#truck driver exercise

[mother-trucker-yoga]

The Importance of a Truck Driver Workout Routine

Truck drivers often lead sedentary lifestyles, spending long hours behind the wheel with limited opportunities for physical activity. This can lead to a range of health issues, including obesity, cardiovascular disease, diabetes, and musculoskeletal problems. Incorporating a regular truck driver workout routine is essential for maintaining physical health, mental well-being, and overall quality of life. This guide outlines effective exercises and tips for truck drivers to stay fit.

Benefits of Workout for Truck Drivers

Improved Cardiovascular Health: Regular aerobic exercise helps maintain a healthy heart and reduces the risk of heart disease, which is crucial for truck drivers who often have higher-than-average risk factors.

Weight Management: Exercise aids in burning calories and maintaining a healthy weight, counteracting the sedentary nature of the job.

Enhanced Mental Health: Physical activity releases endorphins, reducing stress and anxiety, and improving overall mood and mental clarity.

Increased Energy Levels: Regular exercise boosts energy and reduces fatigue, helping drivers stay alert and focused on the road.

Reduced Musculoskeletal Pain: Strengthening and stretching exercises can alleviate back, neck, and shoulder pain, common among truck drivers due to prolonged sitting.

Effective Truck Driver Workout

1. Stretching Routine:

Neck Stretches: Gently tilt your head towards each shoulder, holding for 15-20 seconds on each side. This helps relieve tension in the neck and shoulders.

Shoulder Rolls: Roll your shoulders forward and backward in a circular motion to loosen up tight muscles.

Hamstring Stretch: Place one foot on a raised surface and lean forward, keeping your back straight, to stretch the back of your thigh.

2. Cardiovascular Exercises:

Walking/Jogging: Whenever you stop at a rest area or truck stop, take a brisk walk or jog for 10-15 minutes. This helps get your heart rate up and improves circulation.

Jumping Jacks: Perform jumping jacks for a quick burst of cardio. Aim for sets of 30 seconds to a minute.

Skipping Rope: A jump rope is easy to carry and provides an excellent cardiovascular workout. Skipping for a few minutes each day can significantly improve cardiovascular fitness.

3. Strength Training:

o Bodyweight Exercises:

Push-Ups: Perform push-ups on a flat surface to strengthen your chest, shoulders, and arms. Start with sets of 10 and gradually increase.

Squats: Squats are great for building leg strength. Ensure you maintain proper form by keeping your back straight and knees aligned with your toes.

Lunges: Perform lunges to target your thighs, hips, and glutes. Alternate legs and aim for sets of 10-15 reps per leg.

o Resistance Bands:

Bicep Curls: Stand on the band and curl your arms up to work your biceps.

Shoulder Press: Hold the bands at shoulder height and push them upwards to strengthen your shoulders.

Leg Presses: Loop the band around your feet and push out to work your legs.

4. Core Exercises:

Planks: Hold a plank position with your forearms on the ground and your body in a straight line. Start with 20-30 seconds and increase over time.

Leg Raises: Lie on your back and lift your legs to work your lower abs. Keep your legs straight and avoid using momentum.

5.     Flexibility and Mobility:

Yoga: Incorporate basic yoga poses into your routine to improve flexibility and reduce stress. Poses like the downward dog, child’s pose, and seated forward bend are particularly beneficial.

Foam Rolling: Use a foam roller to massage tight muscles and improve blood flow. Focus on areas like your back, thighs, and calves.

Tips for Staying Motivated

Set Realistic Goals: Start with small, achievable goals and gradually increase the intensity and duration of your truck driver workouts.

Schedule Workouts: Plan your workouts into your daily schedule, just like any other important task. Consistency is key to seeing results.

Track Progress: Keep a journal or use a fitness app to track your truck driver workouts and progress. This can help you stay motivated and see how far you’ve come.

Find a Workout Buddy: If possible, find another truck driver who is interested in staying fit and work out together. Having a partner can keep you accountable and make exercise more enjoyable.

Stay Hydrated: Drink plenty of water throughout the day to stay hydrated, especially during workouts.

Overcoming Common Challenges

Limited Space: Use exercises that require minimal space, such as bodyweight exercises, resistance bands, and skipping rope.

Time Constraints: Opt for high-intensity interval training (HIIT) workouts that can be completed in a short amount of time but still provide significant benefits.

Weather Conditions: Prepare for various weather conditions by having both indoor and outdoor workout options. When the weather is unfavorable, focus on exercises that can be done inside your truck cab or at a rest stop.

Conclusion

Maintaining a regular truck driver workout routine is crucial for truck drivers to combat the negative effects of a sedentary lifestyle. By incorporating a mix of stretching, cardiovascular, strength, and core exercises, drivers can significantly improve their physical and mental health. Setting realistic goals, staying consistent, and overcoming common challenges will help truck drivers stay fit, healthy, and ready to handle the demands of the road. With dedication and the right approach, staying fit on the road is not only possible but also incredibly rewarding.

[hunzzzzz]

OBX TWEETS: part 13 (Rafe Cameron x reader x John B SMAU)

A/N: Hello lovelies!! I added some writing its mixed up in all the photos so don't miss it!

The bakery stink still clung to your clothes like a clingy ex. Sugar and yeast – the perfume of failure, as far as you were concerned. You were a solid twenty minutes from the sweet, sweet embrace of your aunt’s couch when your trusty (read: rusty) vehicle decided to throw a tantrum. A truly delightful thump-thump-thump started up, a rhythmically annoying sound that was definitely a new addition to your car’s already impressive repertoire of questionable noises.

You sighed dramatically and pulled over, the sinking feeling in your gut doing the cha-cha as you got out to survey the damage. Yep, bingo. Flat as a pancake on a Tuesday. Because of course. Your life was just one extended exercise in Murphy’s Law. You popped the boot, a tiny, idiotic sliver of hope flickering that maybe, just maybe, a spare had spontaneously generated. Nope. Nada. Zilch. Why would you, in your infinite wisdom, actually have a spare? Or, for that matter, any of those medieval torture devices they called car tools?

You glanced at your phone – a glorious 5% stared back, practically flipping you the middle finger. Fantastic. Just when you needed to Google “how to hotwire a tow truck.” You flopped back into the driver’s seat with an Oscar-worthy groan, your forehead connecting with the steering wheel in a dramatic thud.

The only semi-competent human being you knew who could possibly MacGyver this situation was John B. Perpetual Twinkie-Breakdown himself. The guy practically had a PhD in keeping that rust bucket on the road with sheer willpower and duct tape. And you vaguely remembered seeing a sad excuse for a spare tire crammed in the back of his vehicular disaster zone.

You sat there for what felt like approximately three centuries, the internal debate raging like a toddler denied candy. Call him? After the whole spectacular implosion of your friendship? It felt like waving the white flag of surrender, like willingly reopening a festering wound.

But the alternative – spending the night serenaded by crickets and the distant hum of traffic, waiting for your saint of an aunt to finish her shift – was about as appealing as a root canal.

Just as you finally caved and reached for your phone, your thumb hovering over his annoyingly familiar contact, a sharp, sudden KNOCK on your window made you jump so hard you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

Heart doing the tango in your chest, you snatched your empty coffee flask – your trusty weapon of self-defense against the world’s many annoyances – clutching it like your life depended on it. Through the glass, all you could see was a ridiculously bright beam of light. Someone was clearly trying to blind you with their superior phone flashlight technology. Rude.

Then, the light moved away, no longer assaulting your retinas. And standing there, his silhouette framed against the fading evening light, was John B.

He called out your name, his face etched with a familiar furrow of worry that used to make your heart do a little flutter-kick. Now, it just felt… complicated. “Everything okay?”

You begrudgingly stepped out of your car, the evening air suddenly feeling cooler. “Just peachy,” you muttered, giving the offending flat tire a not-so-gentle kick. “Having a grand old time communing with nature and waiting for the sweet release of death.”

“Need some roadside assistance?” His lips twitched, a hint of that goofy, endearing smile you used to adore threatening to break through. You had to admit, even with everything that had happened, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners was still kind of… cute. Ugh.

You just huffed out a nod, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a full sentence. Without another word, he was already rummaging in the chaotic abyss that was the back of the Twinkie, a symphony of clanking tools and questionable debris preceding the triumphant, if slightly wheezy, roll of a spare tire that looked like it had seen better decades. Honestly, the fact that thing still held air was a minor miracle.

He worked with a practiced ease, the sounds of the lug wrench echoing in the silence. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his tongue poking out slightly from the corner of his mouth – a habit you’d always found endearing, much to your annoyance. You sat down heavily on the curb, watching him, a strange mix of gratitude and lingering resentment swirling within you.

“So,” John B said after a few minutes of comfortable silence, not looking up from his task, “long day?”

“One could say disastrous,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead wearily. “The new hire at the bakery put salt in the cookie batter. Ruined the whole damn batch.”

“I probably wouldn’t have even tasted the difference,” he chuckled.

“You could eat a pile of shit and not know the difference.”

He finally looked up fully, a small, hopeful smile gracing his lips. “How’s… everything been?” He gestured vaguely with the wrench. “You know.”

It was seriously messing with your head how much easier it was to not be a total bitch when he was actually being helpful. Like, his presence was this weirdly comforting thing, even after all the shit that went down. It was almost like stepping back into some old, slightly worn-out but still familiar pair of shoes.

He was your John B. Annoying as hell most of the time, but still… yours. God, the amount of history you two had was actually embarrassing.

That time you tried to build a raft out of driftwood and duct tape and it immediately capsized, leaving you both looking like drowned rats and him blaming you for the ‘structural integrity failure’ even though he was the one who insisted on using glitter glue?

Or that Halloween where you both decided to dress up as conjoined twins using a single oversized t-shirt and spent the entire night bumping into walls and tripping over each other?

And who could forget the Great Water Balloon Fight of ‘09 that somehow escalated into a full-blown neighborhood sprinkler war, resulting in Mrs. Henderson’s prize-winning petunias getting utterly annihilated? 

The sheer volume of shared memories was nauseating. There just wasn’t enough room in your brain to hold onto this much anger and all that stupid nostalgia at the same time. He was like family, and family fought and eventually, usually, made up.

And to be brutally honest, you were just so fucking over being mad at him. It was like this constant low-grade ache, a tension headache that wouldn’t quit, a knot in your neck that no amount of stretching could fix. Ugh.

“Yeah, other than the whole flat tire debacle,” you said, rolling your eyes, the sarcasm still there but maybe a little less sharp. “Everything’s been… an adjustment. Just getting used to being back.”

He chuckled softly, then went back to tightening a lug nut. “Well, at least you didn’t end up in a ditch this time.”

You rolled your eyes again, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. That had been one particularly memorable night, and definitely not in a good way. “Hardly a high bar to clear.”

