weaknesses.”

“I already do.”

“Fine. You’d know what to do in a fight with me. A real fight.”

That made you pause.

You glanced at him, really glanced, and saw the honesty in his eyes. It sobered you.

“If I ever try to fight you, Mark,” you murmured, “I must be the craziest person on the planet.”

And maybe that was the problem.

Somewhere, in the quiet corners of your mind, the part of you that didn’t speak often, you understood what he meant. You saw the logic. It wasn’t about wanting to fight. It was about being prepared for the possibility. That one day, something might happen—someone might twist his arm, or his mind, or the world might just break wrong—and you’d be the only one left to stop him.

Just like he was the only one who could stop his dad.

But it was Mark.

You couldn’t picture it. Couldn’t even begin to shape that version of reality in your head. A Viltrumite? Sure. Maybe. But not Mark. Not the one who flew slower just to stay beside you. Not the one who remembered where you liked your food from or made you laugh just to hear the sound.

A Viltrumite, sure. But never Mark.

It always surprised you that Cecil never forced the issue. That he never pulled you aside, never handed you a file full of fail-safes and protocols for some contingency plan. Never demanded you run a one-on-one simulation, just in case. Not even after Anissa.

Maybe he was too busy moulding Mark into a weapon. Focused on teaching him how to dodge the hit instead of what it would mean to land one. Maybe no one really wanted to imagine a world where Mark Grayson needed to be stopped.

But now?

Now you wish you’d said yes.

You wish you’d tested yourself. Learned his rhythms, his tempo, the way his shoulders moved before a strike. You wish you’d paid closer attention. Memorized every tell. Every blink. Every breath. Every violent twitch in his body.

Should’ve known what it’d feel like when one punch hit you for real.

When he hits you for real.

“Why won’t you fucking die?!”

The voice is his, but wrong.

It curdles in your ears: guttural, unhinged, warped by something deeper than rage.

You’re weightless—thrown midair like a ragdoll. For a single, surreal moment, there’s a strange comfort in it. Suspended high above the wreckage, the sun kisses your skin, and a breeze slips across your face.

Up here, the sky is still beautiful. A stretch of blue that hasn’t yet been stained by smoke or scorched by heat. Far enough from the screaming and all the noise. Far enough to forget what’s happening on the ground.

But you can’t breathe.

Your lungs seize, your eyes snap open, pupils blown wide as your body remembers the pain.

You barely register your own gasp before a blur of blue and black cuts through your vision. Fast and close.

Your body shudders violently. Instinct claws at your nerves as the blur sharpens.

He’s coming. Again.

Faster than before.

Faster than you can think.

Gravity slowly claws you back down. You’re dropping.

You don’t even get the chance to scream before two boots slam into your stomach.

Your body folds inwards with a crunch—sick, absolute. Something inside you gives way. Ribs, maybe. Or your will.

The air vanishes from your lungs.

And then you’re falling.

Plunging faster than you can think to pull yourself up again.

The wind whips past your ears, colder now, biting at torn fabric and skin. Your suit peels away in places, edges fused with blood and grime. It soaks through the fabric, your blood. It clings like glue.

You hit the ground like a meteor and concrete craters beneath you.

Your spine strikes first, a bolt of blinding white-hot pain rippling through every inch of you, from the tips of your ears to your toes. And then your body goes limp, twitching in the dust.

You heave; a short, broken breath. Once.

Twice.

Then blood rises up your throat like a tide. It fills your mouth, thick and choking. You cough, gag. Swallow a bit without meaning to. The taste is iron and fire and fear.

Your nose is shattered, and has been since the second time he hit you; it’s not getting any better—just a wet, twisted mess that sends pain knifing through your face with every shallow breath. Blood seeps from the split at the bridge of it, more of it rolls out to coat your lips. You try inhaling through it, and it’s like dragging air through broken glass.

Your vision pulses. Static edges. Fireflies at the corners of your eyes. The sunlight above you flickers like it’s behind dirty windows.

Everything burns.

You’re vaguely, bitterly grateful to discover that you can take a punch or two from a Viltrumite.

Even more grateful to realize he still gets frustrated when a fight drags on longer than he wants.

He’s always had a temper. That little crack in his armour. That flicker of impatience just before he stubbornly decides to end things.

Funny how that trait sticks. Across dimensions. Across versions.

Across Marks.

You try to move.

You know he’s coming again.

You fight to make sense of where you’ve landed—what part of the city this is, how far the damage might’ve spread. The world tilts wildly when you try to sit up. Every muscle screams. Every joint trembles under the weight of your own body.

Your fingers dig into dust and rubble. Arms shaking, elbows buckling when you roll over.

Somewhere past the ringing in your ears, a footstep echoes.

Not his. Too light. You freeze. Your body goes rigid with fear.

Then you see a child.

Shit.

A girl runs past, tripping over debris, breath coming in broken sobs. Your heart lurches.

She stumbles toward a crumbled wall, where a hand reaches out from a narrow crack in the broken concrete. A voice calls softly, a little desperately. She throws herself into someone’s arms, and the space swallows her whole. Hidden. Safe.

You meet someone’s eyes inside the dark. Just a flash. Then a whisper.

“Is she okay?”

“Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.”

However, your blood goes cold because you don’t hear him land. You feel it.

A tremor shocks the ground beneath you. Dust kicks up into your throat. Something inside you screams at you to run. But your legs won’t listen. Your body doesn’t move.

A shadow twists along the edge of the crater, slow and crawling, swallowing the light around it. You watch, frozen, as the figure nears, closer with every heartbeat, every rasping breath that burns your lungs. Your chest is caving in under the weight of fear, the panic a raw, wild thing clawing up your throat and getting stuck. You barely move.

Your instincts take over before your mind catches up—what little you can summon lurches to life, and a thin, violet barrier flares to life around you.

It glows dimly, trembling in the air like it’s afraid too.

Then, the first strike lands.

You flinch as a violent crack echoes through your shield. His fist hits it again, harder this time—shockwaves rippling outward, shaking the ground beneath your knees. You collapse backwards, knees buckling beneath you, your limbs no longer listening.

And now, you see him.

The colours of the suit are the same. Black and blue. Familiar. Too familiar. It’s his jawline, his mouth, the slight crookedness in his lips—only this time, there’s no smile at all. No warmth. Just something brutal and cold in the lines of his face. It’s haunting, how much he looks like your Mark.

His fists don’t hesitate. They don’t tremble. They don’t stop. He slams them again and again into the shield, and you know it’s not to knock you out. He’s trying to kill you.

Your vision blurs, not from the impact, but from the emotion cracking inside your chest. It’s like looking into a mirror, someone shattered and glued back together in all the wrong ways. His jaw clenches, tighter than you’ve ever seen on Mark. And he shouts and screams at you like rage has him by the throat.

His suit is covered in blood. Not just stained. Soaked. You know Mark bleeds more often than not and carries his wounds to prove it. This isn’t that. This isn’t his blood. These are other people’s. It drips from his fists. Smears across his shoulder. There’s a tacky smear along his jaw.

And then you notice the difference: his hair is tucked beneath a tight, blue cowl, pulled back out of reach. It’s smart, almost too smart. You’ve seen people grab Mark by the hair mid-fight, use it to throw him off balance. This version, this thing pretending to be him, has made sure that won’t happen. Even so, a few strands of inky black hair have broken free, fluttering in the wind, familiar enough to steal your breath.

It’s that hint of recognition that almost costs you everything.

His fist crashes into your barrier again, and this time, it shatters and you feel it crack down your spine.

There’s no time to think. You throw yourself upward with a burst of raw energy, launching into the air, limbs screaming in protest. You don’t look at him. You look past him toward the building where the civilians are hiding, where you felt their fear.

Get away from them. Get him away from them. That’s all that matters now.

You’re gasping, your lungs pulling in air like they’re drowning. Your hands are trembling so hard you can barely summon the force again. Your vision is swimming. Blood sticks to your side, to your lashes, to the inside of your mouth.

And you’re scared.

You barely make it a few feet into the air, just high enough to feel the wind stir through your hair, when he grabs you by the throat.

The momentum dies instantly.

His hand clamps around your neck like a vice, fingers cold and unyielding, and you’re yanked backward through the sky with brutal force. Your body jerks in the air, and you choke on a scream as he lifts you like you weigh nothing. A ragdoll. A thing.

You claw at his wrist, nails scraping, scrabbling, legs kicking beneath you, wild and useless, searching for something, anything, to find leverage. But there’s nothing. Your lungs seize, scream for air, and your chest caves in with the effort.

“M-mm…” It slips out, a little pathetic. A strangled, broken moan choked on blood and bile, laced with panic you can’t swallow down.

Tears finally break. They spill hot and fast over the curve of your cheeks, over the cuts already weeping there. You can’t stop crying—it hurts too much to cry, but your body doesn’t care. Everything is on fire. Your ribs ache where they’re cracked. Blood drips down your chin from your split lip. Your shoulder pulses where you hit the ground earlier. It all bleeds together in one screaming pulse of pain.

The variant grins. Wide. Delighted. His teeth are strangely white, and there’s something sickening in the shine of his eyes you can see through his goggles. He brings you closer, so close you can smell the blood caked beneath his collar. So close your lips brush the edge of his ear.

“Sorry, what was that?” he murmurs. His voice is casual, almost amused, like he’s not slowly squeezing the life out of you. Like he’s enjoying this.

You try to speak again. Try to push past the pressure in your throat, the blood in your mouth, the trembling of your jaw.

“Mmar—muh—”

He laughs. Laughs.

“Muh-muh—come on, you can do it. You know my name. Say it.” He’s mocking you, voice all sweetness and cruelty. His grip tightens just slightly, and it sends a new spike of agony ripping down your spine.

Your face crumples.

You’re sobbing now, really sobbing, even though it hurts. Even though every broken breath feels like it’s digging your grave faster. You collapse inward, deeper into his grip, your weight sagging against his hold as your feet dangle uselessly beneath you. Blood smears down your neck, thick and warm, mixing with the salt of your tears. It leaves tracks on your cheeks. You don’t think you’ve ever been this afraid.

He shakes you once, sharp and jarring.

A cry slips out of you, louder this time.

“Say it,” he demands again. “C’mon. At least beg a little.”

Your lips part. It hurts. But you do it.

“Mark—please. Please.”

He hums like he’s enjoying it, cocking his head.

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“Please, Mark. I don’t—I don’t wanna…”

Your voice breaks again. Trails off into something too small to hear. You meant to say die. But it catches in your throat, and you’re not even sure if that’s the truth.

Because you don’t want to die at his hands.

You don’t want to die looking at his face.

You don’t want to die thinking this is the last version of him you’ll ever see.

You squint through the blood stinging your eyes, searching—anything. A broken pipe, a shard of metal, a loose brick. Something you could use before he chooses to tear your head from your body or snap your neck like a twig. But your brain blanks. He could do anything to you. You’ve seen him do worse.

“Hm,” he hums, tilting his head like you’re a puzzle he already solved. He pushes you away, just slightly. “I thought you’d put up more of a fight—”

A jagged chunk of broken concrete comes hurtling through the air behind him. It slams into his back and crumbles instantly, like dirt hitting steel. It doesn’t hurt him, but it makes him falter. Just for a second.

It’s enough.

You land a shaky kick to his stomach. It barely moves him—he grunts, more annoyed than wounded—but it’s enough to loosen his grip on your throat. His hand slips, and you drop like dead weight, gasping as air stabs back into your lungs.

You’re in the air again before you hit the ground, desperate to put distance between him and the civilians hiding in the building nearby. You knew you wouldn’t get far. You just needed space.

But he’s faster.

His hand snatches your ankle mid-flight, yanking you down so hard the air tears from your lungs again. Panic hits like ice in your chest, he could rip your leg clean off. You brace for it. But it doesn’t happen. You’re more durable than you give yourself credit for.

He must realize that too because he pauses. And in that pause, a car slams into him from the side with a scream of twisted metal, sending him skidding across the air. The vehicle shatters around him like glass against a god.

You hover in the air, staggering, breath ragged. Run. You burst away. But it’s like he never left. A blur of movement, and he’s on you again. The wind trembles around you as he grabs the back of your suit, lifts, and throws.

You crash through a concrete wall like a bullet, debris exploding in every direction. The force slams you into the tiled floor of the building behind it, breaking the ground beneath you as you skid across it. Each bounce against the cracked floor sends more shards of pain ripping through your ribs, your spine—until your body then slams into another wall, cratering the surface.

Your ears ring.

You blink rapidly through the haze and spot them. Movement. Figures, crouched in the corner of the room. Wide eyes. Shaking hands. Trying to stay quiet. Shit, you need to get out of here.

Then you feel him.

“—You little shit.” His voice is right there. Hot. Furious. His goggles have broken, and you can see his eyes. You feel sick when he looks at you, and you realize he has the exact same eyes as the Mark you know.

Hands seize you, claws in your skin, and you flinch, scrambling weakly, but there’s no time. Icy fingers dig into your face like meat hooks, one thumb gouging dangerously close to your eye as he yanks your head forward and smashes it back against the wall.

Once.

Twice.

He does it again. And again.

Your skull slams into the concrete until the plaster splits—until the wall peels back like wet paper and your head strikes the raw metal beam embedded beneath it. The sound is sharp. Hollow. Like a bell rung for the dead. The metal dents and bends to the shape of your skull.

“Fight back,” he snarls, saliva spraying across your cheek. His grip tightens. “Fight back, coward.”

The building groans around you. Cracks crawl like veins across the walls. Dust sifts down from the ceiling like ash from a burning sky.

Still, you don’t move.

Because your hands, shaking and soaked in your own blood, remain limp next to you. Fingers splayed, twitching, and glowing with desperate violet light. Your force field is fragile now—no longer the confident, humming barrier you’ve conjured in countless fights. This one sputters. Fractures along the edges. It buzzes with instability, as if your own heartbeat is the only thing keeping it alive.

Through it, the civilians cower in the corner. A young girl sobs into her mother’s chest. An older man clutches his chest, gasping. Blood trickles down someone’s temple. One of them meets your eyes—just for a second.

They’re depending on you.

You’re the wall between them and a god gone mad.

Even as blood pours freely from your nose, leaks from your ears, and chokes your throat, you hold the shield.

And he sees it.

His gaze flicks from your face to the trembling light shielding the survivors. Then he turns. Slowly. The glow reflects in his eyes like a glint off polished glass.

He sees them. The people you’re breaking yourself to protect. The reason you’re not fighting him back.

“Oh,” he breathes, realization flooding his face like bile. “That’s what you’re doing.”

There’s no humour in it. No mockery. He stands up. Steps back just enough to leer down at you. Then he nudges your leg with his foot, light, almost lazy.

“Am I not worth your full attention?” he spits, voice low and venomous.

You manage to lift your head just slightly, breath rattling in your chest.

That’s when you see it—the sudden flick of movement. His leg tensing, rising, snapping downward.

The stomp hits your knee. Hard.

A flash of pain rips up your thigh. Your force field flickers. Cracks splinter across its surface.

He sees that too.

And then he lifts off the ground. Just slightly. Hovering. Charging his weight.

“No—” you croak.

But it’s already too late.

He comes down full force, heel slamming directly into the joint of your knee. You hear the wet pop before your body processes it.

“Wait—”

Crunch.

The sound is sickening—like splintering wood wrapped in muscle. Your femur caves, bone shearing beneath his strength.

You scream. It rips from your throat with raw, animalistic agony. A sound born from every nerve in your body, catching fire.

But he doesn’t stop.

He stomps again.

Your leg gives entirely. Another crunch—louder this time. Bone bursts through skin, blood pooling fast and dark across the tile. Flesh torn. Tendons snapped.

You try to crawl away, sobbing, your fingers scraping uselessly against rubble, but he pins you with a single hand, heavy and uncaring. Whimpers slip past your lips. Your body trembles. Tears return—hot, relentless.

Still… you hold the shield.

Or try to.

Your hands flutter now, weak and slow. The violet glow dims, sputters, and flickers. You feel it dying.

You let out a choked sob. “No— please—don’t—”

He doesn’t even look at you.

Just kicks your side and shoves you down to the floor with a dull, wet thud. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs. You taste blood again. You bite your tongue to keep from blacking out. Your world is sideways.

He steps over your body, shadow stretching across the floor.

“You wanna play hero?” he says, voice thick with disdain. “Then try and stop me.”

The force field fails.

The whine that comes with it is soft. Pathetic. Like a dying heartbeat. The light vanishes.

And then he moves forward.

You hear it first. The civilians scream. A cacophony of fear and hopelessness, and panic. Feet scramble across the floor, slapping and slipping in the dust. Bodies scatter like bugs when a rock is lifted, rushing to corners that won’t save them.

You try to look away. But you can’t.

Tears stream down your bloodied face, your vision blurring, every nerve screaming.

“No—please—stop—”

You watch as he grabs one by the throat, fingers sinking into flesh with a sickening wet crunch, and slams them into the ground hard enough to collapse the tile and crater the concrete beneath.

Bone shatters. The body twitches once. Then doesn’t move again.

Another screams before she’s hurled across the room and hits a concrete column so hard her spine snaps with a sound like cracking ice. Blood sprays in a wide arc, painting the pillar in a bright red fan. What’s left of her folds in on itself like meat dropped from a rooftop.

A third runs. Tries, anyway.

They don’t make it two steps before the variant is on him, driving his fist into the back of their skull like a sledgehammer. The head doesn’t just break. It bursts. A wet, explosive noise followed by silence.

You cry again. All you can do is cry, helpless and shaking. Because you can’t do anything. Can’t crawl. Can’t protect them. Can’t stop it.

All you can do is lie there, twitching, crying, blood in your mouth and dust in your eyes, your own leg bent backwards beneath you like a snapped twig, ribs stabbing sharp into your lungs every time you breathe.

The room shakes. Then goes still.

The screams stop. The begging stops. Everything stops. Except you. You’re still breathing. Barely.

And he sees that.

The Mark who isn’t yours. Who wears his face but none of his soul.

He turns, eyes raking over the ruined bodies, the cracked walls, the crimson streaks painted across your cheeks and neck and chest.

Then he walks away.

He doesn’t even kill you.

He doesn’t even care enough to anymore.

He just leaves you here. A pile of meat and power and broken promises. Like you aren’t even worth finishing off.

The world sways. Tilts. Cracks. You’re not sure if it’s the building or your skull. Everything blurs at the edges, the colours too red, too dark. The air is too hot.

Your ears ring—sharp, high-pitched, like a scream still echoing inside your skull. You can’t tell if it’s someone else’s or your own.

The walls are split open like ruptured flesh. The ground is thick with dust and blood and the sickly stench of offal. Light flickers from a shattered fixture above—rapid, dizzying pulses that make your stomach lurch.

