#out of the closet and into the streets!!!!

[ledesaid]

Moments before 8 am

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"I am not going to school."

"Excuse me, what?" That's enough for Guy to turn down the TV volume.

Billy is sitting in front of Guy, who doesn't look very happy, and the reason is not that big of a deal, or so Billy thinks.

"Kid, all children have to go to school, otherwise the whole point of skipping a day or two is lost."

Billy's expression triggers a staring contest that leads the older one to look for something in his closet.

The staring contest resumes when the Lantern crosses his arms while holding a somewhat folded backpack in one hand, obviously attesting to having accompanied Guy at some stage of his life.

It was already a Monday and it wouldn't be long before the school buses picked up the children from the street.

"Come on, Cap, it'll be just one day and you can wear the clothes I bought last time."

Guy had taken him out, amid shouts and explosions from the watchtower; after the mutiny to steal part of the buffet, hiding in his modest apartment in Baltimore was the best option.

He shared it with Billy, as it should be, and now Monday had come to bring up that issue.

Courtesy of his nosy neighbor. Who didn't take long to make Guy understand that she was five seconds away from a call to social services if he didn't send his kid to school, because she didn't want him to be a delinquent like Guy. Obviously, she didn't know that he had a college degree and was a former police officer.

And although Guy had every intention in the world of making those couple of points clear to the annoying woman, it would be an unequal fight and he didn't play dirty. How difficult it is to have codes these days.

"I'm not going."

True. Billy. Only recently did he learn of his super-steroidal superpowers. The kid was doing a good job, he was eleven years old and that left him at least six years of his life managing on his own.

"Help me, Cap, that woman is going to bring trouble to both of us."

He admired him, he had grown up quite well despite his unfortunate circumstances. He didn't want a father or anything that defined itself as such, but he was open to looking for companions and friends.

If he understood correctly, this kid had been out of school for four years and that put him at a huge disadvantage with the other kids his age.

The process would be tedious and long, but Guy had a couple of teacher friends who could help him without asking too many questions.

He hoped the kid wouldn't ask about the strange sandwich he was preparing for lunch.

The clock ticks on and no progress. Time for bribery.

"Did you know I was a cop, Billy?"

"Is that a threat, Guy?"

Bad move.

"It's more of a... I can ask a friend to take you in a police patrol."

Billy smiles.

"Not bad at all. Actually, that sounds awesome! My friend Freddy would be jealous if I sent him a photo."

It would be a one-time noisy event. Billy thinks that. He could do something like that and then disappear as if nothing had happened. But one thing was missing for it to be memorable.

"Only if you include a pair of police sunglasses."

"Deal."

"But only for today."

"I have no problem with that, I’ll use the morning to move, and you'll be free to walk among pubescent youths like the demigod you are."

Guy hoped the day would be good enough for Billy to go back to school the next day. But if not... he had more cop friends in other states to try again.

[cappuccinoandglitter]

[I restarted this this morning and the muse actually did latch on so this will be a full-length thing now and I'll post it when it's done. But here's the intro, per the prompt above. I think this is all because I missed out on the Ren Faire last year and I miss it.]

Tommy Kinard grins broadly at the gold dollar coins the patron deposits in his hand. While most of the 'tourists' coming to the Renaissance Faire pay with dollar bills or even 'Master Card or Lady Visa', a few of the old timers and die-hards come prepared from the bank with actual dollar coins. These days you have to order them special, so he admires the commitment to the bit. He bounces the coins a little in his hand, enjoying the clinking metal sound, the weight of them, and then puts them in the register. "Howie, one Seafoam for the gentleman," he calls over his shoulder.

His business partner, Howie Han, already with a pint glass in hand, starts pouring from the tap. "Aye, m'lord! Comin' right up!" he replies in an exaggerated Irish brogue, which sounds all the more surprising coming from a Korean man.

Tommy chuckles. The tavern at the heart of the Faire has been doing really well since he took over five years ago. Back then, he wasn't sure the gamble would pay off, but so far, it has. He never saw himself as a front-of-the-house guy before, preferring to focus on the brewing process and the business side of it. But putting on his 'innkeeper' garb every Saturday and Sunday morning works like any uniform, putting him in a mindset he wouldn't normally be in. In his brown breeches and dark green shirt with the lace-up collar he leaves untied, he kind of feels in character, even if he doesn't actually have a character to play.

He pulls a washcloth from the pocket of his apron and starts wiping down the counter between customers. The current crowd is an even mixture of 'rennies', the regulars who dress up in period-accurate garb and usually purchase season passes so they can spend every weekend here, and the tourists in their street clothes.

And someone he recognizes. "Hey, Miss May," he says, smiling at the young woman. She's in what some call 'closet garb', a long skirt and peasant blouse that straddle the gap between modern clothes and costuming. "What can I get for you?"

"Scotch eggs are coming out of the frier in a minute," Howie tells her.

Tommy winces. He hates those things.

"Oh, no thanks," May Grant says. "Can I have an apple cider?"

"Absolutely!" Tommy says. While Howie is busy retrieving the Scotch eggs from the frier, Tommy pours May's drink and charges her only half the regular cost.

"Thanks, Tommy!" She takes her drink and wanders to an unoccupied table.

"Who's here for the Scotch eggs!" Howie crows.

"All right!" "Me!" come the various responses. A pair of tourists buy two eggs a piece and mill around for a moment, before zeroing in on May's table.

Tommy frowns, but just watches. Maybe she knows them. But the line for the eggs keeps growing, demanding his full attention, distracting him from what's happening at May's table until he hears her voice, raised slightly above the din. "I'm sorry, but you're invading my personal space!" Her table sits by the wall, and it looks like they're blocking her escape.

"Hey!" Tommy shouts, coming around the bar to intercept.

"We're just making conversation," one of the men say. He's clearly been trolling the festival grounds buying alcoholic beverages at every available opportunity, because he's well past the point Tommy would have served him anything.

"Yeah, my guy, we're jus' bein' fren-frenly," his companion slurs, and puts a hand on Tommy's shoulder.

Tommy reacts before thinking, knocking the hand off his shoulder and twisting it behind the man's back. "There's such a thing as too friendly."

"Ow! Ow! You're hurting me!" the man whines. Not such a big guy now.

The other guy seems to decide this is a bar fight now, but before he can get a blow in, a gauntlet grabs on to his forearm and holds him back. "My lords!" the knight booms theatrically. "Do you have any idea who the lady's mother is? If ye do not wish to face the wrath of Pirate Queen Athena herself, you will leave this establishment now."

Tommy looks at the knight, and his entire body freezes in place. There's no shortage of good looking actors on the cast, and Tommy is sure this guy is part of the cast, even if he hasn't seen him before. No mere rennie would have this kind of stage presence. Or know who May's mom is.

"Now, apologize to the lady," the knight says. His hair is a slightly sweaty mess of brown curls, and his eyes are a piercing sky blue, but Tommy's gaze keeps getting drawn to the lips that are on the redder side of pink and look like they would feel so soft against his own.

"Ow?" says the guy in Tommy's grasp that Tommy somehow managed to completely forget he was still holding onto.

Tommy tears his gaze away from the knight and lets the tourist go. "Yes, apologies are in order," he says. He can't do an accent to save his life, so he doesn't try.

The two men give May meek 'sorrys', and Tommy shoves the one against the other on the way out the door.

