#bulldozer

April 18, 2026 - A direct action group set fire to four new Caterpillar bulldozers at a storage area in Grenoble, France. Caterpillar sells civillian and militarized excavators and bulldozers to Israel, which it uses to commit war crimes in Palestine and Lebanon by destroying civillian housing and infrastructure.

Let It Be | johnny kavanagh

summary: 725. when a quiet moment in johnny’s bedroom turns serious, a late period brings fear, confusion, and an unexpected test.

cw: estabilished relationship, pregnancy scare, comfort, soft johnny, emotional intimacy, english is not my first language xx. (idk why it’s labeled as mature)

currently playing: let it be

The house feels too alive for how still you are.

There’s noise everywhere — a television murmuring downstairs, someone moving in the kitchen, the distant sound of a car passing outside — but Johnny’s room is quiet in a way that makes your thoughts echo.

You’re sitting on his bed with your legs folded beneath you, his hoodie drowning you whole. Johnny’s beside you, leaning back on his hands, talking about something that happened at training earlier that day. You nod when you’re supposed to, smile when it seems right, but your mind is somewhere else entirely.

He notices.

He always does.

“You’re not even listening,” he says, not accusing — just amused.

You try to laugh. It comes out thin.

Johnny turns toward you, expression softening. “Hey. What’s up?”

You hesitate, fingers picking at the cuff of his sleeve.

“I need to tell you something.”

That gets his full attention. He sits up properly now, knees facing yours.

“Okay,” he says. “Go on.”

You take a breath. Then another.

“I’m late.”

Johnny blinks. Once. Twice.

“…Late for what?” he asks, brows pulling together. “Did I keep you longer than I said I would?”

The fact that his first instinct is to blame himself almost makes you smile.

You shake your head slowly. “No. Not that.”

There’s a pause. Just long enough for understanding to begin forming.

“Oh,” he says quietly.

You nod.

His mouth opens like he’s going to say something — then closes again. He exhales through his nose, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.

“How late?” he asks.

“Two weeks.”

He goes still for a second, then reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Okay,” he says. “Alright.”

You watch him carefully, waiting for panic, for regret, for something — but all you see is focus.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” you admit. “I didn’t even know if I should yet.”

“I’m glad you did,” he replies immediately. “I’d want to know.”

You swallow. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” he says, squeezing your hand. “But we don’t jump to worst-case scenarios yet.”

He glances toward his desk, then back to you. “I can go get a test. The chemist’s still open.”

“You’d do that now?”

“Yeah,” he says, already standing. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

You nod. “I want you to.”

He presses a quick kiss to your forehead before leaving the room, and the minutes he’s gone stretch longer than they should.

When he comes back, he’s holding a small paper bag like it weighs a ton.

You don’t say much as he sits beside you again. Neither does he. He just pulls the instructions out, reads them twice, then hands them to you.

“We’ll do it together,” he says. “I’ll wait right here.”

You disappear into the bathroom connected to his room, heart hammering, hands shaking more than you want to admit. When you come back, you set the test on the counter and sit on the edge of the bed beside him.

The waiting is the worst part.

You watch the seconds crawl by like time itself is holding its breath.

Johnny keeps his arm around you the whole time, thumb rubbing slow, steady circles against your shoulder.

“Whatever it says,” he murmurs, “you’re okay. We’re okay.”

When the timer goes off, neither of you moves right away.

“Do you want me to look?” he asks gently.

You think for a moment, then shake your head. “No. I want us to.”

He nods. “Alright.”

Together, you stand. Together, you look.

Relief washes through you so fast it makes your knees weak.

Negative.

You laugh first — a shaky, breathless sound — and Johnny exhales like he’s been holding his breath for weeks, pulling you into him.

“Okay,” he murmurs into your hair. “Okay.”

You cling to him, heart still racing but lighter now, safer.

“Guess I owe my body an apology for all the stress,” you mumble.

Johnny chuckles softly. “Yeah. Mine too.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek.

“Still,” he adds quietly, “I’m glad we talked about it.”

You nod against his chest. “Me too.”

The scare doesn’t disappear completely — not right away.

But it fades, slowly, wrapped in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the certainty that you’re not facing things alone.