“Hey, progress is progress, right?” He looked up again, his smile a little wider this time. “Besides, look at it this way – free tire change courtesy of yours truly.”

“Don’t expect a thank you card.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m just glad I happened to be driving this way.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, a familiar suspicion creeping in. “You just ‘happened’ to be driving down this random road? This is nowhere close to your house, Jombie.”

He shrugged, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he finally stood up, dusting off his knees. “Okay, fine. I… uh… I still have your location.” He looked away, a sad little smile flickering across his lips as he gave your newly attached spare tire a pat. “All done. You should be set now.” He cleared his throat, the silence suddenly feeling heavier.

He still had your location. He knew. You knew he knew. And the unspoken weight of where that location was last night– Rafe’s place– hung heavy in the air between you.

“Jombie wait.” The words tumbled out before you could overthink them, a sudden, desperate plea.

You practically ran towards him as he was about to slide into the driver’s seat of the Twinkie. Without a second thought, you threw your arms around him, your face burying itself against his chest. He was still for a beat, maybe two, a surprised tension in his shoulders.

Then, slowly, his arms wrapped around you, a familiar, comforting weight you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed. He still smelled like him – a mix of salt, sunscreen, and something uniquely John B that was achingly nostalgic. He held the back of your head, your hair brushing against his neck, and just held you tight, a silent promise not to let go, not to lose you again.

You pulled away slightly, your hands instinctively reaching up to cup the back of his neck, your thumbs resting just below his hairline. Your eyes were brimming, the unshed tears blurring his features.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he murmured, his thumbs gently stroking the apples of your cheeks, his gaze full of concern.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, “please just don’t say anything.” You swallowed hard, taking a shaky breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“I’m just… I’m exhausted, John B. My mom is exhausting. Going to rehab was exhausting. I’m so behind on all my assignments, that’s exhausting. And you… hating you, being mad at you… it’s the most exhausting thing of all. I just… I don’t want to do it anymore.” You leaned forward slightly and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

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[red-archivist]

TMAGP 23 SPOILERS!

i heard those lines and was immediately inspired to make something sad lol

~

Twenty years ago, Jonathan Sims quits smoking.

Twenty years ago, Martin Blackwood’s mother survives her second stroke.

Twenty years ago, Jonathan Sims quits smoking.

It’s not enough to just stop, the shakes and the headaches nip at him constantly, and he reluctantly concludes that bad habits need to replaced by better ones.

That’s where the cycling comes in, to start with.

It’s exercise, it’s eco-friendly, and he can pretend he is literally leaving his cravings behind him as he pushes hard on the pedals.

He does his homework first, researching what is the best option for city cycling, for his budget, for someone that hasn’t ridden a bike since they were nine.

He plots out his paths to the office, the shops, and the nearest puncture repair centre, just in case. He even makes a spreadsheet to keep track of them.

He is sure Tim would poke fun at him for it, if they were still talking, but the organisation keeps his twitching fingers busy and his roaming mind away from the half-finished box of cigarettes in his desk drawer that he promises he will throw away any day now.

What all that planning fails to account for, as soon as he actually gets onto the road, is the rest of the world moving around him.

Every stereotype he has heard about antagonistic drivers is proven ten-fold as he dodges swerving cars and gets sworn at for whizzing past stalled traffic. He soon learns to sneer through tinted windows.

Pedestrians are almost worse. They seem blind to him, stepping out directly in front of his wheels and making him wobble as he overcorrects. As if a bike can’t still do some damage if he were to actually hit someone. Once, he clips the edge of a pram and stops in the street to shout some sense into the careless father pushing it.

He bitches openly about this during his lunches and his coworkers only roll their eyes at him sometimes.

The cycling becomes a bit of running joke in the office when they spot him coming in with his bike shorts and change of outfit, but he ignores them. The shorts are practical. For some reason, telling them that only makes them laugh harder.

He takes the fastest route into the office and a scenic one home. It winds through quiet well-off estates, before opening out to one of the less well-known urban parks. It’s calming, almost meditative, to roll through the cool shade the cluttered trees offer after another meaningless day of data entry.

In those times, he doesn’t think of his empty flat or his dead-end job, he forgets his sniggering coworkers and his ever-dwindling contact list. It’s just him and the wind.

The only thing that could make those moments better, he admits to himself, is a smoke.

The problem with this particular path is how hard it is to see around corners in the park. There is some national re-wilding initiative in the works and the foliage looms over the roads in a way that block his line of sight.

He checks every turn, even though it is rare to encounter a car in this area. Better safe than sorry.

The night he dies is warm but overcast.

He follows his usual route and cranes his neck to see around the overgrown corner he is approaching. A drooping branch grazes his head and something falls from the tree onto his neck.

It could be a leaf, or a twig, or a ladybird, but Jon feels the whisper-touch of something small at his throat and his only thought is: spider.

He has been afraid of them since he was very young and terrified instinct immediately beats any reason. One hand flies up from the handlebars to bat away at his collar. He swerves. Fear makes him pedal faster and the bike speeds onto the junction.

He is so scared of the potential at his throat that he never even sees the delivery truck.

The bike is sent flying from the impact, Jon falls under the wheels.

The driver, to his credit, calls emergency services immediately, distraught.

The ambulance is there within five minutes, but they needn’t have bothered. Jon is declared dead at the scene with a broken neck.

What few friends he has left comfort each other with that fact.

At least it was quick.

~

Twenty years ago, Martin Blackwood’s mother survives her second stroke.

This is a good thing, Martin reminds himself, more than once. It is Good that his mother is alive.

It doesn’t matter that the nurses need to attend to her around-the-clock now. It doesn’t matter that the care home bills have skyrocketed. He is grateful that she is still with him.

He starts looking for a third job. The admin work during the day and the shelf-stocking at night barely covered his previous bills. He’ll have to look for some flexible positions to cram into his schedule.

In the meantime, he cuts back. Eats cheaply, eats less. Cancels overdue check-ups and doesn’t touch the heating.

His days are a current of constant worry, occasionally breached by a wave of panic that he tries to quell by hiding in the office bathroom and digging his nails into his legs.

Panic won’t pay the rent or keep the lights on or remember to call Mum every Sunday. He smothers it deep in his chest and ignores the spasm of pain he gets whenever he forces it down.

He has been getting those more often; sharp, sudden chest pains, numb fingers, dizzy spells, an aching back, shortness of breath.

He had been going to ask the doctor about it all before he cancelled the appointment but. Well. Needs must.

He has his first heart attack on the evening shift.

Pulling a box of washing up tablets from the top shelf in Aisle 4 causes such a rush of agony in his chest that he dares to ask the manager to take his 15-minute break early.

He doesn’t make it to the back room before he collapses.

In the hospital, after he wakes, the doctors ask if there is a family history of heart problems.

If he didn’t feel so weak he would laugh.

He has more in common with his mother then he likes to admit. Of course they share a bad heart.

Or maybe it came from his father. Mum always said he was heartless. Maybe there’s a hole where Dad’s DNA should be.

When the medical team leaves him to rest, all he can think is how much this will cost him.

The NHS is no charity no matter what their marketing says, not to mention how much money he will lose by recovering. He can’t afford six weeks of not working. His first job doesn’t have that much sick leave and his second doesn’t have any.

He runs the numbers in his head, tries to find what else he can hack out of his life to keep his head above water. Occasionally his thoughts swerve, self-recriminating and barbed. He is so stupid for letting this happen at all.

It’s all his fault.

Mum is going to be so angry with him.

His heart pulses in keen pain, bitter and broken.

Somehow, he drifts off, counting figures instead of sheep.

The second heart attack kills him in his sleep.

~

They die on the same day, at nearly the same time (Jon rushes ahead, always too eager, Martin follows inevitably after him).

Their death certificates are filed away alphabetically by a bored clerk in the dusty management system of the General Register Office.

Twenty years later, Samama Khalid exhumes them and examines them, with more curiosity than sense, only to be disappointed by the mundanity of their ends.

He returns them together, heedless of any organisation.

Jon and Martin meet, in the quiet and the dark.

The filing cabinet is a shared headstone, their names rest side-by-side.

~

Also on AO3

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

Hamas terrorists were captured on video taking control of 47 of 100 aid trucks entering the Gaza Strip on Tuesday.

“It’s no secret that Hamas takes control of humanitarian aid. We’ve already published here tapes of Hamas, in which you hear them say themselves they have no more room in their warehouses,” Channel 12‘s Almog Boker reported on Wednesday evening.

“But this evening we also bring special documentation of what it looks like from inside, with cameras that are tracking it in real time,” he said.

5Hamas terrorists were captured on video taking control of 47 of 100 aid trucks entering the Gaza Strip on Tuesday.

The footage shows Hamas first taking over the trucks, including attacking the drivers. Then the trucks are driven through Rafah with armed terrorists riding on them. If any citizen approaches the trucks, they are immediately fired upon, Almog reported. Gunshots can be heard in the background of the footage.

Humanitarian aid, meant to prevent starvation among Gazans, has instead become a lifeline for Hamas and its continued control of the Strip.

“Control over humanitarian aid is control over the citizens. Hamas and [its leader Yahya] Sinwar exercise almost absolute control over what happens with humanitarian aid, and this is how they control the population,” Boker reported.

He noted the IDF on Tuesday killed a handful of terrorists trying to take control of some aid, but said that the army’s efforts haven’t been enough.

[bullet-prooflove]

4500 Follower Celebration Bingo - The Vet: Rip Wheeler x Reader

Tagging: @readmetosleep @kierawashere01 @Hangmanscoming @1-fuzzy-squirrels @nerdypinupcrystal

Prequel to upcoming September piece Broken - Travis Wheatley

Thrill of the Chase (NSFW) - Rip has always loved the thrill of the chase.

 If You Want Me, You Can Have Me - They say that Rip Wheeler doesn't have a heart.

Stay Tonight - Rip asks to stay the night.

Use Your Words (NSFW) - Rip teases you.

Clover - Rip comforts you.

Rip’s at the Foreman’s House when he hears the gunshots echo over the pasture in the darkness. He’s just uncorked that bottle of that red you like from the winery in town because it’s been over a year since you stole this old cowboy’s heart and he wants to do something special to mark the occasion.

“I’m on my way.” You had promised him only a few minutes earlier when you’d called him. “I just need to check in Artemis.”

Gina’s horse had injured it’s leg during a barrel racing exercise a week ago and you’d been treating her since. Her cottage is less than a mile down the lane from Rip’s residence so he knows it won’t take long for you to arrive.

The instant he hears the two gunshots, something twists in his chest because they’re close, too fucking close. Both his home and Gina’s are on the Dutton’s land so he knows no one would dare go hunting in these fields. He tucks his own gun into the waistband of his jeans before he snatches up the keys to the truck and hurtles out the door.