May looks fine, if a little shaken. "Thanks, Tommy," she says. "Thank you, Sir Evan." She says the last with a little smile and curtsy.

'Sir Evan' gives a small bow. "If you'll excuse me, I must escort these villains out of the shire." So he's going to make sure they get booted out of the faire entirely, good.

Tommy watches the knight walk away, briefly admiring the curve of his ass in his breeches.

Renaissance faire meet cute between tavern owner Tommy ("I brewed this ale myself") and a knight ("Sir Evan" he introduces himself as; only later does Tommy hear "Buck" but it's too late, he's registered that cute knight with the bisexual color flag as Evan in his head)

A couple of drunk faire attendants try to harass Tommy's friend's teen daughter and he steps in, and Buck steps in too. Two big strapping guys tend to convince people to back off, especially when one is built like a tank and the other is literally armored

Tommy gives Buck a free mug of ale, and they talk, and throughout the day Buck keeps coming back to the tavern and Tommy watches Buck at the joust

And instead of a girl's handkerchief as a favor, Buck takes the checkered handkerchief in Tommy's apron as his favor and ties it around his wrist

Buck wins the joust and canters over, hopping down to wink at Tommy, then kissing the piece of cloth around his wrist. Tommy can't help leaning over the fence to kiss Sir Evan for real.

[mercury2venus]

CHAPTER 2

THE INTERVIEW

" So Mr. Alexander — "

" Please, call me Kyle ." He smiled

" Okay. Kyle , tell me your story."

He looked at me with surprise. " No questions already in place ?" I let out a small chuckle. " I'd rather let you lead the interview. I speak for everyone when I say we want to know everything about you and what better way to do that is to just let you speak your piece ya know ? " I say to him.

Kyle gave me a light smile before answering.

" Of course. Well I'm from here, which I know is often debated. I was born and raised in Brooklyn till I was about 10. Then we moved to London. My mother wanted to be closer to our family,” he explained

" That explains the accent" I laughed .

" Exactly, and you're from Harlem correct? " he smiled

" Yea, I am...how'd you know that? I never told anyone." I leaned back.

" You're not the only person everyone is dying to know about Ms. Ali " he replied softly. He took a small breath. " I'm doing this interview with you because you see my work, my art for what it truly is, and I hope your readers can see your view just the same."

There goes that pretty boy villain look again. Intense and he knew it. But it takes more than some pretty blue sea green eyes and killer cheekbones to have me falter. I put on my game face. " Haute Couture was once just for the upper echelon. It came to Harlem like the second coming of Jesus. We always were fly! That's expected. But you ? You – I rambled.

" Had my ear to the streets ? That's what you said in your article." He tilted his head and smirked

I laughed. " You did though, your campaign with Dapper Dan changed the game. I myself own a few pieces.”

Kyle looked at me, those eyes of his held an emotion I rarely see. Admiration. " The brown crocodile and fox fur jacket. That was released this past fall for my ready to wear collection. "

I sat there dumfounded. I haven't worn that out yet right? No. It's currently in my closet.

Kyle continued " I know because I'm the one who sent it. It was designed with you in mind Ms. Ali. Why do you think it's a one of a kind."

Was he flirting ? I'm trippin' I have to be, I thought. "Well thank you for the jacket, that was kind of you. But honey I'm not model material you know those ladies are high class uppity . I'm a simple around the way girl. I'd expect you to design with Naomi in mind. " I rattled off. Suddenly I felt self conscious. I asked for another drink and turned back to Kyle

He smirked at me almost as if he was in awe. " Maybe that's what I like. I'm not fond of the high class and uppity as you call it. And given the chance you'd be in every design I can think of Miss Ali. " he replied softly

God he was doing wonders for my self esteem.

For the rest of the night we continued the interview. He was fascinating as he was witty. A Gemini. A Prince fan. An avid reader, lover of the arts and was diagnosed with synesthesia at an early age. Which he credits for his impeccable taste in fashion and color. I checked the clock above as I heard those around us countdown. Year 2000 was coming.

" So are you ready for the new year Ms. Ali ? he smiled lightly.

" I'm ready for everything all the time Mr. Alexander and please call me Mecca."

" Alright... Mecca, What are you doing after you leave here ?"

he asked me.

I looked into his eyes as 12 struck.

I watched his gaze find a home on my lips

" Guess I'm leaving with you, K." I smirked.

"K"... he chuckled. " I like that and I'd be more than glad to have your company for just a little longer."

the year 2000 was going to be an interesting one.

[basalting]

day three of @jasontoddweek2025 - monster - supernatural AU - league of assassins

Jason has always known he was different.

jason todd & catherine todd - changeling!jason - 1092 words

It wasn’t-

Jason always knew he was different. Knew it in how sometimes if he’s really mad, or really sad, things look… different. Knew it in how Daddy would flinch when he saw him sometimes, in how no matter how late he wandered the streets, none of the gangsters ever messed with him. Sometimes they’d try, and then Jason would look at them and they’d run away.

For a while the only one who never flinched, who never ran away, who would look at Jason and smile even when he felt too big and too strange and too different was Mama.

Once he asked her, after none of the kids at the park wanted to play with him, what he was. And Mama, had smiled at him and kissed his cheek and said, “You’re my baby, that’s what you are.”

But it hadn’t been enough, or maybe he got more different as he got older, or something. Cause not long after that Mama started using. Started running though dealers the way Jason ran through books.

Once, when Jason was trying to make her eat while high, she had grabbed his face, pupils huge in her eyes, and whispered, “Forest child, doesn’t it hurt? To be surrounded by cold iron?”

And then she laughed and laughed and laughed until Jason left her and her food and curled up to sleep in the closet.

Things got worse and harder and different after Mama died. Daddy was back in prison and none of the gangsters would mess with him but none of the street kids would let him stay with them either. The different was too different. It made people flinch, made them nervous. So Jason kept to himself, sold tires and scrap and whatever looked kinda pawn-able for food and second-hand clothes and socks.

And then Batman found him. And if Batman noticed the different he didn’t react, or maybe Batman was already so different that he didn’t notice Jason’s different.

But maybe he did.

So Jason kept his different inside, didn’t let it out the way he used to with Mama. Or only sometimes, once Bruce made him Robin.

Jason hid his different, and the way he was too big and too small and too much and too different. Only let it out when in fights or alone in his room. Because Bruce and Alfred and Dick and Babs; they didn’t flinch when they looked at him. He would do anything to make sure they didn’t stop looking at him like they wanted him around.

But Jason got older, and he got more different, and he didn’t stop hiding how different he was.

And then Dick was off planet and Babs was busy and Bruce- Bruce benched him. Bruce took Robin away from him, and- and Robin was- Robin was life! Robin was flying and fighting and helping and Robin was the only time Jason could be different without anyone noticing and getting hurt! Or scared!

He tried to keep it down, tried to keep the different tucked in tight to his bones. But he was so different and it was so hard and- And he wanted someone who wouldn’t care if he was different.

He wanted Mama.

———

Jason knew it was stupid to go back to the shitty apartment building they’d lived in. There wasn’t any way that it wasn’t being rented out to someone else. There wouldn’t be anything of the life he’d lived with Catherine here, but he couldn’t help but hope.

“Jason? Jason Todd?”

It was Mrs Walker, who used to push her kids behind her when she saw him but would also knock and leave leftovers for him to find on their door step. Scared of him but, kind. She smiled sadly, not quite looking at him. She gave him what she’d saved, Mrs Walker at least hadn’t changed. Still scared of him, still kind.