What’s left of your forcefield gutters across the floor like dying embers. Violet flickers catch the blood, the bone, the ruin. Cast soft light on glassy eyes staring up from broken faces.

Some of them look like they were trying to run. Some tried to hide. One looks like they were shielding another.

None of them made it.

You should move. Should crawl to the window. Should drag yourself somewhere someone might see you. Maybe he’ll see you. The real Mark. If he’s out there.

You don’t move. You can’t.

Your leg’s twisted beneath you, a grotesque knot of blood and shattered bone. One arm lies limp across your stomach, fingers twitching without purpose. You think something’s wrong with your ribs—sharp edges press against your insides every time you try to draw in a full breath. So you don’t.

The sun begins to sneak through the crumbled wall, golden light stretching over the carnage like a lie. It touches the broken bodies. The cooling blood. Your face.

And you lie there. Unmoving. Unseeing.

Because what’s the point?

Your hands are burned from your own force field. Still faintly glowing. Still trying.

You’re alone in the ruins of hope.

The concrete groans once more, something shifting far above. A soft cascade of dust falls like snow.

But otherwise—nothing.

No rescue. No sound. No light.

Just the stench of blood. The sting of smoke. And you, barely holding onto the thought of staying awake. Not because you want to. But because something in you still refuses to close your eyes.

Even now.

Even when there’s nothing left to save.

And help arrives too late; a sound, distant, frantic, pierces the silence.

Footsteps. Heavy. Rushed. A younger voice screaming, raw with something deeper than rage: “Die! Die! Die!”

Your heart clenches. That voice. You know it. That high, stubborn pitch. That little face, purple and wide-eyed and brave in a way only a child could be.

Oliver.

But then… silence again.

That silence terrifies you more than anything. He was here. You heard him. And now you don’t.

You start to cry again. Weak little sobs, more breath than sound. It hurts too much to make noise. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe your brain, desperate and failing, conjured him to spare you from dying alone.

Then at first, it’s just a crunch. Soft. Careful. The sound of wind shifting through broken glass. Your ears twitch—what’s left of your hearing, catching the shift in air, the gentle thud of shoes landing on broken tile.

Your ears twitch, catching it through the sharp ringing that’s made a home in your skull. Another crunch. The delicate movement against the air.

Approaching.

Your vision swims in red and static. But you see it—a blur of violet streaking in from the jagged hole in the wall. It flies crooked, clumsy, like it’s too fast for its own balance. It shouts your name.

Not your hero name.

Your real name.

The sound cracks through your chest. A sob tears up your throat.

He lands too hard. Hits the ground with a gust that kicks up glass and bloodstained dust. Then he’s on his knees beside you.

“Oliver?” you whisper, the name catching on something wet in your lungs. The word barely makes it out. A cough wracks through you, sharp and tearing. But it’s something.

Your eyes flicker toward him. He’s breathing hard. Shaking. His fists are covered in blood—not just his, you think dimly—and there’s a long scratch across his cheek that’s already scabbing over. His eyes go wide when he sees you. So wide they look like they might spill over.

“You… you shouldn’t be here,” you croak.

Oliver stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. His mouth opens. Closes. Then opens again, trembling.

“I should’ve been here sooner,” he says.

You try to breathe, but it’s shallow. The weight in your chest doesn’t budge.

He reaches out, but doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t know where he can.

“I saw him,” Oliver whispers, “I saw what he did. I thought you were holding him off—I thought—then I couldn’t see you anymore, and I—I stopped him. I got rid of him—”

His voice cuts off. He blinks too fast.

You try to move. Your fingers twitch, scraping weakly against the rubble. You don’t know if you’re reaching for him… or for the people you couldn’t save.

Oliver sees it. And he starts to cry.

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, urgently, scooting closer. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now. Just—just stay awake, alright? Stay with me. Please.”

He’s a child. Still a child. And he shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t see this.

“You have to go,” you rasp, barely audible. “Mark... he’ll be looking for you.”

Oliver shakes his head. “Mark’s fine. You’re not. I’m getting you out of here. I’ll take you to Mom. You’ll be safe with her. She’ll know what to do.”

He says it like it’s a promise. Like it’s fact. But you know better. You feel it in your bones—what’s left of them. You’re not going to make it that far.

You close your eyes for a moment. Just a blink. Just to rest them.

You let the words settle into you like warmth in a cold room.

Maybe that’s enough.

[brookghaib-blog]

Almost Loved - IV

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader

Summary: Four months of dates, gave Y/N hope that she found the one after hopeless years, Bob looks in love, treats beautiful. There's one step that looks like it's coming. Until Bob breaks it off with her. Encountering each other a year and an half later. What happened ?

Word count: 7,3k

--

Bob hadn’t stopped searching.

Not after seeing her in that grocery store aisle. Not after watching her run from him like he was something cruel. Something venomous. Not after Serena’s glare—sharp enough to slice open his chest—and definitely not after the sleepless nights that followed, where he lay in his cot at the Watchtower with her name echoing through his thoughts like a ghost he couldn’t exorcize.

He’d ruined everything.

But even if she never wanted to see him again, even if she screamed in his face and told him she hated him, he just wanted—needed—to see her one more time. Just one more time. He told himself it was just to apologize. Just to explain. Just to say goodbye properly, even if she didn’t owe him the time of day.

It started with him walking blocks around the neighborhood where the market was. He kept hoping maybe she lived nearby. Maybe she was just walking home, or grabbing coffee, or picking up dry cleaning—anything that would bring her into his line of sight again.

Days passed. Nothing.

He sat in cafes longer than any sane person would. Tried bookstores. Rooftop bars. Vintage markets on the weekends. Coffee spots with house plants and sad jazz playing on vinyl—places he remembered she liked in Florida. Places that felt like her. Warm and soft and kind.

Nothing.

Bob would return to the Watchtower most nights with sore feet and raw hope. And each night, he’d open his notes app, just in case he got lucky. Just in case he could jot down what he’d say if he saw her.

It always started the same.

"Hi. I'm sorry."

But after that, the words collapsed into dust. What could he say? That he had been so deep in addiction, he didn’t even trust himself around her anymore? That every time she held him, he felt both loved and unworthy? That he’d convinced himself that walking away would protect her—even when it tore him to pieces?

He thought about texting Serena. Or even Yelena again—maybe she’d found something, anything. But after Serena’s reaction, after the way her eyes had narrowed with so much fury, like he wasn’t even worth speaking to, he didn’t dare.

Instead, he’d started writing. Tiny pieces of her etched into scraps of paper, coffee receipts, his palm sometimes. He wrote down the way she used to hum while pouring her coffee. The way her head tilted when she was reading and completely immersed. The smell of her shampoo on his pillow. The sound of her laughter when he told the dumbest joke and it still landed.

All those tiny things that made a person real—and now felt impossibly far away.

He kept searching.

One day, while walking past a library tucked into a quiet street, he paused. It had vines curling up the stone and a wooden sign that swayed in the breeze. It looked like the kind of place Y/N would fall in love with.

He stepped inside, scanning the aisles like a ghost searching for a memory.

She wasn’t there.

But he stood still for a long time anyway, hand resting on the spine of a book she would’ve picked. Something poetic. Something sad. Maybe she wasn’t in New York for books or coffee or parties or exploration at all. Maybe she was here for work. School. Something he never asked about. Because back then, he was too busy hiding everything about himself.

He never asked what she wanted to be.

And that thought hit him like a truck.

How much he never got to know.

The last time they spoke, really spoke, was the night she’d kissed his forehead and told him she believed in him.

And he repaid her with silence. With a block. With a void.

She had looked at him like he was the sun.

And he had convinced himself he was the eclipse.

He ran from her. And now he didn’t even know where to look anymore.

Still, he kept walking. Past bakeries and bookstores and the kinds of flower shops she would’ve dragged him into just to smell the peonies. Every time he saw a scarf that looked like hers, or a shape of her in a crowd, his heart would thud painfully against his ribs.

Every woman with soft eyes and tired shoulders felt like her. And none of them were.

And yet…

He kept hoping.

Because he needed to see her one more time. Just once.

Even if she only gave him a single second. Even if she looked through him like he was a ghost.

He would take it.

He would take anything.

--

They had been walking for hours.

Another Sunday slipping through the cracks of Bob’s tired fingers—another day swallowed whole by the noise and endless streets of New York City. It had rained that morning, and the sidewalks were still damp, reflecting the sky like mirrors. The weight of failure clung to Bob’s shoulders like a soaked coat.

Yelena walked a few steps ahead of him, scanning every face they passed. She was still hopeful, still talking, still asking questions. But Bob’s pace had slowed. He kept looking at the ground, like maybe she'd appear there in a reflection or footprint.

"Come on," Yelena said gently, tossing him a look over her shoulder. “We’ll try the upper side next.”

Bob sighed, stuffing his cold hands into his coat pockets. “She’s not up there, either.”

“You don’t know that,” she replied, nudging him. “We haven’t even tried half the neighborhoods yet.”

Bob shook his head, jaw tightening. “Yelena… she’s gone. She left Florida. Left me. She probably found someone else. Someone who isn’t a disaster.”

Yelena stopped walking, standing in front of him. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Quit when it’s hard.” Her voice dropped lower. “She didn’t quit on you, Bob. You left her. You walked away.”

He winced. She wasn’t wrong.

“I just…” Bob swallowed, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t want her to watch me kill myself slowly. And I was. Back then, I didn’t care if I woke up the next morning.”

Yelena’s face softened.

“She looked at me like I was something good. And every time I used, it felt like I was spitting on that. I didn’t want her to see me fall apart.”

He leaned against the edge of a brick wall near a deli, staring across the street without really seeing it.

“I thought if I could just look at her one more time—just once—I could explain. Or apologize. Or I don’t know… get closure. But now? Now I think I just wanted to see if she was okay. If she was happier without me. Because part of me…” He hesitated. “Part of me thinks she moved here to be with someone else. That maybe she found what she deserved.”

Yelena folded her arms. “Do you think she would’ve run from you at the store if she was so happy?”

That shut him up.

“She looked at you like she’d seen a ghost, Bob,” Yelena continued, gentler now. “Not like someone who’s over you.”

He glanced away.

Yelena kept pressing, thoughtful. “You said she liked books. Art. Thai food. That little bakery with the painted walls. You said she used to paint when she was anxious.”

“Yeah,” Bob said quietly, a smile flickering and dying on his face. “She used to come home with paint under her nails. She’d say she blacked out for hours doing landscapes or trying to recreate old family photos. She had this thing for recreating old photos in color…”

“And places?” Yelena asked. “What kind of places did she love? Where did she go when she wanted to be alone?”

Bob blinked. “That could be anywhere.”

Yelena frowned. “Come on. Something that made her happy. Something that was hers.”

Bob thought for a moment, raking a hand through his hair.

“Well, she loved skating.”

Yelena looked up. “Like ice skating?”

“Yeah. She was good. Like… really good. She used to dream about going pro. But money was always tight growing up, and she didn’t have the connections, so it never happened. She gave it up… but every winter, every time there was an open rink, she’d go. Even alone. She said the cold air made her feel weightless. Free. She loved the way it made time stop.”

Yelena’s eyes lit up.

Bob noticed. “What?”

“Why the hell haven’t we been looking at skating rinks?”

He blinked. “I don’t—”

“She’s someone who holds onto things. Old dreams. Old love. She’s sentimental.” Yelena snapped her fingers. “It’s winter. It’s Sunday. She’s not at home. And she’s sad. Where would you go if you were trying to find a piece of yourself again?”

Bob’s stomach tightened.

The rink.

Maybe she would be there, just skating in circles, trying to outrun the noise in her head.

“Let’s go,” Yelena said, already walking again. “There are at least four rinks within twenty blocks. We’ll start with the biggest one.”

Bob hesitated.

His heart was pounding now. Hope was dangerous.

But he started moving anyway.

At the first rink, she wasn’t there. Just kids with red noses and giggling parents trying to balance on skates.

The second was a smaller indoor one. Couples. Teenagers. No one with soft hair and lonely eyes.

The third was closed.

Yelena cursed in Russian under her breath.

They walked quietly to the fourth.

The sun was setting. The air colder. Bob’s stomach ached, nerves twisting through him like barbed wire.

“What if we don’t find her?” he asked softly.

Yelena looked at him.

“Then we try again next weekend.”

--

The rink was nearly empty.

It was late—past the hour when families came to laugh and fall together, past the time when teenagers came to flirt and skate clumsily under string lights. Now, it was just a scattering of people: a couple holding hands near the center, two friends taking selfies by the sideboards, a father showing his little girl how to glide.

And her.

Bob stopped walking the moment he saw her.

She was alone in the center, weaving through slow, careful turns, arms curved in practiced precision. Her body moved like muscle memory—graceful, sharp, elegant. She wore all black: a tight-fitting jumpsuit that hugged her frame, hair pulled back into a bun, face glowing with the heat of focus. Headphones covered her ears, and whatever music she was listening to seemed to be pulling her into another world entirely.

A world he wasn’t part of.

Yelena, beside him, stopped too. She looked at Bob and saw the way his face changed—how something in his chest cracked, right there in front of her. Without a word, she nudged him gently toward the stands.

He obeyed.

Bob took a seat on the second row, cold metal under him. He didn’t notice. His eyes were glued to the ice.

To her.

She skated in circles, sometimes faster, sometimes slow—spinning once, catching herself, correcting. She didn’t notice them at all. She was deep in it—whatever rhythm, whatever pain, whatever escape she’d come here to find, it had swallowed her whole.

Bob watched her with the ache of someone who used to know that body. Who used to trace the line of her back as she curled into sleep. Who used to kiss the spot on her shoulder where the freckles started. Who used to come home to her, used to make her laugh, used to believe he had all the time in the world.

Now she was just… skating.

Free. Untouchable. Like a memory too beautiful to hold.

His throat tightened. His eyes burned.

“I used to watch her do this,” he whispered to Yelena, not taking his eyes off the rink. “Back in Florida, whenever it got cold enough for the seasonal rink, she’d go. Alone. She said the ice was the only place her body didn’t feel heavy. Like she didn’t have to carry anything.”

Yelena was quiet beside him.

Bob let out a breath.

“She told me once she felt like she was made for it. That if life had been fair, if she hadn’t been through everything she had, she would’ve been a skater. A real one. Olympic-level. But… she never had the chance. So she skated alone. In empty rinks. Like this.”

Another tear slipped down his cheek.

He pressed his palms into his eyes, trying to pull himself back together. Trying not to fall apart.

Yelena placed a silent hand on his arm.

Bob looked up again, and she was still there—gliding, spinning. Completely unaware.

“She looks okay,” he murmured.

“She looks alone,” Yelena corrected.

Bob’s stomach twisted. “Do you think she’s happy?”

“I think she’s trying to be,” she said softly. “Just like you.”

He nodded, lips pressed tight.

Then—almost like it was part of the music only she could hear—Y/N slowed. Her body eased into a graceful stop. She exhaled, pushing a hand through the top of her bun to wipe sweat from her temple. She turned, breathing heavily, taking in the now mostly empty rink with a kind of detachment. The kind of glance people give a room when they aren’t really expecting to find anything in it.

But then her eyes met his.

Bob froze.

Everything else in the rink—the lights, the cold, the chatter of skates on ice—disappeared.

Her eyes widened. Her lips parted just slightly.

She ripped her headphones off.

She didn’t move at first. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, skates rooted, like the ice had locked her in place.

He stood up slowly, not knowing what to do with his hands. They trembled at his sides.

Her expression was unreadable—shock, disbelief, maybe even fear. Her chest rose and fell fast from the exertion of skating, or maybe from the way her heart was racing.

Bob tried to breathe.

He had rehearsed this in his head a thousand times.

But now? Now there were no words.

Only her.

The girl he left behind. The girl he loved.

The girl who looked at him now like a ghost had walked into her sanctuary and shattered the quiet peace she had fought tooth and nail to build.

Her hand flew to her chest.

And then she turned.

She skated off the ice as fast as she could.

Bob panicked. “Y/N—!”

She grabbed her coat, not bothering to untie her skates, slipping off into the locker area.

Bob moved instinctively. But Yelena grabbed his arm.

“Give her a second,” she said gently. “Just a second.”

He stood there, heart thudding, hands shaking.

Was this it? Had he just ruined the one place she had left that felt like hers?

“I just needed to see her,” Bob whispered.

--

Y/N staggered into the locker room, the skates clattering awkwardly on the rubber floor beneath her feet. Her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as she collapsed against the wall, back pressed hard to the cool tile.

Her heart was racing.

Her fingers clawed at the zipper of her jacket, pulling it halfway down before she stopped. Her eyes were burning. Her throat was tight.

She had seen him.

Bob.

After everything—after nights spent crying on the kitchen floor, after burning every picture, after the endless therapy sessions and bitter silences and “I’m fine” lies—he just showed up. Just like that.

Her knees buckled, and she slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest, arms locked around them. Her forehead rested there, her breath still ragged, like she’d just skated for her life and lost.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to run back out there and hit him. Or kiss him. Or beg him to explain why he left. All of it. But she stayed where she was, paralyzed between rage and longing, spiraling like the blade of her skate.

She didn’t hear him at first—not until his quiet footsteps echoed through the tiled room.

She looked up.

And there he was.

Bob stood in the doorway of the women's locker room, tall, nervous, small in a way he never looked before. The kind of small that came from shame, not size. He wasn’t wearing a suit or his usual jacket—just a hoodie, the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. He looked older, somehow. Softer. A little broken around the edges.

“I know I shouldn’t be in here,” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “But I… I couldn’t leave.”

Y/N didn’t say anything. Her throat clenched.

“I saw you out there, and—I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” he continued, stepping further in, cautious like he might scare her off.

She stayed curled up on the floor, eyes locked on him with a look that could melt concrete. He didn’t flinch. He deserved that.

“I didn’t plan this,” he said. “I didn’t even know you were in New York. But when I saw you in that grocery store a few weeks ago, I—I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

He swallowed, hands trembling at his sides.

“I messed up, Y/N. I messed up everything.”

She finally spoke, her voice sharp and raw. “No shit.”

Bob nodded, absorbing the venom like he expected it. Maybe even needed it.

“I owe you more than an apology,” he said. “But that’s all I have right now. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You left me, Bob. No explanation. No warning. You just… disappeared.”

He took a shaky step closer, hands out like he was trying not to startle her. “I know.”

“You broke me,” she hissed, the tears finally spilling over. “You made me believe I was finally safe. That someone could love me without taking something from me. And then you took everything.”

Bob’s lip trembled. “I was using. Heavily. I was spiraling and lying and hiding it from you because I didn’t want you to see me like that. I couldn’t hold a job. I was stealing. I was close to doing things I can’t even speak aloud. And you… you were clean. You were trying. You were building something. I felt like a stain on your life.”