Gina’s driveway is unusually busy when he pulls up outside her residence. There’s a black SUV he doesn’t recognise parked alongside the stables and your pickup blocks his path, the engine still running, the driver’s door thrown open.

Already he can hear the sounds of scuffle coming from the stable, shadows flicker against the warm illumination as a man curses and wood creaks.

“Touch that fucking horse and I will fucking kill you.” He hears you spit as he swings into the stables, his own gun drawn.

The scene before him is far from the one he expected.

Teal Beck is sagged against the door of Artemis’s stall, cradling his right arm close to his chest as blood jets from his badly broken nose. Dislocated shoulder, Rip assumes as Artemis paces her stall, tossing her head and grinding her teeth.

You’re standing with a Glock clasped in both your hands, finger on the trigger, weapon trained on Beck. There isn’t a single waver in you, your feet are spread apart, shoulders aligned just like they taught you when you signed up for a career in the Army as a miliary veterinarian. You’d done three tours before you resigned your commission and returned to Montana to take over your daddy’s practice.

“He was coming in here to kill the horse.” You tell Rip with a tone that could freeze the rivers of hell.

Of course, you’d go this crazy over a fucking horse. You leave and breathe for the animals under your care, every charge takes a tiny piece of your heart and you’d protect them with your life.

“You need to check on Gina.” You tell him, inclining your head slightly as you keep your eyes Teal. “Where there’s one Beck brother…”

There’s usually another.

Malcolm Beck’s been making his displeasure about his ex-wife known ever since that rodeo journalist had published the article about her come back. They’d all thought she was down and out after being kicked to the curb by him but now she’s back on the circuit, winning for the Yellowstone. She’s been spotted in the company of the rodeo king himself, Travis Wheatley.

It must have pushed every single one of that SOB’s buttons to see she was succeeding without him.

“Go.” You say again, this time more urgently. “I can take care of Teal, but Gina needs help.”

Rip’s already in motion, rushing from the stable as you keep the gun fixed on younger Beck brother.

“You better fucking hope he hasn’t laid a hand on her.” You say to Teal, your finger tightening on the trigger. “Otherwise you won’t live to see another sunrise.”

Teal smiles at you through bloody teeth.

“If that girl ain’t dead yet, she’s gonna wish she was by the time my brother’s finished with her.”

Love Rip? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[leatherthorn]

TKDB - Can they drive?

I had been thinking about this earlier, but this like from the newest chapter made me think about it more.

So without further ado, here is whether I think the TKDB boys can drive or not.

Jin: Probably can, but doesn’t. That is what Tohma is for.

Tohma: Absolutely. That guy could probably drive a space shuttle if he was prevaricated upon to do so.

Kaito: Too much of a nervous disaster to get behind the wheel. Would 100% slam the accelerator while in reverse while parallel parking.

Luca: Doubtful. I imagine he probably will learn to drive someday, but he strikes me as the kind of guy who won’t learn until after school, since he doesn’t need to right now, and he’s got a lot going on right now, you know?

Alan: We already know he does. He’s quite skilled at all kinds of driving. Probably the kind of guy who can get someone an hour way ij 30 minutes.

Leo: Huh? Gross. That’s what Sho’s supposed to do.

Sho: A responsible motorcyclist. Will probably have to learn to drive a car/box truck for convenience sake in the future.

Haru: He definitely drives a micro truck illegally. How else is he going to carry heavy feed all over the olace? No one bats an eye because he’s doing it on private property technically so he doesn’t need a license. Also, is a Capybus a motor vehicle for the purposes of this thought exercise? It’s an open question. He probably also drives that illegally, regardless. Calm down, Ritsu.

Towa: No way in hell is anyone letting him drive the micro truck again after what happened the last time.

Ren: He strikes me as the kind of guy who was forced to learn, but never got to drive anywhere fun. He is probably just working for his family business.

Taiga: Laws are for suckers.

Romeo: He is probably the one that actually drives during missions, if it’s necessary. Generally doesn’t drive if he can avoid it, but has absolutely driven the Passo dello Stelvio at least once.

Ritsu: Has his drivers license and is an absolute menace on the road. No one is getting anywhere efficiently because he’s too busy impeding traffic with his strict adherence to the rules. This is why Romeo drives.

Subaru: Absolutely not. While certainly capable of learning, he’s far too nervous to effectively drive.

Haku: also no, but more from a matter of convenience, rather than some sort of anxiety.

Zenji: Same for Zenji. I don’t see him learning how, even though he would happily extol the virtues of a country drive.

Ed: He could drive a carriage. Does that count?

Rui: has a license and no car. Being a surfer would require some ability to bring boards around to the beach, but I can’t imagine that he drives enough to justify owning a car.

Lyca: When would he have had time to learn, between living in the wilderness and in anomaly jail? He’d probably be good at it if he was given the chance, though. At the same time, I think he might also be prone to road rage, so… no different than your average American driver…

Yuri: He would also be a menace behind the wheel, but because he would be too busy having Big Brain thoughts to remember to put the car in park before getting out of it.

Jiro: Also a menace, but because he would let people keep going ahead of him at the first stop sign he came across.

[jackabbot]

Just curious because I'm always wondering about that.. If you think tommy picked up on their crazy close dynamic in such a short time, do you think the others have too? Or is that just buckandeddie to them and they don't think anything of it? Hen's "about time" comment made me wonder what she thinks, if she had eddie-suspicions over the years or if she just picked up on a general vibe from buck

I think it's a bit of both actually. because Buck and Eddie? they are absolutely cuckoo insane about each other, like genuinely not-normal.

it becomes the most obvious when other members of the team are in danger; Buck stays relatively calm no matter how worried he is, he makes a plan and tries to scheme to save them.

like in the crossover episode, he waited for hours and then tried to steal a truck when everyone was out or sleeping, even though Hen could've been long dead. and Buck loves Hen, like a lot, a lot, they are family!! and when the Jonah thing went down?? with Hen and Chim? he was on the tailend of it, worried and upset and when Albert got hurt in that car accident? when Bobby was trapped inside a burning building with an active shooter and Athena went in there after him?? these are all people Buck undoubtedly loves like family.

he was worried, but he kept it together every time.

when the well collapsed on top of Eddie, he tried to dig through 45 feet of loose mud to get to him by hand. when Eddie got shot and was in the hospital, Buck flipped out and broke down more than once, but most notably when telling Christopher about it after finding out that Eddie's gonna be okay.

similarly when the lightning hit Buck, Eddie ran up the ladder without a safety line and tried to pull him up by hand; Buck weighs like 200+ lbs plus the gear, there was no chance in hell he could've done that and Eddie isn't stupid, he knows that too. Bobby had to banish him to the driver's seat to make sure he wouldn't be in the way, then Eddie barely parked the ambulance when he was already on top of Buck, taking over CPR, then proceeded to spend the next couple of days by haunting the hospital's walls like a grieving widow.

when the truck fell on Buck's leg, Eddie wouldn't let go of his hand and when he coughed up blood, he looked more than just concerned for that split second we saw him. when he spotted Buck after the tsunami and thought that he lost Christopher? there wasn't an ounce of blame on his face.

in conclusion, they have been always just very unhinged about each other, but I think because they all work in close proximity with each other day in and day out, it's harder to differentiate these things because even in real life, firefighters are like a family; they eat, sleep and exercise together, their blood family is just as involved with each other as they are, because that's just how close you get when you have to put your life into each other's hands all the time.

but Eddie and Buck (as pointed out above) are just taking it to a whole new level when you consider all the family stuff they do together and the will... I think at this point it's sort of a "well this is just Buck and Eddie, they might as well be married" thing for the 118.

I don't think it's something they actively consider to have romantic/sexual undertones, but they all understand that their bond is extremely strong, so they wouldn't be surprised if the relationship progressed into that direction.

in Buck's case specifically, I think Hen saw the signs before Eddie even joined the 118. especially since Buck admitted that he always checked out hot guys — I don't suppose that goes unnoticed when you spend half your life with the same group of people.

[cancerian-woman]

#7 "I almost lost you" + Bamon

this seemed too perfect for them...

Ahh! Thank you! I had fun with this: prompt list a little twist on this scene:

“So which way do you wanna go?” Bonnie asked, looking around. “Turn around, go straight..”

Damon watched as Bonnie’s pretty lips moved, her eyes squinting and her nose crinkling in annoyance at his silence. The purpose of this vacation was to help both Alaric and him heal from their recent losses and discover a new strength. Damon would openly admit to anyone who asked that Bonnie possessed a strength that neither he nor Stefan could ever match: the ability to move forward through adversity, no matter the cost. They would brood and get drunk until the bitter end.

Bonnie was still offering suggestions on directions and her ideas for the next travel destination. She couldn’t see the white truck coming towards her and the asshole behind the wheel didn’t care to slow down. The car inched closer and closer to the witch. Damon imagined how rewarding it would be to see Elena’s brown eyes on his, hear her laugh and offer hope for their future but there was a but.

He chose Bonnie for a reason.

Damon’s life would feel meaningless without Bonnie. Who else is going to fling spells at him when he’s being an ass? Provide the comforting scent of lavender that radiates from her skin, and remind him that she hates his cooking skills. Bonnie fits easily in his arms, even if she has to stand on her toes to wrap her arms around him. Bonnie will never know how grateful he is to hear her snoring when she sleeps, and her heartbeat increasing when she exercises too loudly in the morning.

“DAMON!” Bonnie yelled, snapping her fingers. “You’re not listening,”

Damon's blue eyes widen at the scene before him as he hears the driver repeatedly cursing about his inability to slow down the car. He blinks, trying to shake off the haunting image of Bonnie's red shirt and wavy brunette hair stained with her magical blood. She can't die, and he won't allow it. She's too young and inexperienced to have such a short life.

Damon utilized his vampiric speed to grab Bonnie and push her into the crowd. The last thing he saw was Bonnie being assisted to her feet by random bystanders, just before he felt the aching impact of the white truck colliding with his side.

Damon’s eyes flickered as he reopened them. White room, stiff mattress and dimmed lights and before he could move Bonnie was glued to his side checking his lower abdomen for bruises.

“You know you didn’t have to bring me here? I heal just fine.”

Bonnie punches Damon’s shoulder. “You were hit by a car, in front of people. I had no choice.”

Bonnie moves closer to Damon giving him a long hug, as she sits next to him. “I could’ve died, but you saved me. Thank you.”

“I almost lost you, and I never want to be in that position again.”

Bonnie smiles gently at his confession, choosing to set aside her urge to ask about the truck and why he hadn’t been listening for now. Instead, she leans in and kisses his forehead tenderly, feeling a wave of affection. She then decides to curl up beside him, offering her quiet support and understanding.