Tucked safely in his room, Jason slowly went through the box. Most of it was junk, old report cards and paperwork, not anything anyone still alive needed. A family photo, a tiny Jason cradled in Catherine’s lap with Willis standing behind her. And- And his birth certificate.

His birth certificate that did not say Catherine Todd was his mother.

———

Jason wasn’t stupid, he knew that blood wasn’t everything. Before the drugs Mama had been his Mama, had loved him even when he was different.

But.

But he couldn’t help but hope, couldn’t help but want this new mother. This blood mother to love him. To look at him, different and all, and not flinch. To love him anyway.

So he went, to Israel. To Lebanon. To Ethiopia.

Sheila Haywood didn’t flinch, she’d been surprised but she’d smiled. Told him about Willis, explained why she hadn’t been around.

Maybe. Maybe she was safe, to be different around.

———

And then the Joker.

———

Jason gasps awake, gags on blood and bile.

It figures, he thinks, the one time I want someone to flinch. They don’t.

“You’re awake.”

It’s Mom, Sheila. Tied to a support pillar, cheek and swollen and bruised. Her eyes look strange.

“I’ll-“ He swallowed thickly, “I’ll get you out Mom.”

“There’s a bomb.” She said it casually, like she didn’t care. Jason dragged his hurting, bleeding body towards her. Reached out broken hands to untie her.

“Don’t touch me!”

Her voice was sharp and mean.

“M-Mom-“

“I am not, your mother. You are a foul little monster. A disgusting creature that- that steals real children and then pretends to be them. This? This suffering and death? It’s what you are. What you bring. And what you deserve.”

Jason flinched, tried to swallow back the tears, couldn’t.

“P-Please- just let me-“

“I woke up and I knew,” Sheila’s eyes were cold and cruel, Jason didn’t want to hear what she was going to say. She said it anyway. “I knew you weren’t my son! Something happened, something took my son away and left me you. I couldn’t.”

Sheila shook her head, eyes haunted, “I couldn’t even look at you, not without seeing all the ways you weren’t my Jason, so I left you with Willis. And I never found my Jason again.”

Tick. Tock. Went the bomb.

“But at least,” Sheila sighed.

Tick. Tock.

“I’ll finally,”

Tick.

“See him again.”

Tock.

[decentwritings]

Chapter 5

Summary: At twenty-six, you never expected your life to look like this: a veteran, a college dropout, now running drugs to cover your late father’s debts. The military took you away for a brief moment, but now you're back in your hometown, keeping family at a distance to keep them safe. Your simple plan to clear the debt, one job at a time, unravels the moment Mabel steps into your life.

previous part <- -> next part

You manage to leave at nine, telling your mom and sister you have an early morning. They buy the lie and let you go, while Devin pesters you with questions about Mabel. He mentions she promised to bake a cake with him, which twists the knife even deeper as you head out the door. The guilt gnaws at you, but you push it down.

When you get home, you want nothing more than to hide under the covers and shut the world out. But you know better. There's no avoiding tonight. You sigh, forcing yourself into action, and head for the closet.

You open it, punch in the code on your safe, and scan your fingerprint. The door clicks open, revealing the gun, an extra magazine, and some cash laid out neatly. You stare at the gun for a moment, a bitter reminder of what you're getting pulled into.

Devin is a curious kid, which is why you had to upgrade to this new safe. You caught him playing with your old one, punching in random numbers for fun. The last thing you needed was for him to accidentally figure out the code, so you got one with a fingerprint scanner to avoid any risks.

You grab the gun, checking the current magazine before tucking the extra one into your pocket. The gun slides into your waistband, but you wince at how uncomfortable it feels. You've been meaning to buy a holster, but never got around to it. After tonight, though, you need to make time. Especially after that threat.

With about an hour left until you need to be there, you decide to walk around and clear your head. But the regret hits when you circle the block, your mind filled with thoughts of Mabel. The memory of her hurt, disappointed face plays over and over, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

As you finish your walk, the weight of the gun against your waistband feels heavier than it did before. No matter how many times you adjust it, the discomfort doesn't go away. The uncomfortable thoughts of Mabel mix with the sharp reality of what you're about to face tonight. You knew this would catch up with you one day, but you never thought it would happen like this—with someone like Mabel getting caught in the crossfire.

You check your phone. Thirty minutes left.

You make your way back to your apartment, mentally running through every scenario you can think of—ways to handle Nick, what to say if he pushes too far. But none of them feel right. You're too distracted. You can't shake the memory of Mabel's face, the way her voice trembled when she asked for her keys.

You shake your head, trying to refocus. Nick's the priority tonight. This isn't the time to let emotions mess with your judgment.

You get into your car and drive towards the meeting point, the streets eerily quiet at this hour. Each red light feels like a countdown ticking in your head. You park a block away from the spot, hands gripping the wheel as you watch the clock on your dashboard.

The lot isn't as empty as you close in on it. There are a few cars littered here and there. There's one specific car that's been here since your first drop with these guys. You think about asking around town for it; the car looks in good condition. You don't know why someone abandoned it here.

Nick hops out of the van with Oliver and Isaac in tow. There's a truck parked next the van and Costa and Tom hop out of it, and you feel a breath of relief come out of your mouth at the sight of the father.

You greet them with a nod then silent follow as they take the lead. Costa walks alongside you, head down, same as you.

"He knows about you and Mabel," Costa's voice is low, eyes focused on the back of Nick's head. You glance at him, giving him a look he understands well. He nods, pursing his lips in a thin line. "Charlie tried to get him to back off but–"

"Broke his hand?" You finish, and he nods. All you can do is shake your head.

"Listen," Costa sighs, waiting to see if Nick is listening. When the man keeps walking, he continues. "Mabel may say she can handle this but...she wants out–she is out. Keep it that way."

You swallow thickly. "I am," you tell him, and by the look on your face; he frowns. He understands and it break his heart. "I don't want her anywhere near this. Or you, man." You add, sending him a pointed glare.

Costa shrugs. "That dive you took, remember?" You nod, furrowing your brows. "That was suppose to be my last. But they needed an extra guy, and with Charlie out–I got pulled in. But this is my last one; no way they're reeling me into another one."

You nod, tucking your hands in your pockets. You were going to make sure of it.

You guys come to a stop towards the end of the lot. Some men stand there with a large container behind them. You crack your neck, hoping to relieve the ache and tension there. Something tells you this is bigger than the last. How these guys are moving big things without getting caught is beyond you. You'll worry about it later.

Nick exchanges some words with one of the men, too quiet for you to hear. You glance at Costa and he shakes his head, silently telling you not to ask. Tom steps forward, a large duffel bag in his hands you hadn't noticed before.

"It's all there," Nick says to one of the men, narrowing his eyes. Another one takes the duffel from Tom, practically snatching it from him then unzips the bag. You catch a glimpse of some stacks of one hundred dollar bills.

You look away, clenching your jaw. A cash exchange for whatever is in that container? This is ridiculous.

"Looks and feels like one mill," the man says, handing the duffel to his boss. You control your expression; one million dollars? That's more than you have ever heard them handle.

"Now, show me yours," Nick orders, crossing his arms.

The shorter one turns and begins to unlock the container. He struggles to open the doors but once he does, the sight of a powdered drugs fills the scene. From floor to ceiling of the container is filled.