“You were my life,” she whispered.

Bob’s breath caught.

Y/N wiped her face with the sleeve of her jacket. “I thought I did something wrong. I stayed on that couch for hours, waiting for a call or a message—anything. I thought maybe you got hurt, maybe something happened. But no. You just blocked me. Like I was nothing.”

“You were never nothing,” he said immediately. “You were the only good thing I ever had. But I didn’t think I deserved you. I didn’t think I ever would.”

Y/N stood up slowly, arms still wrapped around herself, skates making her posture unsteady. “You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to take me from me.”

He didn’t speak. He just nodded again, eyes brimming with pain.

“I spent months trying to rebuild myself,” she said. “And you know what made it worse? I didn’t even get to hate you properly. I missed you. I still miss you. Even after all of it.”

“I missed you too,” Bob whispered. “Every second. Every day. I kept telling myself I was doing the right thing. That you were better off. But I was lying.”

He took another step closer.

“I got clean,” he said. “I’ve been clean for a while now. I’m not who I was. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t even know why I’m here, other than… I couldn’t go one more day not telling you how sorry I am. Not telling you I never stopped loving you.”

Y/N’s voice cracked. “Do you think that makes it better?”

“No,” he said. “But I hope it means something.”

She looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time in years. He was different. Older. Sober. Tired. But the eyes were the same. The mouth that had kissed every inch of her skin. The hands that used to hold her like a lifeline.

And she was still angry. Still shattered.

But she was also still in love.

She didn’t know what to say.

So she just asked, softly: “Why now?”

Bob stepped closer, now just feet away.

“Because you were the only thing in my life I ever got right. And I couldn’t let you be the one thing I also gave up on.”

She closed her eyes, tears spilling again.

And then, slowly, she leaned forward and let her forehead rest against his chest.

He didn’t move. Just breathed her in, one hand hovering near her back like he was scared to touch her, like he was scared she’d disappear if he held too tight.

“I don’t know what this means,” she whispered.

“Me neither,” he whispered back. “But I’m here. I’m really here.”

She let herself cry there—silent, trembling, wrapped in the scent of the man she had loved and lost.

They stayed there in silence for a long time—Y/N pressed against Bob’s chest, his heartbeat thudding softly beneath her ear like it was trying to speak the words he hadn’t yet said. She wasn’t sure how long she let herself rest there, taking in the familiarity of him, the warmth she hadn’t felt in so long. But then the silence grew heavy. And the questions, the ones that had lived rent-free in her chest for over a year, started clawing their way out.

She stepped back.

He looked at her—worried, gentle, waiting.

Y/N’s voice cracked, her words hushed but sharp: “Why didn’t you tell me, Bob?”

His mouth parted slightly, but no sound came. She pressed on.

“You were using. Fine. I didn’t know. I get that. But why didn’t you tell me? Why did I have to find out from someone else?”

He looked down at the ground, swallowing hard.

“Because I was ashamed,” he said. “Because I thought if you knew, you’d see me differently. You’d look at me like I was broken. Like everyone else always had.”

“I never saw you like that,” she snapped. “You were the one good thing in my life too. And you didn’t trust me enough to let me in?”

“It wasn’t about trust,” he said, eyes rising to meet hers, pleading. “It was about me. I couldn’t face it. I couldn’t face what I was becoming. I was spiraling, Y/N. Lying, stealing, taking pills just to function. I looked in the mirror and didn’t see someone you could love. I saw someone who was going to ruin you.”

Her jaw clenched. “But you did ruin me, Bob. Just in a different way.”

He looked shattered, like her words had physically knocked the wind out of him.

“I was fighting so hard to stay sober,” she said. “For you. For us. I thought we were building something—something real. You could’ve told me the truth. I wouldn’t have run.”

Bob’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “I know. I know that now. But I didn’t back then. I wasn’t sober. I wasn’t rational. I was drowning. And I thought if I held onto you any longer, I’d drag you down with me.”

“And now?” Her voice was quieter now, rawer. “Why are you here now, after all this time? Why didn’t you call before? Why not when you got clean? Why not when you moved to New York—”

Bob flinched.

She stared at him. “You moved to New York, and you never once tried to find me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “After what I did. I figured… you were better off. And then I saw you again, and—God, Y/N, I panicked. I wasn’t ready.”

“And you’re ready now?” she asked, her arms folding tightly around herself. “Now that I’ve spent a year trying to glue myself back together without you? Now that I’m almost okay?”

Bob’s eyes were red now. His breathing uneven. “I don’t know if I’m ready. But I know I can’t keep pretending like you don’t exist. Like I didn’t leave the best thing that ever happened to me because I was a coward.”

Y/N turned away from him, biting down on the inside of her cheek.

“I needed you,” she whispered. “Back then, I needed you. And you left. Without even giving me the chance to fight for you.”

Bob stepped forward, slowly, like every inch hurt. “I know. And I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

She stayed facing the wall, still trembling. “You don’t get to walk back into my life like nothing happened.”

“I’m not asking to.”

“Then why are you here, Bob?”

His voice cracked. “Because I still love you.”

She closed her eyes. A single tear slipped down her cheek.

“I still love you,” he repeated. “And maybe I don’t deserve to say that. Maybe I never will. But I had to try. I had to see you again. I had to look in your eyes one more time and tell you what I should’ve said a year ago.”

She turned around, slow and shaky, her eyes red and wet and tired.

“You should’ve said, ‘I need help.’ Not, ‘Goodbye.’”

Bob’s shoulders sank like a weight had been dropped on him. “I know.”

They stood there, staring at each other across the space that still separated them—close enough to touch, but far enough that everything unsaid echoed in the air between them.

“I don’t know what happens now,” she whispered.

“Me neither,” he said. “But I’ll wait. However long it takes. If all I can be is someone who reminds you that you were loved, I’ll take that.”

She didn’t answer.

--

Y/N sat curled up on the couch, blanket over her legs, a mug of untouched tea in her hands. The late evening sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden lines across her face — but her eyes were glassy, far away. She’d told Serena everything. Every word Bob said. Every tear. Every tremble in his voice. Every I still love you that shattered her to her core.

And now, silence.

Serena sat beside her, one leg tucked under the other, still trying to process it all.

“So,” Serena finally said, her voice gentle, “he really said all that?”

Y/N nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the tea she hadn’t sipped.

Serena let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I know.”

“I mean… I didn’t even know the man could be that honest.”

Y/N gave a weak, humorless smile. “Me neither.”

Serena sat back against the cushion, arms crossed loosely, eyes on her best friend. “So. What now?”

Y/N blinked. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want him back?”

“I don’t know.”

Serena tilted her head. “Y/N…”

“I don’t know,” she said, louder this time. Her hands trembled around the mug. “Part of me wants to scream at him until my throat goes raw. For leaving. For lying. For making me think I did something wrong. But then—” she swallowed thickly, “then there’s this other part that… that wants to forgive him. That wants to believe he meant it. That he’s really changed.”

Serena stayed quiet, giving her space.

“I mean, he’s sober now,” Y/N murmured. “He looked better. He sounded like himself. The version of him I fell in love with. But I don’t know if that’s real. Or if I’m just projecting the version I want to see again.”

Serena’s voice was soft. “Y/N, you don’t owe him anything.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to set yourself on fire just because he found his match again.”

Y/N let out a sharp exhale, and the tears finally spilled.

“It’s not that simple,” she whispered. “I loved him. God, I loved him. I still do. And yeah, I didn’t know what he was going through, but how could I have? He didn’t let me in. He made that choice for both of us. He walked away and took the closure with him.”

Serena’s eyes softened. “And now he’s handing it back to you?”

Y/N shook her head. “Now he’s giving me more questions. Now I’m stuck between forgiving him or protecting myself. Do I trust that this new version of him is going to stay? Or do I walk away and spend the rest of my life wondering what might’ve happened if I’d just said yes?”

Serena placed a hand over hers. “You don’t have to decide tonight.”

“But it feels like I do,” Y/N whispered. “Because I know Bob. I know how much shame he carries. If I don’t reach out soon, he’ll think I’m done. And maybe I should be done. But then I think of him standing there, crying, saying he still loved me and—God, Serena—it’s like my heart is screaming.”

Her voice broke. “But I’m tired of breaking first. I’m tired of loving people who leave. And if I let him back in and he walks away again… I don’t think I could survive that.”

Serena squeezed her hand, her eyes damp too. “Then don’t do it for him. Do it for you. Whatever choice brings you peace.”

Y/N stared ahead, jaw tight, heart thudding.

“I don’t know what peace looks like anymore.”

“It’ll come,” Serena whispered. “Maybe not tonight. But soon.”

Y/N closed her eyes and leaned her head against Serena’s shoulder, tears still slipping quietly down her cheeks.

The silence lingered between them for a few minutes, broken only by the soft ticking of the kitchen clock and the occasional clink of Y/N’s spoon against her mug. Serena kept watching her, fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the edge of the throw blanket covering their legs.

Then, with a slow grin tugging at the corner of her lips, she said, “Hey… do you remember that night out in Florida? When we all went to that shitty karaoke bar on the beach?”

Y/N blinked and looked up, her brows furrowed.

Serena smirked. “You were wearing that red sundress, the one that made Bob forget how to function. I swear, the man looked like he had just been tasered.”

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, lips twitching. “Oh my God, yes. He walked into a pole.”

Serena snorted. “Deadass. We were all watching that bachelorette party doing shots, and Bob just… bam. Forehead to metal. And then pretended he meant to lean on it.”

Y/N giggled despite herself, eyes gleaming with the shimmer of past joy and fresh sadness. “And then he tried to sing that Elton John song, remember? Your Song. His voice cracked halfway through, but he kept going, looking right at me.”

“Yeah,” Serena said softly, “and you were crying. Right there. Happy tears. I remember because I had to pretend I had sand in my eye just so I wouldn’t ruin the moment.”

Y/N smiled, but it was tinted with grief. “It was the first time I thought, ‘Maybe I’m going to marry this man.’”

Serena’s expression sobered too. She reached over, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s face gently. “Look… I hated seeing you like that after he left. I hated that he broke your heart so completely. I won’t pretend I don’t still kind of want to punch him for it.”

Y/N gave her a weak smile. “Fair.”

“But,” Serena went on, her voice low and sincere, “that night, that version of Bob—the one who looked at you like the rest of the world disappeared? The one who memorized your coffee order and stood outside with your keys when you locked yourself out in the rain?” She paused. “That Bob was real too.”

Y/N’s throat tightened.

Serena sighed. “And I don’t know what he went through. Addiction is dark. Ugly. But if what he told you is true… if he’s really better now… if he meant all that? Then maybe… just maybe… you and him still have something real.”

Y/N stayed quiet for a long time, staring down at her hands in her lap.

“It’s just,” she whispered, “how do I know he won’t break me again?”

“You don’t,” Serena admitted gently. “But the fact that you still care so much? That means something. And I’d rather you be honest about still loving him than spend your whole life pretending you’re over it.”

Y/N nodded slowly, her voice breaking. “I hate that he still makes my heart feel like this. That no matter how much it hurt… it never really stopped loving him.”

Serena pulled her into a side hug. “I know. But maybe that’s not weakness. Maybe that’s just… love. The real kind. The messy, painful, beautiful kind.”

“And if he is the love of my life?” Y/N asked, eyes glossy. “How fair is it to be too scared to find out?”

--

The night air was cold but not harsh, a breeze skimming off the bay and lifting strands of Y/N’s hair as she stood near the railing, watching the water move under the moonlight. Her hands were in the pockets of her coat, and her heart was thudding harder than she thought it would. It had been almost two hours since she texted him.

Just five words.

“Can we talk? By the bay.”

She hadn’t expected a reply. Maybe he wouldn’t come. Maybe she’d stand here alone all night long, foolish and aching, blaming herself for even hoping again. But something inside her had shifted — maybe it was Serena’s voice echoing in her ear, or maybe it was her own heart, whispering that there were still things left unsaid. Still threads uncut.

A shuffle of footsteps behind her made her body freeze.

Then, slowly, she turned.

And there he was.

Bob.

Standing just a few feet away, hands in his jacket pockets, beanie pulled over his curls, blue eyes heavy and uncertain but unmistakably emotional. As soon as their eyes met, something passed between them — something old and broken and tender and still breathing.

“…Hey,” he said, voice low and rough.

Y/N nodded. “Hey.”

He took a step closer, not touching her, just looking. Studying her like she might disappear if he blinked. “I didn’t know if you’d ever… want to see me again.”

“I didn’t know either,” she admitted quietly, her voice trembling. “But I do.”

He swallowed hard. “I’ve thought about this. A thousand times. What I’d say. What you’d say. I played it over and over in my head like it would make it hurt less.”

“Did it?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No.”

There was a long pause between them, broken only by the sound of the water and a distant ship horn. Bob looked at her, eyes glossy. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For leaving. For not saying goodbye. For making you think it was your fault.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I thought I wasn’t enough.”

“You were everything,” he said, voice cracking. “That was the problem. You were everything I wanted and didn’t think I deserved. I was ashamed. And scared. And instead of being honest with you, I just… I ran.”

Y/N stepped closer now, breath fogging in the cold. “You don’t get to decide what you deserve. You could’ve told me. You should have trusted me.”

“I know,” he whispered, guilt rolling off him like a wave.

Her eyes searched his. “I had to pick up all the pieces alone, Bob. I cried on the floor for weeks. I screamed into pillows. I hated you. I still…” She paused. “Some days, I don’t know if I hate you or miss you more.”

Bob’s face twisted in pain. “I miss you every day. I wanted to get clean for you… but I had to want it for me too. And I do now. I’m not perfect, but I’m clean. I go to meetings. I work. I try. Every day.”

Y/N looked at him, something softer in her gaze now. “Why’d you come tonight?”

He took a shaky breath. “Because I’d rather stand here and have you scream at me, throw something at me, anything—than keep wondering if you’ll ever forgive me.”

“I don’t know if I can,” she said honestly, voice cracking.

“I understand,” he whispered.

She looked away, at the water, at the skyline in the distance.

And then, after a long moment, she asked, “Do you still love me?”

Bob stepped closer, almost afraid to breathe. “Yes. I never stopped.”

Y/N turned to him again, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Then… show me. Show me you’ve changed. Show me you’re not going to disappear again.”

Bob nodded slowly, his hand reaching for hers — tentative, almost reverent. When their fingers touched, it felt like a live wire connecting them again, years of distance melting in a single spark.

“I’m here,” he said softly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Y/N looked at their joined hands, then up at him.

“…Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s see what’s left of us.”

They were quiet for a long while after Bob’s hand found hers. Neither of them dared to move much, afraid the moment might collapse if they shifted too quickly. There was something sacred about it — the silence, the air between them, the rawness of just being there, together again.

Y/N let out a breath that had been caught in her chest for what felt like a year and a half.

“I’ve thought about this too, you know,” she said, her voice softer now, more vulnerable. “Not just the apology, or the reasons why… but what would happen if we ever saw each other again.”

Bob’s thumb moved gently across her hand. “And what did you think?”

She gave a breathy, ironic laugh. “That I’d scream at you. Throw a drink in your face. That I’d feel powerful… or indifferent. But I don’t.”

“What do you feel?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

“Everything,” she admitted. “Grief. Anger. Love. All jumbled up. I feel like I never got to mourn us properly, because you just vanished.”

Bob’s head dropped slightly, eyes filled with guilt. “I deserve that.”

“But,” she continued gently, tugging his hand just a bit, “I also feel like maybe… maybe we get a do-over.”

His brows lifted slightly, surprised. Hope flickered in his eyes, so raw it almost hurt to see.

“You mean…?”

“I mean,” Y/N said carefully, “not pretending the past didn’t happen. But also not rushing into it like we’re picking up where we left off. Because we’re not the same people anymore. I’m not the same girl who waited for you at that coffee shop in Florida. And you’re not the same man who ran away.”

Bob blinked, heart in his throat. “So what do we do?”

“We start over,” she said softly, firmly. “We take it slow. We talk. We really talk. We ask the dumb questions we never asked. We go for coffee, or walks, or movies, or whatever normal people do when they’re figuring each other out.”

He nodded, not trusting his voice just yet. His chest was tight, but not from fear — from the fragile, growing weight of hope.

“And if we fall in love again,” she said, her voice trembling now, “we do it right this time. With boundaries. With honesty. With all the parts of us exposed. No secrets. No hiding.”

Bob’s eyes were wet again. “You’d want to fall in love with me again?”

She gave him a tiny, wistful smile. “I never really stopped. I just… packed it away somewhere dark so it wouldn’t hurt.”

He laughed — a broken, breathy sound. “God, I was so stupid. I lost everything because I was too afraid to let you see me when I was at my worst.”

“You were sick,” she reminded him gently. “You didn’t know how to let yourself be loved. But maybe now you can learn.”

Bob looked at her like she was the sun rising again after the longest, blackest night. He leaned forward, forehead against hers, just breathing her in.

“I’ll learn,” he whispered. “I promise I’ll learn.”

--

They sat on the stone edge of the bay, the city lights flickering off the water like a secret neither of them wanted to say out loud. It was late. Quiet. The kind of quiet that makes everything feel like it might be okay, just for a moment.

Y/N had her arms wrapped around her knees, chin resting on them as she looked out at the slow, rhythmic waves. Bob was next to her, a bit hunched, nervously peeling back the foil on a burrito he’d grabbed from a food truck behind them.

They weren’t saying much. But they were there. Together. Breathing the same air again.

“This is nice,” Y/N said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Feels like something from before.”

Bob nodded, then took a bite of the burrito. A messy, overfilled mess of something-too-hot with way too much sauce.

She glanced over at him, and for a second, she smiled. Not the full, glowing kind she used to give him — but a small one. Careful.

“Still ordering food that’s way too big for your mouth, I see.”

He looked at her, mouth full, eyes wide with guilt. “I panicked,” he said after a swallow. “I asked the guy for whatever he liked best and now I’m holding a food truck’s entire inventory.”

Y/N snorted. “You’re gonna drop it.”

“No I won’t.”

“You always drop food when you try to eat and talk at the same time.”

“I do not—”

And just as he lifted the burrito for another bite… a seagull screeched.

Y/N saw it first.

“Oh my god,” she gasped. “Bob.”

“What?”

She pointed. “Behind you.”

Bob turned — too late.

The bird descended like a demon on wings, smacking straight into him and snatching the burrito right out of his hands in a blur of feathers, foil, and absolute chaos.

“WHAT THE—HEY!!” Bob shouted, stumbling back as salsa dripped down his shirt. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

Y/N broke into full-blown laughter. Not polite laughter. Not restrained laughter.

It was ugly, wheezing, nearly-crying laughter.