[ivansergeyevichturgenev]

my dad has been out of work for a few months because he is a truck driver and his diabetes is not under control and you can't work as a truck driver with unmanaged diabetes if you weren't aware. anyways we were talking on the phone yesterday and he was like i just want to try again on my own. i'm not going to take any medication i can do diet and exercise. and i'm going to stay on the carnivore diet. and i was like can i be frank with you? this isn't the first time this has happened. diabetes kills people. i think you should get on medication and i think you need to see a dietitian, not watch random people from tiktok. i love you and this will absolutely kill you. this isn't fun to watch. it scares me.

[trivialbob]

Three times this week I rode my bike downtown to work.

In a lifetime of bicycling I've run 8,412 stop signs and 1,204 red lights, as of last night. But never do I blow through an intersection expecting cross traffic to yield to me. I have seen some bicyclists and skateboarders do that but haven't seen one turned into road jelly. Yet. If I don't stop or slow down I at least make sure I don't affect someone else. FAFO isn't something I want to try.

Occasionally drivers approaching me see that I want to make a left turn (because I entered a left turn lane, stopped for oncoming traffic, and signaled my intention). Though they arrived first at the intersections they waived for me to go first. Play nicely, get treated nicely, I guess.

Yesterday on the way home I stopped at the brewery and met Sheila. The food truck was a pizza place we don't care for. The pizzas have an outrageously bad crust to toppings ratio. Unsurprisingly, our dogs love this pizza truck because they get a ton of crusts that Sheila and I won't eat.

Knowing I'd be hungry for something else, Sheila packed her lunch box for me. Honeycrisp (my favorite) apple slices, string cheese, slices of summer sausage, cherry tomatoes and crackers. It was a nice little charcuterie board at the bar.

After riding home I'm in a good mood. And not even because I stopped for beer. I love riding through the city, seeing everything and getting exercise.

I've been thinking about the benefits and costs of bike commuting.

Getting exercise is good. Not paying for gasoline or parking saves money. I feel smug pedaling down a bike lane, passing cars stopped in afternoon traffic or construction.

But when I ride I take two showers a day, one at the office before work and second one when I get home. Biking clothes in the morning and daytime work clothes will need laundering. If it's one of these cold in the morning and hot in the afternoon days, like today, There's even more laundry. I don't wear my work clothes in the evening so there's yet another outfit. My water and Tide pod usage goes way up compared to when I work at home.

[jeridandridge]

hi!! i'd love to request mel x reader where reader experiences chronic pain and mel supports. maybe in a series of little ways (pep talks, driving to appts, yelling at doctors) or in a sweet massage scene. can be fluffy, angsty, or smutty--wherever the spirit takes ya! thanks in advance for considering!!

Thank you so much for this request! 🩷 nothing crazy in here: doctors visit/mention of blood tests.

Wonder Woman Socks

It started the day you took the kids to the Franklin institute. You figured you were sore and exhausted from running around with the kids and sleeping on the floor. Hell, Melissa even agreed saying she was sore too. You brushed it off.

Then going up the stairs to your classroom had become too much. When you got up the staircase and into your classroom you’d have to sit at your desk for a few minutes drinking your coffee in order to be fully awake again.

Now, months later you fidget nervously with your ring while Melissa drives you to the doctor.

“It’s gonna be fine, Tesoro. They can do their tests and we can go from there.” The red head gives you a soft smile from the drivers seat. You hated this. You felt like a scared child on the way to the doctors office and your only saving grace was Melissa. The sweet woman that made you coffee every morning to keep you going, the woman that would give you a massage every night when you came home from work because standing on your feet all day had become too much.

“What if I’m dying?” You think aloud, the thought terrifying you. You were generally healthy, you worked out, ate right thanks to Melissa’s cooking, and you definitely hydrated throughout the day.

“You’re not dying.” Melissa says firmly with a shake of her head. “There’s something makin you tired, that’s all it is.”

You don’t hear any fear or fake bravado in her voice. She means what she’s saying and you hope she’s right. When you get called into the office you give Melissa a look as you stand up that leaves no room for her to question if she should come back with you or not.

In the room after the nurse takes your vitals you’re left to change into one of the scratchy paper gowns. You huff as you strip down to your underwear until a hand lands right on your ass. You look over your shoulder to see your girlfriend smirking.

“Did you- even right this second in my underwear and Wonder Woman socks you still find me attractive?” You ask, not expecting that at all.

“yeah. You’re tired, it doesn’t mean you look bad.” She chuckles.

You shake your head with an adoring smile as you pull on the paper gown. When you sit back on the table the doctor knocks on the door coming in.

“Hello, hello,” he nods to you both. “y/n, how are you?”

“Tired,” you chuckle, “how are you?”

“I see that in my notes here,” he says flipping through the paperwork you filled out. “What sort of tiredness do you feel when this happens?”

“I feel like I got hit by a truck. Some days are better than others, but even at work just going up stairs is difficult.” You explain.

The doctor nods and makes notes and washing his hands. “Alright, well we’re gonna do a few tests with blood samples, then we’ll see if we have to do anything from there but with what you’re describing it sounds like chronic fatigue syndrome. It’s much more common in women.” He explains.

You let out a sigh of relief reaching for Melissa’s hand. “Take all the blood you need, I just wanna feel better.”

Putting the stethoscope in his ears he places it on your back. “Deep breath in for me.”

You do this a few times, looking at him nervously when he puts the instrument back around hie neck.

“Everything sounds good, We’ll run these tests then depending on the results we’ll figure out a treatment plan that’ll consist of most likely an anti depressant. If you keep exercising and being healthy and your partner here supports you,” he gestures to Melissa, “this should be under control within two months I’d say.” He smiles. “I’ll leave you to get dressed, the nurse will be in for the blood samples shortly.”

When the older man leaves you squeeze Melissa’s hand pulling her out of the chair in the corner to you.

“See?” She smiles handing you your tshirt and jeans. “I thought the guy was gonna be more difficult than that.”

“When Janine recommended this place I expected nothing less.” You chuckle getting dressed.

You squeeze Melissa’s hand when the nurse draws your blood and a few minutes later you’re walking out to the car.

“I feel a bit better mentally now.” You tell her.

“Now that we have an idea what it is I can look up recipes and other natural things that’ll help.” She smiles.

Getting in the passenger seat you smile at your girlfriend adoringly.

“You’re the best, you know that?”

“Yeah I’m pretty great.” She agrees jokingly. “I like taking care of you when you need me.”

“When we get home I require an afternoon on the couch doing absolutely nothing.” You tell her.

Melissa chuckles reaching over for your hand bringing the back of it to her lips. “I can make that happen.”

[kuruk]

a short time after my mom had my dad bail her boyfriend out of jail, her boyfriend got this bail bond scam call who he fought with and the guy gave typical scammer threats like whatever man... so my mom got super paranoid and had me bring berserker over here and made me sleep in the living room to watch my little sister, because she thinks it's someone local instead of a random scammer, and she suspected her creepy lyft driver who drove her to the jail or whatever to pick her boyfriend up. because of the specific information he knew about her, she didn't know how he could get that online like which car in the driveway was hers because it's not under her name or whatever and the scammer named it and said it was hers...

and I was like sigh she's always so paranoid freaking me out for nothing god 😑 I'm sure there's probably a normal way to get that information online if scamming is like your job... I'm like it's literally not your lyft driver help what an insane connection to make... she said because her lyft driver was creepy and gave a tour only of weird things all like "that's where the crackheads hang out in the morning 🙄" and he talked a lot without caring about a response and the scammer on the phone kept mentioning meth lol. and I was like so what if he tells you too clearly the directions inside the building to bail someone out... it's friendly and showing nonjudgement or whatever he was just relating with you and helping because his son was also just in jail...

but an hour or so after my mom left for work yesterday evening, this skinny older white guy parked in the street in front of the house and came out of his truck and walked around circling the driveway, and left when the dogs barked. and the same guy came back again tonight around like 7:40pm wearing the same clothes and I was like um wait eek.. I felt silly thinking too much over it yesterday like well a man can walk a bit. although odd that he parked got out and did that and then left but maybe he needed to exercise his legs real quick or something... but well doing that twice two days in a row is a bit odd help. this morning my mom showed me a picture of the lyft driver and he looked a lot like him actually the same older white guy.

yesterday he left after the dogs barked and he only did one or two slow laps walking in the driveway, but today he circled the driveway and then walked even closer to the door and instead of leaving when the dogs barked, he just walked slower and weirdly with bigger steps and he was carrying a plastic bag full of something.. my mom did tell that driver she works hospital night shifts. well whatever... it's kind of silly like sounds obviously overly paranoid but whatevevr same guy two nights in a row only getting out of his truck to walk around the driveway and up to the door a bunch jusr stop ut....

[featherlumina]

What’s your favorite quirk/habit you give the cc cast when you write them?

(Glad you’re back in this mess :D, also yes everything behind gen SHOULD be on fire)

Thank you so much for the ask! :D I'm going to stick to who I've written so far, but that's still quite a few to think about! I hope you enjoy my silly/angsty/cute snippets. :3 Genesis He annotates the crap out of any book he owns. Don't get me wrong, he's got pristine copies of all editions of LOVELESS reserved for viewing only, but he's also got versions exclusively for scribbling notes and interpretations in the margins. In one particular copy, though, the notes start to get choppier, rougher, more...unhinged, as the degradation drags from months into years and his desperation for a cure deepens, particularly after the Nibelheim incident. Angeal This man can take a nap anywhere. Up a tree, in a rock crevice, in a military truck that's careening into every pothole by a careless driver... Angeal is the king of shuteye in unlikely places. It's very handy on rough missions. Sephiroth Likes to exercise his authority as a First to refuse any SOLDIER missions that even vaguely assist Hojo's research out of sheer spite. Genesis is incredibly proud of him. Zack This guy is a chaos cook, and by that I mean he just throws whatever crap he has available into a pan and just vibes. The 'throw anything together' habit he picked up from Angeal, yes, but he missed the 'think about sensible flavour combinations' part. Cloud He's a nervous fidgeter and has a lot of anxious energy that needs to escape. Drumming his fingers, leg bouncing, fiddling with his earring, picking skin, you name it. This behaviour is more prominent in his infantry days, too. Cissnei She's a collector, and by that I mean a collector of small keepsakes and trinkets found on missions around the world. Being raised in a orphanage meant that she barely had any possessions growing up, so she treasured anything that was hers and hers alone. Sometimes it's silly things from gift shops, or interesting rocks, feathers, scales, etc.

(She definitely kept a feather from that Genesis copy in Sector 8, for example.) Lazard You think this bloke only started embezzling money from ShinRa when Genesis defected? Not a chance. A lot of it gets funnelled to his non-ShinRa relatives, but also gets channelled into charitable projects around Midgar supporting people of the slums.