Nick glances back, at all of you, a proud smirk on his lips. "Ronny is gonna have a field day," he whistles, tipping an imaginary hat at the drugs. "Alright. Pleasure doing business," he extends his hand towards the taller one and they shake hands before they leave.

Once they're out of sight, Nick turns to Tom with a sharp grin. "Last shipment, crew."

Tom scoffs, arms crossed, his unimpressed expression etched deeply into his face. Then again, that's his natural look. "You said that last time." He spits on the ground, eyes narrowing. "We're only here because Charlie back-talked you. We're done."

Nick's laughter is dry and humorless, cutting through the silence like a blade.

He scratches his chin, his grin fading into something darker. Without a word, he nods at Isaac. The man moves like a well-trained dog, pulling his gun and leveling it at Tom.

The crew tenses as Nick steps closer to Tom, who stiffens but doesn't back down. "I think you're confused," Nick says, his voice low and venomous. He looks over at Costa, flashing him a smile that's too friendly to be anything but a threat. "None of you are done. Not until I say you're done."

Your jaw tightens as Costa shifts beside you. He's done. You can feel it in the way he won't meet your gaze, his shoulders slumping under the weight of Nick's words. Tom's done. Hell, even you're done. But none of that matters to Nick.

You glance at Oliver. His eyes meet yours, pleading silently: Don't. But your inner voice-the one that remembers your father's mistakes—won't stay quiet. Don't let Costa turn out like him.

Your decision comes fast. Too fast. Before you can think, your hand shoots out, grabbing Isaac's wrist. There's a sickening crunch as his fingers bend unnaturally, and the gun slips from his grasp. He yells in pain, stumbling back, but you don't stop. You raise it with certainty, aiming it squarely at Nick.

The shift in the room is instant. Nick's smirk vanishes, replaced by a cold, calculating stare. Around you, the crew freezes, their breath caught in their throats. Even Isaac's groans fade into the background as the blood roars in your ears.

Nick's eyes narrow, flicking to Oliver. The silent command is clear: Do something.

Oliver hesitates, his hand hovering near his holstered weapon. For a moment, he's unreadable. Then you see it—hesitation, uncertainty. It's a crack in the soldier's armor, and it shifts the balance in the room.

"What the hell are you waiting for, Oliver?" Nick snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut. "Do your damn job!"

But Oliver doesn't move. His gaze drops to the floor, fists clenched. It's a small rebellion, but the defiance radiates from him. You catch the flicker of frustration in Nick's expression, and the tension tightens like a noose.

Oliver's fingers twitch toward his weapon. Instinct takes over. You pivot, leveling the gun at him before he can even draw. He freezes, hands slowly rising as his glare burns into you. He's angry–probably humiliated–that you outmaneuvered him. For a soldier with more time in the field, it's a bitter pill to swallow. You're surprised yourself, but there's no time to dwell on it.

Without breaking your aim, you step forward and yank his gun from its holster. The weight is familiar now, your grip steady. You toss it to Tom, who catches it with a quick nod and points it at Nick.

"Now where did a pretty girl like you get the balls do all this?" Nick asks, sarcastic, like he has no gun on him. His arms raise when Tom waves the gun at him, and he glares back.

"The Army, jackass," you retort, clenching your jaw. His eyes flicker to Oliver, who avoids his gaze. He looks pissed, angry that Oliver knew and didn't share this information. "New deal. You leave them out of this; you got me. I was Army, a Ranger...and I have photographic memory." You add, hoping he bites the bait. You can't have Costa in this anymore.

Costa's eyes widen, along with Tom's. Oliver's face changes from anger to impressed.

Nick snarls. "Bullshit," he huffs, glancing at each of them for their reaction.

You raise a brow. "Yeah? I caught one glimpse of your license once, six months ago," you start and he raises a brow, unsure of where you're going. "S51973690. I also know Isaac and Oliver's license number by heart. And every location you've made a deal at. Every face, every plate number that's crossed my path. You think I can't take this all to someone higher and have them hunting you down within the hour?"

Nick's smirk falters, the confidence in his eyes dimming as he weighs your words. The rest of the crew stands frozen, exchanging uneasy glances. Costa's jaw tightens, clearly surprised by your sudden gamble, but he doesn't say a word. Tom's grip tightens on Oliver's gun, keeping it steady on Nick as he watches for any sudden movements.

"You're bluffing," Nick spits, but his voice has lost some of its edge. "You wouldn't anyway. I may go down but two more will take my place. Ronny isn't an idiot. He covers his bases."

You tighten your hold on the gun. You know. That's why you haven't shot him yet.

"So take my offer," you say back, voice firm as your glare. In the corner of your eye, you see Costa's need to argue but you shut him down with a glare. "You leave them out of this, and I'll be your fall guy. It's your choice."

Nick looks at you, his eyes narrowing as he calculates his next move. His fingers twitch, like he wants to call for backup or grab a weapon, but the power has shifted. He knows it, and so do you.

After what feels like an eternity, Nick lets out a frustrated sigh. "Fine," he growls, lowering his hands slowly. "Alright. "

You nod, lowering your gun but keeping your gaze locked on his. "Understood. But if you step out of line, I'll make sure no one comes out clean."

Nick glares at you for a moment longer before signaling for Isaac and Oliver to fall back. You can feel Costa's tension ease beside you, but the air between you all is still thick with distrust. This isn't over, but for now, you've bought them some time.

"We still need someone with a boat–" Nick's eyes flicker to Tom, "to take this shipment."

Tom lowers his gun. "I'll do it." You open your mouth to disagree, but he shakes his head. "Nah, kid, it's just me. No one else will be on that boat but me." He sends a pointed glare to Costa.

Costa lowers his gaze, but you don't miss the frown on his lips. He wants to argue, but he's now selfishly not; for his kid. Finally, you think.

Nick nods then leans to grab Isaac off the ground. The guy grunts as he stands, holding his broken hand close to his chest. He glares at you as they all walk away, sullen and two of the three feeling castrated. As Nick and his crew turn to leave, you glance back at Costa. His face is a mix of relief and concern, but he gives you a slight nod—a silent acknowledgment of what you just did for him.

Tom hands you back Oliver's gun, his eyes filled with questions, but you don't answer any of them. Instead, you tuck it in your waistband and exhale shakily. You may have just stepped deeper into the fire, but at least for now, Costa is safe.

For now, that's all that matters.

\\\\\\

Nick is not one to get revenge. The disrespect he receives, he plans to give back. The same way people say "you get respect when you give respect," is the same way he plans to get back at you.

The plan is simple. Isaac happens to have a piece of technology that can change the traffic lights with the flip of a switch. So, on your way home, you'll end up in a car accident.

Simple and brutal—just the way Nick likes it. The plan would leave no trace back to him, just an unfortunate "accident." A part of him wants to linger behind, so you can see it was him. But he knows you'll get the message. Isaac, always eager to get his hands dirty, agrees without hesitation. There's a sense of thrill in his eyes that sends a chill through anyone who notices.

Oliver being MIA makes things easier for Nick. He knows Oliver wouldn't approve—he's not as cold-blooded. But Isaac? Isaac has no reservations. They don't need Oliver for this. They just need the right moment.

It happens two days later. You're driving home with your nephew in the backseat. He's full of excitement like he always is after a day at the beach. Your sister is in the passenger seat, humming every once in a while to let her son know she's listening.