Bob just stood there in stunned silence, staring after the bird like it had just ruined his entire career. “That thing was huge! That’s not a seagull. That’s a government drone! That’s a federal bird!”

“Bob—!” she gasped between fits, holding her stomach.

He turned to her, dead serious. “You saw that, right? That was attempted manslaughter. That was aggravated burrito theft.”

She laughed even harder, wiping her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

He grumbled, looking down at his sauce-covered shirt. “Great. Amazing. I haven’t even seen you in a year and a half and this is what I bring to the table. Literal bird bait.”

Y/N, still giggling, looked at him — really looked at him. Disheveled, embarrassed, and covered in sour cream.

And something tugged deep in her chest.

Because despite everything — despite the heartache, the silence, the questions — this was him. Still the same man who once fell off a park bench while trying to kiss her goodnight. The same one who used to eat ice cream with his eyes closed like it was a religious experience. The one who called her just to hear her talk about her day.

“I missed this,” she said suddenly, her voice quieter now. Sincere.

He looked at her, startled.

“This part of you,” she added. “The part that’s… weird. And funny. And honest. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until just now.”

Bob was silent for a moment, like he didn’t know where to store her words inside him.

Then: “I’ve missed everything about you.”

She looked back out at the water, her smile fading a little. “So why did you leave me like that?”

His throat tightened. “Because I was a dumbass and I couldn't possibly deserve even a hair from you.”

“I would have restart my whole life to make you alive again.”

A pause.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

She reached into the bag beside them and pulled out the second burrito.

Without a word, she held it out to him.

He blinked.

“…This one doesn’t have shrimp, does it?”

She smirked. “You’ll have to take your chances, bird boy.”

[jamieroyjamieroy]

This is the start of Tommy buying a ring for Buck after their hook up. Let me know if you would be interested in reading more.

Tommy is just window shopping - daydreaming really - he is not seriously considering buying an engagement ring for a man that doesn’t love him. A man that only days ago told Tommy he slept with him but has no feelings for him, well that was the gist of the outburst to Tommy’s ears. But Tommy is a stubborn romantic and isn’t ready to shut the door on any opportunity to be with Evan. Tommy has known how he felt about that man since the unexpected but delightful invite to Maddie and Chim’s wedding.

That has to be the reason for Tommy being drawn to the jewellery shop he is standing outside of. Thinking of weddings and how he and Evan spent that night has Tommy’s - rarely seen - optimistic side taking the drivers seat. It’s the only reason he follows that beacon pulling him closer, enticing him to select that one ring that will bring love and joy to his life.

Tommy rubs a hand down his face ‘god damn it Kinard, you are going to start yelling my precious and living in a cave if you don’t quit thinking like that.’ He thinks to himself and pushes the door open anyway. He is going to waste money on a ring that will likely sit in his drawer for the rest of his life, all while knowing there is only one man he ever wants to give a ring to. Only one man he wants to spend forever with. Life has had a funny way of throwing Evan Buckley in his path this last year, he wants to be prepared for the next time. It could be the last chance he gets. After all, third times the charm. Or are they at their fourth chance? Whatever number they are on Tommy wants to make it count, with that final thought he enters the store to find a ring he thinks Evan would be happy to wear for the rest of their lives.

Later that night Tommy sits on his bed the ring box open on his nightstand, his phone in hand opened to Evan’s last message from months ago. Tommy’s imagination running wild with all the outlandish ways he could ask Evan to marry him, all of which he knows won’t happen. Not when he can’t even work up the courage to text Evan. Sighing loudly he closes the message app and double checks his alarm for tomorrow before locking his phone and placing it facedown on his nightstand. Next to the ring. Snapping the box shut he hides it at the back of his drawer chastising himself for spending that money and promises himself he we will return it on his next day off. Tommy knows deep in his heart that the only way that ring will leave his drawer is if it’s on Evan’s finger, but he can lie to himself tonight and pretend he will return it another day.

A week or so goes by with the ring still taking up space in Tommy’s drawer. A week, or more, of excuses for not returning the ring. ‘The store is too far out of the way.’ ‘I need to wait until I have other things to do in that part of town otherwise it’s a waste of gas. Gotta think about my carbon footprint.’ ‘I should really work on my truck today.’ ‘It looks like it might rain and everyone drives like an idiot in the wet, safer to stay home.’ Each excuse became flimsier and flimsier as he waited for Evan to call, or to run in to him in a bar. Or for his own resolve to crumble and he ends up on Evan’s doorstep begging Evan to give them another chance.

Unfortunately when the call comes it goes nothing like Tommy expected. He wishes he never got that call. Not that he is sorry he helped saved Chim’s life, he just wished Evan didn’t have to make it. He wishes the 118 were never called to that lab, that none of them had to go through what they have been through. That Bobby was still here. Tommy would give up his chance to be in Evan’s life - at any chance of happiness - if it meant he never had to witness the love of his life fall apart all alone over the death of his only real father. The sounds of Evan’s wails wake him up at night, pulling him from nightmares where Evan is in Bobby’s place and Tommy has to say goodbye separated by a glass door. If Tommy believed in such things, he would have considered the ring in the back of his drawer a curse. An omen taunting him and mocking his moment of romanticism by putting Evan back in his life for such a brief and devastating event to derail everything. And yet he still can’t return the ring.

[frudoo]

Slasher 141 again, how would they meet their wife? Victim turned pet? Or did she meet them 'normally', or heat me out! An online forum about killers, turned meeting to 'discuss favorites', turned demonstration? Of course, either way, she's theirs now.

I enjoy this au very much sorry 😅

A trivia date night with Johnny turns into something more ;)

Warnings: Dark stuff, obviously (murder, cold cases, etc). Food + alcohol consumption. Fem!Reader.

Sudsnblood: Here. WBU?

     You: I see a mohawk, that you?

     Sudsnblood: Aye.

     Excitedly, you smooth out your dress and make your way over to the man in the corner who’s giving you a little wave. Is it stupid, agreeing to meet with an odd stranger you’ve been bonding with on the internet over fictional killers and real, gruesome murders? Absolutely. Do you care? Absolutely not. After all, he is local, and the pub is having a trivia night with a category both of you are experts in: cold cases. Not to mention how much more handsome he is in person.

     “Hey,” you grin, reaching over the table to place your hand in his and shake it politely.

     Johnny returns your greeting with a charming smile and a confirmation of your name. He only lets go once you’ve nodded, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. 

     “Ah havenae ordered anythin’ yet,” he informs you, pushing a menu your way. “Figured ah’ll get wha’ ye do.” 

     “Mm, got a copycat on my hands, huh?” You tease, catching his eye contact momentarily before moving your gaze back to the list of appetizers. 

     “Ah’m no’ a copycat, ah assure ye,” he grabs the top of your menu and pushes it down to the table so you’ll look at him again. 

     His expression is so serious, leaving no room for confusion or doubt in your mind. You raise an eyebrow and nod slowly. 

     “Got it. What do you think about potato skins for an app?” 

     Trivia takes about two hours, and of course, the two of you won against six other tables who did not have quite the extensive knowledge you and Johnny share. You’re two beers deep and he’s got one more on you, tipsy and flirty.

     “Ah’m gonna call one o’me partners tae come get us,” Johnny explains, wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you outside the front of the building to wait with him.

     You nod and he pulls a cigarette out of the carton in his pocket, lighting it up and handing it to you. You take a drag while he talks on the phone—to a Simon, you observe—exhaling slowly and watching as the smoke crystallizes in the cold winter air. He’s only on the phone for a few moments before he’s asking for his cig back, blowing the smoke away from you.

     “D’ye trust me?” He asks after a while of silence.

     You nod once again, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Johnny drops the butt of the cigarette on the ground and snuffs it out with the toe of his boot, leaning in until the warmth of his breath ghosts the shell of your ear. It sends goosebumps rising up all over your body, and you shiver, grabbing a hold of his firm biceps through his leather jacket.

     “Wha’ if ah told ye ah’m one o’the killers they were askin ‘bout?” He murmurs into your ear.

     You pull back with an amused grin, expecting him to have a matching expression, laugh and tell you he’s joking. But when you meet his eyes, he’s deadly serious. There’s no hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, just a deadpan gaze that scans along your face, watching for a reaction. Your smile drops and you swallow hard, your breathing rapidly speeding up.

     “I’d say that I believe you, and it doesn’t change my feelings towards you.”

     “Ye’re gonna get along jus’ fine,” Johnny finally smiles, wide enough for an average person to feel a sense of unease, but to you, it just adds to his charm. 

     By the time Simon arrives, Johnny’s got you pinned against the wall with his hands full of your soft tits and his tongue down your throat. Simon chuckles and honks the horn of his truck to alert you both of his presence, giving you a nod of acknowledgement as Johnny hustles you into the backseat with him. 

     “She know?”

     “Aye, she does.”

     Simon nods, adjusting the rear-view mirror so that he can see the two of you better.

     “Good.”

[poorly-written-fiction]

a little bit too much (freaky edition) - logan howlett x fem!reader

A/N: holy shit the support i got on my first posted fic is so nice thank you all so much. i made myself the promise that i’d post another fic. this is a similar fic to the one i posted yesterday, but this time it does end in smut. hence the name. also we’ve upgraded from me writing in my phone’s notes app, yay!

tags: SMUT (18+ MDNI), dubcon kinda? pre-established consent implied (drunk sex but only Y/N is drunk. repeated and enthusiastic consent is given. if this bothers you, please don’t read.), alcohol consumption (Y/N is 21+), fem!reader (no specific physical descriptions given), age gap (legal but let’s be real every relationship with logan is an age gap relationship), plot what plot/porn without plot, fingering, unprotected PinV + creampie (PLEASE BE RESPONSIBLE WHEN ENGAGING IN INTERCOURSE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION), car sex, swearing, spelling and grammatical errors i’m sure because writing this faster and harder than i ever have before

words: 1478 (yippee!)

Logan couldn’t keep his eyes off of Y/N. In a bar full of neon lights and signs, nothing was shining brighter than she was. Maybe it was the alcohol, which had allowed Y/N to let go of any stress she had been holding onto. She drank enough to give her the confidence to loosen up and have fun - not that she wasn’t usually fun, but sometimes it’s hard to be yourself in a bar mostly inhabited by older men. Eyes would tend to watch Y/N and Logan when they would come through the door, very aware that he was older than she was, they just didn’t know how much older, and they didn’t need to. Y/N was old enough to order her own drinks, and that’s all that really mattered. 

She really did look beautiful, especially with her hips swaying in time with the music playing in the bar. Her hips, which were wrapped in a denim mini skirt, it was driving Logan crazy. He loved every inch of her, every bit of her soul, every fiber of her being. She brought out the warmth in him, one would think after living for roughly 200 years that Logan’s heart would be practically made of stone. She made him smile, genuinely, but also made him wildly protective. During their games of pool, any time she’d bend over to make her shot, Logan would stand right behind her and glare around at anyone who would try to look at her. Then she’d make her shot, stand up straight, and accidentally bump up against his hips. He’d wrap his arms around waist and hold her close to him, leaning over her slightly to kiss her on the cheek. They’d do this all night, until the game was done, or until Y/N had drank a little too much, whichever came first. 

Tonight, they had finished their game - they didn’t really keep track of who won, they were just having a good time together. Y/N was a little bit stumbly when she walked, holding onto Logan’s arm for stability. Being the gentleman that he was, he paid their tab, and wrapped his arm around her to hold her upright while they walked to the truck. Usually, he would carry her, but he didn’t want to risk giving anyone in that bar a look up Y/N’s skirt. Logan unlocked the truck, opened the passenger side door, and lifted Y/N into her seat before buckling her in and pressing a soft kiss to her temple. When he was sure she was safe and sound, he closed the door before jogging over to the driver’s side and hopping in himself. 

After 15 minutes on the road, they were stopped at a red light that seemed to go on forever. Logan looked over at Y/N to make sure she was okay, and smiled when he saw her looking back at him. “Hey there, princess,” he gave her soft thigh a gentle squeeze. Y/N placed her hand over her boyfriend’s, slowly pulling it up her skirt, moaning quietly when his fingers brushed against her core. Logan’s eyes widened when he made the realization, “Where the hell are your panties, darlin’?”

Y/N giggled, her mind still very fuzzy from the alcohol, “Wasn’t wearing any… wondered how long it’d take you to find out.” She rocked her hips forward so her clit bumped perfectly against his fingers. She whined at the contact, repeating the movement again, before Logan retreated his hand back to her thigh.

“Babygirl, you’ve had a lot to drink tonight, are you okay to do this right now?” He glanced at the traffic light ahead of them - still red - before his eyes met hers again. Y/N’s eyes were locked onto her lover, giving him a firm nod. Y/N would be lying if she didn’t admit she liked drinking a little bit too much and then convincing Logan to fuck her. He muttered a quiet fuck, before he noticed the bright green light ahead of them. “Can you wait until we’re home, doll?”

Y/N shook her head, “I want you Logan… I need you.” Her hands began to guide Logan’s back up her skirt. He was used to driving with one hand on the wheel and one on Y/N’s thigh, but he knew that they’d have to pull over before they took things too far. Thankfully, there was a secluded road they’d be coming up on soon. Logan brushed his fingers through her folds, already so wet for him. He chuckled quietly, before taking his lover’s clit between his middle and index fingers, rubbing it in small circles. The sensation was like electricity running through Y/N’s body. “Fuck… that feels so good, Lo, please… keep going.”

After what seemed like an eternity of teasing, they finally got far enough onto the wooded road that cars passing wouldn’t be able to see them. Logan pulled over to the side of the road, retracting his hand again from Y/N’s heat, this time to put the truck in park before shutting off the ignition. Once the car’s lights were off, Logan made quick work to adjust the seat back to give Y/N space, before unbuckling both hers and his own seatbelts and pulling her over the center console so she was straddling his lap. He pulled her close into a very heated kiss with one hand, while his other squeezed her ass gently. “You’re so fucking perfect for me,” he mumbled into the kiss, earning him a needy moan from her mouth. Y/N’s hands clumsily attempted to undo Logan’s belt, between the alcohol running through her system and her head buzzing with desire, it took her a moment. Eventually, she got the belt undone, and she had an easier time with his jeans, wrapping her fingers under the waistband of his pants and his boxers and tugging down on them. Logan lifted his hips slightly, pulling the clothing down the rest of the way. His cock rested against her core for a moment before he slowly pushed into her, drawing a string of pleasured noises from his beautiful girlfriend.

“Fuck… you’re so tight, babygirl…” 

“You’re so fucking big, Lo…”

Logan grabbed Y/N’s hips, bunching her miniskirt up in the process. He rocked her back and forth on his cock, pulling more moans and gasps from her lips. He loved the way she sounded. Y/N began to fuck herself onto his cock in rhythm with him, holding onto his shoulders for support. Logan took the opportunity to gently press his thumb against her clit, drawing gentle circles around the small muscle. Y/N’s walls tightened at the sensation, earning a low moan out of Logan’s mouth. His pace sped up just slightly, which was just enough for Y/N to start coming undone in his hands.

“Please… just like that, Lo, please don’t stop..!”

“That’s it… good girl, I wanna make you cum.”

“I’m so close, please Logan..!”

He loved the way she said his name, so much desperation coming from her sweet lips. He moved his free hand from her hip to the back of her neck, pulling her into a needy kiss. He kept his pace, but his hips began to move with a harder intensity, fucking Y/N like his life depended on it. She moaned into his mouth, before breaking away, nearly screaming his name.

“Fuck, Logan… Logan, I’m cumming!”

“That’s it, cum for me, babygirl, you’re doing so good…”

Y/N’s nails dug into Logan’s shoulders as she began to ride out her orgasm, her insides contracting around his cock, and her legs squeezing around his hips. Logan’s own orgasm followed quickly, spilling warm cum inside of Y/N, who was still wrapped tightly around him. They took a few moments to enjoy the afterglow, sharing a few kisses and pressing their foreheads against each other’s, taking their time to catch their breath. Y/N reached over to the window on the driver’s side door, drawing a small heart in the fogged-up glass. Logan watched her, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

 After a moment, he slowly pulled out, then grabbed one of his flannels that he had left in the backseat of his truck and cleaned off Y/N’s thighs. Usually, he’d pull her panties back onto her after he filled her up, but she had decided not to wear any. He folded the flannel a few times, and placed it on the passenger seat - he was going to need to wash it anyways since he cleaned her up with it. He lifted her off of his lap, and got her settled back in the passenger seat, buckling her seatbelt again, and giving her a kiss.

“I love you, princess.”

“I love you too, Lo.”

================================================

thank you for reading! if this fic seems rushed it's because it is, i need sleep but i also wanted to get this done. i hope you enjoyed!

[bullet-prooflove]

Buck + ferry ⛴️ flowers 💐 firetruck 🚒

Tagging: @kmc1989 @mckinleysbones @sophiah2253 @qutequeersstuff @gatefleet

Buck meets you at Catalina Island during a call out. You’re dangling from a top rope halfway down a cliff face, rendering first aid to another climber, whose hanging 50 feet up in the air after knocking himself unconscious. It takes them a while to get down to you, they’ve come by air rescue because the fire truck can’t make the ferry trip to the island. They have to find the right anchor points to rappel down safely, bringing their kit and a backboard with them.

He can tell you’re on the job from the way you relay the information regarding the other Luis, the other climber’s condition. You use the same terminology, talk in a calm precise manner and you’re not squeamish, especially not about the bone that’s sticking out of the guy’s arm.

“They’ll get him down and then I’ll clip you in with me, the two of us we’ll go down together ok?” He says to you as Eddie and Chim begin to guide Luis’s form further down the cliff face.

“Honey,” You drawl, fixing him with a shrewd stare. “Trust me, I’m perfectly capable of finding my own way down.”

Honey…

For some reason the term makes Buck’s cheeks color.

As you start the descent it becomes clear to him that you’re a skilled climber, your movements are smooth, careful and in coordination with his own. The two of you set a quick pace as you abseil down the cliff. If it were any other circumstance he’d probably find it fun, but Luis has just woken up and he’s screaming blue murder because he’s just realised his forearm looks like something out of a gore movie.

“You’re one of us aren’t you.” He says when you both reach the bottom and you give him a quizzical look as you unclip the carabiner from your rope. “A firefighter?”

“Mountain rescue.” You tell him loosening the harness around your waist. “I usually work out of the national park. Today’s my day off, I thought I’d get some time in on a different rockface so I came out here to the island and then-” You gesture to Luis, shaking your head. “- your guy over there ends up bashing himself on a couple of boulders trying to get a picture with those flowers sticking out for the ‘gram.”

He's about to respond when Bobby calls out to him, he turns his head to acknowledge the words and by the time he turns back you’re already walking away to pack up your kit. He guesses you won’t be doing much more climbing today.