[possibilistfanfiction]

Prompt for your little Hallmark AU: Christmas market (You know, those markets where there are booths who sell Glühwein and Punsch, Im not sure how to correctly translate it in English in Austria we call it Christkindlmarkt)

it’s grey outside, the clouds heavy but not quite snowing yet; it’s warmer than it’s been on clearer days, still cold but almost pleasant, and quiet.

you make sure to give yourself extra time to do your stretches in the morning after you go to camila’s to get breakfast. the atmospheric pressure of the incoming storm is, unsurprisingly, causing your back to ache, but that’s not new and it doesn’t really faze you at this point. if things get bad enough — and they do, sometimes — you just reschedule your plans and take pain meds and muscle relaxers from dr salvius after you do your physical therapy exercises. but your hands don’t ache and you don’t have any numbness in your feet, your temperature is normal, and so you go through your routine and feel better by the end of it.

beatrice picks you up at eleven on the dot, as she confirmed twice over text the evening before with perfect punctuation that made you feel a little bit like you were in trouble but was charming anyway. 

‘hey stranger,’ you say when she knocks on your door, and she blushes and smiles and you’re delighted by the effect you have on her, almost immediately — this exceedingly smart and competent person stumbling over herself the second you smile. it makes you feel powerful and it also makes you want to treat her kindly, to make her laugh.

‘good morning, ava.’ she fidgets, for a moment, and you’re curious why you’re not just going to her truck, but then she takes a hand out of the pocket of her peacoat and opens her palm. ‘i, uh, i noticed your cane was getting stuck in the snow.’

‘oh.’ your first instinct is to be embarrassed, eleven years of abuse rearing its ugly, awful head, but then you look at what she’s actually holding.

‘i already had it,’ she explains, slightly rushed like she’s trying to make sure you’re not upset, like it was just a thoughtful aside of hers. ‘i tore my acl a few years ago and used both on my crutches, and so, i just figured, well… if it doesn’t work, that’s fine, but maybe worth a try?’

you take the winter cane tip attachment from her outstretched hand and it really does feel like some kind of offering for a moment. it’s nice, the crampon itself retractable, and easy enough to put on your cane. when you try it outside the door on the way to her truck, you can’t help but smile, remember a little bit of the joy that first came with movement as you started receiving proper care and accessibility and mobility aids. you don’t take healing for granted, even now. ’thank you,’ you tell her as she unlocks her truck and goes around to the driver’s side. 

she nods. ‘like i said, i already had it sitting around. not a problem at all.’

‘still,’ you say, climbing up and twisting around to greet a suddenly very excited theo in her kennel strapped into the backseat. ‘not many people have been particularly thoughtful in my life, especially not at this.’

she frowns at your admission, her jaw clenching, her face stormy. she’s handsome in her rich maroon scarf and camel wool coat, careful hands on the wheel.

‘anyway,’ you say, a little overcome, ‘how’d you tear your acl?’

she immediately reddens, pulling out of the driveway and trying to act like she’s concentrating very hard on her turn signal to merge onto the completely empty road. 

‘bea, please.’

she sighs, refusing to look at you even at the red light. ‘i was training with theo,’ she says.

‘that’s not horribly embarrassing on its own.’ you grin. ‘there’s got to be more to it.’

‘fine,’ she says, mostly just to humor you, you’re pretty sure. ‘she was small, and we were both learning how to herd. i, well — i tripped over one of the sheep.’

you wait a beat to picture it and then laugh, not unkindly but without any remorse. ‘thank you truly so much for telling me.’

she rolls her eyes. ‘you’re so welcome,’ she says flatly, and you laugh again.

/

you’re confused if your little outing to the christmas market is a date or not for the two minutes it takes for beatrice to park the car, get the small pack holding treats that she carries around for theo buckled around her waist — a little nerdy and totally adorable — and then letting theo out of the kennel. she’s in a little green coat, the same as the other day, and it kind of makes you feel like you’re going to scream, she’s so cute. she greets you fully now, with happy little wiggles, and then situates herself at beatrice’s side. she has a leash connected to her harness, the other half slung over beatrice’s shoulder and across her chest so her hands are free; you think theo doesn’t need it at all, but beatrice explains, ‘in crowded public access areas, it’s appropriate.’ theo, for her part, is busy sniffing a few treats beatrice scattered around her feet in the snow, and then she smiles at you and gestures to head inside.

you’re confused no longer when you see camila’s booth, advertising hot chocolate, apple cider, and egg nog, and she whistles. ‘beatrice, you look so nice with your fancy jacket.’

beatrice glares. 

camila turns to face you fully, a smirk on her face. ‘she never wears that unless it’s a special occasion.’

you can’t help yourself: ‘well, i am a special occasion, if i do say so myself.’

’no one else is saying it,’ lilith grumbles from her seat behind camila, and beatrice fights a laugh while you pout.

‘you look nice too, ava,’ camila says, keeping the peace as you’ve quickly figured out she always does. 

you preen a little, just for the fun of it. ‘why thank you. i love your sweater.’

camila looks down at her jesus was palestinian sweater. ‘’tis the season and all that.’ she beams at you, then beatrice. ‘well, what can i get you both on this romantic outing?’

beatrice sighs in defeat but you grin and look at the menu. ‘well, i’m on vacation and bea picked me up—‘ camila perks up even more at this— ‘so i’m going to do your bailey’s hot chocolate.’

‘i’ll have a cider,’ bea says, and you shoo away her attempt to pay for things, which brings a blush back to her cheeks when you tap your card with a pointed flourish. 

you go through the market with your warm drinks, your cane not sinking into the snow as it had been the past few days, making everything easier, simpler, less nervous with every step. once you have half of your hot chocolate, you lean into beatrice with a smile, and she offers her arm, all clove and pine and her soft scarf. there are booths with ornaments, knitted coasters; you convince her to buy a pretty wreath for the front door of her cabin, which you kind of hope she’ll invite you to see.

it starts to snow when you’re about to leave, the sky darkening early, and she feed theo a few treats before she situates her in the kennel. 

it’s quiet when she starts the truck, and she seems nervous, her hands white knuckled around the steering wheel. ‘i apologize if i was presumptuous.’

you soften. ‘that was a really wonderful date, bea. you can be as presumptuous as you want.’

her smile is shy, bathed in the waning light. ‘well, in that case, would you like to come to my house for dinner?’

‘yes, obviously.’

 she laughs. ‘alright then.’

[hunk-never-dies]

Words That Were Never Spoken

A Valenfield Fanfiction

(Trigger Warning for Violence, Blood, and Graphic Descriptions of Undead)

Previous chapters in tags

Chapter 11

It had been a very long and tiring week. Jill had kept herself busy catching up on paperwork. She had taken leave from the BSAA until she recovered from the injury to her arm, but she could still do the mundane tasks. Despite wanting to, Jill had not visited Chris since the first night he woke up. Claire had kept her updated and insisted that she go and spend some ‘quality time’ with him. It was a very tempting offer, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The guilt kept her away, and so did the recurring nightmares. Jill had hoped they would stop after seeing he was okay, but that was not true. Instead, she would wake up in a cold sweat every night, her heart pounding and nerves wrought. Jill couldn’t understand why it was happening and started to debate about talking to someone—anyone who could talk sense into her subconscious and let her get one whole night of sleep. She rubbed her eyes as she set down a mug of coffee, now cold, on the table. The papers before her awaited reviewing, but a nap looked more tempting. Jill pushed the papers away as she got up from the table. As she did, her phone began to ring. She picked up her cell phone and looked at the caller ID. Chris. 

Her heart rate sped up as she looked at his name. Did something happen? Jill accepted the call and spoke. “Chris?”

“Hey Jill,” there was a pause before he continued in a hesitant voice. “Are you busy?” 

Jill glanced at the paperwork she needed to complete. It could wait. “No. What's up?”

“I hate to ask, but could you pick me up from the hospital? Claire has my truck and said she won't be back until tonight. If not, it’s okay, and I can catch the bus.”

“No, I can come,” Jill said immediately. There was no way she was allowing him to take a bus home. He was still injured, and what if something happened? “You don’t have to take a bus, Chris. I can pick you up.” Jill left the kitchen and crossed the living room, heading for the door. She grabbed her car keys along the way. “Are you ready to be picked up now?”

“Yeah. I just signed the discharge papers, and I can leave anytime.”

“Good, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks, Jill. I owe you one.”

“See you soon,” Jill said before she hung up the phone. She put on her shoes and exited her apartment, locking the door behind her. Her heart was pounding in her chest from excitement and apprehension. She was looking forward to seeing him but thought back to the night at the hospital. They had been so close, and she hoped it hadn’t damaged their friendship. Then again, he did call her for a ride. He would have just taken the bus if he felt some negative way. Or maybe did he want to talk to her? Jill felt her cheeks grow warm, and she shoved the thought aside. She was not going down that rabbit hole. Not after her lack of communication nearly killed him. 

Jill left the apartment building and glanced up at the sky. Dark clouds had overtaken the sky, heavy with rain. ‘Wonderful,’ she thought as she quickened her steps to her car. She unlocked the driver’s side and got in, shutting it behind her. Jill hoped the rain would hold off until she got Chris home. The last thing she wanted was to get soaked, and she was sure Chris wouldn’t be too keen on the idea either. A yawn escaped as Jill started her car and drove to the hospital. After this, she was going to take a nap. Hopefully, a peaceful one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jill arrived five minutes earlier than expected and pulled to the main entrance. She spotted Chris waiting beside the door, and he waved at her. She waved back, and he walked over, opening the passenger door. “Hey, thanks for the ride,” Chris said, setting a bag on the floor and getting in.

“No worries,” Jill said, smiling at him, “was I supposed to make you walk?”

Chris shrugged. “Good exercise?” Jill shook her head before she watched him put on his seatbelt. He was moving a lot better, but she could tell he was still hurting. It was not as bad, but it still made the guilt rear its head. Chris looked over, and she looked ahead. “How’s your arm? Claire had said you went on leave because of it.”

Leave it to Claire... Jill glanced at him before she started driving. “It’s much better. I can move it around more. Rebecca used the dissolving stitches, so they’ll come out when ready. The leave was mandatory because it would impede missions. You know, the usual bullshit. So I’ve just been doing paperwork.” Jill slowed and stopped at a light before she looked over at him. “How are you doing?”

“Much better, especially after they removed that damn tube. My chest still hurts when I breathe, but it’ll stop eventually.” Jill nodded, and the light changed. She started driving again but could feel eyes on her. She glanced over at her partner, arching an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

Chris was momentarily quiet before he spoke. “You look pale. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jill said, and she heard a sigh. She waited for him to press the issue, but he stayed quiet. Jill was thankful for it this time. The last thing she felt like doing was talking to him about the nightmares; they seemed silly in the daytime. She did not trust herself to mention them. With the lack of sleep, her emotions were all over the place. “Looks like it’s going to rain.”

“Yeah, they said it wasn’t supposed to until this evening,” Chris commented, “which is why I thank you again for picking me up.”