You're too in your head to focus on what either of them are saying. At this rate, you're just moving by nature. You're used to the drive back to your sister's place after a day at the beach. You can do it with your eyes closed.

As you drive, your nephew's chatter fades into the background, and your sister's humming becomes white noise. Your thoughts circle the events of the last few days, especially Nick's warning glares, and the unease that's been gnawing at you since. You can't shake the feeling that something's off, but you tell yourself it's paranoia.

The intersection ahead is coming up, the same route you've taken countless times. The light turns green, and without hesitation, you begin to drive through.

Then it happens—too fast for you to react.

The flash of headlights to your left, a truck barreling toward you. Your heart jumps to your throat as you slam the brakes, but the truck is moving too fast. The sound of screeching tires and the deafening crash of metal against metal fills the air as the truck slams into the side of your car.

The force sends your vehicle spinning. Glass shatters, your sister screams, and all you can think about is Devin in the backseat. Your hands grip the wheel, trying to regain control, but it's too late. The car skids off the road, coming to a violent halt.

Silence. The world seems to stop for a moment, save for the ringing in your ears and the ragged breaths coming from your chest. You blink, your vision blurry, and then you hear it—your nephew's soft, terrified whimper from the backseat.

Panic floods your body as you struggle to turn around, pain shooting through your side. "Devin," you gasp, your voice hoarse. You see your sister moving, clutching her arm, but she's alive. Devin looks shaken, but unharmed. Relief washes over you.

But as you sit there, adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you know—this wasn't an accident. This was Nick.

And as you hear several people around your car asking if you are all okay, you see in the distance the van. The all too familiar van. The windows are tinted but you know he's behind them with a smirk on his lips.

Your teeth grit as you attempt to shove the door open, wanting to chase after him. But you stop the instant you hear your sister stir beside you.

As the sirens get closer, you see the van drive off. You huff out a breath, tired and in pain. You glance up and see a drop of blood roll down your forehead. You look to your sister, guilt rising in your entire system as you see her face with cuts.

Eventually, the ambulance arrives and a paramedic rushes over to help you all out with the help of some firefighters. You urge them to help your nephew and sister out first, and thankfully they listen. But once you're out, adrenaline overcomes you and you feel no more pain.

You decide now isn't the time to face Nick. You ride to the hospital with your sister and nephew, your heart racing as you try to shake off the worry flooding your mind. You watch as the paramedics tend to them, checking for any serious injuries. Devin clutches his mother's hand, wide-eyed but trying to be brave.

"Mom, I'm scared," he whispers, glancing between you and your sister.

"It's okay, buddy. We're going to be just fine," she reassures him, her voice strong despite the pain etched on her face. You feel a surge of protectiveness towards both of them, a fierce determination to keep them safe.

Once inside the ambulance, you sit next to your sister, the paramedic checking your forehead. "Just a small cut, but we'll clean it up," he says, his hands gentle but firm. You nod, barely feeling the sting as he dabs at the blood.

"Where's the driver? Is he okay?" your sister asks, her brow furrowed with concern.

"They're checking him out," the paramedic replies, glancing back at the driver, who is being treated by another team. "You were all very lucky. It could have been much worse."

You don't feel lucky. The image of the van, Nick's smirk, haunts you, reminding you that he's still out there, still a threat. The urge to find him burns in your chest, but right now, you need to focus on your family.

As the ambulance jolts to a stop outside the hospital, you grab your sister's hand. The doors open but you pause to check the surroundings.

Once inside the hospital, the chaos of the emergency room swirls around you. Nurses and doctors bustle about, tending to patients in varying degrees of distress. You're ushered to a waiting area, the bright fluorescent lights harsh against your eyes.

"Devin, I need you to stay close to me," your sister says, her voice steadier now. You watch as she holds onto him tightly, the bond between them a source of strength

As they're taken to a treatment area, you step away for a moment, your heart pounding. You pull out your phone, mind racing with thoughts of how to find Nick. You need to know where he is, how to track him down.

Mabel comes to mind then. He attacked you, got you, your sister and nephew. He can't be after her either. Why would the idiot come after you anyway? You guys made a deal.

As you sit down, staring at the bustling activity around you, you resolve to gather your strength and figure out your next move. Nick thinks he can intimidate you, but he has no idea what you're capable of when it comes to protecting the people you love.

"Hey, are you alright?" a nurse asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. You nod, forcing a smile, but inside, you know this isn't over. Not by a long shot.

You stand, grateful for the interruption on your thoughts. "I have to go but my sister and nephew are being treated," you tell her, and she nods to inform you she's listening. "Could you tell her I had to go? I have something to do."

The nurse seems unimpressed, a look of judgement flashes across her face but she's quick to hide it. She nods then walks off in the direction the room your sister is in.

You're rushing out of the hospital, completely missing Mabel's screeching stop as she arrives. You're walking towards your house with determination, the adrenaline still pumping through your veins. The weight of what just happened hangs heavy on your chest, but you push it down, focusing on the task ahead. Nick can't be allowed to get away with this.

As you walk, thoughts of Mabel swirl in your mind. The idea of him targeting her ignites a fire within you, fueling your urgency.

The night air is cool against your skin as you approach your house. You glance around, making sure no one is following you. Once inside, you lock the door behind you and immediately head for your room. You need to gather anything you might need—your phone, your knife, your gun, and whatever else you can grab in case you need to make a quick escape.

You sit on your bed for a moment, your heart racing as you pull up Mabel's number. You stare at her number, exhaling a breath as your thumb hovers over the call button. You stop, deciding now isn't the best time to call.

Mabel receives your message as she sits with Devin, his head rested on her shoulder while your sister is getting her wrist splint. With the adrenaline, she hadn't realized it was broken.

I know we aren't talking but...

Are you okay?

Mabel frowns. When she didn't find you in the room with your sister, she assumed you went out to do something stupid. She glances at Devin, who remains sleeping peacefully as if this whole thing didn't just happen.

She's still mad at you. For pushing her away and not fighting for her to stay. But when she heard the news of your crash, she rushed over, her anger disappearing. Here she is now, angry while also worried sick about you.

I'm fine. I'm at the hospital with your sister and nephew. Where are you?

You know where she is. That's all you care about. You lock your phone, choosing not to answer and double check the items you have on you. Once you're done, you head out in search for the bastard.

You don't know where he is but you're going to find out. He's not stupid enough to be at his home but you check there first. You come up empty. So you go to Oliver's place, pounding on his door when you arrive.

You step back, he towers over when he opens the door. He raises a brow and frowns. "You look like shit." He comments.

"Where is he?" You asks, tightening your jaw. He tilts his head in confusion. "Nick. Where is he?" You repeat, voice much harsher than ever.

Oliver's expression shifts from confusion to concern as he takes in your urgency. "I don't know. I haven't seen him since—"

"Since the crash?" you cut him off, frustration boiling over. He's confused again. "He caused an accident, a crash. My sister and nephew were in the car with me." You practically shout.

Oliver's eyes widen. "Is that why you're all fucked up?"

You send him a deadpan glare. "Thanks." You shake your head. "Where is he?"

Oliver shakes his head. He steps back, allowing you to enter his apartment. "Slow down. You need to calm down and think this through. You can't just charge in without a plan."

"Calm down?" you snap, your voice rising. "Did you not hear me? My sister and nephew were in the car! You think I'm going to sit back and wait for him to make his next move?"