He can’t stop thinking about you on the way back, he takes out his phone and Googles the Los Angeles Mountain Rescue website, he finds your name on the Team Section. He spends the rest of the shift going through your Instagram feed, scrolling through your pictures, getting a sense of the person you are.

Fun, adventurous, a little wild, a little soft.

All traits that appeal to Buck in a partner.

“Are you gonna keep cyber stalking her?” Chimney asks as he drops down on the couch alongside him. “Or are you actually gonna do something about it?”

Sliding into your DMs reminds him of his dating app days and Buck, he’s not looking for something casual, he wants to settle down, experience something real.

It’s a few days later that you run into each other, literally. He’s grabbing a smoothie order for the firehouse when he collides with you in the doorway, he’s skimming through your feed again, whilst you have your eyes fixed firmly on your own screen. He apologises as he knocks the phone out of your hand, bending down to pick it up and that’s when he sees it. His profile live on your screen. It looks like he’s not the only one that’s been doing a little cyber stalking.

“I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself the other day.” He says as he hands the phone back to you. “I’m Buck.”

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[fluermer]

Small town boyfriend Toji head-canons!

a/n: wrote this while listening to Crush by Ethel Cain...he's so ugghh!

small town boyfriend!toji who begrudgingly downloads a dating app after a concerning long dry spell and can't believe his eyes when he sees your pic. Who thinks you can't be real because he sure would have noticed someone so beautiful in town by now...

small town boyfriend!toji who powers his phone off and back on when the notification pops up saying it's a match because surely this was some kind of error.  Whose mouth goes dry when you send the first text and can't hardly type 'sure' quick enough when you actually want to meet. Who's confident your messing with him  as he agrees to pick you up .

small town boyfriend!toji who lets baby Megumi help him pick which flowers to get you and picks the best one of his three 'good shirts' to wear to see you, practically sweating through it as he drives thirty minutes in the opposite direction from the diner to pick you up, not that he'd tell you.

small town boyfriend!toji who can't believe his eyes when he sees you in person because your photos are pretty but you...your everything in person. Who realizes maybe this place isn't a total shithole as he finds himself laughing and talking more with you than he has with anyone in a long time through the whole night.

small town boyfriend!toji Who prays you'll want to see him again the whole way back to your place, who gives a gruff "I'd like that" when you finally do.

small town boyfriend!toji who delete the stupid app after the first date, and knows your the one by the second. Who saves your number with a tired smile before he sleeps.

small town boyfriend!toji who's an old-fashioned man and knows to show up ten minutes early to the rest of your dates and waits patiently outside in his truck and new good shirt. Who holds the door open for you wherever you go and tosses down his crumpled dollar bills before you can even reach your purse and tells you you can "Pay him back on the next one" with the same small grin on his scarred lip. (He'll never let you)

small town boyfriend!toji who works a blue collar job and takes up extra jobs in various construction sites to buy you something nice for your birthday, a nice necklace for your date, and forgets all about the new strain in his back when you beam over it. Who's hellbent on getting you earrings to go with it as signs up for another shift.

small town boyfriend!toji who happily waits outside in the dark parking lot outside your work when you stay later than normal. Not because he doesn't trust you to protect yourself but because he doesn't want you to have to.

small town boyfriend!toji who tries to cut his smoking to half a pack a week when you fuss over his cough. Who smokes less in his truck and never before he sees you.

small town boyfriend!toji who has strange scars, a raspy voice, and suspicious income for a blue collar worker that makes your family and friends wary. Who happily takes extra servings of your aunt/mom/grandma/older friend's meal with a sauve 'yes ma'am'.

small town boyfriend!toji who wins them over with his suprisingly wordly knowledge and good manners.

small town boyfriend!toji who's jackets always smell like Marlboro reds and his cologne as he tosses it over your shoulders to keep you from the sudden rain or the cold ac in the stores.

small town boyfriend!toji who gets comfortable enough to sometimes just drive around town with you after you've visited every decent place in town. Playing old rock cds from the 80's as he listens to you yap about your day. Humming every now and then as he clings to ever word.

small town boyfriend!toji who knows he loves you but won't rush you to say it. Who after 2 months tries to show it you and takes you to 'favorite spot' at the edge of town; a small stream hidden by a bramble of trees under the bridge. Who knows he loves you as he teaches you to skip rocks, purposely fumbling a few to hear you laugh.

small town boyfriend!toji who has no interest in shopping or fashion but doesn't complain when you want to visit a thrift store outside town. Who finds he's happy to drive the hour and change when he sees you light up at the aisles, whose mouth goes dry when you try anything on as he nods in approval. Voice gruff as he asks you to turn so he can see the back, who immediately pulls out his wallet when he sees how it fits.

small town boyfriend!toji who knows how to hunt and keeps his rifle and arrow in the backseat Who takes a minute to answer when you suddenly pause your back of truck makeout sesh to ask about the case on the floor, who's already back to kissing your neck as he promises to show you after.

small town boyfriend!toji who is a man of his word in every sense, who knows how many wild animals roam the town and takes you out onto an empty field to show you how to use his rifle... just in case.  Who's hands are calloused and big and warm on your hip as they guide your hand to hold it, who's voice is raspy and low over your shoulder as he directs you. Who whistles a low 'atta girl' when you pierce the empty can.

small town boyfriend!toji who takes you and Megumi to the county fair when it comes to town. Whose heart flutters in a way it hadn't in years when he sees how good you are with him and how much the kid liked you. Who scores a ginormous stuffed blue bear for you and snickers as you try and carry it to the car, Megumi passed out on his hip.

small town boyfriend!toji who realizes he's fucked when he finds himself searching for rings until 2am and invests in a savings account the next day.

small town boyfriend!toji Who saves up enough to take you and Megumi on a real vacation out of this boring town. Who won't tell you where you're going when he invites you on another date past Megumi's bedtime.

small town boyfriend!toji who tells you to open your eyes as he leads you down a trail of candles and your favorite flowers to a pretty spot away from prying eyes.

small town boyfriend!toji who isn't religious but prays to everything above that you'll say yes as he proposes under the stars. Who's usually gruff and indifferent voice gets a little choked up when you do and kisses you like there's no tomorrow.

small town boyfriend!toji who that night gives the stupid dating app a 5 star rating while you sleep on his chest.

[starkeyisthelastname]

@rvfecamerons has asked me to write this amazing idea she came up with. I hope this didn’t disappoint. Thank you again babe! 💕💕💕

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

You had never really been much of a troublemaker, always listening to your elders and being respectful to everyone, even those less fortunate than you. After you turned 19, you started to become more independent. Going out to parties, taking trips to the mainland to shop by yourself, and even to her dismay, talking to boys.

Rafe had been the one to suggest getting the AirTag to put in your car. He wanted you to always be safe and to ease her worries, at least that's what he told his wife. The real reason being much darker than that. He had been sickly obsessed with you since the moment he laid eyes on your pretty self. No boy was going to touch you as long as he had control of it, and getting the AirTag installed was just the kind of control he needed.

For the last month, he had been stalking everywhere you went through the handy app on his phone. Even got in his own car and drove by a few places to check and see if the damn thing was working. Your innocent little self didn’t suspect a thing either, which is what made you so naive to the situation.

It had been like any other night. Your mother and you had gone out to dinner while Rafe worked late. She being oblivious to the fact you were texting your guy friend, who had invited you over. She never thought you would actually sneak out, you were too much of a sweetheart to do that. It was much to her surprise though, when your room was empty and car was gone at 1:00 in the morning. She immediately thought of the AirTag, Rafe had installed a moth prior, running back to their shared room.

This was the moment he had been waiting for. To catch you being the little slut he knew you were. The GPS on, he zoomed towards your location until the icy white Mercedes with a bedazzled North Carolina tag came into view. The only car there. He shut the truck off, letting his muscular 6’2 frame stalk towards the door. His usual light blue eyes, turned pitch black as soon as he barged through the door. “Bozo’s” tongue down your throat as you laid on the couch.

Gripping the shirt, the boy wore, Rafe teared him off of you. His fist immediately connecting with the boy’s jaw. You sat still, in complete shock by multiple things. Your head was spinning, how did your step-dad find you? How did someone punch one time to have teeth falling out? You knew that your step-father had a violent past but to quite literally see the boy you liked getting beaten to death, had not only scared but something else. Something that made your princess parts tingle.

“Rafe.” You whispered, the boy you had been making out with now bruised and battered as your step-father towered above him.

One look up and Rafe’s hand was gripping your arm, yanking you off the couch. He took your keys and purse in the other, dragging you towards the still open door. You winced, trying to get out of his grip but ultimately failed as he literally threw you in the passenger seat of his truck.

The tires screeched as he sped off, zooming down the empty roads of Kildare. His jaw was tight, the vein in his forehead protruding as he boiled in anger. “I knew that innocent act you pull all the time was a load of shit.” His voice so low it made goosebumps rise on your skin.

“You think I’m stupid, huh? That I don’t know you are a fucking slut. You can hide it from your mom, but not from me. I could tell you were a slut from the moment I met you. Batting those ridiculous lashes at me.”

“Not a slut..” You mumbled, looking down. He was berating you with every sentence he spoke, his words nasty and degrading.

The laugh that came from him was sarcastic almost menacing, he glanced over at you for a moment, truck swerving in the process. “You know I told your mom that girls like you need some discipline. Been too fucking spoiled all your life.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, tearing your gaze away as you tried to stay relaxed in the car ride from hell. You noticed Rafe turning a few streets too early, making your frown. The street leading towards Figure 8 was nothing but trees, making it dark and desolate. You were about to ask what he was doing when the car came to a hault. It came too fast, one second you were being yanked out of your seat and the next you were being pushed against the bed of the truck.

“Rafe.. what are you doing?” You whispered, feeling the cool air hit your exposed bottom from the short skirt you wore.

“Shut up and listen.” His voice boomed, a hard smack to your ass from his hand, making you squeak out. “I’m a proactive type of person. So that means when I say I’m gonna discipline you, you are going to get disciplined.”

You weren’t expecting him to spank you, your ass cheek now stinging from just one hit. You hated yourself and more importantly your cunt for clenching around nothing at the pure wrongness of this. You felt just how damp your panties were getting, wishing you hadn’t worn a skirt or better yet had not even snuck out that night.

The sound of a zipper being pulled down and the clank of a belt, had you turning your head. It was a quick look as your head was roughly pushed down onto the hard plastic of the bed of his truck.

“Rafe..” You whimpered, head burning. “No..”

The taller man behind you, yanked your skirt up, tearing your soaked panties in one go. The dark sounding chuckle behind you was all you needed to hear to know that something bad was about to happen.

“You wanna act like a slut. You get treated like a slut.” His voice rough as he shoved his length inside you with no warning. “Show you what real dick is, since you wanna find out so bad.”

He was huge. Bigger than anything you ever could have imagined. You had only lost your virginity a few months prior and hadn’t had sex since. The burn and stretch to your hole was brutal, tears pooling in your eyes from the pain. The control he had over you though was powerful and you couldn’t bring yourself to fight back.

“What was that earlier? Not a slut.” He growled, yanking your head up by the hair. His hand came to grip your jaw tightly, dark blue eyes boring into your soul. “Why you dripping down your thighs, huh?”

Truth be told, you didn’t know why. Your step father was gorgeous to look at, and a part of you didn’t want to ever disappoint him. That was no reason to be soaking his cock though as he held you down against your will.

“Cat got your tongue?” He laughed, ramming inside you at a cruel pace, making you take his monster of a dick.

“Too.. too much.. please.” You begged, your lower stomach on fire as your first orgasm was already approaching. His hand moved down to your throat, clasping it in a tight grip. You felt your oxygen being cut, the lightheadedness coming to your brain as he squeezed hard.

“Awe don’t please me, pretty girl. You shouldn’t have been such a disrespectful little bitch, if you didn’t want to learn this kind of lesson.” Rafe’s words making you clench around his cock.

You tried to cry out, the pleasure of him taking over your body whether you wanted it to come or not. You quite literally thought that this was it. Being strangled to death, while your step-dad’s dick was buried inside you. But as you came down from your orgasm, the grip from your neck released, making you gasp for breath.

“I sure do hope that you don’t think this is over.” He breathed heavily. “Your daddy’s girl now little bitch. Got that? I catch you fucking around with another clown, I will kill you.”

You knew he had never been more serious.

[jd07201990]

“Oh, come on Chuck! This’ll be my second time! You can’t keep forcing me to work another 40 years, just to make it to retirement and do it all again! It’s not yours or my fault that there aren’t enough young folk to take over our jobs! Hell, maybe if we paid a bit more, the few of them out there would apply!”

“It’s Lieutenant Roth, Billy. Now go change out of that equipment and take a shower. Whatever this remote does to strip away all those years, it sure does leave a young man ripe!”

“Don’t call me Billy! I haven’t been Billy in 30 years! Its Bill Damn it! And how am I supposed to explain this, again! to David?! You know he’s not into, well… this!”

“Put your shirt down Billy and quit your complaining. We’re doing something different this time, changing things up, trying something new. See, we couldn’t afford to pay higher wages all these years, because we’ve been stashing extra money away, for a new program. This remote can do a lot more than just wipe away years, Billy. The company has a whole app-store full of features, but they cost a hell of a lot. We only had enough for 2 new features, and we think it’ll really help solve this town’s aging population issue.”

“Wha… what the hell are you saying? What do you mean, something new?! Chuck, dude… you’re seriously starting to crack! What the fuck does any of this have to do with David?! And who is, “We”?!”

“I’m only going to tell you this once, son. It’s Lieutenant Roth. Now, I guess there’s no beating around the bush with you young-bloods. So I’ll get right to it. “We” is me, the Governor, and the Town Board. We investigated every possible fix, and it comes down to this. All the youth are moving out in droves, going to college, or fleeing to the city for excitement, leaving us aging folk to do the hard work around town. With the remote able to take years off a person, we’ve decided that all our current retirees, in every department, will be regressed, and the new feature we purchased will ensure you all follow your new, youthful instincts, providing us with a full generational bump in population.

You will be the hot-blooded virile stud you were way back in the day; you remember? Except this time, just as David isn’t attracted to this prime of your life look, YOU won’t be attracted to David, or any man for that matter. You see, we need all the help we can get, so with this little app, you’ll be chasing pretty women, and will certainly end up settling down, once one of them catches. Ah, by the look on your face, you know exactly what I mean.

Good, because you and the rest of the retirees are going to have your hands full, working these jobs getting paid just enough for a double-wide and a truck, leaving a trail of gals before you settle in with one, and have a whole mess of kids. "

“Ch… Lieutenant, sir… Wha… you’re insane dude! Fuckin’ totally cracked! You hear yourself! You can’t do this! I can’t be… I can’t chase… I don’t… don’t like…. Fuck… fuck dude… what the fuck are you doing?! Quit pointin’ that shit at me bro! My.. my head!”

“Don’t worry son, I’ll let you off the hook for all that mouthing off. It’s got to be rough having your brain completely flipped inside out, dumped out and filled with everything you need to be a, productive, member of society. Isn’t that right Billy?”

“Wha.. Oh, hey Lieutenant! So uh, is it ok if I head off to the showers and hit the road? Kind of a slow night huh sir? If it’d be alright, I want to go down to the Strip and hit the bar. The dudes and I figured we’d start the weekend early, ya know? Gotta get get some tail on lock before the storms hit. Thinkin’ I might run into Becka too, you know, from Thornton Stables? God she’d look real pretty, all knocked up good n’ proper!”

“Oh alright son. Go ahead, take the night off. But you’re on call. Got it! One or two beers, maybe a shot, take some cash and buy the lass one of those fruity drinks, and you treat her like a lady, young man. Got it?”

“Got it Dude! I mean Lieutenant! I’ll make a lady outa her yet! Thanks for the money too! Ya know how rough it is on the town’s wages! Although you and the Board seem to be doin’ alright. I hope I can get to where you are, Sir!”

“Don’t worry Billy, you’ve got a good 40 years or so to work your way up! Go have fun tonight!”

[danieyells]

@mayoigotokurousagi asked for a few more of the home screen dialogues I liked from a couple of characters, so here's Leo! Also included are the Japanese versions of the text for this one.

I LOVE HIM HE'S SUCH A LITTLE SHIT. . . . Once again this is nearly now all of them because this mfer has such personality lmao his also go with a few other characters', so there's i think one for Romeo and two or three for Sho in there too.

Also as a warning. . .i got a little horny in my commentary for some of these. But it's not my fault, Leo's the one who's saying things like that lol

Hello: (the first time the game is opened after that character is set as home screen NPC. Only happens once per day, unless the character is switched out and back.)

"Nice timing, Honor Roll. Give me your hand. Come on, just do it." あ、特待生サマちょうどよかった。手、貸して。早く早く

You've Got Mail: (whenever there's something in the inbox, usually Arena rewards)

"Hey, your messages are piling up. Hurry up and open them, it's annoying." ねぇ、さっきからずっと未読の通知来てんじゃん。うざいから早く読んじゃってよ

Default: (requires no affinity, has no time constraints)

"Ugh, you're so loud. Ask for permission if you want to talk to me. ...Nope, denied." うるさ……オレに話しかけんなら先に許可取ってくんない？ ……はい駄目

This isn't the only time he complains about volume. Maybe his ears are always sensitive even without using his stigma?

"I'm thirsty, go buy me a drink. What kind? Why don't you take a guess?" 喉乾いた。ジュース買ってきて。 なに系がいいって？ じゃあ、オレが飲みたい味、当ててみてよ

he likes spicy stuff, do you think he likes bitter stuff too? Maybe lemonade? Do you think he's one of those influences who's like 'i never eat anything bad for me' so he either drinks diet soda or no soda at all? I feel like he wouldn't be able to handle restrictions like that--also he loves Painfully Spicy Food so. . . .

Hey Honor Roll! ...Don't make that face at me. I'm being totally genuine right now. ね、特待生サマ♡ ……なにその顔。別になんも企んでないよ

We were deprived of a cute heart in his localized text to emphasize how saccharine he was being. How dare they.

"Have you seen Cap? Ugh, bet he's lurching around lost again..." ねぇ、うちの寮長サマ見なかった？ ……あいつ、また迷子にでもなってんじゃないの

the real question is, does Leo then go look for him himself, wait for him to come back on his own, or get Sho, the PC, or someone else to bring him back for him?

"We're fighting again? Which house? ...Ugh, pass." ……なになに、また揉めてんの？どこの寮？ なんだ……つまんな

I wonder which houses he wouldbe up to fight. Probably Hotarubi since he's kind of invested in Subaru's suffering? Maybe Frostheim since they already have beef--on the other hand, maybe that'd be boring for him. But man he seems pretty ready to go with that, Sho wasn't kidding when he said they got kicked out of every club in Shibuya because Leo's always picking fights.