Jill glanced over at him, and her heart skipped a beat. There was that damn smile of his. The warmth she felt from it made her heart do crazy things. “Anytime,” Jill said as she smiled before looking back ahead. 

They spent the rest of the car ride in comfortable silence. Jill reached Chris’s apartment and parked along the curb. A droplet of water hit the windshield and then another. Within seconds, rain began to pour down, thunder cracking above them. “Well, we almost made it.” Jill looked over at Chris, who was watching the rain. “I’d invite you for a drink or something to catch up, but I don’t want you getting soaked.” 

“I want to catch up,” Jill said faster than her brain could comprehend. What was she doing? She was supposed to drop him off, but having not seen him for so long, she wanted to spend more time with him. Perhaps it would help her in the long run. She didn’t have to talk about what was going on, but if they had a normal conversation, would it stop the nightmares?

“Are you sure?” Chris asked before motioning to the windshield. “It’s coming down pretty hard.” 

“I’m sure,” Jill said. It was too late to back out if she wanted to, which she didn’t. 

“Well, here,” Chris said as he leaned forward, subconsciously holding his chest. He grabbed the bag off the floor. Inside was his uniform shirt and pants, folded neatly. He tucked them under his arm and offered her the bag. 

Jill looked at it before she accepted it. “Thanks, better than nothing.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Chris said before he opened the door. He got out quickly and closed the door, jogging to the front door. Jill watched him reach the overhang before she, too, got out. Using the bag like a shield above her head, she ran to where Chris stood. Despite the effort, the rain had soaked her clothing, except for her shoulders and hair. Chris, on the other hand, was soaked from head to toe. “This rain is brutal.”

“It is,” Jill answered as Chris unlocked the front door and pushed it open. He motioned for her to go first, and she didn’t argue. Jill stepped over the threshold, and a darkened living room greeted her. She heard the door close behind her, and Chris moved past her, hitting a light switch. The room flooded with light and was a lot neater than she had expected. There was a television, coffee table, and dark brown sofa. The floors were hardwood, and the walls painted a pale blue. To the left of the TV was a hallway that most likely led deeper into the apartment. To the right was an archway, and she could faintly make out a stove, the kitchen. 

“I’ll grab some towels. Make yourself at home,” Chris said as he removed his shoes and placed them on a rack. He then crossed the living room and disappeared down the hallway. Jill watched him leave before removing her shoes. She set them down next to Chris’s before entering the living room. Jill didn’t want to go too far and soak the floor, so she stayed put. Chris returned a couple of minutes later, carrying a towel. “Here, come with me.” 

Jill accepted the towel and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I don’t want to get your floor wet.”

“The floors will dry. You’ll catch a cold like that,” Chris said as he led her down the hallway. It was short with two doors—one at the end of the hallway and one a couple feet from it. Chris stopped at the first door. It was already open, and the light was on. He motioned for her to enter, and she did, looking around. The bathroom was smaller than hers, with a tub rather than a walk-in shower. The sink sat to the left, along with the toilet. To the right was a hamper and what looked like a closet door. “You can use whatever towels are in that closet.” Chris walked over to the sink, and Jill saw a folded pile of clothes on the counter space beside it. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything smaller, but if you want, you can change. If you decide to, leave your clothes on top of the hamper. I’ll throw them in the dryer.” 

“Thanks, Chris, but shouldn’t you be resting instead of offering to do laundry?”

“That’s all I’ve been doing,” Chris said as he walked to the door. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Tea or coffee?”

“Coffee.”

Chris smiled at her before he left, shutting the door behind him. Jill stood there for a moment, hugging the towel around herself. A chill ran through her, and she moved toward the sink. Changing would be the most ideal. That way, she would have dry clothes to go home in rather than hang around in wet ones. Jill removed the towel and felt a shiver go through her. Jill peeled off her shirt and pants and set them where Chris had instructed. Luckily, the downpour had spared her undergarments, and she picked up the clothes he had left. It consisted of a plain blue shirt and black pajama pants. At least the pants had a tie, and she could always roll the sleeves up.

She dressed and checked the tie on the pants before exiting the bathroom. She walked down the hallway and into the living room. Chris had just walked out of the kitchen and walked over to her. He had changed into a plain black shirt and sweatpants. “All done?” 

“Yes, thank you,” Jill said, and he nodded. 

“Coffee is almost ready. Have a seat and make yourself comfortable,” Chris said before disappearing down the hall again. Jill looked at the sofa and decided against sitting. Instead, she walked to the kitchen, quickly locating the coffee brewer. She could at least prepare it so he didn't have to. He was so kind, and he was the one who should have been taking it easy. Jill felt her chest tighten as she watched the pitcher fill with coffee. Maybe she should have declined to come here. Chris would keep playing host, which made her guilt rise. Perhaps once her clothes dried, she would go. Jill yawned and heard footsteps behind her. “Tired?” 

Jill turned to see Chris walk in with her wet clothes. He crossed the kitchen and stopped at the door. Beyond the threshold was a small laundry room. Chris put her clothes in the dryer and closed it. He then went to set the dryer when he winced. Chris momentarily brought his arm across his chest, setting the dryer. Once it was on, he let his arm fall and took a minute before straightening. It wasn't right. “Chris, you should be resting.” 

Chris walked out of the laundry room and shut the door. “I'm okay.” 

“You weren't just now.”

He sighed before his breath hitched. “Certain movements hurt, but I can't just lay around. Besides, this isn't the first time I've broken a rib.”

“It wasn't just a broken rib, Chris. You need to take it easy. I can finish making the coffee; please go sit down.” 

Chris looked at her silently as if studying her. He then sighed and pointed at one of the cabinets. “There is sugar if you need it in there. Milk is in the fridge.” She watched as he walked past her and out of the kitchen. Jill could tell he wasn't exactly happy about being told what to do, but she couldn't help how she felt. She had come so close to losing him that she still felt uneasy. Even though he was fine, the images from the nightmares refused to relinquish their grasp on her mind. 

‘Maybe I should talk to him,’ she thought before scratching the idea. Even thinking about them made her heartache. If she spoke them into existence, she would sound foolish or worse. Jill's thoughts were interrupted by a sound coming from the living room. Chris must have turned on the television. At least he was listening. 

Jill moved over to the coffee machine and removed the pot as it finished. She poured two cups and put the pitcher back. After she prepared the coffees how they each liked theirs, she picked up the mugs. Jill carried them into the living room and spotted Chris sitting on the sofa. He was flipping through channels but wasn't paying attention to what he was doing. Instead, it was like he was in his head. “Here,” she said as she walked over. 

“Thanks,” Chris said as he accepted the mug. She scooted past him, taking a seat beside him on the sofa. They stayed silent, and Jill hoped he wasn’t angry or upset with her. She just wanted to be sure he was taking care of himself. Jill sipped her coffee before a loud crack of thunder sounded. She jumped, nearly spilling her coffee on herself. “Jill?” 

“I'm fine. I didn't expect that,” Jill said as she set the mug on the coffee table.

She heard a heavy sigh and knew what was coming next. Chris was getting aggravated. “Okay, now I know you're lying to me. You don't jump like that unless there's a reason. You're always calm and collected, but you've been acting differently lately. Hell, ever since I picked you up last Sunday to go to Rebecca's lab. I let it go before, but now I can't. What is going on with you?” Jill stayed silent as she looked at her mug. She didn't want to have this conversation but knew there was no way out. Chris was getting frustrated, and he had every right to do so. She had been lying to him when she said she was okay. Jill wasn't. She was as far from okay as she could be. “Look, you're my partner. I'm worried about you. You're not acting like yourself. Your skin is pale, and you have dark circles under your eyes like you haven't slept. What's going on? Please talk to me. Whatever it is, I'll try my best to help you.” His voice had softened and had a desperate edge to it. “Please, Jill.” 

Jill breathed out before she finally looked at him. He was sitting, facing her with a worried look in his eyes. “It's hard to talk about,” Jill began before she looked down. Why was it so hard to talk to him about this? She was usually able to tell him anything. Jill gathered her thoughts before she lifted her head and spoke. “I haven't been able to sleep. Lately, at all. I get maybe an hour here and there.” 

“Why not? Is it your arm? Are you feeling okay?” 

Jill shook her head. “It's nothing physical that's bothering me. I worry about you when you do things you're not supposed to. I know you can take care of yourself, but-” Jill fell silent as she swallowed. “When you picked me up on Sunday, I had this dream. It was a nightmare. We were on a mission, and a tyrant came out of nowhere. No matter what I did, it went after you. It wouldn't stop until it. It-” Jill felt a lump in her throat and paused to settle herself. “It crushed you. You died right before my eyes. I watched you die, and there was nothing I could do. I wanted to tell you about it, but I couldn't. I thought I was silly, but when we went on that mission, the building looked like it had in my dream. 

“I could have warned you. I could have prevented you from getting hurt, but I said nothing. I could have killed you. It's my fault you got hurt,” Jill felt her eyes burn, and she blinked back tears. “On the drive to the hospital, you were getting worse and worse. When we got there, your pulse was so weak that I thought you would die.” Jill looked down and felt warmth running down her cheeks. “Seeing you in the ICU hurt more than you could imagine. Knowing I put you there-” 

“Jill, you didn’t put me there. You saved my life. I would have died if you didn’t do what you did.” Chris’s voice was soft and gentle, only hurting her heart more. 

Jill’s vision blurred as more tears began to fall. “You don’t get it, Chris. You wouldn’t have been in that situation if I told you.”

“That’s not true. There’s no way you could have known what was going to happen. Plus, I’m the one who didn’t leave when you wanted to. Jill, it’s not your fault. None of it is.”

She couldn’t lift her head to look at him. She was guilt-ridden that she couldn’t see his concerned expression for her. She didn’t deserve it. “I keep having these nightmares. They won’t stop. I find myself in the morgue, and you’ve turned, and I can’t-” Jill’s voice wavered, “I can’t…” Jill tried to hold her emotions back, but the lack of sleep worsened everything. A choked sob escaped her throat as she brought a hand to her face. “I was so scared you were going to die.”

The sofa shifted, and she felt Chris pull her into a hug. It had been enough to break the dam she had tried hard to build all week. Jill buried her face in his chest and cried, gripping the back of his shirt tightly. She felt him hug her tighter. “It’s okay,” Chris whispered to her. 

“It’s not okay,” Jill sobbed, “I could have lost you. It should have been me.” 

She felt Chris stiffen. “No. It shouldn’t have been. Don’t say that.” His voice took a serious tone, and she sniffed as he let her go, only to hold her shoulders gently. “Look at me.” Jill lowered her head before she felt Chris lift her chin slowly. Jill sniffled, unable to stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. His expression was unlike any she had seen. It was an array of emotions that she could not easily place. He moved a hand to her cheek and gently brushed some tears away with his thumb. “Jill, please don’t say that. I was so relieved to hear you were safe. It’s the only thing I can remember clearly—my first thought when I woke up and didn’t see you. I needed to know you hadn’t been hurt or killed by that tyrant.” His words were soft and soothing but held strong feelings behind them. He brushed some of her hair back behind her ear. “I care so much about you, Jill,” he whispered.