Oliver runs a hand through his hair, clearly torn. "Okay, okay. Just give me a second. Let me think." He heads toward his living room, motioning for you to follow.

You huff, watching him search for something. You glance around his living room, eyebrows furrowing. "What were you doing?"

Oliver glances back, looking at you in between his search through some papers. "I wasn't with him," he tells you, returning to what he's doing. "He probably knew I wouldn't help him."

"That's reassuring," you mumble, gripping your side when you feel an ache. You shake it off and exhale a breath.

Oliver pulls a piece of paper out and smiles. "Here." He walks over to you and hands you the paper. "I had to do a run for Ronny, the boss himself. Nick put in a good word for me, the biggest pay day I ever had."

You take the paper, eyeing it. You memorize it then look at him in silent question.

"He should be there. He hides out at Ronny's when he knows he's done something stupid," Oliver tells you. You nod, a grateful look crossing your face. Before you move to leave, he stops you with a stare. "Be careful. I'd go with you but...I told them I'm out. Told them I go back for a tour next week."

You pause, holding his gaze for a moment. "How'd you manage that?" There's a hint of surprise in your voice, but deep down, you're glad to hear it.

Oliver chuckles with a shrug. "I lied." You crack a smile, extending your hand out to him. He takes your hand, gripping it tightly. "But if you need me to stay to help, say the word. I've been wanting to kick his ass for a while now."

You shake your head but you're grateful. "You're done, Cap. Get outta here." You say in your best authoritative voice. He chuckles and releases you, allowing you to leave.

You rush out, trying to figure out the best way to get to this place on foot. You look left then right, before finally coming up with the idea of flagging down a cab. You can't afford to waste time walking, not when every second counts. The streets are still busy enough at this hour, and as luck would have it, a cab pulls up after a few minutes. You hop in, giving the driver the address Oliver gave you.

As the car weaves through the city, you can't stop your mind from racing. You think about your sister, your nephew, and Mabel—everything you've been through and everything you stand to lose if you don't stop Nick. Your hand unconsciously moves to your side, feeling the soreness from the crash.

The cab pulls up a block away from the address, and you pay the driver before stepping out. The area is quiet, too quiet. You can feel the tension in the air, knowing that Nick is nearby, hiding out like the coward he is. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you approach the building. You pull your knife out and grip the handle tightly.

It's an old warehouse, one of those places you wouldn't look twice at. But now, it feels like the center of the storm. You glance around, making sure no one's watching before slipping inside. The place is dimly lit, and you can hear faint voices in the distance. You grip your knife tighter, knowing this could be your only chance to end it.

You move through the shadows, inching closer to the sound of the voices. You spot Nick, laughing with a couple of guys, his back turned to you. The anger bubbles up inside you, but you force yourself to stay calm. You need to wait for the right moment.

But then, you feel a hand on your shoulder. You still, feeling their grip on your shoulder tighten.

"Ahh, the one with the memory, right?" You can smell the smoke on his breath. He allows you turn to face him and he smiles, like he's just seen a long time family member. "Please, join us." He pushes you and you stumble, stepping into the center of the warehouse.

All eyes fall on you and your jaw tightens as Nick smirks in your direction. They knew you were coming.

Nick feigns a grimaces. "Ooh, that looks bad," he jests, earning laughs from the others. "Did you get in a car accident or something?"

You lunge at him but you're stopped by two large men, who grab your arms and hold you back with ease. The knife in your hand clatters to the floor and one of them kicks it off in some direction. The laughter continues as Nick stands there, looking smug and completely in control. His smirk deepens as he steps closer, eyeing you up and down. The men take the chance to disarm you, taking your gun away from you now. They even take your phone from you.

One of the men clicks the lock button and your phone screen brightens, he then shows Ronny the screen.

Ronny brightens. "Aww, you're the one with my precious Mabel Black Label?" Your jaw tightens, the hold on you getting tighter the more you fight. "You know, she's a special one. She helped her mom a lot, made us a lot of money. It was sad to let her go."

Your heart races as Ronny's words sink in. The mention of Mabel, her name coming from his mouth, twists your stomach into knots. You clench your fists, struggling against the iron grip of the men holding you.

"You see, we let her go," Ronny continues, reading over the message on your phone from Mabel. He clicks his tongue three times. "But I'm thinking we made a mistake. Maybe it's kismet, you know? How she always comes back here, like she wants to belong somewhere. And maybe she belongs here...with us."

Nick cracks a smile. "We should be thanking you, Faro." He teases, using your nickname. It sounds like a curse word coming from him.

Your muscles tense against the hold of the two men restraining you. Every fiber of your being wants to tear him apart, but you know you're outnumbered and outgunned.

"Leave Mabel out of this." You get out through gritted teeth, narrowing your eyes.

Ronny frowns, shaking his head. "No. You see, with you two together;" he pauses, pocketing your phone. "The cash flow will be endless. Your memory, her smarts, your fight, her feistiness–I can see it now. We'll own this town by the end of the year."

Your stomach churns as Ronny's words sink in. The thought of Mabel being dragged back into this life makes your skin crawl. You feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you, but you refuse to show weakness.

Ronny pats your cheek gently, then pinches your cheek. "You're like your father. Talked a big game. Said he would have the money by the end of the week, blah blah blah–it was an endless cycle." He shrugs, shaking his head with disappointment.

The mention of your father makes you lower your guard. It always does when these guys mention him. You wanted information on how your father was around them, because you couldn't figure how he got himself in this mess. Sure, there was gambling but...what else?

"Here's the plan," Ronny nods, silently ordering the men to release you. You nearly fall over, but manage to stable yourself to stay standing. "You care about Mabel, I care about Mabel–hell, everyone in this room cares about Mabel, right, guys?"

You flicker your gaze to them all when they nod. You even hear one of them say they saw her take her first steps. Your jaw tightens, feeling overloaded with the need to fight. But this is a lost battle. You know it.

"So, here's the thing," Ronny takes a deep breath. "We got people wanting to shut us down. Cops, they always wanna ruin the party." He scrunches his nose.

You're not sure where this going.

"Find a way in to the police station," he continues, crossing his arms. "Get the list of CIs and UCs because we can't have them ruining our party." He smirks.

Your mind reels as Ronny lays out his twisted plan. He wants you to infiltrate the police station, betray the very people trying to take down his operation. It's a trap, one that pulls you deeper into the criminal underworld you've been trying to escape.

The thought of betraying anyone, let alone risking the lives of cops—people who could be trying to keep Mabel and your family safe—makes your blood run cold. But the weight of Ronny's leverage, the looming threat to Mabel, presses down hard.

"You're insane if you think I'm going to help you with that," you say, your voice steady despite the whirlwind inside.

Ronny smirks, unfazed. "Oh, I know you don't want to do it. But you will. Because if you don't, well..." He glances around at the men before lowering his voice. "Let's just say, Mabel won't have a choice. She'll come back, and she'll come back worse."

Your fists clench as the reality hits you. He's not bluffing. If you don't comply, Mabel will be dragged into this nightmare, and she won't come out the same. You can't let that happen.

"How the hell am I supposed to get in?" you ask through gritted teeth, knowing you're already losing this battle.

Ronny shrugs casually, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. "You've got connections, don't you? Family ties, friends in the right places. You've been around long enough to know how to get what you need."