Affinity 1: (between 5am and 11am)

"Ugh, I'm so tired... I'm done with these classes already. I'll just show up for tests and skip the rest." は～……ねむ…… なんか怪異の授業も飽きたし、テスト以外もう出んのやめよ……

Affinity 2: (between 11am and 4pm)

"I'm starving! Huh? Where'd Sho go? I swear he was here a second ago... Whatever. I'll make that NPC go buy something for me." お腹空いた～。 あれ、翔ちゃんは？ここにいると思ったんだけど…… ま、いっか。モブ女に購買行かせよ

Affinity 3: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"That fucking himbo left me behind again..." あのポンコツ朴念仁……またオレのこと置いて行きやがって

he really wants to get involved in the spy situation huh. That or it's something administrative. Even at affinity 3 Alan leaving him out of something interesting upsets him a bit, which is interesting.

Affinity 4: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Right now? I'm programming an app. I'm not doing anything that complex, just making an ordering system." 今？　アプリのプログラミング中。 別にそんな難しいことしてないよ。オーダーシステム作ってるだけ～

Of note, this is Sho's Affinity 7 line:

"Nice, got an order. More demand than I thought. Getting Leo to make this app was a good call." お、出前の予約が入ったわ……思ったより需要あってよ。 玲音に予約アプリ作らせたの正解だったな

So he made Sho an app for his food truck! Probably not for free of course--good to get the occasional reminder that Leo's both really smart and really good with technology lol

Affinity 5: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Ugh... Cap smashed my woofer. I was just playing music in the Pit since we can't go clubbing..." だっる……クラブ行けない代わりに地下で音楽流してたら、寮長サマにウーハーぶっ壊されたんだけど……

That was kinda mean on Alan's part haha

Affinity 6: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Who's DMing me? Oh, it's this account. Huh... Now that's interesting."

the tea has arrived, piping hot i see. . . .

Affinity 7: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Hey, over here. Give this tabloid to that national treasure wannabe in front of the food truck. Just do it!" キミ、こっちこっち。 あのキッチンカーの前にいる国宝気取りに、この週刊誌渡してきて。いいから早く！

My guy does not like Subaru huh lmao or rather he loves tea and wants to set Subaru off or something. . . .

Affinity 8: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Hey, Cap, could you open this bottle for me? Do it yourself? I can't, that's why I'm— hey! Where are you going?! ねぇ寮長サマ～、このペットボトルの蓋開けて～♡　 いや、無理だから頼んで…… ちょっとどこ行くの！？

Leo really said 'i need a big strong man in my life' and Alan said 'good luck becoming one' kekw ONCE AGAIN DEPRIVED OF HEARTS

Affinity 9: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Time to see what the bug I planted in his car picked up... Huh? What the fuck?! Someone broke it!!" さてと、あいつの車に仕込んだ盗聴器の収穫は～…… は？　なにこれ！壊されてんだけど！！

Affinity 10: (between 10pm and midnight)

"This pillow mist? I only bought it because it was trending, but it's better than I thought it'd be. Ro-Ro's hooked on it too." あ、この寝香水？　バズってるから買ったんだけど、意外とよくてさ。ロミサマもハマってるみたいよ？

Romeo's Affinity 8 line references this:

"You're smelling the bedtime fragrance I bought from Kurossa earlier. He has a good eye, so I often ask him to pick things out for me." この香り？　さっきクロッサから買った寝香水だよ。あいつセンスいいから、よく見繕ってもらうわけ

"Kurossa" obviously being from "Kurosagi", Leo's surname. These two became fast friends, huh. Maybe they already knew each other from social media, since Romeo has an Instagram too. I bet they take the prettiest selfies.

Affinity 11: (between 5am and 11am)

"Night, then. What? I haven't slept yet. Unlike you, I actually have shit to do." じゃ、おやすみ～…… なに？　今から寝るんだけど。オレ、キミと違って忙しいの

Sho also stays up pretty late lmao. I assume Leo does much of his hacking in the dead of night. . .then again why's he using his sleep mist before he goes to bed?

Affinity 12: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Why is this place so overrun with fucking losers?! My eardrums are going to burst!! ...I'm going back to the garage to play with Cap." どこいても雑魚どもがうっさい！！この学園、マジどうなってんの！？ ……ガレージ戻って寮長サマで遊ぼ

The word "雑魚" which was translated as 'loser' means "nobody" or "unimportant person" lol which means Alan is someone of greater importance than others to him? Or just more bearable? Or maybe just likes that he's quieter or finds him more entertaining lol it's kind of nice to see that they're "getting along" in the loosest sense of the term i guess. . . .

Affinity 13: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Huh... The little kabuki prince's sister married an actor from a different troupe? Bet there's something going on there." ふ～ん……梨園の御曹司サマには、別の屋号の歌舞伎役者と結婚した姉がいる…… なんか、超匂うわ～……

Affinity 14: (between 5am and 11am)

"You think I smell good? It's L'Occitane body lotion. I just throw some on after showering in the morning." この匂い？　ロクシタンのボディーローションだけど。 朝シャンの後、ぱぱっとつけてるだけだよ

the pc mentions that Leo's hair smells floral, so I bet he smells super nice. And I guarantee you he's not using men's fragrances either, he wants to smell pretty, leave that hypermasculine shit to Alan and Sho.

Affinity 15: (between 5am and 11am)

"Okay, okay, I'm coming... Ugh. Calling the whole house out at the ass crack of dawn... What is wrong with that himbo?" はいはい、行くってば…… はぁ。朝っぱらから寮生集会とか、あのポンコツ朴念仁なに考えてんの？

Affinity 16: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Ugh, I totally missed out on that ultra-spicy chicken thing they had in Shin-Okubo. Guess I'll read the reviews and get Sho to recreate it." あ～新大久保の激辛チキン、完全に食べ損ねてる…… ネットのレビュー調べて、翔ちゃんに再現させるか

I feel like, if not for that it'd have all the flavor sucked out of it from the spiciness, Sho would probably have a good time replicating flavors like that. He likes to make different cultures' foods after all.

Affinity 17: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Wow, so late already. Better get a bath going and get ready for bed. Here you go. It's for scrubbing the bath." やば、もうこんな時間じゃん。さっさと風呂溜めて寝る支度しよ。 はいこれ、風呂掃除用のブラシ♪

If you do a real good job of cleaning the tub for him, he may even let you have some of his bathwater! Isn't he generous?

Affinity 18: (between 8pm and 5am)

"That dumb video got over 10k interacts? God, you're all so basic... Muting." あんな適当な動画が万バズとか、本当ちょろすぎ……うるさいから通知切ろ……

No respect or love for his fans is2g

Affinity 19: (between 10pm and midnight)

"I can touch you, but you can't touch me. That's how this works, got it?" オレからキミに触るのはオッケー。キミからオレに触るのはダメ。 いい？　これがオレたちのルールね

This is probably so much more innocuous than it sounds--like literal touching, or maybe him holding his fame as an influencer over you--especially since he's saying it with a straight face but. . .it's so easy to imagine this as Leo cuffing or tying your hands and when you ask what he's doing he climbs in your lap and moves your clothes out of his way and says this. . .and at this point you've probably never fucked or kissed or anything before so it's a little out of the blue but you can't really stop him and he just toys with you until he's satisfied. . .one of my favorite of his lines just because it's a little dirty lol

Affinity 20: (between 5am and 11am)

"There she is. Hey, Honor Roll! You free? There's something I was really hoping you could help me with." あ、いたいた。ねぇ特待生サマ～、今日って暇？　 ちょっと付き合って欲しいことがあんだけど♪

given this is his expression in the first line(and the little music note with his second line) he's probably up to no good lol there's either something he really needs to hear or something he really wants to do to you specifically. in Japanese he says "I just want you to keep me company for a while♪"

BUT MAYBE I'M ASSUMING TOO MUCH MAYBE HE JUST DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO ASK YOU TO HANG OUT OTHERWISE. Like how the PC asks Sho if they need help on the food truck and he immediately clocks "you don't have to offer to help just so you can spend time with me you know"

Affinity 21: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Hey, Honor Roll, come sit down. Not over there, next to me. Good, you're comfy. Don't move, I'm taking a nap." 特待生サマ、ちょっとここ座って。 違うよ、オレの隣。 あ～気持ち～♡しばらく昼寝するから動かないでね

Lap pillow hours! Whether you like it or not! He said no touching him, so no moving him off your lap, either! He might make an exception for having his hair pet though.

Affinity 22: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"They went to the Pit again? Must really get a kick out of it... Like big, dumb animals throwing themselves at each other." あいつら、また地下に行ってんの？好きだね～本当…… やってること、虫相撲とほぼ変わんないじゃん……

Affinity 23: (between 8pm and 5am)

"The whole demon nickname? People can call me whatever they want. I know who I am." 悪魔って呼ばれてること？ 別に、好きにすればって感じ。オレが何者かは、オレが一番わかってるもん

His expression saying this is his default one where he's smiling, so I guess it really doesn't bug him, which is good. He probably gets a kick out of it.

Affinity 24: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Stay like this till I tell you to leave, okay? Got it? I didn't hear an answer." オレが行っていいって言うまで、キミはずっとこうしててね♡ ……わかった？　返事は？

Again, this one's a little dirty which makes me like it a lot hahaha. . .this is a late night one(it's labeled "GoodNight" and only pops up between 10pm and midnight) is he telling you to sit still while he sleeps on your lap or uses you as a body pillow? Is he making you sit still with a toy in you while he ignores you or pretends he's not tormenting you sexually? SORRY I FIND SEXUAL THINGS SO AMUSING BUT HE'S MAKING IT SOUNDS SO HORNY. The audio doesn't sound as horny as i'm making it sound off but like LOOK AT IT.

Affinity 25(max): (no time constraints)

"Wanna make a bet, Honor Roll? Over which will come first—me falling for you, or you getting hooked on me." 特待生サマさ、オレと賭けない？ オレがキミを好きになるのが先か、キミがオレに沼るのが先か

I think it's a little late for you, sweetheart. I think you've already caught the feels and that ship is sailed.

Spring: (March-May) (between 5am and 11am)

"Why the hell would I go to class? I already learned all the first year material." 授業なんて出るわけないじゃん。１年で覚えなきゃいけない範囲は、もう全部やっちゃったし

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Cap really puts the "him" in "himbo..." Look at him, he's got a flower stuck in his hair." 寮長サマってさ、あんな見た目してなんでポンコツなんだろね…… ほら見てよ。頭に花くっついてるし

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Quick Honor Roll, stand over there. Perfect. Now hold my phone. You're the cameraman." ちょっと特待生サマ、そこ立って。そそ、いい感じ。 で、オレのスマホ持って。はいキミ、カメラマンね

(between 8pm and 5am)

"Can't believe how many gross dudes this account keeps reeling in. AI-generated pics make it so easy! "Could you send me some more money ♡?” Send." このアカ、変態ジジイ釣れすぎなんだけど。ＡＩ美女画像マジ便利～！ もっとペイペイちょ～だい♡っと

I find it funny that they use AI generated images for their backgrounds and also have a character who scams people with AI generated images. . . .

Summer: (June-August) (between 5am and 11am)

"That rule about having to wear your academy or house uniform on campus is so outdated. I'm going to die wearing all this crap in this heat." 学内は基本、制服か寮服じゃなきゃ駄目ってさ、今時そんな校則あり？ 暑くて死んじゃうんですけど

(between 11am and 4pm)

"I can't believe Sho seriously ran out of my Killer Sauce. It's summer, this is when I want to eat spicy stuff." 翔ちゃん、オレのキラーソース切らしてんのマジあり得ないんだけど。夏こそ辛いもん食べたいのに

well maybe if you didn't dump so much of it on whatever you ate. . . .

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"I keep telling Sho we should let off some fireworks and he keeps saying no! You want to do it too, don't you, Honor Roll?" 翔ちゃんに花火したいって言ってんのに、全然付き合ってくんないの！ 特待生サマも、やりたいもんね～？

One of Sho's summer lines references this:

"Leo won't shut up about wanting to let off fireworks, but no way am I doing that shit with him again. I'm sure you can guess why." 玲音が花火してぇってうるせぇんだけどよ、俺は二度とあいつとはやんねぇって決めてんの。わかんだろ？

I guess Leo isn't a very responsible fireworks user.

(between 8pm and 5am)

"Yeah, apparently there's more anomalies around in summer. Statistically speaking. It's just fucking annoying more than anything else, really." ああ、なんかこの時期って、日本は怪異が増えるらしいね、統計的に。 普通にめんどくさいだけなんだけど

Autumn: (September-November) (between 5am and 11am)

"Thought I could have some fun here at Japan's most elite educational institution. What a let down." 日本有数の名門校なんて言われて、期待して入ったのにさぁ。 結局この学園も、つまんないやつばっか

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Sports? Hard pass. I hate getting sweaty. Ask Sho instead." スポーツ？　パス。オレ、汗かくの嫌いなの。 翔ちゃんでも誘ってきなよ

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Sho hurt himself playing basketball? How unfortunate." 翔ちゃんがバスケ中に怪我した？ へぇ、そうなんだ。大変だね

He gives so few fucks about his best friend lmao then again they're ghouls, Sho'll probably be fine in like two hours.

(between 8pm and 5am)

"Ugh, I want to go clubbing... We should make one in the Pit. Sinostra's got a casino, can't be that hard to get a permit." あ～クラブ行きて～…… いっそさ、地下改造して箱にしちゃうのどう？カジノがありなら余裕じゃない？

Leo pointing at sinostra: if the criminals in there can have a fucking casino there's no way it's hard to get a business permit here. They kill people like on a weekly basis and no one's shut them down. The standards must be in the ground.

Winter: (December-February) (between 5am and 11am)

"This coat? Cute, right? I knew it'd look good on me, so I bought it." ああ、このアウター？可愛いっしょ。絶対オレに似合うと思って買ったんだ～♪

(between 11am and 4pm)

"I'm freezing... I'm having a carbonated bath tonight. Wanna join, Honor Roll? Of course I'm serious." あ～、さぶ。今日の風呂は強炭酸にしよ…… 特待生サマも一緒に入る？ 別に、マジで言ってんだけど

This one happens regardless of affinity which is kinda funny to think about. then again, Japanese bathhouse culture probably means that's not super weird if you have a tub big enough, maybe? Then again a bathhouse and just having a bath with someone are different things. I bet he has lots of baths with Sho.

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Hey, everyone! It's me! Ugh, my throat's all dry from the cold. I'll just stream tomorrow..." こんばんは。ＬＥＯだよ～！ ……やば、乾燥で喉死んでるわ。配信は明日にしとこ……

Of note here, Leo's online handle is just "LEO" in Japanese. In English his name probably had to be given just as Leo to prevent this being lost in translation, because his actual name, in kanji, is 玲音, which is pronounced "Reio"(the same as 'leo' but with an r). But "Leo" is stylized since Japanese doesn't have the L sound and the R sound is closest. So in Japanese he says "It's LEO!" whereas in English he just says "It's me!" since his handle and his name are the same. Although, as someone who follows streamers, introducing yourself again at the top of a stream isn't too uncommon i think? But I also don't watch the influencer types, so the culture is probably very different haha.

(between 8pm and 5am)

"The ghouls won't listen to you? No shit. You realize we were hand-picked by demons, right?" グールが言うこと聞いてくれない？そんなの当たり前でしょ。 だって、オレたち悪魔に選ばれた人間よ？

He's one of the only ones who mentions something like this on the homescreen(off the top of my head Haku is the other one who really mentions how none of them are normal). And he's absolutely right--they were chosen by demons, made pacts with those demons, and ultimately overcame them somehow. Most of them are gonna be kinda stubborn. A demon probably wouldn't choose someone who'd be influenced easily. . .except the demon who chose Kaito apparently. Probably just looking for easy pickings, that one. Or maybe Kaito wasn't always such a coward. . . .

His birthday (Year 1): (May 23rd)

"You got me a birthday present? Oh, thanks. Just put it over there, I'll look at it later.  I will, I promise." オレに誕生日プレゼント？　あ～、ありがと。そこらへん置いといて。 大丈夫だよ、後で見るってば

Rude ungrateful little shit lmaoooooo "yeah yeah my fans sent me a bunch of gifts already. I'll get to it."

His birthday (Year 2): (May 23rd)

"Yeah, it's my birthday. What do I want? …How about you give me your bank card?" そう、オレ今日誕生日なの。 なにが欲しいって？ ……じゃあ、キミのキャッシュカードちょ～だい♡

he's gonna be so jealous of that Taiga just hands you his wallet and goes 'get yourself something nice' lmao LEO YOU ARE A FAMOUS INFLUENCER AND A HACKER AND A SCAMMER YOU DO NOT HAVE TO ASK HER FOR MONEY LMAO i love him so much chat

Your birthday (Year 1):

"It's your birthday? I'll help you celebrate.  Meet me behind the garage later." へぇ。今日キミ、誕生日なんだ。 そうだ……オレが祝ってあげる♡後でガレージの裏においで

Your birthday (Year 2):

"Hey, Honor Roll. Heard it's your bday. I'll make you one of those surprise birthday videos. Shut up, just go stand over there." ねぇ特待生サマ。今日キミの誕生日らしいね♡ 　じゃ、サプライズ動画撮るから。 うるさい。そこ立って

i know the surprise is probably whatever the gift is and not the video itself but when he announces it it sounds like so much less of a surprise lmaoooo and then he's snippy with you like you are not going to ruin my video for you

New Years: (January 1st)

"Happy New Year! I prefer digital payment.  What do you mean, what do I mean? I'll be nice to you again this year, so pay up." ハッピーニューイヤー♪　はい！ なにって……今年も仲良くしてあげるから、お年玉ちょ～だい？

He's referencing otoshidama, money you're given on new years(usually as a child) but it sounds like you've just got a recurring subscription to Leo's friendship lmaoooo "We can still be friends, so compensate me monetarily" lolol i swear if he weren't vice captain i wouldn't be surprised if he eventually transferred to Sinostra in his second or third year. I think he'd fit in.

Valentine's Day: (February 14th)

"This is that ultra-spicy chocolate they only sell this time of year... I'm actually genuinely stoked right now." これ、毎年この時期にしか買えない激辛生チョコレートじゃん…… え、普通に嬉しいんだけど

White Day: (March 14th)

"Here, as thanks for the chocolate. You're not going to tell me you don't know Godiva, are you? All right, now we're even." はい、これお返し。キミ……まさかゴディバ知らないわけないよね？ じゃ、これで貸し借りはチャラね

April Fool's Day: (April 1st)

"Ha ha. You were photobombing one of my pics so I uploaded it and said I had a new girlfriend. 10K interacts in less than an hour. Suckers." あはは。新しく彼女できましたって特待生サマのこと匂わせたら、一瞬で万バズしたんだけど。嘘なのに～

Comments section like "gee Leo how come your boyfriend lets you have two partners?"