Jill was unsure who moved first, Chris or her. Their lips met in a brief kiss before Chris broke it. He looked at her, and she didn't shy away, silently telling him it was OK. His hand slipped to the back of her head, drawing her forward into another kiss. Jill cupped his cheek as he deepened it. This whole thing must have been a dream. It certainly felt like it, but her heart was pounding too fast in her chest for it to be one. 

They broke for air, and Chris kissed her forehead before he pulled her into another embrace. Jill sniffled as she hugged him back, careful not to hurt him, and felt Chris rub her back in soothing, slow circles. Jill felt the tension leave her body for the first time in a week. Everything she had been feeling washed away at that moment. His body felt warm and alive, and she felt safe in his arms. Jill closed her eyes, feeling more tears threatening to escape. “I care about you so much. I love you,” he whispered tenderly, “I've been in love with you for so long.”

The words squeezed her heart painfully in her chest. So many emotions tried to escape just from those three words. Chris did love her. Jill felt her cheeks dampen again as she gripped the back of his shirt tightly. “I love you too, Chris.” She whispered, burying her face in his shoulder. Jill silently cried as Chris held her until no more tears were left to shed. Instead, crying had only made her feel even more exhausted than she was. Jill felt physically and emotionally spent. She took stuttering breaths, feeling her body grow heavy. The security and love she felt pushed her slowly over the edge, and she drifted off as sleep finally claimed her.

[postmodernbeliever]

Thoroughfare- Fox Mulder x Female Reader

Chapter Three: Two’s Company, Three’s a Crime Scene

table of contents <3

if you’d prefer my ao3 | word count: 4,317

TW: mentions of a body at a crime scene, some graphic description.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“No comments from the peanut gallery!”

“I’m simply saying that if you’d let me handle the directions, maybe we’d get there faster!”

You sighed as Fox screwed with the gigantic spiral-bound map he found shoved between the bench of your rental truck. When the two of you landed, you discovered something new about your fellow agent- he liked being in charge of not only picking but driving the rental car. You knew the Bureau provided money for the vehicle, but you had no idea it was within your purview to choose which. You might’ve picked something a little sleeker and smaller, like an understated sedan, but the man with the pen did not share your taste, so this time you didn’t get to exercise the privilege. Fox teased you as he signed the papers for an old Chevy pickup, saying, “Seniority, Piglet.” And now he was refusing to let you control the map while he drove the two of you straight into bumblefuck Kansas as if he had a foolproof inner compass.

“Seriously, Fox, come on. It’s dangerous to drive like this, just let me help.”

“I’ve survived every case this way, you know,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, alone! You’ve got me here now, and I’m not gonna let you crash the damn car while I’m inside!” You resolved, tearing the map from his hand and ripping it at the corner of the page. All you tore was the map scale, but he still shot you a dirty look. 

“Nice going–”

“Enough!”

You wanted to believe you didn’t enjoy the way he bickered with you, but it kept the endless drive of dying grass and grey sky interesting. Fox had to double-check every direction you gave him on the way into Marysville, Kansas, at whose name you of course rolled your eyes. The snarky driver learned to stop doubting you about an hour in when he disregarded your order to make a right-hand turn and went left. It took him ten minutes to admit he was wrong and turn around. You graciously accepted his apology, but not before sticking your tongue out in juvenile triumph. Nearly three hours later with the late afternoon sun preparing to set, the rickety truck pulled past a sign that greeted Welcome to Marysville! and you found yourself in the middle of a quaint little place, seemingly empty, with rows of colonial buildings and businesses. You rolled the window down and felt the muggy spring air stick to your face as you poked your head out, admiring the center of town. You could feel your hair frizzing up, and you hoped you’d have time to fix it before you had to do any work. This was not the time to look anything other than prepared.

Fox piped up, “Don’t get too comfortable. I’m gonna make a pitstop at the police station before the motel.”

You huffed and fell back into the seat, and the man let out a soft chuckle. You combatted, “What now?”

“You’re like a little kid.”

“Am not!”

Fox quirked an eyebrow at you, silently proving his point, and your face melted into a playful smile. You stopped complaining and he turned his attention back to the road, where he surveyed for a police department sign. He found it on the corner of a block, but he nearly missed it- if he wasn’t paying attention, he might’ve mistaken it for just another shop. There were stately stone steps out front and two swinging doors that were reminiscent of a saloon, so you made note of the entrance for the next time it camouflaged into the rest of the town. Fox pulled up to the curb and turned off the engine, which sputtered a bit, and you made a nervous face. 

“Don’t worry,” Fox smiled, “I can just hotwire something if we need to.” When you made a face, he added, “Come on, I’m kidding!”

All you gave in return was a skeptical, “We’ll see.”

As he moved to open his door, he paused, noticing how you sat still. “Everything okay?”

In your head, you weren’t sure how to answer his question. One thing has been irking you since you landed in the Midwest, and that was how badly you wanted to nail introducing yourself; you’d thought over exactly how to pull your badge from your pocket, and how you’d assert your new title, but every vision ended with you screwing it up. You’d done this at your old job in New York so often it became second nature, but somehow this was different. This was bigger. You had so much more power with a federal badge. You wondered how Fox did it every time; if he was stern, or positive, or something in between. You almost wished you’d practiced it in the mirror, but that felt stupid to entertain.Yet now that it was time to establish yourself as the overarching authority, a beacon of hope to the people of this town and the families who have lost daughters, you were afraid to make a fool of yourself by either overdoing it or not doing it right at all. For God’s sake, you dropped your passport in front of the flight attendant- what made you think you wouldn’t blurt out FBI too loud in front of the sheriff? What would the citizens of Marysville think if the government sent them a detective who couldn’t even get her name out without stuttering? 

Fox wished he could read your mind, but all he could do was watch your eyes glaze over. He reached out and touched your shoulder. “Anybody home?”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“You’re nervous.”

“Kind of,” you huffed, “There’s a lot I’m nervous about, you know that.”

“About the case?”

“Yeah, the case. And about doing well. Proving myself. Not letting you down,” you added at the end, to which he broke into an appreciative grin. “I don’t know. It’s a lot of pressure.”

“You’re lucky you have me then. I’m practically a diamond,” Fox winked, “Relax. I’ll take the lead.”

Fox might be a pain in the ass, but he was somewhat of a gentleman; after promising he’d lead you through things, he held the door to the station open for you, and you went inside first. There wasn’t much of a lobby. It was more like walking straight into a bullpen, and a calm one, at that. You saw three officers sitting at their desks; two working diligently on what seemed to be simple paperwork, and another with his feet kicked up on the desk and a newspaper over his head, snoring loudly. A faulty fan was whirring exhaustedly in the corner next to an open window. It was mundane everywhere you looked- dusty bookshelves, tidy filing cabinets, dust floating in the light beams spilling through the blinds. An aging woman was working the counter with fat librarian glasses perched on her hook nose and a frizzy, box-blonde French twist. Fox nudged your elbow politely, and you stepped aside to let him approach her first. 

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Special Agent Fox Mulder. This is my partner.” 

You watched him carefully as you fished your badge out of your jacket pocket and flipped it open. He held his own up briefly, barely long enough for anyone to know if it was real. You took it he never ran into that issue. His voice in introduction wasn’t stiff, but it was still assertive. There was a warmth in the way he spoke to her, and you thought maybe he was always gentler with older women, or possibly with everyone- he certainly spoke that way with you. You would’ve kept thinking about it if he didn’t keep going.

“I talked on the phone with a Sheriff Hale, he requested my partner and I come down and take a look at a string of murders?”

The woman smiled with all her teeth, and you could tell by the way her eyes sparkled that she liked him. Just like the lady at the airport. You wouldn’t have pegged him as a ladies’ man, but it made sense. He did have a unique charm about him.

“Oh, yes! Well, Sheriff Hale is out on a house call, ‘ya see, but he’s bound to be back in soon. I can send a call out for ‘im, if you like.” Her country accent was thick as molasses, and just as sweet. 

“That’d be great, ma’am, thank you.”

“Oh, please, call me Mary!”

Fox laughed and confirmed, “Mary from Marysville, huh?”

Mary cackled like an obnoxious schoolgirl, and you had to bite back a laugh yourself. Fox stepped away with you as the woman hopped on the phone to speak with the sheriff, throwing glances his way all the while. 

“Flirting on the job, Fox?”

“What can I say? I’ve got game, Piglet.”

A part of you wanted to know more, but there wasn’t enough time to try between his teasing comment and the interruption of frazzled Mary: “Excuse, Mr. Agent Mulder, sir?”

“Yes?”

“The- the sheriff says he needs you down at the Church of Saint Peter the Apostle as soon as you can, sir, down on the corner. There’s been another murder, dear Lord…”

Fox defaulted to you, and despite your apprehension, you were the first to head for the door. He called back to the woman with a rushed, “Thank you, tell him we’re on our way!” and the two of you hurried to the old pickup parked out front. He got it up and running and rushed off, and there wasn’t one complaint when you reached for the map and turned to the page with a closer view of Marysville, and told him where to go. 

“Up on the corner, she said, but which corner?” You wondered aloud, and Fox kept his eyes on the road. You were just about to tell him to make a left when a beater came barreling through a stop sign at the intersection, wholly ignoring your right of way, causing Fox to slam on the breaks. You lurched forward in the seat and caught yourself by slamming the map against the glovebox. You flushed, feeling like an idiot for forgetting your seatbelt. 

“Are you hurt?” Fox blurted. His hand reached out to brush some hair away from your forehead, checking for a bruise or blood, but all you could think about was how softly his fingertips ghosted against your temple. You didn’t feel any pain, but you sure were shaken up.

“Y-yeah, I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me.” He dropped his hand and looked in the direction of the tin can that nearly killed you both, seeing its tire marks trailing down the road. “Where do you think he was going, driving like that?… Dick.”

He tried to let the insult slip under his breath, but you heard it loud and clear. You giggled, and he smirked at you, noting that you liked a slip-up here and there. You began to say something, but two more cars came hurtling down the street in front of the truck, laying on the horn at you for being stopped a quarter of the way into the intersection. Both loosely followed the tire tracks and made screeching turns a few blocks to the right. You looked to Fox for an explanation, who stared back with just as much confusion as you, and he took off, chasing the commotion. You clicked your seatbelt in hurriedly, holding onto the door handle. You weren’t one for speed, but you didn’t feel as unsafe as you would’ve expected yourself to. Fox knew the car well. He knew the dimensions, he knew how fast it could go, and he clearly felt comfortable in the driver’s seat because he was plowing through town like he was the one being chased. You saw a wild grin creep up on his cheeks, and your face felt warm. It was fun, going fast. 