You want to punch him, break free, anything but play his game. But the threat against Mabel lingers heavy. You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. "And what happens when I get the list? You think they're just going to let me waltz out of there with classified information?"

Ronny grins. "You got that memory thing," he taps your forehead and you fight back the urge to slap his hand away. "Get the list, bring it back here or write it down after memorizing it, and you'll never have to worry about us again. No one will touch Mabel, or you, ever again."

You don't trust him, not for a second. But right now, it's the only way to keep Mabel safe.

"And that's it? We're done?" You ask, glancing at all of them.

Ronny shrugs. "She is. You're not." He answers. "Consider it your way of paying her mother's debt off. She tried to do that for a while, in more ways than just running drugs if you know what I mean?"

The men surrounding you laugh and your hands tightened into a fist.

"Get the list and Mabel is safe." You wait to see if he has more to say. He looks around for a second then leans forward. "As for her boyfriend, he's a different story. But it works well for you because you'll have no competition."

You furrow your brows. "Charlie? What does Charlie have to do with any of this?"

"Well, his brother's father killed one of my best," Ronny responds like it's obvious. "Left a woman a widow and a daughter without his father. And well, a daughter needs her father, right?" He sends you a knowing smile.

Your face twists into a snarl, causing him to laugh. He pats your shoulder then reaches for your phone in his pocket. He hands it to you and waits for you to take it.

It's his way of seeing if you'll take his offer.

You hesitate, staring at the phone in Ronny's hand as if it's a loaded weapon. Accepting it means you're agreeing to his twisted deal, putting yourself deeper into this mess. But if you don't, Mabel's life—and now Charlie's—hangs in the balance.

The mention of Charlie's brother, Tom's father gnaws at you. You heard the story. About the old man who shot Weeks dead. He's Tom's father. And the guy is still working with this crew? How much of an idiot are the people in this town.

Right, you're not one to talk.

But now, Ronny's threatening to use that against him, against you all. He's putting more than just Mabel's life in your hands. Charlie warned you. Stay away from Mabel.

You should have listened.

You reach out slowly, gripping the phone as the tension thickens in the room. Your stomach churns, but you force yourself to stay composed. This isn't just about you anymore. It's about keeping Mabel and her friends safe from this maniac.

Ronny smirks as you take the phone, satisfied. "Good. Now, you've got two days. Make it happen, and maybe this all blows over for Mabel. Maybe."

You turn on your heel, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing any more reaction from you. As you head toward the exit, the weight of the situation settles heavy in your chest. You glance back just once, seeing Nick leaning against the wall, smug as ever.

But this isn't over. One way or another, he's going to get what's his from you.