Halloween: (October 31st)

"Trick or treat!  Ugh, the only good thing about this dumb event is the video content it provides." トリックオアトリート！ 　って……こんなくだらないイベント、動画のネタになるだけマシなんだけどさぁ

Not much of a halloween guy. . .even though this is Sho's halloween dialogue???

"You really need an explanation? Leo made me wear it! Shit, why am I always the girl..." ああ？　言わなくてもわかんだろ。玲音に着せられたんだっつの！ クソ、なんで毎年女装なんだよ……

You're making your boyfriend best friend crossdress for your halloween vids? When you don't even like Halloween? And this is a REGULAR occurrence??? Like I get that he doesn't like sweets I guess but lmaoooo

Christmas: (December 25th)

"This Christmas-themed food Sho made might pull some traffic.  All right, uploaded. You can eat the rest, Honor Roll. Say "ah"!" 翔ちゃんのクリスマス映えごはん、適当にあげて…… はい終わり。後は特待生サマが食べてね。あ～ん♡

what you want him to eat all of that? and mess up his figure?

Idle: (about 20 seconds without interacting with the game) (below 13 affinity)

"Was that on purpose?  Are you seriously ignoring me right now?" あのさ、それわざと？ キミ今、オレのこと無視してるよね？

(13 affinity and above)

"Ugh, everyone's so loud.  I'm putting my headphones on, so tap here if you need me, okay?" はぁ……どこもうるさ…… オレ音楽聴いてるから、なんかあったらここ触って呼んでね～♡

oh no he's becoming self aware i like that he's not like. 'hey pay attention to me!!' instead he's like 'okay we can sit here in silence that's fine, i'm gonna listen to music so if you want something let me know'. Parallel play with Leo! He's content to just vibe out with you--and he likes you enough that he'll give you attention if you ask too.

Absent: (logging in for the first time in 2 or more days?)

"Who are you? Ah ha ha! I'm kidding. Have you got a good excuse for why you've been gone so long?" ……キミ、誰？ ……あはは！冗談だよ。 で、しばらく来なかった言い訳、ちゃんと用意してきた？

MAN THAT TOOK A LONG TIME. He really just has a lot of personality lol or maybe i just like his personality a lot? Either way I like a bunch of his lines so that's honestly like 90% of them. Bit of a goober. I'll do Sho's in a few hours! Since i already have his japanese file open from doing Leo's lol this is now all of his lines, and Sho's is partially done as well as of writing this! I love Leo so much haha

[lpmurphy]

Begin Again

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Summary: It had been thirty years since his truck tires rolled out of her drive for the last time. Even longer since the day his locker door slammed shut beside hers and marked the beginning of Jack Abbot. Beth had never expected it to end. Never expected to live a lifetime with only the ghost of the boy who promised her one together. She never expected to see him again. Until that curtain flung open, and there he was. And just like that, Jack Abbot began again.

Notes: jack abbot/single mom!ofc, reunited high school sweethearts, second chance romance, slow (emphasis on the SLOW) burn, seriously it's slow, ofc’s daughter is a teenage gen z menace and we love her for it, angst/longing/yearning, hurt/comfort, author is just an english teacher with no medical background, eventual smut, jack and ofc are emotionally constipated idiots

Word Count: 4,668

Read on AO3

Chapter Six: Indigo

He couldn’t say when it started exactly. Maybe it was after one of those early shifts that left him wired and worn out, looking for somewhere to breathe. Maybe he’d just happened on the rooftop by chance, liked the height, the hush, the feeling of being somewhere people wouldn’t look to find him.

Whatever the reason, Jack had kept coming back after every shift without fail. Sometimes he stared out at the horizon. Other times he tilted his head back to catch glimpses of stars in the murk, faint and flickering against the city’s glow, trying to remember the names of constellations that had been whispered to him under a different sky. And on harder nights, he just looked down at the sidewalk far below, his mind a little too quiet for comfort.

Tonight, it was the horizon.

Sunsets came later as August slipped away, dragging out the tail end of summer in slow, golden strokes. The city wore the light like a blanket, warm and heavy, pooling in alleyways, stretching shadows long across the pavement. Jack leaned into the railing heavily, watching beams of light thread between the distant buildings of the skyline as the sun sank lower. Usually, he was on the other side of these things. But this was one part of working days he didn’t mind.

He inhaled deeply. The air up here didn’t taste as sterile, or smell like singed flesh or the tang of blood. Just air. Real air. For a moment, it was quiet in his head, and he didn’t chase the noise. Maybe that was it. Maybe that’s why he kept climbing the stairs, chasing a flicker of stillness at the end of the noise.

Today had felt long. Not in the grand scheme of things; there had been far longer days. But long enough.

He didn’t move for a while. Just leaned there, watching nothing in particular with unfocused eyes, then scrubbed both hands over his face like it might clear away the day. His fingers dragged back through his hair, slow and tired. He should go home. Walk Moose. Shower. Stare blankly at his phone until he hit order again on whatever delivery app was next up on the roster tonight and turn on the Pirates game just for the noise. But his eyes stayed on the horizon, rooted in place.

Thoughts stretched in every direction, thin and tangled like spiderwebs strung through corners of his mind he couldn’t quite reach. Normally, he could follow one. Pick a thought, follow it clean to the end, then move to the next; orderly, compartmentalized. Regimented in a way that made perfect sense and left little room for gray to seep in at the edges. Now, there seemed to be a whole lot of fucking gray.

Now it felt like he was sprinting through a marathon every damn day, lungs burning before he even clocked in. He got home and collapsed into the couch, mind still racing while his body gave out, still trying to find a thread that didn’t lead back to the same knot.

The creak of the roof door pulled Jack out of the unravel. He didn’t turn right away; probably Robby coming up to make sure he hadn’t thrown himself off the building yet. But the footsteps were far too light to be Robby. No shuffle of tired feet or heavy release of a sigh he’d heard from his own chest one too many times. The door clicked shut. The light footsteps stopped.

“Got room for one more?”

Jack looked back at the sound of her voice. Beth stood there with steaming paper cups in both hands, her silhouette framed by the door behind her. He turned, watching a small smile tug at her lips, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to. She’d changed since their shift ended; scrubs and vest traded for black running shorts and an Eagles crewneck that looked like it had been around for its fair share of seasons, her hair loose around her shoulders. She wore it shorter now than she had then. It suited her. 

He straightened up, then nodded toward the railing. “Robby tell you where to find me?”

“Bold of you to assume I was looking for you.” She smirked, something a little more genuine softening her eyes, and shrugged. “Lucky guess. You always did like a view.”

Jack huffed out something like a laugh. “You come bearing gifts?”

Beth held up the cups. “I’d bring bourbon, but, you know. Hospital policy.”

“C’mon, new girl. Live a little,” he murmured, but he was already reaching for the coffee, their fingers bumping clumsily in the exchange.

“And get fired at the end of my first week? For you? No thanks. I have a child to put through college,” she said lightly. A soft giggle bubbled from her lips when he rolled his eyes, but she didn’t move. She stayed a few steps back from the railing, lingering near the center of the roof like always. “You have to come get it, though. You know I don’t do edges.”

The light hit her full-on, soft and warm. It lit up the edge of her jaw, casting faint shadows beneath her eyes. Still that impossible shade of blue; clear and icy and sharp enough to cut right through him. 

“Come on over,” Jack said, nodding toward the edge. “You’ll catch more of the view here than you will at the door.”

Her eyes jumped to the railing once before they landed on him again, her posture stiffening.

He raised an eyebrow. “Still afraid of heights?”

“I wouldn’t say afraid,” she said, eyes darting to the edge again before settling on him. She straightened slightly with a tilt of her head. “Just not particularly fond of looking down.”

That knot loosened just slightly as he watched her, looking everywhere but the edge. He stepped back to the railing and leaned on his elbows, waving her over. “You’ll be fine. Just keep your eyes forward, Baker.”

Beth stopped moving. Her eyes closed for a moment like she was trying to find her balance. She hesitated, then stepped forward until she was beside him, careful not to look down. She stood away from him, her gaze fixed firmly on the horizon. Jack watched her instead, saw the way the wind tugged a piece of hair across her cheek and how she didn’t bother brushing it away. The sun lit her skin gold, traced every freckle across her nose, and set her hair aglow like molten copper. For a second, it all blurred: the rooftop, the years, the leftover aches from the shift that had become like old friends. Just her.

Wildfire.

He nodded towards her sweatshirt and brought the cup to his lips. It tasted like shit, but he didn’t seem to mind like he had before. “The Leanne Baker Rule, huh?”

Beth glanced down at herself like she’d forgotten. “‘Don’t bring the hospital home unless it’s going straight into the washing machine’,” she recited, then smiled at him sidelong. “I’m surprised you remember.”

He looked back out at the skyline, orange light fading into dusk. “Your mom’s a hard lady to forget.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, tapping her nails against her cup. “She is.”

“How are they?” He asked, glancing over at her before he added, “Your folks?”

Beth hummed, then, “They’re good. They’re still in Coldwater, same house and everything. Retired; well, kind of. Mom still substitutes for the school nurses every once in a while, and Dad listens to the scanner like he’s still responding to calls.” She smiled when Jack chuckled and let out a breathy laugh. 

“I wish I could say that surprises me.” Jack scoffed. “Jesus. I can’t picture that town without your dad doing loops in that truck.”

She nodded and took a sip, easing herself down to lean against the railing with a shaky breath. “Well, there’s a new Sheriff Baker in town,” she smiled. “Chris was elected a few years back.”

“No shit,” Jack said, turning slightly to look at her. “That can’t be right. Isn’t he still ten years old?” 

She grinned into her coffee. “Turned forty this year. Married. Three kids. Coaches varsity football at the high school.”

Jack shook his head slowly. “Fuck, that makes me feel—”

“Old?” Beth laughed under her breath. “Join the club.”

She lifted her cup toward him. He tapped the rim of his against hers, and they both drank. The silence stretched out again. Not awkward, but not quite comfortable either. Just… full. Like the weight of everything they were hiding under bullshit small talk settled between them with the breeze.

The sky was dipped in amber now, bleeding slowly into rust and deep blue. Somewhere below, the city moved on in an indifferent hum that filled the space between them. They stood side by side from a safe distance in a silence that had started to feel anything but in the last week. Beth’s eyes turned upward, watching the first stars push through the murk. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you,” she said, her voice barely louder than the breeze.

“Here?” Jack asked, not looking at her.

“At all,” she replied, her gaze still fixed on the deepening violet above.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tapped the bottom of his cup idly against the railing once, twice, searching for the words that just wouldn’t come. The metal rang soft and hollow. He shifted, cleared his throat like it might shake the words loose. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you either.”

Beth didn’t move, she didn’t answer. The wind swept gently from the west, lifting her hair slightly, and he had to shove his free hand into his pocket to keep from brushing it back. Some part of him, that stupid, pathetic part that clawed its way out of the grave when he pulled back that curtain, wanted her to turn and look at him. But she didn’t. He sipped coffee that had gone cold, wishing that she hadn’t always been such a rule follower. He could use the booze right about now.

The low hum of traffic filtered up, mixed with the buzz of rooftop vents and the faint flicker of the floodlight behind them. Beth leaned her hip against the low railing, arms crossed loosely, watching the last of the sun slip behind the buildings.

Beth took a slow sip of her coffee, then said, “I figured you’d still be in the Army.”

Jack exhaled a short breath and scratched at his jaw absently. “Got out in ‘04 right after my second tour. Did the whole medic thing; sixty-eight whiskey. Bosnia before everything went to hell, Iraq after.”

“Where were you stationed?” She asked, turning just barely towards him.

“Bragg first. Then Lewis. Almost stayed in Washington when I got out,” she tilted her head in question, though he didn’t feel up to the explanation that twisted in his throat. “My wife grew up in Seattle. But… you know; life had other plans.”

“Sure did,” she said with a tight nod, eyes turning to the sky again. 

He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t ask. That was the rhythm with them; always had been. They’d never needed to fill the silence just to prove they were listening. Blue eyes turned on him again, a little smirk tugging at her mouth when she nudged his arm with her own.

“Ever make it to Hawaii?” she asked, like it was a casual question, like it didn’t pull at something quiet between them. She used to talk about coastlines and sea air and drive times to nearby beaches, pretending like his assignments were something either of them had any say in, listing her favorites like it was a game. She’d hoped for Hawaii. Or Italy. Or Germany. Though she wasn’t picky, she’d remind him.

Jack shook his head, smile curving low. “No. Never did. Might’ve dodged a bullet, though. Heard the housing is bullshit. Buddy of mine said it’s all just humidity and bugs.”

She arched a brow, grinning. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, stealing a glance at her. “You would’ve hated it.”

Beth scoffed. “I would’ve been fine.”

He chuckled. “You? You ever been around yourself when you see something with more than four legs? Someone could rob your ass blind with a centipede.”

“Nothing should have that many legs, Jack. It’s unnatural.”

“You would have seen a single cockroach and burned the whole place to the ground.”

She tried not to laugh, biting her lip, but it broke through anyway, sudden and bright and unguarded. It hit him in the chest. That laugh. That sound. Like no time had passed, like they hadn’t missed years, hadn’t become other people in other lives. The rhythm of it, the ease, slipped back around them like it had never left. He didn’t know what he expected after all these years, but not this. Not how simple it was to fall into step beside her again like he’d never strayed from that path.

It felt cruel, almost; just a few exchanged lines and suddenly they were back where they used to be, falling into the same old cadence like a song they both still knew by heart, but had played out of tune for too long until it sounded like two different melodies. Unfair, even. 

She shook her head, eyes turning to the horizon again. “That’s debatable.”

“What about you?” he asked.

“I did,” she said, brushing a windblown strand of hair from her cheek. “Took Abby to Kauai for Spring Break last year.”

“Yeah? How was it?”

Beth tipped her head back like she was trying to summon the memory from some faraway place. “Oh gosh, let me try to remember…” He waited, already grinning.

“It fucking rocked,” she declared. “It rocked my ass off. I sat on a beach for a week and did absolutely nothing. Just trashy romance novels, mai tais, and a teenager who couldn’t find a single thing to complain about. It was incredible. We’re going back for her senior trip next summer.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “Is that for you or for her?”

Beth gave him a look, wry and playful, and shrugged. “Who’s to say?”

“Certainly not the woman paying for it.”

“Oh, certainly not.” She laughed softly, shaking her head as she took another sip from her cup. 

The temperature dipped as the sun sank, taking the last of the day’s warmth with it, leaving skies that purpled like a bruise and a breeze that bit like autumn. He noticed her shiver slightly, before she turned to him, tugging her sweatshirt sleeves down around her hands.

“What got you out?” She asked, tucking the cup between her covered palms.

He picked at the rim of his cup, mostly for something to do. “My second tour,” he said. “Our Humvee hit an IED. My side took the worst of it. I lost a leg, but I ended up being one of the lucky ones. A couple guys lost a hell of a lot more than that.”

Beth’s smile faded. Her mouth opened slightly, like she might say something, but didn’t. Jack looked down at his hands. He didn’t talk about that day much. Didn’t see the point. It lived under his skin either way. Not that he remembered much of that day either; just a noise before shit hit the fan. Not the blast itself, but the shift in the air, the wrongness of it. Everything after that was heat and fire and pressure. Screaming. His, maybe. Or someone else’s. Hard to say. It all blurred.

The rest came in flashes: the taste of blood thick in his throat, the pain that crawled up his spine and settled behind his eyes, and the smell. God, the smell. Blood that smelled like metal and gasoline, charred and too chemical. Not like the ER. Not sterile, not clean. The smoke swallowed everything; sound. Sight. Sense of time. But even barely conscious, he could still hear them—men he knew, men he’d trained with, eaten with, bled with, dying within reach. He could still hear it some nights when the room went too quiet. 

He couldn’t get to them. Couldn’t even lift his head. Just lay there listening, wondering if he was next.

He swallowed. “Spent some time at Walter Reed after that, then was discharged after rehab,” he said quietly. “Then… I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to feel like that again. Like I didn’t do enough. So… the ER felt like the right call. Least there, I knew I was doing something.”

Beth’s fingers tightened around her mug. She looked like she wanted to say something but was afraid of getting it wrong. Her eyes fell to the cup, something working in her jaw before she murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Jack shook his head. “Don’t be. Like I said; I was one of the lucky ones.”

She nodded and rested her hand on the railing beside his, fingers splayed just inches away. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. He was grateful for that; the way she listened without trying to fix it. Without pity. She must have remembered that he never had much use for that. 

Jack let his hand drift to the railing, his fingers curling loosely over the worn edge beside hers. The metal had gone cool, the sky above deepened into indigo, and the city blinked to life below, windows lighting up like constellations, artificial stars in square frames. Beth’s eyes dropped to his hand before she looked up again.

“Is your wife in healthcare too?” she asked softly.

His jaw flexed once. He rubbed his thumb over the edge of the ring, slow. It had become second nature, the way his fingers moved over the band when he was thinking.

“She was,” he said after a breath. “Oncology nurse.”

Beth nodded. “Oh. Does she work here?”

“No. Well, yes. She used to,” His voice thinned out toward the end, trailing off like he’d run out of rope. He felt her watching him, felt the question forming in her silence before it was ever spoken. He cleared his throat and looked out over the buildings, voice lower now. “She passed away eight years ago. Ovarian cancer.”

He didn’t elaborate. He’d learned a long time ago that it was easier not to. Didn’t mention the exhaustion or how sick she felt in the weeks before. How they’d thought she was pregnant until that first appointment. How thrilled they both had been until the OB/GYN came into the room with a look they both knew too well and a referral with instructions to call as soon as they could. Didn’t mention the scans or the diagnosis, the way the oncologist’s voice blurred out after the word metastasized. Didn’t say how it felt like that IED all over again; different sound, but the same force. How she kept saying she should’ve known on the drive home—I see this every day, Jack, how could I not have known?

He’d never known how to answer that. 

There had been some small mercies in it. Her friends had been the ones to manage her treatment those first few months. She’d spent those hours in a chemo chair surrounded by laughter and people who loved her. She handled it with far more grace than he had. Especially when it stopped working. She’d taken his hands when he begged her to give it just a little longer when she told him that she wanted to stop treatment, and explained that she didn’t want to spend the time she had left not feeling like herself. The six months that they gave her had only been four, but he held onto each one of those 127 days and the way she smiled through every last one of them like they were something holy. 