Just up the road, you saw red lights flashing in alarm, and a mass of cars pulled up in disarray outside a little church, including the three trucks that nearly killed you. It had to be smaller than the police station- it was wooden, with a weathered steeple that was shadowed by the falling dusk, and moss grew unabated over the windowsills. Teenagers and parents were prowling by the sheriff’s car, which Fox parked right beside. 

“Holy shit!”

“Lord, that’s disgusting!”

“Lemme in, lemme see!”

The two of you hopped out and hurried through the hollering crowd of townspeople, right up to the ambulance that blocked them out, but didn’t hide their view. Kids peeked past the authorities with sick looks. Two paramedics met you at the yellow tape and passed some rubber gloves off, which you took gratefully, already feeling your stomach drop at the exclamations of the onlookers. When you finally got past the ambulance, you gasped at the crime scene which one deputy and the supposed Sheriff Hale were rushing to cover with tarps and close off. Fox held up the tape for you to duck beneath, and he followed as you stepped onto the scene. 

“Sheriff Hale?” You inquired. “We’re with the FBI, you called for us?”

The older of the two men looked up. He had a beet-red face, which could’ve been from the intensity of the Kansas sun or stress; his eyebrows were bushy as beaver tails, and his stocky build made it hard to believe he did much more than paperwork. But nonetheless, he stood up and shook your hands as he greeted, “Thanks for getting down here so quick, agents. I reckon this is the fourth victim, she, uh… well, how about y’all take a look?”

You and Fox stood on the little dirt path that led to the steps of the church, lined with painted rocks. It looked like a children’s effort, a community project. There was a large crucifix marking where the peak of the building met the steeple, and a giant translucent sheet covered the steps; on the tall double doors, there were thick splatters of oxidizing blood and splintered wood. You knelt beside the younger officer, who was taking photographs of the scene, and made yourself known. 

“What do we have here?” 

“Looks like another murder, ma’am,” he frowned. You noticed his name embroidered into his uniform pocket: Deputy H. Jones. He was tall and skinny as a twig, with an endearing gap between his two front teeth. He looked too young to be a college student, let alone a police deputy. “A real shame.”

“Did you know the victim, Deputy Jones?” 

“Sure I did, knew ‘em all. Lots… lots of ‘em went to school with me. This girl here, though, she was a good friend of my lil’ sister. Liane Jacobs. Real sweet girl. It, uh, it’s a rough thing to see, ma’am.” 

Your heart sank at the thought of what it must feel like to be him. You reached to peel back the tarp, and it took less than a second for you to lay it right back down. You weren’t prepared for the sight, and had to choke down a gag. “Jesus Christ.” 

“You ask me, Jesus ain’t got nothin’ to do with this, agent. Not a thing.” 

Deputy Jones’s face fell pale as he walked away, leaving you to examine the victim. You slowly lifted the tarp again, careful not to reveal anything to the crowd gathering outside the confines of the caution tape. Despite the breakfast you had rumbling like rocks inside your gut, you took a mental note of the girl lying before you, gutted like a pig. She looked far worse than the photos in Fox’s file. Her entire chest cavity was splayed open as if her ribs had been ripped out all at once. The tissue of her dermis and lungs was a mixture of chop meat, all littering the jagged edges of her vertebrae, which were missing bones in all the spots the X-rays had in common. Her lower body was littered with bruises and cuts, especially around the hips and lower abdomen, yet her face was left untouched- not even a spot of blood was present to interrupt the porcelain appearance. She looked supremely calm, in contrast to her violent disposition; relaxed eyelids, perfectly tinted lips, flawless teenage skin. Her dark hair fell in Hollywood ringlets across her shoulders, manicured, well-placed, well-planned. You gazed up at the cross she sat rotting beneath, and you wondered what God would do, had he the choice to help you understand. You only stopped contemplating when a hand tapped the crown of your head, and you saw your partner looking down at you. 

“Her name is Liane Jacobs,” you sighed, “The deputy knew her personally.”

“Seems like everyone did. Seventeen years old, grew up a mile out from here. She worked at the library as a part-time bookkeep and spent her weekends volunteering at this very church,” Fox informed. “The sheriff, deputy, and her parents all swore she was a good girl, a good friend. Devoted to her faith.”

“Look what it got her. So much for being devoted,” you grumbled, tugging Fox down to take a closer look.

A short-lived expression of shock crossed the man’s face, and then he was all business; he knelt over the body, close enough to give you the creeps, and studied the girl’s lacerations. You leaned back on the heels of your boots and glanced around, finding the bystanders terrified of how Fox seemed to dole over the dead body. You squirmed uncomfortably, realizing they must think you had a screw loose, too. 

“We’re gonna need an autopsy on the body, but a lot of these mutilations match the other victims just from a visual deduction. The missing ribs, the bruising around the waist and legs. But this is way more aggressive. This is like the other deaths on steroids. The killer didn’t take nearly the same care removing the bones from her chest cavity– I mean, the last murders weren’t surgical by any means, but this? This is violent. Might as well have torn her apart by hand. Somebody is really angry. Maybe even crying out for help. It’s hard to tell.”

“Well, however they’re feeling, they clearly had something against this girl. I mean, they desecrated her, Fox. Her body is completely destroyed. I can’t even fathom what would possess someone to- to ruin a young girl like this.”

Fox nodded curtly, furrowing his eyebrows in agreement. Then his neck craned down, and he mumbled, “Hey, look at this.”

You watched Fox’s glove-clad hand dig into poor Liane’s jeans pocket, tugging out a thin string of wooden beads. It was uneven with little plastic beads between the wood bits, which told you it was homemade. The rosary looked almost charred, and the cross dangling at the bottom was splintered. 

“Do you think it’s hers?”

Fox laid the chain in your palm and pointed to the little metal tag that conjoined the sides, where three initials were stamped: LMJ.

“Liane Michelle Jacobs,” he confirmed, “Seems like the type our guy would pick, don’t you think? Looks-wise. Even if she died differently, still fits the profile.”

You moved to drape the tarp back over the body, but not before taking one last look at her face. Liane looked like she didn’t have a care in the world. Her family couldn’t hold an open casket, and everyone would live with how she was found, discarded like roadkill on the local church steps, but she was still beautiful, and that was eating at you. 

“I feel horrible.”

“This isn’t really the best first case to work on,” Fox admitted, “I wish it was something different for you.”

You wouldn’t have expected to be so moved by a dead girl. In all your years at college studying the world’s most prolific cases, learning how to compartmentalize, and doing fieldwork in New York, you had a stomach of steel. You could take any case, see any death, and solve it. But you’d never had the feeling you have now, as you see the fourth victim surrendered at the foot of a carpenter. Something dark surrounded her, something that nailed you to the steps. There was a force at work you’d never known before. Something was wrong. You couldn’t be sure if Fox felt it, too, but it was making it near impossible to separate your empathy from your logic. You just wanted to cover Liane, and hope that she didn’t feel any pain, and if everyone might turn their backs to you, maybe you could cry for a moment at the loss of an innocent girl to a monster. 

Fox could see you fighting with yourself by the way you chewed at your bottom lip, eyes locked on the girl’s still face. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he had to say something. 

“I know this is hard for you. Especially with all the pressure you’re feeling. But I also know having you here will help save other girls like Liane. You’re more than well-equipped for this. If anyone can do the job, it’s you.”

You tipped your head back to blink away a few tears that poked your eyes, and you let the plastic cover the body. Fox cleared his throat and said, “Come on, let’s go. Let the coroner take her.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Offering you a hand, Fox got you back on your feet and you followed him down the walkway towards the street. Two men shuffled over to scoop up the mess on the steps, and you had to tune out all the crying and commentary coming from the townspeople. The colors on the ground were distracting. Every rock was a different shape and size, all probably appealing to the child who chose them; there were paintings of houses and dogs, butterflies and crosses, mothers and fathers holding hands. Kids always seemed to draw what they knew best, even if their imagination took them to so many other places. You stopped short in your gawking and bent down, picking up one of the rocks lining the path; it was red, with a faded painting of a donkey looking up at a lopsided star. You turned the stone over in your hand, feeling the smooth texture, and found a neatly printed name on the back: Liane J. 3rd Grade. You pocketed the rock with no good reason and hurried to catch up with your partner who was waiting by the passenger door of the rental truck, lost in his head. When you reached him, he opened the door for you, and you slipped inside, suddenly deflated. 

“I don’t think there’s much else to do tonight until we hear back from Sherriff Hale or the county morgue, so I guess we should head to the motel. I could use a second to settle in. I bet you could, too.”

“Yes, please. Thank you.” You muttered.

Fox began to shut the door on you, but paused, eyes grazing over your face. You weren’t nervous anymore, but were something else. There wasn’t a touch of color in your cheeks, but your skin was still soft-looking, like your eyes. He didn’t like the softness of them, actually, since it seemed more like fragility, or frailty, than gentle. Sitting in the truck he’d picked, on his case you were unlucky enough to be placed on, you looked young and worn, eager and tired, your hair just sweet fuzz framing the face of a girl unaware of what she agreed to. That might be the worst part, how you looked, along with how he imagined you felt. It made his chest ache. 

“Hey, uh, are you hungry? I know, bad time to think about eating, but I haven’t since before the flight this morning.”

You scrunched your nose and thought about the last time you ate. You recalled grabbing a power bar on the way out of the house in the morning, but you also seemed to recall passing it to Fox at the airport gate when he complained about being starving. So, you haven’t eaten at all. The nerves kept you full.

“Well, a little, I guess. I probably should have something.”

“How about I stop and grab us a bite on the way over? Sound good?”

You felt the shadow of a smile on your lips, and you nodded your head. Fox made up for the grin you couldn’t muster with all his teeth and shut the car door swiftly, jogging around the front of the truck to get in the driver’s seat. Without another word, he started the engine and backed away from the scene, leaving the Marysville authorities to pack Liane up and ship her off to the morgue. You watched the crowd watch, and you wondered how a town so small and close-knit as this one appeared could stand around and ogle a dead girl they claimed to cherish. You replayed the whole thing in your head- how you froze, how you almost cried, how Fox had to get you out. You were more than embarrassed at how you acted, but you couldn’t change it. You were just lucky he was the only one paying attention. 

Blowing out a slow, sleepy breath, you flipped the map open to look for the motel, but Fox laid his hand on it and said, “It’s okay. I got directions from the Sheriff. He said there’s a burger joint on the way, too. You take it easy for now, okay?”

Unwilling to protest, you sat quietly in the seat and let him drive down the pothole-riddled road. You obsessed over the weight of the rock in your pocket, and it felt the way you did back with Liane’s body– dark, unnatural. You left it there and hoped no one would notice it was gone.