As you step outside, the cool night air hits you, and you finally allow yourself to breathe. You look down at your phone, wondering how you're going to pull this off without losing everything, or worse—without losing Mabel.

~~~~~~

hi, hello,

sorry for the delay on this chapter. I hope you all had a great holiday and have a great new year. my classes started up again and the next couple of chapters may take some time to post as I already have a butt load of homework (and it’s just the first week). thank you guys for liking my writing, all the support actually encouraged me to post this Mabel story so really thank you.

I’ll see you on the next one, thank you!🫶🏼

[cherry-burst]

Gordon Ramsay Voice: FUCKING RAWWWWWWWWW

STARTING CALEB'S TRAILER WITH A BACK VIEW AND HIM MOANING WAS SUCH A POWER MOVE

[daisyangelbaby]

vulnerable satoru :’(

Angst with happy ending

The apartment was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the muffled sound of the street outside. But inside, the air was thick with tension, an argument hanging between Satoru Gojo and you like a storm cloud about to burst.

"I’m telling you, “you’re overthinking this!" Gojo's voice was louder than usual, frustration lacing every word. He ran a hand through his hair, his usual carefree attitude replaced with something darker, more intense. "It's not like that, I swear."

You crossed your arms, glaring at him, your heart pounding. "It's exactly like that, Gojo! You never listen to me! You always just brush me off like I’m some side issue—like I don’t matter!"

His eyes widened at the accusation, his jaw tightening, but before he could speak, you turned away, your hands shaking with anger. "You know what? I’m done. I can’t keep doing this."

Gojo froze. "Wait, what are you talking about? Don't—"

But you didn’t let him finish. Without another word, you moved toward the bedroom, grabbing a small bag from the closet. Your motions were sharp, deliberate, and it hit him like a ton of bricks. You were actually leaving.

It was too late.

Gojo’s breath caught in his throat as he watched you stuff clothes into the bag, each item a tiny reminder of everything slipping away. His chest felt tight, suffocating. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was stuck in his throat. His heart accelerating and becoming so loud in his ears.

"Y/N, please... don't." His tone faltered, something breaking within him. He took a step forward, but you didn’t look at him. Didn’t even acknowledge him. Your movements killing him.

The sound of the zipper closing echoed in the room like a finality he couldn’t escape. The door creaked slightly as you moved toward it, and for a moment, Gojo thought he might fall apart right then and there.

He didn't know what to say, what to do. His mind flashed back to another time, another person. Suguru.

"Y/N, wait!" he choked out, but his voice was weak, barely audible. He didn’t want to admit it—didn’t want to even think it—but the fear clawed at him. The same fear he'd felt when Suguru left, the same helplessness, the same panic.

He could hear the echo of that day in his head—the darkness, the emptiness, the feeling of losing someone who meant more than anything, only to realize it was too late to change things. His heart ached, panic creeping in. No, not again. Not like this.

He was already walking toward you, his feet barely touching the ground, as if the room was spinning under him. You reached for the door handle, and that’s when he broke.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you close, burying his face into your shoulder, as if holding you would stop the inevitable. His voice was barely a whisper, trembling with raw, desperate emotion.

"I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry. Please… please don’t go."

Your heart twisted at the sound of his voice, so full of fear and regret. But you didn’t respond. You stood there, frozen in his embrace, not sure if you could move past the hurt. The room felt like it was closing in, both of you standing on opposite ends of a deep chasm.

"I didn't mean it," Gojo whispered again, his tears soaking into your skin. His shaky hands tightened around you, as if he thought you might vanish if he let go. "I swear, I didn’t mean it. I don’t want you to leave me. I—I can’t…"

His voice cracked, and your resolve wavered for just a moment. He pulled you tighter, the desperation in his grip sending a wave of guilt crashing through you. He *never* showed weakness. He never *needed* anyone. But now, it was clear how much you meant to him.

"Please… please don’t leave me," he repeated, over and over, as if each word was a plea to undo everything that had gone wrong. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I need you. Don’t go."

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of his uneven breaths and the weight of your shared silence. Then, slowly, you reached up and touched his arm, your fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. "Gojo... you don’t realize how much you hurt me when you act like I don’t matter. Like I’m just something you can push away whenever it’s convenient for you."

He flinched, and you could feel him shudder against you. He knew. He knew. And the guilt, the regret, was eating him alive.

"I’m sorry," he whispered again, and this time, the words sounded like a broken promise, like he was begging for a second chance. "I don’t know what I’d do without you. Please... I’ll fix it. I’ll change. Just don’t leave me."

You could hear the sincerity in his voice, the way it cracked under the weight of everything unsaid between you both. Slowly, you turned in his arms, your face inches from his, and for the first time in ages, you saw the vulnerability in his red rimmed eyes—vulnerability that scared you just as much as it softened you.

"Gojo..." Your voice was hoarse, but you held his gaze. "I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine. You can’t keep pushing me aside, expecting me to just wait around for you to realize you need me. I have my limits too."

He nodded, his forehead resting against yours as he closed his eyes. "I know. I’m sorry. I was an idiot. I thought I could push everything aside, keep everything under control... but I can’t do this without you. Please." His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that you hadn’t even realized had started falling.

The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn’t cold. It was filled with the weight of everything unspoken, the quiet understanding that this wasn’t just about an argument—it was about fear. Fear of losing someone. Fear of not being enough.

"I’m not going anywhere," you whispered, voice soft but steady. "But you need to change, Gojo. You need to realize that I’m not just a side story in your life. I’m not going to keep doing this if it means I’m always second."

"I will," he whispered back, pulling you into a tender kiss, slow and full of meaning. "I promise. I’ll do better. For you."

The kiss lingered, deep and full of unspoken apologies, before he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours again.

"Stay with me?" he asked quietly, his voice still raw but steady.

You smiled, just a little. "I’m not going anywhere," you repeated. "But this is a two-way street, Gojo. I need to know you’re in this too."

"I’m in this," he said with certainty, holding you even closer. "I’m in this with you. Always."

“And please don’t call me gojo anymore. You’re killing me.”

[dreamyintersexouppy]

i feel a little sad that i transitioned publicly and with zeal partially through no fault of my own (a friend i talked to outed me to my family behind my back) but also just through ignorance. i had very little knowledge of trans people let alone trans women. the only trans person i knew was my transmasc friend who came out to me and opened the doors of possibility for me. i had obviously internalized my societies transmisogyny but i wasn't conscious of it enough to act on it intentionally, like by fearing leaving the closet.

this was all back in 2015 too, the last decade has been a massive uptick in the visibility of trans women, mostly negatively, but back then i had less idols less visible sisters and no community. i was the only public trans person in my high school, i had babytrans underclassmen looking up to me even though i was still just as much a kid as they were. it felt so rough and messy and like i was being treated like a test run by the people around me, but very few times did i question what i was or harbor hatred for my transfemininity and i think that's mostly because of my lack of knowledge.

i've learned so much since then and i think if i knew all this when i was a scared little kid, still coping with my disabilities and sexual abuse, the idea of leaving the closet would have been the most cosmically terrifying thing in the world. even just experiencing it in ignorance i hated my visibility, i hated being treated like i should be a leader by cis and trans people, like i was emblematic of a monolith that i ostensibly felt not a part of since i didn't meet a single other transfem in real life until i cracked one of my friends egg. basically i really see the fear and loneliness that can be in the closet because my experience really was terrible and messed up a lot of my developing years, but i wouldn't trade it for anything. i would rather live as a woman and pick up the pieces of my life to build it all over again day after day than still be lying in bed planning the day i die ripping holes in my skin in hopes that all the pain might stop the yearning i felt for what i had no understanding of.

basically i have a lot of love and sympathy for transfems in the closet, but i also never intend to let them stay there. that miserable limbo is a construct of our society, an unspoken punishment inflicted unfairly on my sisters that they should never have had to endure. for however long any transfem stays in the closet, for any valid reason that they need to, i support them and love them, but i weep for them anyway and hope the day they feel safe and loved and like themselves will come. not because i want to push them out of the closet but because they never should've been placed there to begin with. it feels like a voluntary act, but if you Know the closet and what waits right outside its door, you know it's a prison and you don't ever truly get to choose when or how you leave

[mysteriousxgirls]

Aida’s footsteps were heavy as they walked together to her apartment, the weight of the night pressing down on her shoulders. She glanced over at Leo, his bruised hands and split lip a stark reminder of the violence he’d just unleashed. Her heart still raced from the shock, but she found some measure of comfort in his presence, despite everything. She pulled the cigarette from her purse, lighting it quickly before offering it to him with a soft glance. "Here," she murmured, her fingers brushing his as she passed it over.

Their movements were slow as they continued down the street. The familiar hum of the city seemed muted compared to the storm of emotions swirling between them, the weight of their unspoken thoughts hanging in the air like a cloud. Finally, they reached her apartment. Aida unlocked the door and ushered Leo inside, her heart racing as she stepped across the threshold. The apartment was simple, but it had a calm, modern vibe. The large windows overlooked the city, the city lights twinkling like distant stars in the night.

"Welcome to my place," Aida said quietly, her voice softer now. "It's not much, but it's home." She didn't wait for him to respond, though. She moved quickly toward the small closet by the hallway and pulled out a first aid kit, her movements practiced. She could feel her heart racing again, the reality of what had happened sinking in, but she pushed it aside. Right now, Leo needed her. She turned to him, her eyes softening. "Sit down. Let me clean up those wounds then you should shower." Aida walked toward the couch, lifting her hands to motion for him to follow. The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of the first aid kit opening and the distant hum of the city outside.

Leo’s lips twitched, a ghost of a smile threatening to break through the storm of emotions swirling inside him as he felt her gentle lips upon her cheek. The cool night air seemed to press in around them, sharp and unforgiving, but there was a certain warmth in the way Aida’s voice wrapped around him. Her touch, delicate yet firm on his arm, grounded him in a way that nothing else had. The sounds of the street, distant laughter and the hum of late-night traffic, felt miles away as his mind focused on her. The dim glow of the bar sign flickered behind them, casting an almost eerie light on the cracked pavement beneath their feet, but all he could see was her—her gaze, her softness, her frustration, and the quiet tenderness in the way she held him, even when everything else was broken.

His body ached, the bruises and blood a reminder of his own choices, but somehow, her presence seemed to dull the pain, if only for a moment. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, as he stood there, caught between the weight of his decisions and the flicker of something he didn’t know how to name. The air smelled faintly of rain, the scent of wet concrete mixing with the lingering smoke from the bar. A distant siren wailed, but it felt so far away, as though the world was on pause, waiting for him to make up his mind. He let out a breath, more from relief than anything else, and without a word, he nodded slowly, the movement hesitant but clear. "Alright," he muttered, his voice rough, like he hadn’t spoken in days. “Lead the way.” The tension in his chest eased just enough for him to move, taking one careful step forward, his feet almost unsure beneath him. He couldn’t muster too much up in terms of words so he just let the silence linger. But as he followed her, the words she’d spoken—the softness of her plea, the weight of her care—kept replaying in his mind, the promise of something more than just fixing what was broken. Something that didn’t come with anger or regret. His eyes followed the trail of smoke as she exhaled and smiled sincerely, “you got another? Think I might need it”

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

sashisu call each other gay as an insult (they’re all queer) and get chewed out in public i think

[your-compadre-infinity]

Sonic : Haven’t told a soul he’s dating Shadow

Surge : Haven’t told a soul that she’s dating Amy

[anonymolly]

.

[netwatchsucks]

🥑

» cyberpunk 2077 | click for best quality

[thesleepykettle]

I woke up to friends and family, found and blood, reaching out about their fear.

We will keep living. We won't disappear. If you need to go into stealth mode to survive, that's okay. Those of us who can will keep being as visible as we can.

It will be hard. But we will keep living.

We will be here.

[peachbumms]

So my husband’s birthday is literally March 1st and I’ve been wracking my brain trying to think of something that he’d like. Last year I got him a practical gift so this year I thought I’d be silly and sentimental? He loves the Art so I’m gonna attempt to make him a tiny one so wish me well!

[icanseethefuture333]

Bada I know what you are...