Beth didn’t speak right away. Her hand lifted from the railing to rest on top of his, warm fingers curling around his own. She didn’t offer empty comfort, didn’t give him some silver lining.

“I’m so sorry, Jack,” she said instead, simple and real. She squeezed his hand once before hers returned to the railing, leaving the ghost of her fingers on his skin. “Truly.”

“Me too,” he said.

“What was her name?”

“Rachel,” he murmured, keeping his eyes forward, his throat closing around it.

“That’s a beautiful name.”

The ring caught the light again as he turned his hand. He’d stopped noticing it most days. Still slept with it on, still took it off only when he scrubbed in. People asked sometimes, and he usually gave them a line about how he wasn’t ready to take it off. But the truth was far more simple. It just didn’t feel right without it. It still felt like hers. Like a part of her he couldn’t bring himself to set down. He got to carry her a little longer this way.

“She was a beautiful woman,” he agreed. His eyes dropped to the pavement below before he added, “You would have liked her.”

Beth didn’t say anything. She just smiled and stood there with him, her fingers warm beside his own, and let the silence settle.  A siren wailed somewhere below; distant and dissonant, threading through the hum of the city. It rose and fell like a wave pulling back. Neither of them reacted. It passed like background noise. They both knew the sound well enough to jump at it anymore. Beth’s eyes stayed on the skyline when she spoke, her voice barely more than a breath.

“We have to talk about it,” she murmured. “What happened. You know that, right?”

Jack didn’t move. Just nodded once. “I know.”

She shook her head slowly, almost imperceptibly, like she was arguing with herself before she said, “But not tonight. I just…” 

The words fell apart between them. Her eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the skyline, teeth dragging against her lip. She shook her head. “I can’t. Not tonight.”

Jack’s throat bobbed once. “Not tonight,” he echoed, quiet.

They stood like that as the siren faded, the sky deepened, and the world moved on around them although they didn’t. Horns still honked. More sirens still wailed. But she didn’t walk away. She stayed there, picking at a loose thread in the cuff of her sweatshirt, like if she could just unravel that string, maybe the rest of the evening would make more sense.

Jack finally spoke, voice careful but steady. “How’s the leg?”

Beth’s mouth curved faintly like she was thankful for the deflection. “Still very broken.” She shrugged. “But she’s getting used to it. She has a follow-up tomorrow, so cross your fingers she gets a timeline where she can play volleyball this season. Otherwise I’ll be the emotional punching bag, and she’s only gotten meaner since she turned fifteen.”

Jack huffed a quiet laugh. “She seems like a cool kid.”

“She is,” Beth said, soft and certain. Her fingers stilled on the thread. A beat of silence passed between them, the sirens fading further into the distance.

“So…” Jack glanced sideways, hesitant but trying. “Gladiator, huh?”

Beth exhaled a laugh through her nose. “It’s been her comfort movie since she was ten. Don’t ask. I’ve stopped trying to make sense of it. At least it’s not Frozen anymore. Though, I do kind of miss those days.”

Jack smirked. “How many times did she make you watch it this weekend?”

“Six. I was rooting for the tiger by the fourth.”

He chuckled. “Her dad must love that.”

Beth didn’t answer right away. She picked harder at the thread. Her shoulders drew in a little, not enough to be obvious, but enough to shift the air between them.

“It’s just the two of us, actually,” she said, not looking up.

Jack didn’t move, but the silence changed shape. He nodded once, quietly biting the inside of his cheek, savoring the taste of his own foot before he said anything else. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” She glanced over at him for the first time in a while, but not for long. “You’re not the first person to assume.”

He looked down at the street below, jaw tight. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

Beth shrugged, but it was more reflex than dismissal. “It’s fine. You didn’t know,” she said. She picked again at the thread. “We prefer it that way. Just me and my girl.”

Jack hesitated, watching the way Beth’s fingers continued to pick at the seam of her sleeve like they needed something to do. He opened his mouth once, closed it, then tried again. Jack hesitated, the question forming in pieces he couldn’t quite fit together. Thirty years was a lot to ask about in one breath. Still, something about the way she’d said just the two of us…

He tried. “So, when did it become—?”

Then her watch buzzed, sharp and insistent. She glanced down, and her face softened when she saw the name.

“It’s Abby,” she said, almost as if in apology. “She gets nervous if I don’t call after a shift. Hang on.”

She answered with an easy warmth he hadn’t heard from her in a long time. “Hey, honey.”

“Where are you? ” Abby demanded.

Beth lifted her brows. “Wow. Hello to you too. What great manners you have. Who taught you how to answer a phone? Your grandfather?”

“I know, right? Some people’s children.”

Beth gave a soft, tired laugh, then glanced over at Jack and rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. He chuckled quietly, something warm tugging at his chest.

“Oh, tell me about it,” Beth muttered into the call, already starting toward the door. She glanced over her shoulder at him with a small wave and apologetic smile, mouthing goodnight. He returned it with a tight smile and a nod.

“Whatever. Respectfully, where are you? You said you’d be leaving in ten minutes. That was an hour ago.” Abby didn’t miss a beat. “Were you yapping? I can hear it in your voice. Who were you yapping with? Oh my god, do you have hospital tea? Tell me.”

Beth sighed, her smile audible. “When did you become so nosy?”

“God forbid I act like my mother.” 

Beth barked a laugh. Jack lingered at the railing, hands in his pockets. Just before she pushed through the stairwell door, he called after her.

“Hey, Beth.”

She turned, one hand still wrapped around the door’s push bar. The stairwell light framed her in gold, catching on the curve of her cheekbone, the faded green of her sweatshirt. She looked at him like she’d been half-hoping he’d call her back.

Jack didn’t move at first. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, then finally asked, “Your mom’s rule. Does it work?”

Her mouth twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile, though not quite surprise. A pause gathered in the space between them. She blinked slowly, her fingers still curled loosely against the door like she might not press it open just yet. Then, without answering, she tilted her head; a barely-there nod that was more admission than confirmation. Her gaze softened. 

“Most nights,” she said. “Sometimes that’s all you can ask for.”

Jack nodded, quietly. She returned it with one of her own.

“Goodnight, Jack.”

As she turned and walked through the door, Abby’s voice echoed in the stairwell. “Oh my God, you were yapping! With Doctor Mullet? That’s who you’re out here neglecting your only child for?”

Beth didn’t miss a beat. “Neglect? I saw the DoorDash receipt, Abigail. You ordered two desserts and a milkshake. You’re not exactly a Dickens orphan, kid.”

Jack shook his head, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

“Goodnight, Beth,” he murmured, but she was already gone.

Jack stood there a moment longer, hands still deep in his pockets, the city still loud, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel completely outside of it. And for a moment, the silence felt almost kind.

[alphajocklover]

Hello, basic 40 year old flabby, short, wimpy nerd nerd here. Been trying and failing to get fit and transform into a stud since I've been thirteen to no avail. Pretty much decided that that the project is genetic. I don't suppose you can genetically graft me to a hypermasculine dad or maybe a hypermasculine brother so puberty could have dealt me a way different hand?

Huh. I’ll admit, I’ve never really done anything like that before. I mean, I’ve talked about changes that alter someone’s past in previous post, and I performed one myself using time travel (I fucking hate time travel), but what’s you’re asking is so much more intense. You want me to make it so that you grew up with a super manly dad or brother. You want me to make it so your genetics are different, your history is different, so that you’re basically an entirely different person. I’m not sure I’ve ever altered anyone that much before. But… I’m willing to give it a try.

You’re an only child right? And you never knew your dad? Raised only by your mom? Good, that will make this much easier. Now, I should warn you that we’re going to have to be very careful. We’re going to use an artifact that my Uncle left to me. I’ve mentioned him before. I really should tell you all about him one day. Anyways, what we’re using to change you might not look like much, but… it’s very powerful. We need to use it carefully.

Ok, I know what you’re thinking. It’s a little statue of a metal tree. Yes I know I sound crazy but in a world with time travel, an app that turns people into meatheads, and reflections that can swap places with the person they’re reflecting, I think you can give me the benefit of the doubt. The little statuette doesn’t look like much, but it’s one of the most dangerous magic items I own. It’s known as the Family Tree, and it allows the user to, well, alter their family tree. Literally. All you have to do is press your thumb to the wooden base, and the tree grows and changes until it resembles your own family tree, complete with pictures. Then it’s as simple as moving some things around, or adding a picture to the tree. So, let’s get to work.

You asked for a super manly dad, or a super manly brother. But since we’re already changing your family, why not give you both? First let’s change out your deadbeat dad for someone a little more… impressive. A real man, a man’s man, one so muscular and sexy that if he walked out on your mom you’d still thank him for the amazing genetics. But don’t worry, your new dad isn’t going to walk out like the old one. He stayed with your mom (who as it turns out is a real babe with the right man encouraging her), and raised you to be just like him. He taught you how to play sports, how to workout, how to shave your hairy face, even how to make a girl putty in your hands. You were always especially talented at that last one. You’re starting to remember it aren’t you? Everything your dad taught you, how far you pushed yourself because you wanted to make him proud. You especially remember him showing him how to throw a football. In this world you were a natural.

Next is your brother. I don’t wanna give away your identity, or his, so let’s call him Brad. He’s actually your younger brother, not your older brother. You were the one who taught him how to be a man, how to be a stud, and in doing so, became an even better one yourself. As reality changes you remember growing up with him, teaching him the ropes, playing and working out with him. You even remember the girls you’d sometimes fuck together. You remember the first time you and him spitroasted a bimbo, how hot the girl looked and how proud and manly your brother was.

But let’s move on to you. In this life you took after your dad and your little brother, being a natural stud. You were a strong kid, an active kid, but puberty hit you like a dump truck. You shot up, your shoulders widened, and you gained an almost obscene amount of muscle and hair. You’ve got a different personality too. Cocky and confident, a constant flirt and a total bro. You thought you’d never settle down, fucking a different girl every night. Until… you met your wife. Yes, in this world you have a wife. She’s a bit of a bimbo, but the kindest person you’ve ever met. She enchanted you, and soon… while, you were married, and have stayed married for almost 20 years.

You’ve changed your past, your future, and everything about yourself. You’re finally the man you always wanted to be… but your kids are really the lucky ones. They’ve got awesome genetics, killer bodies, and a great dad to show them how to use it, just like how you did growing up.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

WRITE IT IN CHALK, SCREAM IT IN THE STREETS: MAY DAY 2025 IS HERE, AND THE WORLD IS DONE BEING QUIET

Closer to the Edge

 and 

Rook T. Winchester

May 01, 2025

It’s May 1, 2025, and somewhere between Bernie Sanders in Philadelphia and a Trump effigy rolling down the streets of Tokyo, a global chorus is shouting back: No more.

Before the rallies even began, sidewalks started speaking. Protesters in dozens of cities didn’t wait for permits or microphones — they grabbed chalk and wrote it plain. Because this May Day, it’s not just about shouting. It’s about spelling it out — right where the billionaires might step on it.

TRUMP, MUSK, AND THE BANNER YEAR FOR BILLIONAIRE BACKLASH

In the United States, more than 1,100 May Day events are planned in all 50 states. These aren’t just labor marches. They’re coordinated acts of rebellion against the most cartoonishly cruel government policies since, well, the last time Trump held office.

Federal jobs slashed. DEI programs gutted. Trans rights erased. Tariffs jacking up prices from fireworks to food. This is the world Donald built, and now even the sidewalks are telling him to resign.

Bernie Sanders, mittened avatar of working-class rage, is headlining the major rally in Philadelphia. Over in Florida, protesters are flooding streets from Orlando to Miami in what’s shaping up to be the most pissed-off block party in American history.

WORLDWIDE, THE MESSAGE IS CLEAR: THE PEOPLE REMEMBER

In Tokyo, a parade truck featuring a massive Trump doll rolled through the streets while protesters chanted for peace, fair wages, and climate action. Union workers carried signs criticizing global economic inequality — and yes, they absolutely know who Elon Musk is.

Taiwanese workers marched near the Presidential Office warning that Trump's tariffs are strangling local industries. Filipino activists rallied near Malacañang Palace, demanding protections from global greed. In Jakarta, 200,000 workers took to the streets with a message for President Prabowo: wages up, corruption out.

And back in the U.S., Los Angeles is hosting what could become the largest May Day protest in the country. Immigrant rights groups, service workers, teachers, and students are marching under one banner: “One Struggle, One Fight — Workers Unite.”

CHALK: THE UNSTOPPABLE, UNWASHABLE MEDIA

Before a single chant echoed through a megaphone, the first wave of protest came in chalk — smeared across campus quads, courthouse steps, and city sidewalks. Cheap. Washable. Unstoppable.

Messages are popping up like:

“Tariffs don’t feed families.”

“Healthcare is a human right, not a political punchline.”

“My uterus isn’t your battleground.”

“Workers make the world. Billionaires buy the credit.”

No arrests reported. No nationwide crackdown. And so far, no public works department has dared scrub the movement off the concrete. Not this time.

Because when the world writes something this clearly, even rain can't erase it.

WHY MAY DAY STILL HITS HARD IN 2025

This holiday began with blood and picket lines in the 19th century. The U.S. government has spent a century trying to rename, rebrand, or flat-out ignore it. “Law Day”? Cute. “Loyalty Day”? Orwellian.

But this year, the working class isn’t asking for a rebrand. We’re asking for the keys back.

Trump’s policies are breaking real people. Elon Musk is treating the government like his latest app. And somewhere in Mar-a-Lago, a man in a gold bathrobe is wondering why the peasants are so loud.

Because it’s May Day.

Because we’re still here.

Because we’re not quiet anymore.

Because we brought chalk.

So here’s what you do:

Grab a friend. Grab some chalk. Go write something true.

Doesn’t have to be perfect. Doesn’t have to rhyme.

Just make it honest. Make it loud. And make it impossible to ignore.

Because the billionaires already bought the microphones.

But the sidewalk? The sidewalk’s still ours.

[desire4ella]

𝐌𝐲 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐝 𝐀 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐧 ?

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 @trc-punzel ✰part3 of the Gif euphoria series

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Roomate!Jimmy x Reader x Twin!Jey

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You always had a thing for twins…

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1,006

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Daddy k*nk , Gagging , Cream Pie , Spitting

Looking for cheap apartments were really hard to find especially when you just recently moved into Las Vegas. For the past couple of weeks you have been staying in a motel browsing the internet in search of an affordable apartment . It was now night time, and even though you were tired and exhausted you still decided to keep doing your research. Low and behold you found yourself a perfect apartment with everything you needed in it,the only slight problem was that you’d be sharing it with a complete stranger….. you would deffo have to pad lock your room or sumn cause you can’t trust people nowadays. Being sneaky and shi you opted to find out who you were sharing your apartment with, so you searched up this app called “ roommate finder”.

Typing up the apartment complex info that you’ll be moving in too, it was able to spot the resident you would be staying with. “ So his name is Jimmy huh ?” you smirked and kept on scrolling through the pictures he added unto the website . “ He’s so fineeee Lord help me” you took a deep breath as you could feel your cooter mama starting to get a bit wet, laughing at your own stupidity you closed your laptop and sat it aside on your bed side table and proceeded to go to bed since tomorrow would be an eventful day seeing as though ur moving in with the roomate.

THE NEXT DAY

“ Thank you so much ” you smiled to the man who helped carry your luggage up to your apartment door, “ No problem Miss ” the man called “Jerry” presuming from the name tag clipped onto his milky, white shirt, he smiled and then turned around to head back to his truck. Taking a deep breath you finally examine the exterior of the building infront of you.

( pick which one you like )

Smiling you pick up the keys from your back pocket and push it into the key hole , rotating it to the right , the door slightly opens signifying that you can go in. Upon entering, you see…..

୨୧ JIMMYS POV ୨୧

“ Ay! Yo Uce! pass me the salt real quick” I say and continue to stir the pot of spicy, authentic Jamaican soup I made. Just as Jey was about to pass me the salt , I hear the front door squeak open. Halting my movements I quickly turn around attempting to catch whoever was brave enough to enter this house , knowing damn well I got my strap on me . ( boy please 🙄) I make eye contact with this very pretty woman “ Damn she sexy asf” I thought in my head ;forgetting that a complete stranger was in my house, biting my lip I futher study her curvaceous figure . I could deffo tell she keeps up with her maintenance because her skin was flawless and glistened like gold in the sunlight , not a single imperfection to be found and her long pink bow decorated nail set , sat perfectly on her delicate fingers.

“ And who tf is you ?” my brother rudely interupts. Visbly taken back from his sudden outburst she meekly responds “ I’m Jimmy’s new roommate…” Poor thing , she must have to be confused and have the wrong Jimmy because from what I know of, the app that I have on my phone ( Roomate Finder ) hasn’t notified me of any new incomers.

୨୧ JEY’S POV ୨୧

I had to laugh because ain’t now way this bitch gon come up in this house and claim to be my brothers new roomate when he doesn’t even have one , she must be drunk or sumn, though now that I’m looking at her properly she does look kindaaa…..Sexy . “ Bitch, get tf out!, you ain’t nobody’s roommate “ I said harshly as I place down the salt on the kitchen counter and hastily make my way towards her shy form. Now you can say that I’m a bit of an asshole for shouting at her ( ya think? 🙄) but what would you do if a random stranger randomly came inside your family’s house ? the same thing right ? mhmm thought so .

୨୧ JIMMY’S POV ୨୧

quickly grabbing my brothers arm , I drag him back “ Chill out bruh , clearly this is a misunderstanding ” I said and sat my brother down on one of the high top chairs around the counter . Turning my attention back towards her I gesture her to come inside. “ Jimmy are you dumb ? she could be a murderer for all we know !” Jey whispered aggressively making sure to keep a close eye on her every movements . “ Relax, I got this” I say and leaned back onto the fridge . “ Sooo you said you were my roommate. Is that correct?” I questioned with a straight face.

୨୧ YOUR POV ୨୧

I sure as hell wasn’t expecting this.Why is this man acting slow ? and who tf is that other midget shouting at ? anyways lemme keep my cool. “ Yes I just recently moved into Las Vegas about four weeks ago, I found a perfect apartment , which is this one and saw that I would be staying with a roomate , so obviously I had to check that I’m not bout to be living with some mad person, No offence” I paused and made eye contact with the man supposedly named Jimmy . He chuckled a bit “Nah it’s fine, I understand ” Smiling at his response I continued my story. “ Being noisy and shi I browsed the internet until I came across this website called ‘Roomate Finder’ and typed up the name of the apartment I would be staying in, I saw most of your pictures pop up and information about you, You seemed kinda cool and not weird so i decided to take the risk and live here.” There expressions were nothing short of confusion, I wanted to laugh so bad.

“ Hollup, lemme see sumn real quick ”…..

PT2. WITH THE SMUT SCENE COMING NEXT